Heirs of Prophecy

by M. A. Rothman

  “I would be terrified,” Mom said, placing her hand on the ranger’s shoulder—or at least as close to his shoulder as she could reach, given his tremendous height. “Can you just skip the bathing ritual? Is that an option?”

  “Many have had that same thought,” said Throll. “But for the parents who avoid their duty, the costs…” He paused. “In my father’s time, there was a woman who refused to bathe her child. She was afraid of the ritual, given that her first child had been taken by the flux. Mere weeks after the birth, she was found in the corner of her cabin, crying and rocking, her arms wrapped around herself. When pressed, she was capable only of repeating the words, ‘Demons are coming. Demons are coming.’ So my father took the child to the fountain himself. There were no bad omens. When he returned the child to the woman’s cabin, he found her curled up on the floor, sound asleep.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think we can skip the bathing.”

  There was silence for a time as they continued down the trail. When Throll spoke again, his mood had brightened, as if the worries they’d discussed were now behind him.

  “Jared,” he said, “you said you can fashion a blade. Might I ask whether you have ever made armor? Or horseshoes? Or nails?”

  “No, no, and nope,” Dad responded without hesitation. “I haven’t actually made a blade either,” he added. “But I’m pretty sure I could.”

  Throll looked disappointed—and confused. “But you can temper metal?”

  “I have a smithy at home,” Dad said proudly. “I just… haven’t made those particular things.”

  Throll nodded. “My father was a blacksmith. I could teach you how to shape the things the townspeople might need.”

  “You mean you want to make me a blacksmith?” Dad asked. His excitement was obvious. “Doesn’t your town already have a blacksmith?”

  The ranger shook his head. “As it happens, our blacksmith died nearly a year ago. I’ve been doing my part to pitch in, but my ranging requires me to be away for many days at a time. His widow cannot maintain the workshop on her own. I know you wish to return to Benson, but until we can find out where that is and how we might get you there, you’ll need a trade to keep you occupied. If it pleases you, of course.”

  “Absolutely,” Dad said, beaming. “I’ll do anything that needs to be done.”

  Throll looked over at Ryan and Aaron. “Tradition allows that your boys apprentice with you. Perhaps it would be agreeable to them to learn the trade as well.”

  “Awesome!” Aaron exclaimed.

  Ryan felt less enthusiastic. “Sure, yeah,” he said softly. “That would be okay.”

  “What about me?” Mom asked.

  “Gwen could teach you what others would expect you to know,” said Throll. “How to prepare meals, tend the crops and animals, maintain the home. Assuming you don’t know these things already, of course.”

  Mom’s expression turned sour, and she made no attempt to hide it.

  They crested a hill, and the town of Aubgherle came into view before them. It wasn’t very big, in Ryan’s view—maybe a few hundred buildings—but it was surrounded by a vast stretch of cultivated fields.

  “We’ll need to do something about him,” Throll said, pointing at Silver. “If a swamp cat were to wander through the middle of the town, there would be a panic. Do you think he would tolerate a leash? To demonstrate that he’s under control and not a wild animal?”

  “Only one way to find out,” said Dad.

  Throll handed Dad a length of rope, which Dad looped into a leash. He then approached Silver with the rope outstretched. The cat sniffed at it, but when it was slipped over his neck, he didn’t even seem to notice.

  Dad patted Silver on the head. “So far, so good. Now let’s see if he’ll allow himself to be led.”

  Dad gave a light tug on the rope. Silver resisted only for a moment before following Dad obediently. It was as if he’d been trained on a leash since birth.

  “Good boy,” Dad said with a smile.

  Throll shook his head. “A tame swamp cat,” he said. “I never would have imagined it.”

  With Silver following at their heels, they walked straight into town. The place seemed bigger once they were in the midst of it. It was full of people, and life, and sounds. Music wafted from taverns, merchants haggled with customers, and people walked together on their daily errands, gossiping all the while. It was immediately obvious to him that this was a town that had no modern technology. It was at that moment that it dawned on him that there probably was no going back home. He and his family had literally been dropped into the middle of some fantasy realm set in the middle ages. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if a Hobbit came out of a circular dooorway and greeted him.

