A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  Belsina turned, gently setting the sheet on flat stones atop an island at the kitchen’s center. Her hair was a dull brown, tied back in a ponytail. She wasn’t a beautiful woman by any means, but she wasn’t ugly either. She was plain, to say the least. Belsina never wore makeup. Iltar didn’t know why. He paid her enough to afford such things.

  She smiled at Iltar, and the wrinkles around her eyes became more pronounced. “This is the first batch.” Belsina motioned to the cooking sheet. “I can also make some tangrils. Delrin brought brandleberries from Cornar’s orchard last night. So, I can make a batch of those if you’d like.”

  Iltar raised his brow. Brandleberries for children? How absurd.

  “You can make a batch,” he said, reluctantly. “But the brandleberries will be for us.” Iltar shot a glance to Hegdil, who rubbed his hands giddily. Though the man was in his forties, he acted childish when it involved food. Especially good food.

  “As you wish.” Belsina rolled her eyes. She moved to another part of the kitchen, grabbing uncooked pastries and placing them on another cast-iron cooking sheet. “Are they here yet?”

  Iltar shook his head, putting his hands on his hips. “They’re late. Hopefully, Pagus didn’t get distracted.”

  “The boy’s got a mind of his own,” Hegdil said frankly. “He’s a bit of a rebel. I can see why his family wanted you to teach him.”

  Iltar shrugged. Hegdil had a point. Pagus was a spoiled brat, although he was improving. But what else would one expect from a Sarn Royal?

  A faint whinny reached Iltar’s ears. Both he and Hegdil turned their attention toward the hall. Trotting noises echoed from the home’s side door.

  “That sounds like them,” Hegdil said, grunting as he rose from his chair. “I better tend to Filly. Poor guy has probably been worked hard today.” The groom passed Iltar, disappearing down the hall.

  “When do you want me to serve these, Master Iltar?” Belsina asked, putting the uncooked pastries inside the stove.

  “When those are ready,” Iltar replied. “The boys will need some energy for this morning’s exercises. And we’ll break for lunch at the usual time.”

  “Very well,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “What grueling things are you making those boys do today?”

  “Defend against armed men, of course.”

  “Iltar!” Belsina chided. She rarely called him by only his first name. Hardly anyone ever did.

  “They’ll be fine,” he said with a chuckle. “They are my pupils, after all. Now, if these were students of Alacor or Jalel, then we’d be using sticks instead of swords.”

  Belsina bit her lip and rolled her eyes. “Why can’t you respect Grandmaster Alacor? When will you ever let go of your resentment?”

  Iltar’s face twisted in a grimace. Belsina had dredged up distasteful memories. Gwenyth. Balden. His heart sank, and he fought back tears, but they still came. He hurried down the hall where Hegdil had gone. Iltar didn’t want to be seen. Not now.

  His and Alacor’s intertwined pasts brought back bitter memories that he wished to forget. Iltar often suppressed them. Being here in his family’s home often squashed those memories, unless he thought of Alacor’s long-dead master, Cordis. Then, being here in his family’s home only made it worse.

  The fire!

  He could smell it as if it was freshly burning.

  Grass aflame.

  His mother’s horrific screams.

  The sounds of magical eruptions.

  Seared flesh.

  No!

  Iltar stopped, throwing himself against the wall. He rested his head on the polished wood paneling. It was cold to the touch. That helped pull him from his nightmarish reverie.

  “I am in the present,” he whispered. “There is no fire. There is no death. There are no monsters here.”

  Iltar swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. He opened his eyes, and tears streamed down his cheeks, lingering in his gray-haired goatee. As he straightened, he caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror.

  His vibrant sapphire eyes were reddened. Wrinkles surrounded those eyes, channeling tears before they trickled down his slender cheeks. Though he was aging, his face was still slim, a trait that accentuated his hawk-like features. His once-blond hair was gray, though the short-cropped style had remained the same over the last four decades. Iltar had been a young man when he decided upon that look.

  After taking in his aged visage, Iltar wiped the tears from his gray goatee.

  An old man like you shouldn’t be crying, he told himself, regaining his composure.

