“Kasile, how do you feel about fireballs?”
Kasile tiled her chin down and stared. She flung her arms out at the fire symbols in the room of the most recent descendent of the fire goddess Fiol.
“Right . . .Stupid question.”
“Even so, they're not fireproof.” She stood up and her gown's many layers rustled. “We'll need your guild's training room. Do you get teleportation sickness?”
“Uh . . . yeah . . .why?”
The princess held her skirts in one hand and walked to her vanity. “All the more reason to take this off.” She snapped her fingers and the laces and hooks of her beautiful dress undid themselves. Eric closed his eyes and covered them with his hands.
“I appreciate that, but it's unnecessary.” The princess hung up her dress because underneath it she wore commoner clothing. Next to go was her jewelry, make-up, and gloves. The result was a girl who, while still pretty, didn't look particularly royal. She used a cloak and hood to conceal even that.
“Are you going undercover?”
Kasile shrugged. “It's not easy being a gorgeous and beloved princess.”
“Uh-huh.”
The kidnapping made her father paranoid and so he forbade her from leaving the castle. That's why a royal nomad visited the Dragon's Lair. Somehow, he found out about that and now she was forbidden to leave her room. That's why an extra guard stood outside her door.
“All it means is that I have to be more creative.” She pressed her right hand against the floor. “By the royal seal of my right hand I command thee to open!”
A crest engraved in fire appeared on the back of her right hand. The image of a tiger appeared on the floor beneath it and it grew to a length of ten feet with a line of power encircling it. From the border arose a curtain of light that blinded Eric. When he could see again, Kasile stood in the center of a large red crest. “'If all fails' emergency escape system.”
“Isn't this some kind of national security secret? Am I allowed to see this!?”
Kasile rolled her eyes. “If everyone doesn't at least suspect that we have something like this, then their intelligence division is a waste of budget.” She pulled Eric into the circle. “Come on.”
Once he was within the borders of the crest, Kasile said a command and Eric felt the awful nausea that came with teleportation. It took longer than the last time and the sensation was worse. When they rematerialized, they were standing outside the castle walls under the cover of trees and deep overgrowth. Eric threw up.
“See?” Kasile remarked. “I couldn't risk getting that on my dress.”
On the way to the Dragon's Lair, she told Eric about the contest, pieces of “friendly, non-cheating” advice, and the prize for the final winner: a full scholarship to the University of Roalt.
Bitterly, she added that anyone who could afford the Royal Academy of Magical Learning would not need a scholarship. Then she monologued about how the contest was merely the vestige of an elitist history and how she was going to change it as soon as she was crowned Queen. Eric didn't mean to but he tuned it out just like Dengel's monologues. The dead mage, however, listened intently.
The training hall was occupied but only by Tiza practicing a battle dance. Two months ago, every step was a wobble. Now she truly danced through punches, kicks, and blocks. She struck the finishing move, yelled, and returned to the starting position. She was oblivious until Kasile clapped.
“Hey Dimwit, you get a new girlfriend already?”
Eric blushed. “NO! Stop that!” Tiza chuckled. “Aren't you supposed to be at work!?”
“It was boring. So I came over for a lunch break.”
“But it's not even eleven o'clock yet.”
“Do I look like I care?” Tiza said, and took a long swig from her water bottle.
In order to avoid a nasty social bomb, Eric tried to start the fire magic lesson right then and there, but Kasile had other ideas. She wanted to see the battle dance again and Tiza proudly showed it off. The dance ended, the girls shook hands, and the bomb went off.
“You're the princess . . . A tent!”
“A tent . . .?”
“Yeah!” Tiza snarled. “I could make a great big tent with your cloth mountains!”
This only confused Kasile further. For her sake, Eric resumed his role as translator. Tent: a dainty and/or weak person, most often wealthy, who never does any sort of work and forces others to wait on them hand and foot.
Instead of being insulted, Kasile merely smiled and said, “I like your shoes.”
