The Wayward Prince

by Lee H. Haywood

  There is a power here that I have only felt once before, thought Emethius with a cold shiver, a power I felt deep within the forest under the clawed grasp of a god. But unlike then, which was terrible and full of anger and fear, this moment was filled with beauty and life.

  His lips parted in a smile. “I did not know such beauty could exist.” But even as he said this, an inkling of dread filled his heart. Something was wrong. He scratched at his forearm, finding his fingernails digging into flesh instead of the hard leather vambrace he had grown accustomed to wearing. It took a moment for his intoxicated mind to make sense of the sensation. Malrich.

  Emethius’s legs threatened to buckle, and he had to reach out and support himself against a nearby pillar to keep from falling.

  Lillian raised an eyebrow at his peculiar behavior. “You worry about your friend.”

  Emethius nodded. “I was so shocked to be alive, I forgot what I did in my moment of desperation. My friend, Malrich..., surely you found his body alongside mine.”

  Lillian nodded gravely. “Let me take you to him.”

  The goddess held Emethius’s hand and guided him to a circular room in which a table was set with food and drink. Archways lined the eastern wall, and the room was open to the night.

  “You said you were taking me to Malrich,” said Emethius in confusion. He had expected to be guided to a grave, but was instead led to a feast.

  “I did not lie,” said Lillian.

  As she spoke, laughter resounded from beyond the open archway. Malrich entered from outside wearing a wide grin on his face.

  “Blessed gods,” cried Emethius, choking back tears of joy. He rushed across the room and threw his arms around his friend. “Against all reason you live!”

  Malrich’s left eye was covered with a cloth and he walked with a crutch, but as sure as day follows night, he was otherwise whole. “And to think, you were the one I was worried about,” said Malrich.

  They hugged each other and for several minutes reminisced, ecstatic to see the other alive and so fit.

  “Your eye?”

  Malrich pulled back the cloth, revealing the empty socket. “The goddess is good, but she’s not that good.”

  “Sadly I can’t grow flesh anew,” said Lillian. “Now, as hardy as you both are, neither of you has completely healed. Please, have a seat before you aggravate your wounds.” She motioned to the table.

  They did as they were told and Lillian poured each of them a glass of red wine. Emethius held up his glass and looked at Lillian. “How is all of this possible? There are fresh fruits and vegetables, yet not a field to be seen. The walls and ceilings of this ancient palace remain standing when all should have fallen to ruin ages ago. This land is entwined with magic, but how?”

  “Am I not a god?” challenged Lillian. “Can I not bend all things to my will?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Emethius, feeling foolish for even asking. “I just never knew the gods had such power.”

  At this Lillian grinned. “Most do not. But the master of this house is someone quite special. You will learn much in the coming days if my lord sees that you are fit to behold such secrets. By reaching Bi Ache you have proven your worth to me, but the Sage is not as easily impressed.”

  Malrich sneered and pushed his wine glass back to the center of the table without taking a drink. “May we at least know the Sage’s name?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

  Lillian drummed her fingers against the table, and for a moment appeared as if she would not answer. Finally she sighed. “It’s a fair question, given the circumstances for which you journeyed here. The master of this house is Parius. He was once a god of great merit amongst the Calabanesi, although their paths have now diverged. He and I were excommunicated for our views. We fled to Bi Ache, knowing it would be the last place the Calabanesi would look for us.”

  The Calabanesi were not afraid to kill their own, Emethius knew — they had done it before. Emethius’s mind wandered back to the legend of Ilmwell and Niselus, the god-saints revered by the Tremelese. The two gods betrayed the Covenant by intervening in the Culing War and were blasted into oblivion for their crime. Emethius imagined Lillian’s excommunication was more severe than she was letting on — why else would she and the Sage be in hiding? He decided not to press the issue. A Lunen is patient, he reminded himself. The answer would come in time.

  “When Lord Parius and I arrived to Bi Ache the city had already been in ruin for many centuries, and in all truth it still is,” continued Lillian. “But Lord Parius’s power is great, and he can fashion the world as his mind envisions it. He has created within these shattered walls a vision of how this palace once was. What you see is what Parius wills you to see.”

