Agent of Prophecy

by M. A. Rothman

  Tabor beamed with pride. “Your father stood his ground and gave Kirag an ultimatum. Either we skip the wasteland villages and go to Aubgherle, or we ride directly to Cammoria and settle this with Azazel himself. We are the Imazighen!”

  Arabelle felt a flush of pride. “My father did that?”

  Tabor nodded. “It was glorious.”

  Arabelle wished she had seen it herself.

  “What happened to the boy who attacked me?” she asked.

  Tabor’s voice dripped with bitter hatred. “That vermin will never bother anyone ever again.”

  “What… what exactly happened? After I got hit in the face, everything was foggy and unclear. Next thing I knew you were carrying me.”

  Tabor gave her a serious look. “Truth?”

  “Yes. I’d like to know everything.”

  “Very well. As you know, we believed you missing, probably dead. All of our men were searching for you—in the caravan, the village, the surrounding lands. I happened to be near the other side of the village when I heard your yell. I knew immediately two things. You lived, and you were in trouble.”

  His eyes moistened with tears.

  “I sprinted toward the sound, and got to you just in time to see that beast kick you in the head. I already had my sword drawn. The boy saw me coming and took a step back. Let’s just say that he fell to the ground in more than one piece.”

  She understood that what Tabor had done was a horrible thing, yet under the circumstances Arabelle found herself unable to feel any sympathy for the boy. “I imagine he soiled his pants when he saw you bearing down on him like an unleashed demon.”

  Tabor chuckled darkly. “Who could tell? He already smelled like an outhouse.”

  A hollow laugh escaped her chest as she realized Tabor was probably right.

  It was three weeks after their arrival at Aubgherle by the time Arabelle finally felt ready to wander the caravan again. Physically, she knew she would be safe—instead of one or two guards, Tabor had told her she was now to have nothing less than a six-guard escort anywhere she went. But emotionally, she still felt unsure.

  Her father must have understood that a soldier could not provide all the support a young woman needed, so he took the bold step of arranging for a new handmaiden to tend to her, to talk to her. Arabelle was uncomfortable with the idea—nobody could ever replace Maggie—but she couldn’t form a good argument against it.

  So it was that the next morning as she stretched under her covers, a brown-haired head poked her face into Arabelle’s new tent.

  “Princess?” she said nervously.

  The poor girl looked terrified. And somehow, that made Arabelle like her right away. This is harder for her than it is for me.

  She sat up in bed and waved the girl in with her best attempt at a smile.

  The girl entered. She was petite and young—probably a few years younger than Arabelle. A rosy blush filled her cheeks as she looked at her feet and mumbled, “Princess, my name is Miriam. I’m here to help you with anything you need.”

  Arabelle tried to put herself in Miriam’s shoes. The girl was so young, and she’d been told to go work for the princess. To not upset the princess. That the princess was emotionally fragile. She was probably told all those things and more.

  And of course everyone knew that the last person to do this job had died brutally.

  Arabelle reached out a hand. “Miriam, I’m Arabelle. Would you be so kind as to break your fast with me?”

  Miriam bit her lower lip uncertainly. “I don’t cook very well. Are you sure?”

  Arabelle couldn’t help but laugh. This poor girl knew nothing of what her role entailed. “Come,” she said. “Sit beside me. Let’s get to know each other.”

  She patted the bed beside her, and though Miriam looked like she’d rather do anything else in the world, she sat down beside the princess.

  For the next half hour, they talked. Arabelle learned what Miriam liked to do and what she was skilled at. She learned about her family—it even turned out that Miriam and Arabelle were distant relations, on Arabelle’s mother’s side. Miriam’s father was a scrivener, and her mother was a painter, and both lived in Cammoria where books and art were highly prized. Miriam had joined the caravan to apprentice with a merchant and learn basic trading skills.

  Miriam smiled, seeming much more at ease. “I’m really good with numbers, Princess. I also like to play music.”

  “I adore music.”

  Miriam grinned.

  “Miriam, will you do me a very big favor?”