Just like that, Tiza calmed down. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. They look a lot more comfortable than the high-heeled monstrosities I have to wear. They're good for kicking too, am I right?“
Tiza smiled. “Yeah, they are. I tried them on this desert pervert and—” She remembered who she was talking to and her smile inverted. “You're still a tent!”
Kasile smiled understandingly. “I know, dear.”
Tiza turned red. Whether it was from anger or embarrassment, Eric couldn't tell. She muttered something about “not wasting time on a tent” and stomped out of the Training Hall.
“Impressive . . .”
“No, that was practice. Now about those fire spells . . .”
The mercenary began his lecture by saying it helped to have a staff that was not a pyro-phobe. His staff pulsed its offense. Kasile laughed and said she would do so. She didn't have one because her father said royals didn't need staves.
This triggered another brief funk before she masked it. Even with their link, Eric could barely feel it. He didn't need to; her latent rage fueled the fireballs. She narrowly avoided third degree burns.
“I synched with you the other day.”
“Really? What was I doing?”
“You were hiring Laharg to teach physical combat.”
Kasile chanted and a small sphere appeared. “Is he a softie like Malize says?”
“Not as far as I know . . . but he won’t cut corners training you.”
“Good to know. No pain no gain, right?” The sphere flared to such an intense heat that she had to drop it. It melted the stone floor.
Eric pretended not to notice. “What's with the sudden interest in battle power? Magical arts with me and fighting arts with Laharg . . . Is your next target Ataidar's military?”
“No,” she said with the voice of someone haunted. “I'm just . . .preparing myself.” Her mask slipped back into place, including the painted smile. “For the next batch of kidnappers.”
“Anything else?”
“What does your radar tell you?” Kasile asked pleasantly.
“Yes.”
“Well . . . the truth is . . .I've been looking over my shoulder a lot since I got back.” She gave a non-committal shrug. “It's probably just post-traumatic stress.”
“Kasile, your friend is asking what's wrong.”
“Eric, your client is asking about fire spheres.”
“Kasile, your tutor needs to know what is distracting you.”
The tiger was a cornered mouse. Whatever she was hiding, she didn't want to let it out and yet she did. Eric felt a range of conflicting emotions and desires. They were just barely held behind her mask; a dam ready to break.
“Kasile, my dear friend, please tell me.”
The princess checked for witnesses. No one was in the Training Hall, but the two-three-of them. She let out a long sigh and dropped her shoulders. The act cost her an inch in height and regality.
“There is a tradition in my family, some call it a curse,” she began softly. “It dates all the way back to the formation of Ataidar. The monarch must undergo a trial to prove they deserve the crown and its responsibilities. It happens in every generation without fail. The founder unified the city-states into one nation, her daughter defeated a monster god, her grandson fought a war, and her great-grandson ended a drought!”
She stared at the back of her right hand.
“On and on it goes! Every
link of the royal chain down to my mother! She prevented the country from splitting over civil rights! And now . . . and now . . .it's my turn. Sometime in the future, Ataidar will be struck by a crisis and it will be up to me to save it.”
Sure, every generation has its problems . . . unless it really IS a curse . . .Dengel?
It is within the realm of possibility.
“Come on, Kasile, you don't know that.” Eric said reassuringly. “Maybe you'll be the exce-” He was whipped lashed by a royal glare.
“Two millennium Eric; Two thousand years! Not one of my ancestors was exempted! Not in all that time! Some catastrophe will come and I will have to deal with it! I thought it was politics but then there was the kidnapping and Ceiha's coming and Latrot's acting suspicious . . . and . . .I don't know! I don't know what it is or when it will come! All I can do . . . is . . . prepare for it.”
Her voice cracked and her shoulders shook. “What if I fail? What if I'm the one that causes Ataidar's ruin? The one who breaks a royal line reaching all the way back into antiquity!?”
She gasped as arms encircled her.
“Don't worry,” Eric said softly. “Everything's going to be all right.”