  Malrich knocked on the table with his knuckle. “So this table is not here, nor this food and drink?”

  “As far as your mind will ever know it is real. Such is the power of the Sage.”

  Emethius grabbed an apple from the center of the table and took a bite. The fruit was delicious. He immediately set it aside and collected a bundle of grapes from a tray. They were ripe and plump with juice. “Will this food actually provide nourishment?”

  “Yes,” replied Lillian. “But Lord Parius’s energies do not stretch beyond these walls.”

  “I did a bit of exploring while you were still recovering,” said Malrich, turning toward Emethius. “You may want to have a look yourself.” He motioned beyond the arches of the open colonnade. A white marble walkway led from the room onto a green lawn. But only a dozen paces beyond, the white marble turned black and the grass rotted to dust.

  Emethius rose and walked to the brink, beholding for the first time the ruin of Bi Ache. The city was a twisted skeleton of shattered buildings, slanting walls, and rubble strewn pathways. The Cul destroy everything they touch, thought Emethius with a sudden rage. As he stood there, a snowflake lazily drifted by his head. More soon followed, and it momentarily eased his heart to see such a pure sight in amongst the desolate ruin.

  Emethius held out his hand and captured a flake upon his palm. No, not snow, he realized as the flake turned to powder between his fingers. “There is ash in the air,” he called in dismay, looking over his shoulder to Lillian and Malrich.

  “You must remember where we are,” said Lillian.

  He noticed then that there were lights flickering in the growing dark. He spied moving shapes outlined by the light. A shiver ran down his spine. “There are Cul in the night.”

  “Yes, but this is one place where the Shadow holds no dominion. They will not approach this bastion,” said Lillian. “Please, come back inside.”

  Emethius complied, but he kept an eye on the ruined city to his rear, not quite trusting Lillian’s assurance of safety.

  “What are the Cul doing?” said Malrich. “For the last several nights I have watched from my window as their furnaces burn.”

  “Their furnaces always burn,” said Lillian, with a sigh. “But more so now than ever before. Something is amiss with the Cul. They have delved deep beneath Bi Ache. The chime of hammers striking anvils ring true to my ears even as we speak.”

  “Are they preparing for war?” said Emethius.

  “I know nothing for certain,” said Lillian. “And I dare not say more without my lord’s approval.”

  “Fair enough,” said Emethius. “Then we will need to meet him soon.”

  “What you and he perceive as soon may be two very different things. I have been instructed to see to your care until he has time to speak. Consider yourself a guest in his house. You may go anywhere within the compound save his court. That is the only door you will find locked. But I warn you, do not venture beyond where his vision gives way to desolation. I cannot guarantee your protection beyond his veil.”

  Lillian held up her glass in a toast. “Now, let us eat this feast and talk of merrier things. You have both traveled through the Land of the Shadow to get here. Such bravery deserves celebration.”

  Emethius
raised his glass. Malrich simply scowled.

  CHAPTER

  XIV

  THE COURT OF ATIMIR

  In the coming days, Emethius began to fully understand what Lillian meant when she stated Parius would see him when he was ready. Several times each day Emethius walked past the copper doors that barred his entrance to Atimir’s court. The doors never opened, and Emethius detected no noise from within. He began to wonder if the Sage was even there. His impatience grew, but Lillian insisted he had no other choice but to wait.

  Emethius and Malrich explored the palace complex to pass the time. There were many towers and high places from which to spy the surrounding land, but Emethius found the view disheartening. The Cultrator surrounded them on all sides. The only glimmer of hope lay to the west. In the distance, the sea crashed eternally against the shores of Cella, proving to be the one thing the Cul could not mar in this otherwise desolate land.

  Malrich spent most of his time alone atop a turret, staring out toward the sea. He appeared more troubled than ever before, his face always twisted in a scowl. Emethius let his friend brood. He supposed it was torture for Malrich to be so close to getting a cure, yet not know for certain what fate awaited his beloved wife.

