by Clayton Wood
"We're eating," one of them protested.
"Somewhere else," the other grumbled. She got up from her chair, taking her plate and glaring at Fintan before walking away. Fintan sat down, turning to the remaining woman and grinning devilishly. She pointedly ignored him. He gestured at Kyle.
"This is...what's your name again, kid?" he asked.
"Kyle."
"Right," Fintan agreed. "This is Kyle. He's a little slow," he added, making Kyle blush. The woman arched an eyebrow.
"And you're a little quick, as I remember," she shot back. Fintan grimaced, turning to an elderly man wearing a black vest and white shirt, who was carrying a large serving platter.
"Hey Faisel!" he called out, pointing at the man. "Two plates!" The woman next to Fintan pushed her own plate away, rising to her feet.
"Suddenly I've lost my appetite," she muttered.
"That's a first," Fintan replied with another grin, shamelessly ogling her rear as she left. Then he turned to Kyle. "Sit down, kid." Kyle did so, and moments later Faisel returned with two plates, setting them before Fintan and Kyle. It looked like eggs and some sort of meat, and the smell of it made Kyle's mouth water. Fintan dug in immediately, eating the meat with his bare hands. Then he paused, turning to Kyle.
"Dig in," he urged. Kyle obeyed, grabbing a hunk of meat with his bare hands, then nibbling on a corner of it. To his surprise, it was pretty good. He took a bite, chewing on it greedily.
"Where you from, kid?" Fintan asked between bites.
"Earth."
"Never heard of it," Fintan replied, taking a swig of liquid from a half-empty glass beside him. The owner of said bottle – a young woman with red, curly hair – glared at him.
"You're not going to even ask me for it?" she declared angrily.
"I just assumed you'd give it to me," he replied smoothly. "You know, like you..."
"Get lost," she interrupted, standing up quickly and walking away. Fintan turned back to Kyle.
"Is it cold in here or is it just me?" he asked.
"Uh," Kyle began, but Fintan wasn't even looking at him anymore.
"Hey Nash," he called out. An older guard sitting opposite them turned to look at them. "When's the sparring start?"
"Five minutes ago," the man answered.
"Damn it," Fintan swore. He turned to Kyle, who was stuffing the last of his meat into his mouth. "Come on," he urged, standing up from his chair. He grabbed Kyle's elbow, lifting him from the chair and pulling him toward a door on the other end of the room. Kyle followed behind mutely, his mouth still full. They weaved through the crowd, making it to the door and leaving the room. Fintan led him through a veritable maze of corridors until they found themselves outside. Kyle swallowed his food, squinting in the sunlight.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"The sparring ring," Fintan answered. "I have a lot of money to win back." He picked up his pace, pulling Kyle toward a large dirt field a hundred or so feet away. A few dozen guards stood in a loose ring around the field, all facing inward. "I've got bets on a few of the fights," he added eagerly. Moments later, they reached the ring of guards, joining them. In the center of the field were two men; they stood facing each other, crouched low to the ground. Each was carrying a thin wooden stick in one hand and a shield in the other.
"You're betting on them?" Kyle asked.
"Not these jokers," Fintan snorted. "See that guy?" he added, pointing to the man on the left. "He'll be on the ground in a minute." As Kyle watched, the man on the right lunged forward at the other guard, stopping suddenly and drawing back. His opponent flinched backward, ducking behind his shield.
"How do you know?"
The guard on the right lunged forward again, but this time he didn't stop, slamming his shield against the other guard's body instead. The other guard stumbled backward, and soon found himself on his back on the dirt, a wooden stick jabbing into his armored chest.
"Typical," Fintan observed. "New recruits always dodge straight back. Good way to die. We beat that outta them real quick." He frowned then, shaking his head. "Not sure why we're training townspeople to replace all the guards we lost," he added. "Shoulda gotten experienced soldiers from Stridon by now."
"Good morning, Kyle," a smooth voice called out from behind. Kyle nearly jumped, spinning about...and saw Kalibar standing before him. Fintan turned as well, and stiffened, raising his arm in salute. Within moments, every man on the field – including the men sparring – had turned to face Kalibar, saluting sharply.
