The Flames of Deception - A Horizon of Storms: Book 1

The Flames of Deception - A Horizon of Storms: Book 1 Page 1

by AJ Martin

A Horizon of Storms: Book I

  The Flames of Deception

  By A.J. Martin

  Text copyright © 2014 Alex Martin

  All Rights Reserved

  To Laura, for everything

  www.AHorizonofStorms.com

  The Chase

  70th Day of the Cycle, 495 N.E. (New Era)

  The sound of thundering hooves on cracked cobblestones could be heard on the air for miles as a masked rider tore through the streaming rain. Clad in a black leather jerkin, cotton britches and shrouded by a brown cloak, the figure pushed onward atop his jet - black horse, riding through the fallen wreckage of a city centuries - dead, desperate to shake his pursuer who closed the gap between them with every second that passed. His sodden cloak ruffled and flapped in the ferocious gale that whistled around the clustered, mutilated colonnades of the ancient, decaying city. He passed crippled houses and the scattered remains of weathered marble statues, their figures severed at the arms and waists. The eroded and chipped, emotionless faces watched him as he tore up the dirt around their pale, cracked feet.

  By the side of a well - worn, brown leather sword scabbard, fastened to his belt was a small, rain - soaked, red velvet pouch, tied by a thick knot of twine to the beltstrap. He clung to it tightly with his right hand as if untrusting of the looped cord that secured it to his person and with the other hand on the reins he drove his horse onward, skirting another crumbling building beset with ivy. With one powerful push of the horse’s hind legs he cleared a ditch that might once have been a flowing river full of life, but now held nothing but thirsty brambles and jagged, brittle thorns. The rider fell forward in his saddle as the horse landed heavily on the other side and he squeezed his legs tightly to her flanks to stop from toppling over completely.

  The weather worsened as he continued to ride and the horse’s pace flagged. Pulling off the saturated hood about his head he shook his long, dark hair free of amassed droplets of rain. Trickles of water flooded down his face and over his thick eyebrows, clouding his vision as he lowered his head to his horse’s ear.

  “Come my girl, you must pick up the pace!” he called to her through the whistling wind. The horse snorted as if in acknowledgement and sped up. The rider took a second to look behind him. A moment later, he wished he hadn’t.

  The creature that chased the rider sat atop its own horse: a ghostly, grey nightmare of a creature, pale and naked save for a coarse, torn strip of fabric across its waist. The rain poured over its slimy, mottled skin, stretched tightly over its lean flesh and thin bones. Its bulbous head was covered with thick black veins, jutting out under the stretched skin like suckling leeches. They snaked across a ferocious, protruding brow, intensifying the picture of malice already emblazoned on its mutated face. Its eyes smouldered with a pure, liquid hatred: the deep black portals the size of oranges set into its skull sucked the courage out of any that dared look into them. As the rider gazed into those eyes, which were in turn fixed solely on him, he could feel the anger that poured out of them: a primal thirst for his blood. The demon snarled at him as he continued to stare, its razor teeth glinting in the cloudy moonlight. The rider knew all too well that those thin, steel - like pins could tear flesh from bone. He had seen it happen to his travelling companion, the barbs slicing the meat from his body and churning it up with ease, as if it were nothing but gelatine. At that moment with the rain lashing his back, they were all he could focus on. He had fought all manner of creatures: men of all different races and species, but never had any of them instilled in him the terror that he felt at that moment. The creature was old and feral, darker and more dangerous than anything he had come across before. It wanted the stone and it would do anything to get it. He gripped the velvet pouch tighter.

  The mare reached the top of another mound of earth and rubble and began to descend again, sliding down the steep hill to the boundaries of the abandoned city, the loose mud scattering under her hooves as they headed further into the path of the wind. The tempest tore at the man's clothes and the raindrops stung his crimson cheeks as a crackle of thunder signalled overhead and a flash of lightning illuminated the ghostly city. The creature behind him became visible again very briefly in the sparking light and his heart caught in his throat as he glanced back. However many times he saw that figure he couldn’t still the fear that gripped him when he looked upon its monstrous guise.

