A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

Taking courage, Balden closed his eyes and stretched out his hand, focusing on mustering the devouring mist. Black particles appeared above his open palm, manifesting without incantation. They coalesced above his hand, spreading along his fingers. Hatred and a burning desire for death accompanied that magic. Those emotions spurred his desire for vengeance. He would slay Cilgan.

  After a short while, a dense shaft of black devouring magic formed, but it wasn’t a sword. The mass of magic was barely the size of a dagger. Balden gripped the magic, which didn’t erode his skin. It was like his power knew not to destroy him. It took a great deal of effort to maintain the tiny weapon, and Balden felt part of it dissipate.

  Balden frowned, diverting his mind from the would-be blade. The particles immediately wisped away, as if dancing on an invisible wind.

  “I need better concentration,” he said, pacing in his cell. He couldn’t give up after one attempt. Steadying into a wide stance, Balden tried summoning the magic again. This time, the magical blade was a little longer, but it took a great deal of concentration to form. It wisped away after several seconds.

  Damn it! he cursed inwardly.

  Balden tried manifesting a blade for several hours, or so it seemed. Each time he was able to make the weapon a little larger and make it last a little longer. Eventually, the magic formed a shaft resembling the blade of a sword. It lacked any of the other elements: a guard, handle, or a pommel.

  He swung the black blade, and it took a great deal of effort to maintain the weapon. Balden felt part of it dissipate like all the other weapons he had mustered.

  “This is going to be hard…” he muttered.

  Balden focused on the blade, mentally telling it to remain in its current shape. He swung again and didn’t feel as much dissipation.

  Better, he thought. But If I’m to escape, this sword can’t dissipate at all. He had to find a way to maintain its form without being too mentally absorbed in maintaining it. He would have to fight too, and that took a great deal of concentration.

  I will become more proficient at this, he vowed. Only then can I escape this nightmare.

  Balden took in a deep breath and started training with his newfound weapon.

  Throwing bottles at customers wasn’t something Lirathay’lu had ever done. He wasn’t violent by any means, but what those fools were attempting was downright stupid. No one in their right mind should want to visit that accursed realm.

  Lirathay’lu swept the floor of his shop, preparing it for the next day. The broken glass from the thrown bottles had been all cleared away. Lirathay’lu had since placed the flung herbs in other bottles, but had kept the shards. He would repair them when he had time. Besides, why throw out perfectly good matter?

  Perfectly good matter, he laughed. That phrase amused him, as if matter could be bad. Matter was matter.

  A knock beat against the door of his shop, and the door rattled on its hinges.

  A burglar? he thought. No. A burglar wouldn’t knock…

  “Herbalist!” a harsh voice shouted through the door. “Open up at once! This is Constable Hashar.”

  A policeman, Lirathay’lu sighed. No doubt in reaction to my actions today. He leaned the broom against a nearby table and sauntered to the door. He wasn’t in any hurry to open it. The constable and his accompanying watchmen weren’t going anywhere.

  Lirathay’lu opened the door and assumed his raspy voice. He had used that voice for forty-eight years now and he was growing tired of it. “Yes?” he asked, sounding hoarse.

  A lanky man stood within the threshold. He wore a formal red tunic with golden tassels; common attire for a constable in the Mindolarnian City Watch. Six other watchmen—all clad in red-and-gold chain mail—stood behind him. Each had batons and side swords hanging from their belts.

  “May we enter?” the lanky man asked. That was obviously Constable Hashar. Lirathay’lu raised an eyebrow at him. Hashar asked an ominous question. Technically, Lirathay’lu didn’t have to allow them into his shop. If he was being fined or arrested, they could do it here on the doorstep. But letting them into the shop might be… fun. Besides, Lirathay’lu needed to know what they wanted, and if things went awry, he would need the enclosure of his shop to keep his actions hidden from prying eyes.

  “Of course,” Lirathay’lu said, and hobbled away from the door, hunching over his left side. He had become accustomed to this manner of walking. Lirathay’lu wasn’t feeble by any means. In fact, he was far from it. But the hobbling helped with playing the part of an old herbalist.

  “Thank you,” Hashar said, leading the other watchmen into the shop.