  As they walked along the cobblestone roads, there was a lot of stopping and staring when people caught sight of Silver—and then even more gossip once the great swamp cat had passed. Ryan heard mutterings about the “dangerous beast” and the “Protector’s pet.”

  They continued straight through the center of town and on to the outskirts on the other side, where Throll led them to his home. It was larger than most others Ryan had seen, with a sizable pen for livestock. And the fields of crops behind it were huge—he couldn’t even see where they ended.

  An obviously pregnant woman was in the pen, feeding chickens, but when she saw them coming, she stopped what she was doing and came over.

  “Throll, you clairvoyant fool!” she shouted. “How is it that you always know when I’ve prepared too much food for us to eat alone?” Her frown melted into a smile. Laughing, she grabbed her giant of a husband and pulled his face down to her level so she could give him a quick and forceful kiss.

  Then she turned her attention to the Rivertons. “My name is Gwen Lancaster,” she said with a wide smile. “Welcome to Aubgherle.”

  Azazel shivered on his throne of damantite. He found it ironic that the flaming blood of an ancient demon lord had formed a metal that sucked the heat from anything it touched. But he closed his eyes, put the coldness out of his mind, and concentrated.

  His mind drifted across time and space… to a scene from over five centuries ago. He’d been so innocent back then, with only one simple desire: to learn and master magic. Just a young man, a human, looking forward to a normal human lifespan.

  But then something unexpected happened.

  The king—a man who’d later be known as the First Protector—banished the demons from Trimoria. Azazel was there, fighting in the battle on that fateful day. The demons were too strong, and too many, and Azazel, like those he fought alongside, believed that all was lost.

  Without the people’s savior, King Zenethar, it would have been. The demons would have overrun the world. Everyone would have been slaughtered.

  Azazel remembered the light that burned away the demons, the fading cries, and Zenethar beaming down at his people. But after that…

  Many times he’d tried to remember what happened next, but the scene always faded into gray, lost to the murky depths of time. In fact, his next memory wasn’t until years later—the moment he was first confronted by the legendary queen of the elves, the lovely Ellisandrea.

  He saw that moment now. Saw her placing her hands on his head. Saw her lips moving to form words without sounds.

  And again, the scene faded to gray.

  It was so frustrating. Why couldn’t he remember? It was as if his memories had been wiped clean, erased, until a time many, many years later, when all of the people he’d known, grown up with, had called friends, were long gone, and he’d already taken up the mantle of Lord Azazel.

  He was feared then. Probably loathed as well. But fear was sufficient.

  He opened his eyes. He was still feared. Now, centuries later in his unnaturally long life, he was still loathed. And yet he alone protected Trimoria. It was for Trimoria’s sake that the descendants of King Zenethar the First Protector had all been killed. The time of Zenethar had passed. Now was the time of Azazel.
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  As he sat upon his throne and dwelled on his memories of the king, Azazel felt anger boiling within him. It was an anger that he couldn’t rationally explain. Perhaps it was borne of regret—regret that there were none left of the king’s progeny to destroy. No one upon whom he could vent his righteous fury.

  A large black crow flew into the tower through one of the windows set high on the walls. It took its perch beside the throne, squawking madly before settling on a single clear word.

  “Aubgherle.”

  A smile grew on Azazel’s face.

  He motioned to a guard standing statue-like near the door. The man raced over and knelt at his lord’s feet.

  “Send forth messages to the agent in Cammoria,” Azazel commanded. “We need to rid ourselves of another traitor.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  When the soldier bolted from the room, Azazel felt a momentary pang of guilt. But then the elf queen’s words took hold. She had cast a spell of sorts, he knew that, but the spell… it felt good. Her soundless words permeated his thoughts, changed them, wiped away his conflicted feelings. Reminded him that he was the special one.

  The only wizard.

  For as long as man shall live, he must ensure that he remained the only wizard. All future-born magical beings must be snuffed out. This was her command.