  Her eyes widened. “I will do anything you ask, Princess.”

  “When you and I are alone, can you please just call me Arabelle?”

  Miriam’s eyes darted toward the tent’s entrance. “Are you—are you sure, Princess? It’s improper.”

  “Is it? I am the Sheikh’s daughter. If I say a friend can privately call me by my given name, why would that be improper?”

  At the word “friend,” Miriam’s eyes widened with surprise. “Arabelle,” she said, seeming to like the sound. “I would be honored to call you by your name. And I would be honored to be your friend. You would be my first friend since leaving Cammoria.”

  Arabelle gave the girl a hug. “Thank you, Miriam. We’re going to get along just fine, I promise you.”

  Arabelle and Miriam spent the day together, and Arabelle was surprised to find herself laughing often. Miriam took in with great astonishment many things that Arabelle took for granted, and it allowed her to see the world with new eyes. Arabelle soon saw that her father had made a good decision in pairing the two of them. She didn’t necessarily require a handmaiden… but she needed a friend.

  That same day, Arabelle began exercising again in earnest. She had been passively going through the motions for weeks now, staving off the poison but not maintaining her strength and flexibility. It was time to get back in shape. And to her delight, Miriam asked if she could join in.

  Not surprisingly, the young girl didn’t have the stamina to keep up, but if she stuck with it, she would. For now, she stopped midway, wiping her sweaty dark-brown hair from her face, and merely watched Arabelle for the rest of the routine.

  It was invigorating to really be moving again, and Arabelle realized she longed for weapons practice, too. She unlocked her chest and retrieved her mother’s daggers.

  Castien’s dagger, of course, had gone missing. She had foolishly left it in a desk drawer instead of locking it up in her chest, and it was lost or stolen on the night of Maggie’s death. The loss of the dagger paled in comparison to the loss of her friend, but she had treasured the gift from the sword master, and this was just one more source of sadness on top of all the others. And she couldn’t even tell anyone to look for it, as they didn’t know it existed.

  Arabelle stood with her mother’s daggers and performed a series of lunges and blocks, along with the more complicated moves that Tabor had taught her, and finally she did the weaving attack that Castien had shown her. As her hands blurred, the blades became extensions of her body. She could feel them more than see them as they sliced rapidly through the air, serving both as shields and weapons. Arabelle maintained the blurring weave for as long as she could, then lunged with both daggers at an imaginary target.

  Miriam gasped with surprise. “Arabelle, you are your own wall of iron. I’ve never seen the like.”

  Arabelle liked that. A wall of iron. She remembered the feeling of dragging her blades roughly across the cartilage of the enforcers’ throats—and for the briefest of moments, she found herself wanting to relive the scene.

  Perhaps to make up for the awful thought, she decided to be honest and truthful with her new friend. “I was taught this by the sword master of the elven people.”

  Arabelle fully expected Miriam to laugh at her, like her father did anytime she brought up the men of the woods. But Miriam was awed.

  “That’s amazing,” she said. “Do you think I could meet one someday? I’ve read tha
t they study the positions of the stars and make instruments to observe them. I have so many ideas and thoughts about the stars, but nobody believes that I could make something to see things far away.”

  Arabelle continued her weave for a few more seconds, then threw both daggers at a log set up in the corner of the tent. She stretched her arms and felt the comforting tautness of muscles, and when she went over to retrieve her daggers and put them away, her thighs and calves flexed and relaxed comfortably.

  “I promise that I will try to arrange that meeting for you someday,” she said, grabbing the bowl of fruit from her nightstand.

  Miriam’s eyes lit up, and Arabelle held up a hand.

  “Just remain silent about what I’ve said and what you’ve seen in this tent. Many people think the elves are fairy tale creatures.”

  “I won’t say anything, Arabelle.”

  The princess popped a gooseberry in her mouth and placed the bowl between them. “Now, let’s replenish our energy. You too. I want you to work out with me again later.”

  Miriam smiled wanly.

  That night, as she did every night, Arabelle used her inner sight to find the boy. He was tantalizingly close.