  Lirathay’lu glimpsed the watchmen eyeing the bottles. They filed into the main room and one walked to the hallway leading to the shop’s rear.

  “Are you herbalist Yenig Mawer?” Hashar asked.

  Lirathay’lu nodded. Yenig Mawer wasn’t his real name, but it was the one he had gone by in this lifetime here in Mindolarn. So, for this conversation he would be Yenig, the old herbalist with a raspy voice and a bad walk.

  “We’ve come to investigate a matter of concern that came to our attention earlier today,” the constable said, pacing between the tables. Hashar eyed Lirathay’lu with a frown. “A member of the Royal Family reported an incident here at your shop, concerning you and a member of the aristocratic caste of the city. You allegedly attacked her, her guards and her two friends. What have you to say about this?”

  Royal Family, huh? Lirathay’lu eyed the watchmen. This will undoubtedly end in an arrest… an attempted one, anyway. It didn’t look like the watchmen were holding any of those communication tevisrals—the ones recently developed at the Hilinard that relayed audible messages. Cheap imitations, he grunted.

  The watchmen didn’t seem to have any other tevisrals on them. Humanity in this day and age was dull, despite the advancements made by the Mindolarn Empire. Noting that this encounter in his shop wasn’t being recorded or relayed elsewhere, Lirathay’lu saw no harm in telling the truth. Besides, they wouldn’t remember, and this would provide a great opportunity for some exercise.

  “Well,” he began, “they wanted to make sleeping drugs so they could access another dimension of reality—the forsaken realm of a mad god.”

  Hashar started and blinked several times in disbelief.

  Exactly what I thought, Lirathay’lu mused, then continued talking. “They were asking for a lot, and I didn’t feel comfortable selling that much halisym, ganiard, wevid, and colisry.”

  The men all looked at him with confusion. They probably thought him mad, driven insane by the very herbs he was citing. That was good. It would make this encounter more entertaining.

  “Their intentions weren’t ill,” Lirathay’lu added. “A curious mind can never be accused of being malicious. But what they were doing would lead to folly. I couldn’t, in good conscious, let them proceed.”

  The watchmen looked at each other uneasily, unsure of what to make of his words. Hashar, however, recovered from his bewilderment.

  “So you refused service,” Hashar said slowly. “And then what?”

  “I told them to get out,” Lirathay’lu said.

  “And threw bottles at them?” The constable inferred Lirathay’lu’s assault.

  Right to the point this one is, Lirathay’lu thought. “Well, Sorothians can be persistent. It was a preemptive measure. Besides, I wasn’t aiming for any vital areas. Not that these bottles are deadly.” He picked up a nearby bottle of brasali leaf—a white leaf used for soothing anxieties—and handled it carefully.

  “Put the bottle down,” one of the watchmen said, placing his hand on his baton.

  Or what…? Lirathay’lu glanced at the man, grinning wryly. He could have fun with these men.

  “I seriously hope you’re not contemplating resisting arrest,” Hashar said, eyeing the bottle in Lirathay’lu’s hand. “I would hate to harm a cripple such as yourself.”

  “So, you are here to arrest me…” Lirathay’lu nodded, letting the
raspy tone slip from his voice. The watchmen started at his change of tone.

  “You admitted to the crime,” Hashar said, his stern voice sounding hostile. “And as I see it, there was no reason for you to assault the high duchess and her friends.”

  Lirathay’lu felt excited at the constable’s change in demeanor. He grinned like a child eyeing a bag of candy, or a sloglien spotting its prey, or—

  “Yenig Mawer, you’re hereby under arrest.” Constable Hashar reached for a pair of metal bindings around his belt. The constable continued reciting Mindolarnian law, and Lirathay’lu straightened up, assuming a bold posture. No longer was he the old cripple… he felt like himself. The sensation was akin to molting old scales.

  Feeling renewed, Lirathay’lu’s grin widened into a smile that soon turned to laughter. “Now, the fun begins!” He twirled the bottle, grabbing its cap.

  The men shook their heads and moved around the tables, drawing their batons. Settling into a wide stance, Lirathay’lu swiftly uttered an incantation in the true magical tongue. “Rina’milista gri’lu mida!”