  And in this way, he was merely doing her bidding. He was indeed an apt pupil. And one day, they would be together.

  Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why he’d been chosen for this role above all others. As a child, he hadn’t been particularly gifted with magic. He’d trained hard, but it was a struggle—and at times, a humiliating one. That bred an insecurity that still lingered in him all these centuries later. He feared he might lack the strength for eternity. In fact, were it not for the queen’s ever-calming presence in his head, he’d probably have ended it all before now. She was his promise of the future.

  Yet she showed herself to him so rarely anymore. And where once she had been flesh, now she came to him only in the form of an apparition.

  “Azazel,” she’d said to him on her most recent ghostly visit. “You have not yet finished your task. The end is nearly upon us. When the time comes, if this world is not absent all other wizards, you will face dire consequences.”

  The elf queen’s words often dripped with double or even triple meaning. This time was surely no different. Azazel didn’t possess the gift of prophecy, so he couldn’t say what she’d meant by “the end is nearly upon us.” Part of him wished it would be the death that he’d cheated for so many centuries. But there was another part of him, a part that raged against all the injustices he’d suffered in his life. That part wished she meant something grander. Darker.

  “What did the elf queen mean?” he asked distantly.

  The nearest guard bowed, apparently thinking the words had been addressed to him. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I don’t understand the question.”

  Azazel’s fury rose as if of its own accord. He gathered the dark power within him, savoring its coppery taste, and let it grow. And just at the moment when the darkness threatened to engulf everything, he released it upon the guard—a coruscating maelstrom of fire and arcing electricity.

  Then, as suddenly as the rage had come upon him, he let it go. The destructive forces vanished. And all that was left of the guard was another blackened mark to add to the others on the floor.

  Azazel smiled.

  Welcome to Aubgherle

  Throll quickly explained to his wife how the Rivertons had come to be in Trimoria, and what had come to pass since their arrival. Ryan noted that his summary left out all mention of their magic abilities.

  To Ryan’s astonishment, Gwen didn’t express a shred of disbelief with regard to their tale. All she said when her husband had finished, was “Poor things! We need to get them a good meal or two.”

  “Just let me talk to Sloane first,” the ranger replied. “Let her know we have guests.” He turned to the Rivertons and hitched his thumb toward the house. “I’ll be right back.” He jogged off.

  Gwen turned to Mom and took her by the hand. “I’m glad you’ve found your way here,” she said with a smile. “We’ll have lots to talk about over dinner.” She looked at Silver. “I can’t believe you’ve tamed a swamp cat. He’s a beautiful creature.”

  Mom smiled. “Sometimes it seems like he’s tamed us. But he was… smaller when we first got him.” She looked around. “This is a gorgeous farm. Do you own all this land?”

  “Yes, we’re very lucky,” Gwen said pleasantly. “Throll comes from a family of successful smiths in Cammoria. By the time of his coming of age, his family already owned a parcel of land here. And when the farm was passed to us, we expanded upon it.” She looked back toward the house. “Well, no sense in waiting all night for Throll to give us the all-clear. It’s not like we’ve never had company before. Let’s head on in and see about filling your bellies.”

  Gwen took the horse’s reins and led them all down the ridge toward the house—which seemed far too big for three people. It stood two stories tall and had at least a dozen windows.

  As they approached, Throll came out the front door and met them. He told his wife to head on in, and announced that he was going to settle his horse in the stable. The stable, too, was massive—large enough to house an entire herd of horses or cows or whatever livestock the family might choose to keep.

  Then again, Ryan thought, he was a total city boy; this was the first farm he’d ever seen in person. Maybe this was just the way farms were. He wondered if he’d have to learn to tend it. Was this what his life would be now?

  But then he remembered that it had already been decided that he’d apprentice as a blacksmith alongside his brother. Given the choice between blacksmith and farmer… he would choose neither.

  At the front door to the house, Dad paused. “I suppose we need to decide what to do about Silver. He’s, uh… used to living in the house with us.”