  Emethius secluded himself to the palace library, spending his days lounging on a couch and reading through the substantial collection of books. The books ran the gamut of topics. There were multiple volumes concerning the order of nature and anatomy. Postulates about the movements of the heavenly bodies. Theories concerning the duality of the body and soul. Lengthy codes of laws dictating the governing of people. Emethius read one book after another. Some of the information was in line with classical teachings, while other theories were revisions of long held truths.

  There is enough information here to crush every dogmatic principle extolled by the Court of Bariil, thought Emethius. He found himself feeling somewhat conflicted by what he was discovering.

  Malrich regarded the tomes with a certain degree of disgust. “Not a single one of these books has a cited author. Have you wondered why that is?” he asked on the morning of their tenth day in Bi Ache. “I imagine these books, like all other things within this palace, are the manifestation of the Sage’s mind. You are reading the ramblings of a god. The pages are tainted by his beliefs and biases.”

  Emethius thumbed through the pages of the book lying before him on the table. “Biased? Perhaps, but these books contain hidden truths as well.”

  Malrich waved his hand dismissively. “You are learning only what the Sage would have you know, nothing more,” said Malrich.

  “It bothers you that the Sage and Sorceress turned out to be Calabanesi, doesn’t it?” pressed Emethius, getting at what he imagined was the source of Malrich’s foul mood.

  Malrich gave a dismissive shrug. “Had they turned out to be just about anyone else it would have been better. The truth is, I just don’t trust them. I can’t trust them. Whether they’ve renounced the title of Calabanesi is irrelevant — they’re gods, and there’s no getting around that fact.”

  Malrich ran his hand along the white stone wall then held up his finger for Emethius to see. His finger was black with grime. “This whole place is a illusion, Emethius. The flourishing gardens, the opulent halls, this library — it’s all a facade, a false vision created by the Sage. Whether the illusions are for his sake or ours I cannot say. Hopefully you will have your cure soon, and we can be rid of this place.”

  “I understand your desire to leave, but sadly, we’re stuck here until the Sage is willing to grant us an audience,” said Emethius, echoing the sentiment Lillian had already expressed half-a-dozen times. “We can’t barge into Atimir’s Court and demand a cure like a beggar. If we’re to have any hope of saving Meriatis and your wife, we need to be patient.”

  Malrich placed his hand upon Emethius’s shoulder. “A cure for Meriatis, but not my wife.” His voice broke as he continued. “I didn’t come on this journey to find Ali a cure.”

  “But why come all this way?” spurted Emethius in dismay.

  “For the truth,” answered Malrich. There was a coldness to his voice that had not been there a moment earlier. “I had to know for certain that the gods were responsible for the Blackheart.”

  “But you have been with me every step of the way,” blurted Emethius in disbelief. “This whole journey cannot have been about spite. You must have a cure, Ali deserves a cure.”

  Malrich shook his head. “Do you think Ali could live with herself if she actually understood what she did to our son? She couldn’t. I couldn’t. The woman I loved died long ago. What remains is just a husk, but that too will soon pass. When I return home I intend to give her the only peace I can. That will have to be enough for one cowardly man to accomplish in his lifetime.”

  Emethius suddenly felt ill. “You can’t give up hope, Mal. There is still a chance...”

  A chill breeze suddenly flowed through the room, choking off the words in Emethius’s throat. He turned to discover that the door was ajar, and there, standing in the portal, was Lillian. “You believe Lord Parius can cure the Blackheart?” said Lillian.

  Emethius looked to Malrich for support, but his companion’s assertiveness had vanished. Malrich stared grimly at the floor, his eyes hot with tears.

  “Ftoril promised me the cure,” Emethius finally replied.

  “There is one,” said Lillian. She entered the library and walked a circuit about the space, looking over each of the books Emethius had pulled from the shelf, casting judgment with her shifting gaze. “But what Lord Parius can do and what he will do are two different things.”