  Movement caught his eye, and Belsina peeled from the kitchen’s entrance. She had seen him, hadn’t she? This wasn’t the first time she’d caught him in one of his fits. Belsina never said anything about the fits, never once. He appreciated that. Those fits of his were a detestable weakness.

  Shaking off his woes, Iltar regained his composure and continued through the hall, arriving at the home’s side entrance. He stepped onto a covered porch that emptied onto a stone path between the home and the stables.

  A small wagon sat on the path, filled with a dozen boys between the ages of ten and fourteen—Iltar’s acolytes. They wore black robes, attire common to the wielders of the necrotic magical arts. The boys whispered to each other but abruptly stopped as they saw Iltar. They straightened up attentively.

  Iltar, however, paid them little attention and looked about, raising an eyebrow. Where’s Pagus? he wondered.

  Hegdil emerged from the stables with another young man. The youth wasn’t Pagus.

  Iltar pursed his lips and stepped from the porch. “Agen, where is Pagus?” he asked.

  Agen, who was barely fourteen, timidly approached Iltar. He averted his gaze to the ground, muttering an answer. “He… he said he had things to do, back in Soroth.”

  “Did he say what?” Iltar asked sternly, putting his hands on his hips. Iltar had a stern reputation, and the boy knew it, though he was not like Alacor or the others. Barbaric fools.

  “Uh…” Agen glanced to the boys and sighed. “No. He just took us to the city’s northern gates, then told us how to get here. That’s why we’re late. I… I got lost… Took a wrong turn.”

  “All right,” Iltar grumbled, rubbing his eyebrow. He took one more look at the acolytes, who all seemed frightened. He hated seeing that look on young boys. It was all too familiar. “I’m not going to punish you,” he said, shaking his head. His mood lightened, and he smiled at the boys. “Go inside. My maid has prepared some snacks for you.”

  The acolytes cheered, leaping out of the wagon. They hurried to the house’s side entrance, filing inside one by one. Agen, however, remained outside with Iltar and Hegdil.

  “I’m sorry, Master Iltar,” Agen apologized. “I, I should have stopped him. He… he just gets so pushy, and I just give in.”

  “It’s not your fault, Agen,” Iltar said, motioning for the boy to come closer.

  Agen reluctantly complied, head still hung low.

  “It’s because I’m not as harsh as the other masters,” Iltar continued. “Pagus thinks he can go about without being punished like his peers. It’s his royal blood.” He gently grabbed Agen’s shoulder. “Go get a pastry, then meet me out front.”

  The boy finally looked up and nodded once, but didn’t speak. He hurried past Iltar, following his peers.

  Iltar called to his groom. “Hegdil, I want you to watch the gate while Delrin and Jalim are helping me.”

  “As you wish, Master Iltar.”

  “Now go snag a pastry.” Iltar slapped the man’s arm playfully.

  Hegdil grinned widely, clapping his hands. If Iltar had “ordered” him to get a pastry, Belsina couldn’t stop him.

  Iltar turned partway, walking to a walled area behind his family’s home; the wall was made of gray galstra, a stone similar to granite. He strode toward a wrought-iron gate housed within the galstra walls. The walls hemmed in nearly half of the property, with a five-story tower at it
s center. A neatly manicured lawn was spread all throughout the walled area.

  The tower and the walls were newer additions, not native to Iltar’s youth. He had them constructed after inheriting the family homestead. His family’s land sat on a large enough plot after all. The entire homestead was precisely five phedans. A phedan was the basic unit for measuring plots of land on Kalda. Most city blocks were four phedans, arranged in a square.

  “Delrin, Jalim!” Iltar shouted, looking toward the tower. “They’re here.”

  Iltar waited patiently as two men clad in brown chain mail marched to the gate. Delrin walked with a limp. He and Jalim opened the gate and joined Iltar on the stone path.

  “Hegdil will watch the gate,” Iltar said. “The boys are eating some of Belsina’s pastries.”

  “Fruit-filled ones, I hope?” asked Delrin, cocking his head. Delrin was slightly shorter than Iltar and had a stocky build. His face was covered in thick auburn bristles. Part of his matted auburn hair hung beneath his helmet. “Belsina made some for us, didn’t she?”