  Could I possibly find a way to see him? Maybe it’s time to visit the Aubgherle market.

  She smiled with anticipation as she snuggled under her sheets, and as she closed her eyes, she hoped for visions of that blue-eyed boy.

  Sometime during the night, a vision did flash into her mind.

  Gathered in a field is a vast army that includes all manner of soldiers—humans, dwarves, even elven races—and through their midst rides a young general on horseback, barking directions to the various platoon leaders. He is handsome, with defined cheekbones and sparkling blue eyes, and his armor and sword glow with a fiery-red glint.

  The general unsheathes his sword, waves it above his head, and points to the ridge just ahead. Beyond that ridge a black cloud has formed, radiating despair, and beneath that cloud is another army—this one borne of nightmare.

  The armies begin to advance on one another.

  The scene flashed white.

  A giant ogre walks on a natural stone bridge across a chasm, whipped by wind that threatens to pull him into the abyss below. The ogre is equipped in plate armor that glows a pristine white and emits sparks with every movement. His sword, sheathed at his side, is the largest greatsword Arabelle has ever seen, with a pommel of red.

  Following behind the ogre is a blue-eyed wizard, a look of concern on his bearded face. In one hand he carries a sparking metal staff, and in the other, a brilliant diamond the size of a melon. It pulses with radiant power.

  On the opposite side of the chasm stands a fiend of blackness and fire, reeking of brimstone and emanating waves of heat. The fiend matches the ogre in size, and it, too, wields a giant sword.

  As the two great beasts, ogre and fiend, meet at the middle of the bridge, another presence is felt. Behind the fiend, at the edge of the chasm, stands a deeper, darker presence, palpably evil, so enormous that it dwarfs both fiend and ogre.

  The ogre clashes with the fiend, and the wizard raises the diamond above his head.

  Arabelle lay in bed while she replayed the visions in her mind. The blue-eyed characters… they looked something like the boy. Was she seeing his future?

  Miriam poked her head in. “Princess, it’s time to wake. I’ve brought your morning meal.”

  Arabelle waved Miriam in. She was glad to see her handmaiden had brought enough food for the both of them.

  As Miriam set down the tray, Arabelle scrambled out of her sheets and took a seat. They both proceeded to fill themselves on stewed vegetables, yellow rice with raisins and nuts, roasted eggs, and a fruit salad drizzled with cream and honey.

  As Arabelle patted her stomach at the end of the meal, Miriam laughed. “Arabelle, I’ve never seen anyone your size eat so much. If I did that on a regular basis I think I’d be rolling around here instead of walking.”

  “Well, let’s just say that when I exercise as much as I do, I have to eat a lot. When I first started exercising, I didn’t eat so much, and I ended up losing so much weight that Mag—um, Tabor actually commented on my being too thin.”

  Miriam self-consciously looked at her own body. “I don’t think I could do all that you do. Maybe I’ll just exercise less and eat less.”

  “It’s okay, Miriam. I won’t force you to exercise with me. But you’re always welcome to.”

  Miriam looked relieved. Then her eyes widened. “Oh! Arabelle, did you have the vision last night?”

  “What vision? You mean the First Protector’s vision?”

  Miriam shook her head. “No, everyone in Trimoria has that one. This one felt like the First Protector’s vision, but it was a different battle. Or two battles. One battle was between armies, and another was between an ogre and a wizard and gigantic demons. I don’t usually remember my nightmares, but I remember everything about this one. That’s why I thought maybe it was a vision, like the First Protector’s vision.”

  Arabelle sat silently, eyes wide.

  “Arabelle? Are you all right?”

  Arabelle shook her head. “I’m fine. But—that was a vision, Miriam. I saw it too. Everything exactly as you said…”

  Suddenly Arabelle swayed, and everything went white.

  Arabelle is lying on the ground, unconscious. The location is unknown, its features blurry. Father stands over her, distraught, and is being consoled by Gwen, the wife of the Protector of Aubgherle. Next to her is a brown-haired woman who glows with a white nimbus of light. The woman’s hands flash with a bright shimmering rainbow of color, and she leans over and touches Arabelle.