  Brilliant blue barsion shone from his hand gripping the bottle as he thrust the container to the floor in a controlled manner. The bottle gently settled on the floor as a wave of barsion washed over it, spilling across the shop and shielding the tables, bookshelves, and their contents in an inverted-barrier. He didn’t want to clean up another mess, so an inverted barsion spell was a necessity. Such spells were used to trap an enemy. Today they did that, but they also protected his herbs.

  The barsion completely covered the room as the first watchmen approached. These men weren’t slow by any means. Lirathay’lu was just that fast.

  The first watchman swung his baton, but Lirathay’lu intercepted the weapon, prying it from the man’s hands and kicking him in the chest. The poor watchman flew backward, colliding with a bookshelf.

  Another watchman approached, but Lirathay’lu disarmed him like the first. Now, Lirathay’lu had two batons. He swiftly attacked the disarmed watchman with side-sweeping blows, cracking ribs.

  A third watchman approached, drawing his side sword. The watchman dual-wielded both his baton and his blade, swinging them at Lirathay’lu.

  Moving swiftly, Lirathay’lu twirled one of his batons and hit the blade’s dull end, deflecting it away. He didn’t worry about being cut—he could easily heal a wound like that. Lirathay’lu struck the man’s wrist, causing him to drop the sword. The watchman moved to hit with his baton, but Lirathay’lu unleashed a furious combination of blows with his blunt weapons. Loud cracks resounded through the shop, and the watchman dropped to the floor, screaming.

  Three more, Lirathay’lu thought, glancing to the constable and the others. The watchmen eyed him fearfully.

  “He’ll kill us…” one of them muttered.

  “B-bu-but he’s a cripple!” another stammered, stepping backward and bumping into one of the tables. It didn’t move. The table was held in place by Lirathay’lu’s inverted barsion.

  Grinning, Lirathay’lu leapt onto the nearest table, stepping onto a shielded bottle and leaping into a sideways kick aimed at Constable Hashar’s chest. The man tried to dodge, but Lirathay’lu’s heel struck his shoulder, sending the man spinning over another table.

  Lirathay’lu flew—as much as a humanoid could—and swung his batons at the next watchman before landing atop another table. He had missed the sensation of air rushing past him.

  Soon I can embrace the winds! Lirathay’lu told himself, rebounding and attacking the last watchman. He broke the man’s arm and inverted his knee. The watchman fell, crying like a child.

  Within seconds, each of the watchmen was subdued.

  “Now that felt good!” Lirathay’lu exclaimed, dropping the batons. “It’s been centuries since I’ve had that much fun.” The batons hit the barsion with a clatter, barely sounding above the groans and pained cries of the wounded men.

  I guess that’s enough exercise for now, he thought, surveying his shop. Not one bottle had been moved throughout the commotion. It was a glorious sight.

  “You’re… you’re under—” Hashar groaned, “ar-arrest…”

  Lirathay’lu spun, seeing the constable stagger onto his feet. Bold man, Lirathay’lu grinned. Hashar wobbled and leaned against a table to brace himself.

  “You’re tenacious,” Lirathay’lu said, approaching Hashar. He allowed his eyes to regress to their natural state. To Constable Hashar it would look like the lines of Lirathay’lu’s irises were swirling around his pupils.

  Their eyes locked a gaze and Lirathay’lu froze the constable. Their minds melded, the process controlled totally by Lirathay’lu. Now, what should I make you think happened here? Hashar’s mind was pliable under Lirathay’lu’s gaze. Lirathay’lu could make the constable remember whatever he wished. He could wipe away the constable’s memory if he so desired, making Hashar think he was someone else entirely. That was a little too extreme.

  Lirathay’lu mulled over what he should implant in the man’s mind. Hashar had mentioned a Mindolarn Royal when they first met. Lirathay’lu didn’t think they knew his true identity, but he had to be careful. He could rework the memories of these men, but this Royal could send more men to investigate. He couldn’t take the chance.

  I only have one more year left in Mindolarn, Lirathay’lu thought. I can assume another identity until I have to report to Zulsthy’l. That gave him an idea…

  Lirathay’lu manipulated Constable Hashar’s mind in a way that he would remember entering an unlocked shop with a dead herbalist lying on the floor.