  Iltar grinned. “She’ll make brandleberry ones.”

  Delrin closed his eyes, joyfully taking in a long whiff.

  Jalim chuckled at Delrin. “It’s no wonder you’re fat,” he said. In contrast to his counterpart, Jalim was tall. He would have been lanky if it wasn’t for his rigorous training.

  “I’m not fat, I’m sturdy!” Delrin retorted. “And a person always puts on a little weight when they age…”

  Jalim snorted. “Speak for yourself.”

  Delrin and Jalim were hearty warriors. In their youth, they had embarked on many adventures with Iltar. Now in their late forties, they were retained as guards for Iltar’s homestead. He trusted both of them, having been through many perilous times with them.

  “Look at Master Iltar and myself,” Jalim continued. “We’re both in good shape. And then, there’s Cor…”

  “Yeah, but Cor has always been fit.” Delrin said with a sigh, looking back to the house. Iltar knew he longed for a pastry.

  * * * * *

  Not long after, the acolytes gathered in the lawn in front of their master’s home. They practiced spells Iltar intended them to use for their training exercise. Many of the boys fared well in manifesting the magic, but a couple were slower than Iltar hoped.

  After an hour of drilling the incantations over and over, Iltar decided they were ready.

  “Everyone, listen up!” Iltar shouted, walking in front of the young acolytes. He paced back and forth as he continued. “You’ve learned two new spells today: The Acidic Barsion and the Ensnaring Tentacle. Some of you might have already guessed this, but we’ll be using these two spells in action today.”

  Several boys muttered to each other, intrigued.

  “My guards here”—he pointed to Delrin and Jalim—“will be attacking you. With real weapons.” He let the idea sink in for a moment. Iltar wanted to simulate a sense of fear, fear that they could really get hurt. He would never allow it, nor would his guards.

  “I’ll demonstrate the exercise, and then all of you will try it.”

  Iltar walked a few paces away from the acolytes. Delrin and Jalim both hurried across the yard. The area in front of the house was vast and grassy, hemmed in by the leafy trees of the forest.

  “Don’t give me warning,” Iltar shouted. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

  He could hear the wind rustling through the trees. A few of the boys whispered, wondering why he closed his eyes. All else was silent.

  Clanking armor echoed across the yard, accompanied by hurried footfalls.

  Iltar didn’t open his eyes.

  His guards’ dash grew louder, and the acolytes gasped.

  That should do… Iltar thought, opening his eyes and focusing on his pretended aggressors. They were only several paces away and would reach him in seconds.

  Iltar swiftly uttered an incantation, extending his right hand, palm open. Yellow-green magic gathered at his fingertips as Delrin approached. Jalim had maneuvered around the yard, running to flank Iltar. The magic erupted as both guards came within weapon’s reach. The acidic magic surged, flowing around Iltar, encasing him like a bubble.

  As the acidic barsion formed, Iltar uttered another incantation and pulled his left hand back. Both guards halted, careful not to crash into the corrosive barrier.

  Dark green particles swirled in Iltar’s left hand, forming a mess of balled strands. He threw his hand like a punch, hurling the ensnaring magic at Delrin; all the while, the guard retreated.

  The dark green mass expanded as it flew through the air, the strands becoming thick tentacles. Several reached out, gripping Delrin’s arms and legs. They pulled Delrin to the lawn, pinning him there.

  Too easy… Iltar smiled inwardly, turning to Jalim.

  He cast another spell, leaping backward.

  Jalim swung at Iltar, his sword glowing a white hue. Before the demonstration, Iltar had imbued both guards’ weapons with dispelling magic—another incentive for the acolytes to succeed in their exercises. If the weapons struck the barsion, they could pierce through it. And, if they struck repeatedly, they could shatter it.

  The blade sung through the air, narrowly missing Iltar’s acidic barsion. Undaunted, Iltar continued retreating while finishing his spell.

  Another mass of ensnaring tentacles formed, and he hurled the green mass at Jalim.