She latched onto to him and bawled. Fifteen years of fear and frustration ran down his shirt. He patted her back and whispered more reassurances.
“Kasile, did any of your ancestors face their trial alone?” Kasile paused, then shook her head.
“Then I will be there with you. Just as I promised to rescue you, I promise to help you. But this time . . . I really hope you'll wait for me.” Kasile chuckled into his shoulder.
“T-thank you, E-eric,” she said, and hiccupped. She pulled away and wiped her eyes. When she regained her composure, she said, “I'm sorry you had to see me like that.”
“No problem. Friends, right?” Though her eyes were still shinning with tears, Kasile smiled.
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Friends.”
Chapter 18 Outsider
The next day, Eric stood amid tall tables draped with fire-themed tablecloths and plates decorated with the royal seal. A grand fire hovered in the exact center of the room. There was no one who could not feel its warmth or escape its light. The castle ballroom accommodated the contestants; they enjoyed the finger food and the attention of the waiters and could not forget the source of it all. He wondered when that source would show up.
Just like she said, they're all from the same academy. All the girls wore the same long pink dresses hemmed with gold, collars of darker pink and white gloves. All the boys wore blue floor length robes outline in silver, dark blue ascots and white gloves. One of them bore a striking resemblance to Norej Darwoss. Judging by his age, he could be an older brother, but with his long hair and feminine features, he could have been an older sister.
He marched to Eric and demanded, “Why are you loitering?” He pushed a strand out of his eyes. “Get back to work.”
Eric imitated the gesture with exaggerated pomp. “I already am.”
“What!?” Now Eric had his full attention. “You're not a student from the Royal Academy of Magical Learning. You look like a sell staff! You don't deserve to be here.”
Personally, Eric didn't think he deserved to be here either. His sole reason for entering was so Kasile could make a point. However, he didn't take kindly the comment about his guild.
“Thank you for the compliment. My upperclassmen are some of the best mages in the country.”
“I see you've been taken in by their cult.”
“'Cult'?”
The boy examined his (well cared for) nails. “A cult is defined as: 'A religion or sect considered to be false, unorthodox, or extremist, with members living outside of conventional society under the direction of a charismatic leader.' I believe that fits your little 'guild' to a T, don't you?”
If he doesn't shut up, he's going to be more like a girl than he already is.
Silver hair smirked. “You whoreship your guildhead. You call her 'Leader' or 'Dragoness' and speak of her as if she were a god. Your members, particularly your captains, belong in a nut house. You novices have your heads stuffed with ideas of 'family' and the oh-so-important 'lair'. It's brainwashing if you ask me. And the things you do: anything for the right price! If that's not extremist, I don't what is.”
Eric exhaled. “I will be sure to tell the guild that we have a fan among the contestants. Why else would you know so much about us?” Silver Hair blushed, sputtered, and looked all too angry to form coherent sentences. A torrent of laughter gave him pause.
The source was a girl standing by the banquet. She wore a sky blue dress that fell to a scalloped hem at her knees. Beneath were long socks and leather boots. An attached hood concealed her face. All four articles possessed hand-sewn runes. Thanks to Basilard's test, he knew this girl was prepared for every possible status aliment, but it couldn't explain her effect on him personally.
Ever since entering this room, he felt peculiar; a nagging anxiety and fragile hope mixed together that felt different from pre-contest jitters. The sight of this girl and her laughter amplified it. He felt a clicking deep inside him; the same “unknowingly parched” sensation from his first drink of mana-rich water. Warm and euphoric, but it paled in comparison to this.
“And you! You're no academy student!”
The girl chugged a drink. “Thank The Trickster for that. I never liked wearing all that pink. It would look good on you, though.”
The silver haired snob boiled with anger. “Where is our honor if they're letting dropouts enter our prestigious contest!? Next, they'll be letting demons in!”
The girl slammed her cup on the table. “You're free to think what you want about demons, but allow me to correct you on my credentials.” She threw back her hood and forest green hair fell to her shoulders. Mixed with the green were irregular strands of golden-brown; they looked like Annala's, but reminded him of Tiza's grime streaks.