  “Ti’ga’lis,” he said, and the enthralling incantation caused a gray magic to wisp into Hashar’s nostrils, stilling him.

  Lirathay’lu moved on to the next watchman. He would have to implant the same memory in each of them, altering it slightly to their own perspectives—but that wasn’t too hard. He would just play off what they remembered upon entering the shop. Lirathay’lu could relive their experiences, after all.

  Once he finished altering their memories, Lirathay’lu cast an arpran spell. Green magic erupted throughout the room, spreading in six different directions and coalescing around each of the men he had injured. Their broken bones were mended within seconds. With each of the men still under his enthralling spell, he ordered them to their proper positions, per the false memory he had implanted. Those he had disarmed he ordered to retrieve their batons.

  Lirathay’lu uttered an illusionary incantation, making a perfect image of himself on the floor. It wasn’t a permanent solution to his ruse, but it would have to do. He could transmute an actual body while the watchmen were away. Doing so would require some time, and he would have to use the Sel’ndar to make it believable.

  “Sium,” Lirathay’lu said, casting his invisibility spell, and disappeared. Focusing on his barsion, he dismissed it and then the enthralling spell.

  The men—now completely healed from the brief bout—resumed a conversation Lirathay’lu implanted within each of them.

  “He’s not too cold,” a watchman said—he was the nearest to the fake corpse. “The death chills haven’t set in completely, so I would say maybe a few hours.”

  “What a pity,” Hashar said with a sigh. “Well, he got what he deserved. Let’s inform an undertaker and get this body out of here. Gelan,” he said to the watchman who had had his knee inverted, “check on this man’s next of kin.”

  “Yes, sir.” Gelan saluted and strode out of the shop, showing no signs of his previous injury.

  Several others shook their heads at the fake corpse and left the shop. Hashar was the last to leave and shut the door behind him. Once they were gone, Lirathay’lu dismissed his magic. He kept his true demeanor, standing straight-backed. Lirathay’lu wasn’t tall by any means, but he wasn’t short either.

  “Goodbye, Yenig Mawer,” Lirathay’lu said. “You were probably one of my more intriguing roles.”

  Now that his alter ego was dead, Lirathay’lu could more easily
gather information on this city and its inhabitants. He could freely roam the streets, spying on whomever he wished, whenever he wished. He wondered why they didn’t do that normally. It was more effective than assuming a role and observing from a distance. But then again, he wasn’t like the others. His fellows wouldn’t have dared to attack the watchmen… They’re just dull, he laughed.

  Lirathay’lu hurried to the backroom. He had to transmute that body before the watchmen returned.

  Wild noises filled the air of Melar Forest as Dith crept between the trees. The air was muggy and filled with all kinds of insects, but Dith didn’t mind. He was used to being out in the wild, away from the creature comforts of civilization. Over the last few years he had embarked on several trips of adventure with his master, Amendal Aramien, and other renowned Sorothians. Those were exciting times, full of wonder and intrigue—not to mention magnificent pay.

  This trip, however, would not be as rewarding.

  Dith looked through the forest’s leafy canopy, noting the sun’s position in the western sky. Darkness would soon be upon the forest. Dith still hadn’t found anything substantial to eat. He had long since run out of his rations and was relying on the forest for nourishment.

  Adjusting his pack, Dith pressed westward. He had been traveling through the Melar woodland for over two months now. By his estimation he was not quite two-thirds of the way through the forest. It was more than a four-thousand-grand-phineal trek from one side of the forest to the other. Dith had entered Melar Forest west of Arbath, dodging a few patrols of kingdom guardsmen. No one was supposed to enter these woods. It had been decreed a forbidden land by one of the early monarchs of the Losian Kingdom—which one, Dith didn’t know.

  “I still haven’t seen a gangolin,” he muttered, climbing over a felled tree.

  His purpose here in Melar Forest was to capture one such beast. That was the chief purpose of the Aramien Test of Valor. Master Amendal thought it prudent for him to learn to summon a gangolin. That could only be done if he encountered one and sucked it into a conjuration portal. Lorith—the only other man who had studied under Master Amendal—had traveled through the forest fifty years ago and done the same.