  “The sooner I meet with Lord Parius, the sooner I will have my answer,” said Emethius. “Does he not know that we have traveled through the land of the great enemy to see him?”

  Lillian’s response was cold. “Your enemy is not his enemy. During the past few days Lord Parius has faced trials of his own. You fail to understand that you have led the Calabanesi straight to the door of our home. For years we have remained hidden here at Bi Ache, but now we are known, and it will only be a matter of time until the Calabanesi arrive in force.”

  Emethius bowed his head. “I have nothing to say, I have already shamed myself.”

  “Indeed you have, and you would be wise to learn from your mistake before you converse with the master of this house.” Lillian turned to depart from the library. “Lord Parius will speak with you tonight, Emethius. This journey was undertaken at your behest, so only you will be granted an audience. I am sorry, Malrich, but this was Lord Parius’s decision. Think long and hard about what you intend to say. You have only one chance.”

  • • •

  Lillian was waiting for Emethius in front of the twin copper doors that led to Atimir’s Court. He tried to read her face, hoping to discover a hint of what lay in store, but it was an emotionless mask.

  “I say this so there is no confusion,” began Lillian, as she set her hands on the handle of the door. “Lord Parius knows infinitely more than you. It would be foolish to try to convince him of anything that runs counter to his own opinion. Your duty tonight is to provide him with the limited information he does not know. Keep your questions to a minimum and answer anything he asks in full.”

  “I didn’t come all this way simply to be a messenger,” said Emethius. “Meriatis needs a cure. Ftoril promised...”

  “Ftoril’s promise means nothing,” snapped Lillian, “at least not to the master of this house.”

  “Then this was a waste of time.”

  Lillian sighed, and her demeanor softened. “You have a strong heart, Emethius, but this court is no place for pride. Lord Parius sees himself as a defender of the lesser races, and he has sacrificed much for this title. Any thoughts of your own wants and sacrifices will mean little to him. Humility is your best approach. Remember, mortals demand nothing of gods. It may not be fair, but it is the way the world works. Are you ready?”

  Emethius nodded and took a deep bre
ath.

  Lillian thrust open the twin doors and called into the court, her voice echoing in the expanse. “Lord Parius, I present to you Emethius Lunen, son of Lithius, Captain of Merridia, and Soldier of the Faith.”

  The moment Emethius saw the splendor of Atimir’s court, his breath caught in his throat. Never had he beheld such an opulent room. The court was a terraced amphitheater; each level housed a row of marble chairs. The chair backs were carved to a triangular point, and as Emethius descended through the levels, he couldn’t help but feel that he was entering into the gaping maw of a shark.

  A waist-high marble frieze adorned the base of the semi-circular court, graven with the images of masted ships and armored men on horseback. Pressed against the rear wall of the court stood a tall dais that rose many times Emethius’s height. Upon its summit rested the throne of Atimir. It was set with yellow gemstones and wreathed by a series of cascading chevrons; their golden points flared skyward like the rays of the setting sun.

  Emethius shuffled forward with his head bowed, doing his best to demonstrate the humility Lillian had insisted was so important. Reaching the foot of the dais, he knelt. Only then did he dare look up at the Sage, who was seated upon the throne at the top of the dais.

  Lord Parius was cloaked in a simple black robe, and his frame was largely obscured by the dark fabric. The god’s face stood in stark relief, or more specifically, the porcelain mask he wore to conceal his face. The mask was white, inlaid with silver and gold that outlined the lips, nose, eyes and brow. Only the god’s ears were exposed, but all that remained of them were shrunken husks of knotted scar tissue. Parius’s excommunication had clearly come at a terrible cost.

  “The dragoness Ftoril Batomason was sent on an important mission,” said Parius, his voice echoing from behind the mask. “It seems that the completion of Ftoril’s task has fallen to you.”

  “It has, my lord,” said Emethius. He felt a knot rise in his throat. He swallowed hard and picked his words carefully. “Ftoril told me that Prince Meriatis took something from you that was of great importance — a sword known as Shadowbane.”