“This always happens. Someone doesn’t want to pay their marker—and this happens. He’ll pay or he’ll suffer the consequences… Don’t worry, the contest will continue. It always does.” S’tryil turned his eyes back on the vacated circle. Vilmos did likewise. “One more,” whispered the bladesman, not meaning for Vilmos to hear him.
“What do you mean? What one more?”
“Well, let’s just say that the matches after next are the ones I came to see.”
Vilmos, not knowing when to stop, asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t worry, the next combatant is very skilled. So skilled in fact I’m confident he’ll go on with the others, but that’ll be days from now,” said S’tryil. “There, you see the one stepping back into the circle? He is Shchander: quick and sharp. His attack is his best skill, not very good on the defense.”
“Do you know all the fighters?”
“Quick, aren’t you?” said the bladesman. “In a way, yes, I do.” He was starting to like to the inquisitive youngster.
“If he’s not very good defending, how come you think he will be the victor?”
S’tryil grinned. “You’re smart, aren’t you? Watch the way he jabs. He’ll get two to three thrusts for every one of his competitor’s. I guarantee you. That’s why he’ll win. He never tires; it’s amazing. The sad thing is that most of the would-be challengers know it. No, they’re waiting for the next. The strongest have been holding back. They want a taste of the best, especially after his lordship’s defeat in Imtal last winter. They figure he’s getting old. Gray, if you know what I mean. Me, I don’t think so. He’s been the best for a decade now and, the Father willing, I think he’ll make a comeback this year.”
Vilmos nodded, which was a sign for the bladesman to keep mumbling on and on. It was strange that he told a boy things that he would not tell any other.
“Beat by a captain of the palace guard. Can you imagine the thoughts that flooded his mind in that moment of defeat? … Now if you want to see a real test, a combat to the death, there is such a test of steel.”
“I think the boy has heard enough!” boomed a voice that Vilmos instantly recognized. He knew he was in trouble, though he didn’t know how much.
“I beg your pardon,” said S’tryil. “Do you know this man, Vilam?”
Vilmos replied, “Yes,” at the same time Xith asked, “Vil-am?” Then Vilmos quickly said, “Thank you, Greer, for allowing me to stand under your protection. I must go now.”
Xith and Vilmos hurriedly returned to their rented room to gather their supplies and pack what few belongings they had. Vilmos’ only real possession, the staff Xith had given him, was his most prized, and he carried it downstairs with the last of the supplies. Then he packed the goods into the saddlebags and stood by the horses.
Xith came out of the inn a few minutes later, but instead of mounting a horse as Vilmos expected, the shaman touched a leathery hand to Vilmos’ bare arm and said, “Stay here. I have one last task to perform. If I don’t return by twilight, leave the city. Go south; take the horses and supplies with you. Follow the Kingdom road. I will find you when I can.”
Word of the recent battles spread throughout Great Kingdom’s farthest holdings and Kingdom supporters came from the far corners of the realm to enter the service of the garrisons. That Quashan’ and Alderan had withstood the desperate attempts made by his enemies did not surprise King Andrew. He expected nothing less from his men and never doubted that Great Kingdom was too strong, too proud to fall into enemy hands.
“The treatise with Zashchita and Krepost’ progresses well sire.” The man speaking was Chancellor Volnej, a member of Great Kingdom’s High Council. He looked nearly as haggard as his companion to his right, both having just returned from long journeys. “The timberlands are even greater than I ever imagined. They will yield finer masts than the Belyj, finer masts indeed!”
“Good, good,” replied King Andrew obviously pleased. He shifted in his chair, and then turned fully to face the chancellor. “Another report in two weeks and no sudden changes like last time. We cannot protect the eastern tract of High Province as it stands now, and one more attack and they threaten to break away.”
“High Province is Lord Serant’s domain. Let him fret over it,” rebuked Keeper Q’yer, a tall, thin man, young in years by most standards, whose face held a wasted appearance. He had just returned from High Province by sea, a two-week journey on the southerly run, and he was a man prone to seasickness.
“We will forgive you, keeper,” countered King Andrew, who was full of terse words this day, as he had been ever since the arrival of the most unwelcomed guests. His thoughts were taxed heavily by concerns over his youngest daughter, Princess Adrina, and the presence of more than one of the Lore Keepers at the council table put him slightly on edge. Imagine, juggling the seats of the council to their satisfaction, he thought to himself. He was more than a little displeased. He said nothing of this, finishing instead with, “Especially since we can see that you have not yet recovered your senses.”
Father Francis voiced his opinions to the king and to the gathered council, “The Western Territories are our proclaimed lands. I do not see why we need cater to the whims of a group of ruffians.”
King Andrew wasn’t adapting well to the sudden interest in Kingdom affairs by the priesthood and the keepers. He spoke his mind plainly, “The problem with you, Father Francis, is that you do not see at all, perhaps if you took a lengthy sabbatical you would recover your senses.”