  Jalim dodged, throwing himself sideways. He rolled back onto his feet, ready to attack once again.

  Iltar, however, waved his hand in the direction of Jalim, and the magic whipped through the air. Several tentacles spread from the speeding ball and gripped Jalim, pinning him to the grass like Delrin.

  The young acolytes clapped their hands, whooping and cheering for Iltar. Several hollered excited remarks about their master’s demonstration.

  That was nothing, Iltar smiled arrogantly, looking at Jalim. Iltar loved proving his skill. It invigorated him. But, these men were no real challenge. Yes, they were hearty warriors, but he had fared far worse in the past.

  “Now it’s your turn,” he said, facing the acolytes. “Don’t close your eyes. I only did that to put myself in a precarious situation that will undoubtedly befall you—attackers bearing down on you.”

  Iltar dismissed the magic and both of his guards stood up, moving back across the yard.

  “Agen, you’re first,” he said, walking beside the acolytes. “When they start running, defend yourself. Remember, barsion first, then subdue them. That’s an important lesson. Always follow that order. You can sometimes deter an aggressor simply by mustering a barsion barrier, especially if infused with a destructive magic.”

  Agen stepped forward, taking a deep breath. He steadied himself into a wide stance, anxiously watching Delrin and Jalim.

  The guards bolted, drawing their weapons.

  The young acolyte froze, but soon regained his composure. He uttered the incantation to muster the acidic barsion. It formed as the guards were partway across the yard.

  Delrin and Jalim continued their dash.

  Agen uneasily cast his next spell. The green tentacles formed slower than the barsion. He completed the spell as both guards reached him. They sliced their weapons through the barsion, causing it to flicker.

  Agen screamed, panicked, but threw the magic at Jalim.

  The ensnaring tentacles grabbed Jalim, pinning his arms to his sides. Agen squeezed the tentacles and Jalim dropped his sword.

  Agen hastily turned and ran from Delrin, casting a second spell as he fled.

  Delrin, however, picked up Jalim’s weapon. He bolted after the young acolyte, swinging both of the weapons at the youth’s barsion.

  The protective magic flickered.

  Agen finished the spell and hurled it at Delrin. He missed, the magic grazing the guard’s arm. Yelling, Agen swept his arms across his chest, redirecting the magic. It latched to Delrin’s arm, then pulled him sideways, pinning him to the ground.

  One o
f the boys gasped.

  “Seems harder than it looks,” another groaned.

  Iltar raised his brow at the comment, then called to Agen. “Not bad, but you could have cast your spells quicker. Dismiss the magic so they can reset.”

  Agen complied, joining the others.

  Another boy stood, readying himself. He whispered the words to each of the spells as a means to prepare himself.

  Delrin and Jalim reset, then resumed the drill.

  One by one, each of the boys practiced Iltar’s scenario. Like Agen, they were sloppy at first. Several had their barsions dispelled before they could disable both guards. But, they got better after each time.

  While on their fifth round, Belsina emerged from the house. She quietly approached Iltar. “Lunch is ready,” she said.

  Iltar nodded. “After this one we’ll be in,” he whispered, returning his focus to the drill.

  The acolyte dropped Jalim, pinning his sword to the ground. The boys learned from Agen’s first run that they needed to trap the swords. That was a lesson Iltar didn’t intend to cover, but he was pleased they had figured it out. He liked that about these acolytes; they were always adapting and improvising.

  The boy cast his second ensnaring spell just as Delrin reached him. He pinned the guard before he could swing his sword.

  It was the best drill yet. Each of the acolytes cheered, shouting the boy’s name.

  Belsina whooped and clapped loudly. “I’m impressed, Master Iltar,” she said.

  Iltar grinned a devious expression, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “And that’s why you use real weapons.”

  The acolyte dismissed his magic, and another stood up, ready to take his turn.

  “Wait,” Iltar called. “Lunch is ready. Let’s eat before we resume practicing.”

  The boys hurriedly filed past Iltar and entered his family’s home. Belsina chased after them, but Iltar lingered outside.

  “You know, they’re not too bad, Master Iltar,” Jalim called as he approached.