Silver Hair stepped back as if from a monster. “I know you . . . you're Kallen Selios.”
Kallen held her head proudly. “Satisfied?”
“I am,” he replied coldly. “I, Getis of Darwoss, heir to the county of Darwoss, have been forced to compete with a labrat.”
“I am a field agent,” Kallen hissed. “Not a labrat.”
Getis sneered. “Not anymore, apparently.”
“Not ever!”
“Then what do you call it?”
Kallen crossed her arms. “I was a voluntary participant in theoretical therapy. I single-handedly delivered Proof of Concept! I changed the world just by existing!”
“It is my sincere hope that my change will be a positive one.”
“Why you!”
The academy mages clustered to Getis' side and glowered. She froze. The ones behind her shoved her as they passed. She death-glared each of them in turn before focusing on Getis. Smirking obnoxiously, he shrugged as if to say, “I gained this popularity just by existing.”
What's the story with Kallen Selios? Eric asked Kasile.
She works for the International Community Dedicated to Mana Mutation: collecting data, testing equipment, bringing in specimens, etc. In short, she does grunt work so professional scientists don't have to, but she's proud of it.
“I hear elves administered your 'therapy.' Even took you to their village for it.” Getis pointed to his natural silver hair. “Do you think you're one of them now? Or are you just desperate for attention?”
Kallen picked up a clump of golden-brown hair. “I was collecting data from a mana storm. There was this hole in my suit and Fog leaked in. I can—”
“So the labrat mutated again?”
“I'm NOT a labrat!”
Eric frowned. What about the 'labrat' thing?
She's a victim of the Siduban Chaos Explosion; one of many. The treatment for mana mutation back then was . . . still in the experimental stage.
From a patient to a grunt in eight years . . . All because of a chaos expl
osion.
Lady Chaos works in mysterious ways . . . or maybe she makes it up as she goes along. No one knows. We can discuss it later. Right now, I have to introduce the contest.
Fanfare blared from dual heralds. “Presenting the Daughter of Fire, Heir to the Throne of Ataidar, Her Royal Highness, Kasile Landros Ataidar!”
Two trolls in fire armor pulled open a grand double door and fell to one knee as the princess entered. In her wake, was a column of soldiers and a column of attendants. Looking neither left nor right she walked through a crowd that parted as she approached. Her uniform was unique in its fire motifs and crown jewelry. Compared to her, they were normal school kids in a clique. She stepped onto a star shaped dais beneath the fire, her entourage formed a circle, and all eyes focused on her.
“I thank you all for coming. As Ataidar's future queen, I will be your host. I congratulate you on clearing the rigorous selection process. Clearly, you are the cream of the crop.”
One of the guards cleared her throat.
“Today, we are honored by two special contestants,” Kasile continued. “First, the renowned ICDMM field agent, Kallen Selios.” No one clapped, but Kallen took a bow anyway. “Second, the promising Dragon's Lair mercenary, Eric Watley.” Only Kallen clapped. The rest gave her hostile looks.
“Before we begin, I want you to know that Mr. Watley is not here because I wish to make a point about how this contest is open to everyone.” She's making one right now . . . “He is here because he is every bit as talented as the rest of you. I firmly believe he can win. Then again . . .” She smiled winningly. “I suppose that's why I am the host instead of the judge.” Cue polite laughter. “I wish you all luck and may the 1000th New Scepter Magic Competition begin!”
The First Challenge was a written exam. It covered every single book ever written by a groundbreaking mage and rotated every year. It was comprehensive and detailed; from the most obscure passages to the most esoteric theories. It was enough to make any student break out in a sweat. What kind of a narcissist memorizes their own work? Eric plowed through it with ease.
To the shock of all, the first to finish was the sell staff. He swaggered out of the room and sent Getis a smug look. Kallen joined him in the hallway soon after.
A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos) Page 36