"At ease," Kalibar ordered, his voice easily carrying across the dirt field. His tone – one of effortless command – was far different than it had been a moment ago. The guards relaxed somewhat, but still stood facing Kalibar. Kalibar gestured for them to continue. "Please, as you were gentlemen," he insisted. Then he turned to Kyle.
"I trust you had some breakfast?" the old man asked. Kyle nodded, finding himself standing rigidly before Kalibar, as the guards had been.
"Yes sir," he replied. "Fintan helped me," he added, gesturing at the young guard.
"Thank you Fintan," Kalibar said, nodding at the guard. "I'm sure Kyle will want to watch for a bit longer," he added. "See that he returns to my office in twenty minutes."
"Yes your Excellency," Fintan answered crisply.
"Carry on," Kalibar stated, then turned about, walking back toward the mansion. Kyle noticed a man in golden armor – Darius – walking toward Kalibar as he neared the mansion. Darius leaned in to whisper something in Kalibar's ear, then walked with the old man into the house. Kyle turned, and noticed Fintan glaring at Darius's back.
"What?" Kyle asked. Fintan glanced at Kyle, then shook his head.
"That bastard is what," the young guard replied, leaning over to spit on the ground. "Frankly, I don't know why the Master puts up with him."
"The Master?" Kyle asked. "You mean Kalibar?" Fintan's expression hardened.
"Don't ever call him by his first name," Fintan scolded. Then his expression softened. "Anyway, none of us can stand Darius," he continued. "For one, he acts like he owns the place. He does whatever he wants, treats us guards like we're dumb kids pretending to be soldiers – no offense," he added hastily. "Thing is, he's never once agreed to spar any of us," he added. "And it ain't for lack of being challenged. If you ask me, he's scared."
"Why did Kal...er, the Master hire him then?" Kyle pressed.
"Beats me," Fintan answered. "Couple weeks ago, a group of assassins tried to kill the Master. Watched a lot of friends die that night," he added darkly. "The Master was asleep, and one of our men managed to wake him up before the enemy could get to his room."
"What happened?"
"The Master took care of things," Fintan answered, shaking his head. "Never seen anything like it," he added. For the first time since Kyle had met him, Fintan seemed subdued. "The legends about him...they're all true."
"What legends?
"You don't know?" Fintan asked incredulously.
"Uh, no."
"Oh, you'll learn soon enough," Fintan promised. "Anyway, after the attack, we shoulda gotten more soldiers and elite guards from Stridon. Instead, golden-boy over there came by a week or so later, ignoring everyone, acting all high-and-mighty. Heard he charges a pretty penny for standing around being useless, too. That's why he's scared, I bet; if he spars, and loses, he'll be found out." He shook his head. "No one knows why the Master hired the guy," he added. "Master Kalibar's nobody's fool."
Fintan paused, then turned back to the center of the field. Two new guards had entered the ring with their wooden shields and sticks. One of them took out a dark bottle, leaning down to drink from it. Then he turned the bottle upside-down – without anything spilling from it – then corked the bottle, turning it right-side-up again and handing it to his opponent. His opponent did the same, handing it back to the first guard.
"Watch this," Fintan said. "I've got a hundred on the guy on the left." Kyle complied, watching as the two guards crouched down
low, eyeing each other. They circled each other slowly, making feints at each other.
"Come on ladies," the guard standing next to Kyle shouted. "Quit dancing and start fighting!"
Without warning, the opponent on the right lunged forward, swinging at the other guard. The other guard leaped forward and upward, flying high into the air – over twenty feet! – and landed gently near the other edge of the ring, turning about to grin at his enemy. Kyle gasped, his eyes wide.
"Did you see that?" he exclaimed.
"Pfft, that's nothing," Fintan countered with a grin. "Wait till the feathergrass extract really kicks in." Kyle stared blankly at Fintan, making the guard frown. "You never heard of feathergrass?" he asked incredulously. Kyle shook his head.
"I'm not from around here."
"Where you from, another planet?" Fintan pressed. Kyle's breath stopped in his throat, and he almost choked on his own spit. "Makes people light as a feather," Fintan continued obliviously. "Got feathergrass fibers lining my armor," he stated, patting his breastplate. "This weighs forty pounds without the lining – but it feels like five." Fintan gestured toward two women walking past the sparring ring, carrying huge baskets of vegetables above their heads. "See them?"