Father Francis’s face turned pale and he shrank into his chair as he gulped for air that he couldn’t seem to find. Coming to the aid of his fellow priest was mandatory, and Father Jacob did so only because of the obligation, “Father Francis has had a trying week, sire—”
“Haven’t we all,” snapped King Andrew unhappily. The High Council should have been concentrating on other concerns—like the recent arrivals—and for the past several hours they had been discussing matters that the lower council should have been addressing.
“I motion to dismiss council until tomorrow,” stated Keeper Martin, a hint of urgency in his voice. It had been a long morning.
“Accepted,” muttered King Andrew, evident relief in his voice.
The soft falling of footsteps aroused Princess Adrina to conscious thoughts and she opened eyes she had only momentarily closed to see Myrial showing in one of her expected guests. She recognized the weathered, generous looking man approaching, knowing she owed him a debt she could never fully repay. She stood to greet the elder as was proper for an official audience.
“Princess Adrina, hello, my child,” he said. Adrina no longer cringed at the mention of the hated word. Child was simply a word that expressed the way the gray-haired gentleman felt about her. “What troubles one so beautiful as you?”
“Oh, Father Jacob, thank you for coming. I don’t know what to do,” Adrina said, pretending to sound exhausted, “I just don’t know what to do…”
“Well my child, perhaps you should tell me. Mayhaps I could solve this quandary before you get wrinkles on your forehead and gray hairs to boot,” Jacob said with a wink.
Adrina laughed, a soft girlish laugh from the past. A moment later, she regained her composure, her newly found womanhood returned and the laughter fell away. She told herself to focus. She had convinced herself that she could persuade her father to support the elves—if she had the help of those her father trusted. “Father Jacob, I wish to ask you of the elves.”
At this, Father Jacob smiled knowingly. The two spent the better part of an hour discussing their thoughts and experiences with the elves. Myrial served tea and short bread while the two talked and though she left without saying a word, she did pause long enough to press her hand into Adrina’s.
Adrina wasn’t surprised when the conversation turned from the elves to other matters and in particular to Klaive. In response to her indifference over the beauty of that southern land, Jacob replied, “R
eally, I don’t think so. I can see another expression hidden on your face under the dark and grim one.”
“What would that be?”
“I believe you know what it is already, my child,” Father Jacob said, then he dismissed himself, leaving Adrina alone in her audience chamber.
Chancellor Yi had taken her aside just this morning and told her of King Andrew’s happiness with regard to her agreement to enter into marriage with Rudden Klaiveson. She didn’t realize until her thoughts subsided that marriage was the very thing Father Jacob had come to talk to her about. How could he have known, she wondered, unless her father had put him up to it? A somber smile passed her lips as she thought of another who would also be forced to wed soon if her father had his way.
“King Jarom has a daughter of marrying age.” Adrina had heard the chancellor whisper to her father during the previous evening’s council. She hadn’t heard everything said, just enough. “This would surely settle him into complacency… You must make a decision, sire… Look to the bonding of Princess Calyin and Lord Serant.”
Once more, Adrina heard echoes of the only words of her father that had been audible. “There is no love between them. She is not yet with child…” Then she had heard only the chancellor’s multiple replies. “Sire, this will come in time. Surely, there must be a spark kindling… Sire, if it pleases you, I will send Volnej… Yes sire, he is reliable… At once, sire.” She wondered if the chancellor ever tired of catering to her father’s whims.
The sound of an oaken cane striking the floor was all the announcement she needed to tell her who approached. It was the second of her expected guests.
“Hello, Keeper,” she said without turning to face Keeper Martin. A flicker of memory reminded her of the first time she had met Keeper Martin. It had been the day her mother passed away—it was odd how memories of that day returned to her now—a sorrowful day for all the Kingdom, especially for the royal family. A declaration of mourning had ensued and the entire populace had worn black the week that followed. Her mother had been well loved by all the citizens of the Kingdom; their love earned through her own love and kindness to everyone around her.
Her mother had been so beautiful, Adrina suddenly recalled. Increasingly of late, she was reminded by others of how much she resembled her mother, though she didn’t think so. Sometimes she could see pain in her father’s eyes when he looked at her. Adrina had grown to understand this pain very well, quickly discovering how to soothe it away, how to soothe all the troubles and cares around her away.
“Princess Adrina,” repeated Keeper Martin for the third time.
“Yes?” said Adrina snapping from her reverie.
“Ahh, Your Highness, nice to have you with me,” joked the keeper. He moved to take a seat opposite her. “I have been looking all over for you.”
Adrina replied, “I’m sorry, Keeper Martin. You were saying that you have been looking for me. Correct?”