  The scene shimmers and is replaced by another. The marketplace in Aubgherle. A blonde girl is walking with two brown-haired teen boys. The younger of the two boys leads a swamp cat on a rope. The boys have sparkling blue eyes, and Arabelle feels a twinge of jealousy as they leave the market.

  Arabelle hears a clicking sound. The vision turns, revealing one of Azazel’s enforcers taking aim with a crossbow. She realizes he is aiming directly at the girl and two boys.

  Arabelle heard the click again and smelled something terrible. She woke, her eyes flying open, screamed a warning, and scrambled backward—bumping right into Tabor’s knee.

  Her father was leaning over her, holding a device before her face. It clicked, and a cloud of acrid smoke emerged.

  “Stop it, Father! I’m awake!”

  She was still in her tent. Tabor was at her back, her father was in front of her, and Miriam was looking on with worry from the side.

  Arabelle turned to her. “It’s all right, Miriam. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

  “My flower, you can thank Miriam for calling for help. She said you were talking about last night’s new vision and you stopped mid-sentence. Your eyes turned pure white and you fell forward into her arms.”

  Arabelle turned to Miriam. “My eyes turned white?”

  Miriam nodded. “Like two glowing pearls.”

  Arabelle’s latest vision suddenly came back to her. “Yes—because I had a new vision. Tabor, I need to get to the market, now, and I need a full escort. It’s a matter of life or death!”

  Her father held up a hand. “You are still recovering. There is no need to rush off.”

  Arabelle shook her head. “Dad, I’m fine! If you ever believed in Mom’s visions, believe me now. I have the same visions. I’m sorry I’ve been hiding it from you. It started a year ago… when I visited with the elves.”

  His eyes widened. “The elves?”

  “I don’t have time to explain right now. Just humor me, Father. What harm can come of it? Send double the escort if that makes you feel better.”

  To her surprise, he cupped her chin with his hands. “I believe that you had a vision, my daughter. When Miriam told us about your eyes turning white, I had no doubt.”

  “Mom’s eyes turned white when she had a vision?”

 
He nodded. “Usually her visions were in our private bedchambers, so I’m the only one who ever knew that detail. You have the gift, my heart. I just hope you’re interpreting your visions correctly.”

  “So can I go?”

  Father turned to Tabor. “I want you to triple Arabelle’s guard. I need you here to oversee the shipment, so make sure Khalid oversees her escort. I will take no chances.”

  Tabor banged his fist to his chest. “I’ll arrange it immediately. Princess, I will have your escort ready in ten minutes.” He turned and left the tent.

  “Princess,” said Miriam in a quiet voice. “Can I come with you?”

  Arabelle smiled. “No, my friend. Not today. Some elements of my vision are dangerous. I would not risk you.”

  Miriam started to protest, but Father cut in. “Miriam, would you mind spending the day with me? I’ll show you how this caravan really runs.” He winked. “Maybe you’ll learn enough to help your parents understand the merits of joining us and widening the market for their goods.”

  Miriam smiled and bowed. “Yes, Sheikh. That would be very educational. Thank you.”

  Father kissed Arabelle on the forehead. “Do what you must, my dear, and no more. And please don’t drag your guards into those damned woods you so enjoy. You know how our people feel about tightly enclosed places.”

  She hugged him tightly. “Thank you for believing in me.”

  “I pray Seder is truly leading your steps.”

  I really think he might be.

  Confrontation

  Ever since the events surrounding the princess’s temporary disappearance, Kirag had sought a way to talk with her. But she was now guarded by at least a half dozen soldiers at any time, and these men were nothing like the lazy slob who’d been on duty before. They had a fanatical look in their eyes, nothing was beneath their attention, and no one came near the princess’s tent without undergoing their scrutiny.

  At least the girl had started to leave her tent again, along with another wisp of a girl. Still, six armored men surrounded them whenever they went out. It was going to take some effort to talk alone with this girl about her nighttime journeys and that elven-made dagger, which he still carried with him.