"Yeah."
"Those baskets have feathergrass fibers in 'em," Fintan explained. "That's why those girls can carry all that weight." He eyed the women. "They use it in their bras too," he added, grinning from ear to ear. "Gives them a nice little lift."
Kyle frowned, glancing furtively at one of the women, and realized that Fintan was right; there was a definite buoyant quality to her top. He tore his gaze away quite reluctantly, not wanting to get caught staring, and turned back toward the sparring ring. The opponents were circling again.
"Damn, this is taking too long," Fintan muttered. "I'd better get you back inside," he added, patting Kyle on the shoulder. "The Master hates to wait."
They both turned away from the sparring match, leaving the rest of the guards behind and returning to the mansion. Fintan navigated expertly through the corridors, climbing a few flights of stairs before eventually stopping at a door at the end of a long hallway. The guard knocked on the door twice, then took a few steps backward, motioning for Kyle to do the same. The door swung open, seemingly of its own accord. Beyond, Kyle saw Kalibar sitting at a large wooden desk, a rather hefty-looking book open in front of him. The old man looked up from the massive tome, gesturing for Kyle to come in. Kyle did so, leaving Fintan behind. The door closed behind Kyle, again of its own accord, leaving the two alone.
"Sit," Kalibar ordered, closing his book. A chair at one end of the room slid sideways across the floor, stopping right in front of Kalibar's desk, by Kyle's side. Kyle paused, then sat down, folding his arms on his lap. Kalibar's office was large – twice as big as Kyle's living room on Earth, and over two stories high. Massive bookshelves lined the walls, reaching all the way up to the ceiling. As Kyle watched, Kalibar's book flew up from the desk, soaring through the air until it placed itself into an empty spot on a shelf some ten feet up.
"I trust you enjoyed your time with the guards?" Kalibar asked.
"Yes sir," Kyle answered. "Fintan taught me about feathergrass."
"I know," Kalibar stated. "I saw how much you appreciated the plant's more...intriguing uses," he added with a wink. Kyle looked away, blushing fiercely. Kalibar chuckled.
"Oh, relax," he said, glancing out of a large window at one end of his office. "You'll never grow out of that particular fascination, so you might as well get used to enjoying it." He leaned back in his chair. "On a more serious note, there's been a slight...complication in our plan. Darius notified me of a series of attacks on carriages attempting to leave Bellingham."
"What happened?"
"The carriages were attacked at the edge of town," Kalibar replied grimly. "There were no survivors."
"Why were they attacked?"
"Indeed," Kalibar answered. "Why?"
Kyle thought about it for a moment.
"Could it have anything to do with the attack a few weeks ago?" he asked. Kalibar nodded.
"Almost certainly," he agreed. "Whoever ordered my assassination must know that they've failed." He brought a finger up to his chin, tapping it thoughtfully. "The attempt was surprisingly well-orchestrated. I never would have survived if the protective wards in my bedroom hadn't woken me in time."
"Wait, Fintan said one of your guards woke you," Kyle countered.
"A necessary deceit, for their morale," Kalibar explained. "Most of my wards had been deactivated by the enemy, but luckily they missed one, and it woke me." He smiled grimly then. "Taking me in my sleep was their only chance."
"You killed them?" Kyle asked.
"Oh yes."
Kyle swallowed, remembering Kalibar's demonstration earlier...and what Fintan had said.
"In any case," Kalibar continued, "...after the attack, I sent a letter to Stridon with the details of the attack, and a request for more soldiers and Battle-Weavers to replace those I'd lost. They were magically sealed and protected letters," he added. "So far I've had no response...even after sending several more letters." He peered through the window again. "Whoever planned the attack is cutting off my supply line."
"What does this have to do with the attacks on the carriages?" Kyle asked.
"The entire town knows about the assassination attempt," Kalibar answered. "Anyone leaving town could potentially bring that news to Stridon."
"So they're killing everyone who tries to leave?" Kyle pressed. Kalibar nodded, leaning forward in his chair.
"Correct."
"So we can't leave," Kyle concluded. But Kalibar shook his head.
"We can and we will," he retorted.