Keeper Martin leaned forward in the chair, watching her, ensuring he had her full attention. “Why yes, yes, I have. I understand that you have taken it upon yourself to take the outsiders before council.”
Adrina told him frankly, “I have, Keeper Martin, and I will. There is a debt that I must repay.”
“I know,” said Keeper Martin, “but do you think this is wise? Few know the truth of the past and fewer still would be willing to help outsiders. The elves are thought to be our enemies and if you go in open council and declare Seth and Galan to be friends and elves, you will put their lives, and perhaps even your own, in great danger.”
Adrina protested, “They were there to help save Quashan’. We couldn’t have turned the tide of battle without them.”
Keeper Martin eyed her closely then said, “A single deed does not undo a lifetime of teaching that points to the contrary. You must not do this thing until the time is right. Do you wish more harm to come to them?” And so saying, Keeper Martin excused himself to go find Father Jacob.
Adrina called out after him, “I hope you will return with word of the elves,” then watched as he departed. He took a few steps, then rapped the ground mightily with his oaken cane. A flash followed and then he was gone. Father Jacob had explained the process to her once when Keeper Martin had performed the same feat before both of them, but she still didn’t understand it.
“You see it is a skill acquired with greater knowledge of the world in which we live, “ Father Jacob had told her, “You exert your will and you wish yourself from one place to the next.”
“But isn’t that magic? And magic is…”
“Forbidden. Yes, it is, but it is not magic my child. Each person, each creature, that is born into this world has a force of will. Your will is the center of your being. Each is born with different amounts of will; some are strong, some weak. Will is what makes you want to survive, what makes you strong and many other things. Do you understand?”
“Kind of, maybe,” she had said, “but how does it differ from magic? Do the Priests of the Flame tolerate such a thing?”
“Magic,” Jacob had spit out the word with such distaste that Adrina even now recalled the expression glued momentarily to his features, “is said to be an evil thing. A truly evil thing. When one uses will they gather from the forces of nature and guide the energies through a focused center, your center being your level of will, of course. In this way, you simply channel the energies that already exist. You destroy nothing. The energy passes through you, you shape it to your needs, and when you are finished the energies are still there.
“Magic is a devouring force, it destroys. Instead of guiding the forces of will, it devours them. It draws upon the very threads of the universe. It steals the energies of creation and uses them. When a person uses magic, the energy they use is gone from our world, forever spent. It exists no longer and thus it leaves a void, an empty space, which only evil can fill. Now do you understand?”
Adrina hadn’t understood, but she had claimed to.
“Princess Adrina,” Father Jacob said for the second time as he stood directly in front of her.
“What, what?” said Adrina dazedly, surprised to find Father Jacob standing in front of her and not the fading image of him from her daydream.
“Child, are you there?” asked Jacob sincerely. “How long have you been having these blank spells?”
“What are you doing here? I thought you left. Keeper Martin was looking for you.”
Jacob offered the princess his arm. “Martin can wait. Let me escort you to your sleeping chamber.”
Willingly, Princess Adrina walked with Father Jacob. She was confused. She wasn’t experiencing blank spells. “I know you already explained this to me once, but could you tell me one more time.”
“Tell you what, child?”
“How does Keeper Martin jump from one place to the next. How does he use that cane to do it? I thought you told me that he used the power of will.”
Father Jacob slowed his gait. “I think I know what you are asking, but please only one question at a time next time.”
Adrina laughed and replied, “Well, how does he do it? And tell me the truth this time.”
Jacob considered for a moment when the two had had such a conversation, and then it took him a while longer to recall what he had told her. He chuckled when he remembered. “Before, to be honest, I was trying to teach you a lesson. What I said about magic and will is true, very true, but I can see that you have given thought to what I said. So now perhaps you are ready to know the greater truth…”
“Well?”
“The cane is an arcane device that is attuned to an instrument held at the High Council of Keepers. At times, Martin uses it to travel between the council and Imtal palace. The range of the device is unknown, but he has never used it to travel much farther for fear of becoming lost in the transition between.”
Adrina exhaled. Her eyes flashed. “Then it is magic?”
“Well it is… and it isn’t… to tell the truth, yet that is a story
for another time.”
“That’s not fair,” disputed Adrina.
Jacob turned the handle to Adrina’s door, “Here we are. Get some rest. Perhaps, we can talk later.”
Adrina put her head against her pillow, closed her eyes, and reflected on her conversations that day with Father Jacob and Keeper Martin. She hoped her practiced words hadn’t sounded false, but was afraid they had seen through her words to her deeper desires.
Chapter Six:
A Fitful Transition
The sun shining on the tall, wide window across from Adrina created an orange glow on the glass panes and lit up the room with a spray of golden rays. She drew out a lengthy yawn; the day was growing heavy on her and for a few fleeting moments she thought of Isador, the nanny who had raised her and brought her to womanhood.
Complete Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches Page 42