  Gwen’s eyes widened, but she showed no fear. “He must be tame indeed. May I?” She held out a hand toward the big cat.

  “Of course,” Dad said.

  She moved closer to Silver and gently scratched his cheek. Immediately the big cat fell onto his side, signaling that he’d appreciate a belly rub.

  Gwen laughed, and Mom leaned down to rub at his belly.

  “If he is welcome in your home, he is welcome in ours,” Gwen announced.

  Ryan tried not to look apprehensive. Silver was a good cat, but he wasn’t used to weighing three hundred pounds. If he got playful, then tame or not, something was going to get broken.

  “Sloane!” Gwen called into the house. “Why aren’t you out here to greet our guests?”

  A muffled call was returned from inside. Ryan couldn’t make out the words.

  “I’m sick of you changing your clothes every five minutes,” Gwen hollered back. “Whatever you’re wearing is fine!”

  A clear shriek of frustration was the only reply.

  Gwen looked at Mom and ran her hands over her belly. “Girls can be trying. I hope this little one is a boy.”

  “I assure you, boys have their own issues,” Mom said drily.

  An enticing aroma wafted through the open front door, and Ryan’s stomach rumbled.

  Mom laughed. “You see? They tend to think with their stomachs long before they think with their heads.”

  “My Throll is no different,” Gwen said with a wink. “Don’t you worry, boys. As soon as Sloane is finished dressing, you can eat to your heart’s content.”

  “I have to admit that whatever you’re making smells absolutely delicious,” Mom remarked.

  “Thank you,” Gwen said, beaming.

  A girl, presumably Sloane, finally made her grand appearance in the doorway. She’d settle on a flowery dress, and her long blond hair was tied into a thick braid. She would have been pretty, Ryan thought, if not for the dramatic pout she was presenting to her mother.

  “Sloane,” Gw
en said warmly, “please welcome our guests, Jared, Aubrey, Ryan, and Aaron Riverton. And the cat’s name is Silver.”

  Sloane’s eyes widened at the cat, but she stepped forward in an obviously practiced fashion and performed an awkward curtsey, blushing slightly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said. “I’m Sloane.” Then she quickly embraced each member of the family in turn, greeting them by name as she did. Ryan couldn’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable when it was his turn to be hugged. She really was rather pretty, even if she was only fourteen.

  Sloane then approached Silver with much more caution than her mother had displayed. But Silver preemptively flopped onto the ground at her feet, his belly exposed and a loud purr rumbling from his chest.

  “I think he likes you, Sloane,” Gwen said. “He also likes belly rubs.”

  Tentatively, Sloane gave ran her hand over Silver’s belly. The big cat stretched languidly, clearly appreciating the attention.

  Sloane looked up at her mother with an expression of rapture. “He’s adorable!” After another long pet, she stood and faced Ryan and Aaron. “Welcome to our home. Perhaps you two wouldn’t mind coming inside to help me set the table.”

  “Sure.” Aaron bolted past Sloane, disappearing into the house. “The sooner we set the table, the sooner we can eat!” he called back.

  Mom put her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry. Clearly my sons could use some lessons in courtesy from your daughter.”

  Gwen merely laughed. “Not at all. Children all have their own… challenges.” She gave Sloane a meaningful look, and the girl blushed again before taking Ryan’s arm and leading him inside.

  Despite the size of the house on the outside, there was no grand foyer, just a modest living room adorned with wooden furniture. But it opened into a kitchen that was pretty impressive. It was bigger than the one at home, with a giant wood table at its center.

  Ryan and Aaron quickly followed Sloane’s lead, taking porcelain plates from a stack and arranging them on the table. They set out forks and knives, too, all of them clearly hand-forged, the forks with only two tines. Ryan arranged them beside the plates as best he could, but he found that whenever he set something down, Sloane would swoop in and correct its position. She did it without reproach—in fact, she smiled the entire time and looked like she was having fun, and the smile must have been contagious, because Mom commented from the living room, “I’ve never seen you two look so happy about setting the table.”