"But won't they attack us?"
"Perhaps," Kalibar replied. "But if we stay here, we'll be letting them cut off my resources one by one. I have few wards left, so the next attempt to take me in my sleep may be successful. Or they'll set fire to Bellingham's crops, cutting off my food supply. Even with my magic, there's no way I could constantly protect such a large area. Then they'll wait us out, starve us until we get desperate and make a mistake." He gave Kyle a grim smile. "I may be powerful, but even I need to eat."
"What can we do?" Kyle asked.
"We're going to leave town tonight," Kalibar answered. "We'll be traveling in an older carriage, one the enemy won't associate with being mine. I'll send a few guards ahead of us in my personal carriage as bait. If the enemy takes the bait and reveals themselves, I can ambush them. If they don't – or they don't notice us passing in the night – then we'll have avoided the problem altogether."
"What if they attack you?" Kyle pressed. Kalibar smiled grimly.
"Well then," the old man replied, leaning back in his chair. "I doubt they'll live to regret it."
* * *
Kyle spent the rest of the day trying to forget about the approaching trip, with little success. After his meeting with Kalibar, his back had started to hurt again, and he'd been led back to his room by one of the maids. Once there, he'd taken another gulp of the tea, then laid down on his bed. Despite having just slept, he'd found himself exhausted, and had fallen into a fitful sleep. He'd awoken to find his room plunged into darkness, and had gone downstairs to find dinner waiting for him. By the time Kyle had finished his dinner, Kalibar's plentiful staff had almost finished packing a carriage for the trip to the Secula Magna – the school of magic.
Kyle yawned, standing up from his chair at the dinner table and stretching his back carefully. One of Kalibar's staff – a short, quiet man wearing glasses and a light gray suit – gestured for Kyle to follow him. They exited the room, making their way to the front lobby of the mansion. They walked through the large double-doors leading outside, stepping into the cool night air. Stars twinkled in the sky above, a gentle breeze blowing through Kyle's hair. There, parked on the broad street in front of Kalibar's mansion, was a carriage. The thing was larger than Kyle had expected – larger than his
dad's SUV – and two burly-looking black horses stood proudly in front of it. Kalibar and Darius were busy lifting large leather packs into the trunk of the carriage; when Kalibar noticed Kyle standing there, he stopped what he was doing, walking up to Kyle.
“Ah, thank you Reo,” Kalibar stated, nodding at the short man in the gray suit beside Kyle. Reo gave a quick bow. Kalibar turned to Kyle. “I'll be back in a moment,” he stated. Then he and Reo walked back inside the mansion, leaving Kyle alone with Darius.
Kyle yawned, glancing back at the horses. Then he did a double-take; how could there be horses here? If this was really a different planet from Earth, having horses evolve to be the exact same on both planets made no sense at all. Neither did having humans on both planets, now that he thought about it. He didn't have long to ponder this mystery, however. Darius, with thousands of shimmering stars reflecting off of his polished golden armor, grabbed a pack from the ground with one hand, walking right up to Kyle.
“Make yourself useful,” Darius growled, shoving the pack at Kyle's chest. Kyle grabbed it, then fell forward immediately, dropping the pack on the ground and landing on top of it. Pain tore through his back, and he cried out, stiffening immediately. He lifted himself up slowly, glaring up at Darius. But if the bodyguard noticed the look, he certainly didn't show it.
Jerk, Kyle muttered silently.
He grabbed the pack again, trying to lift it, with no success. He glanced up at Darius, who was watching him silently, his armored arms crossed over his chest. Kyle grit his teeth, then pulled on the straps of the pack, dragging it across the ground toward the back of the carriage. Then he left it there, crossing his arms and standing beside it. Darius walked up beside him, lifting the pack with one hand and tossing it easily into the back of the carriage.
"On second thought, stay useless," the bodyguard grumbled, "...you're really good at it."
Kyle glared at the bodyguard, but before he could reply, he heard the rhythmic clopping of horses' hooves. He turned to see another carriage approaching. Unlike Kalibar's carriage, this carriage had no wheels; it levitated a few feet from the ground, a soft blue glow between the underside of the carriage and the road. One of Kalibar's guards sat in the driver's seat, behind the two horses that were pulling it along.