  “Hyah!” he cried to his horse, slapping the reins to encourage her. “There are many more lives at stake than just yours and mine tonight girl! Hyah!” They sped on through a final slalom of broken - down pillars and archways, clearing the boundaries of the city, bursting on to a field of long, wet grass. The rider risked another look behind him and his breath caught as he realised how close the demon had grown.

  Faster and faster it pursued him and closer it drew- so near that the beast could almost lay its hands on his horse’s tail. The rider veered to the left, winding through the grasslands. The creature followed, still gaining ground and in seconds the two were riding in parallel. The beast swiped at him with its claws and snarled as the rider slipped away again to the left. In moments though, it would catch up again. It was relentless.

  The rider swallowed and his lips trembled. Shaking his head, he fumbled at his side, untying the pouch from his waist, careful not to let the bag drop from his grip. He held it tightly in his fingers and brought it up in front of his face. The object inside glistened through the small opening in the tightened fabric and he became transfixed for a moment by the violet light that spilled out. Whispers of voices emerged from the bag for a moment and an image of the young girl filled his mind. Other thoughts and pictures tried to enter his thoughts, but he shook his head and they dispersed. Then he nodded to himself and fastened the bag carefully to the reins. He patted the mare and whispered in her ear.

  “Bring yourself home safely to Mahalia, my girl. They must know what awaits them.”

  Pulling his sword from its sheath, he sprang from his saddle as the creature drew by his side again and grabbed it by the arm, dragging it with him to the ground. They rolled through the grass together, until the creature kicked out with its powerful legs and knocked the rider aside. The man came to a stop face down in a puddle. Raising his muddied head he looked around maniacally for the creature. It was still rolling around on the floor several feet away, scrambling about like a cat on an icy pond, trying to set itself upright again. Good. Mud dripped from the man’s fringe as he forced himself up, his hands disappearing in the saturated muck beneath him. His legs shook from exhaustion, but he persuaded his limbs to let him stand and threw off his heavy cloak, taking his sword in both hands as the creature began lumbering towards him. It snarled and smiled its malevolent grin at him. The beast had no forged weapon to speak of: its arms were all the weapon it needed. They were enormous, out of proportion with the rest of its starved, stretched body, and on the end of their muscular trunks were twisted, spiked hands, twice the size of a humans, with three long, claw-like pincers. It gestured with them and then with a roar jumped at the rider, flailing wildly. He darted out of its wake but before he could recover his stance the creature flung its weight at him again, catching him on the cheek with a claw and splitting the skin. Blood smattered the ground from the gash, and as it oozed from the fleshy cut, it mixed with the rain and slid down his neck beneath his shirt. He embraced the pain, put it aside as he had been taught to, and raised his sword again. This time he lunged forward, parried with his foe, slashing at the monster’s shin and its midriff. He nicked its torso and a thin line of blackened, turgid crimson blood blotted the pale skin as it dribbled out fro
m its veins like curdled milk; thick clots splattering the floor. The creature stepped back and examined its wound, but before the man could take advantage of its disillusion it rallied and cast a clawed hand at him again, knocking him to the ground. He wheezed as the wind fell out of him and spun with his back to the dirt as another arm came lunging down at him. It was all he could do to stop those claws from clasping his neck, blocking the attack with his blade and forcing the creature back. He kicked out with all his remaining strength and gathered the room he needed to force himself up. He staggered backwards, muscles aching, and readied himself again. As the creature lolloped wildly back at him, he darted aside, ducked his head beneath another swiping arm, stepped behind the beast and, raising his weapon atop his head, brought it humming down on to the beast’s elbow joint with a triumphant yell, ripping off an arm. The creature screamed and wailed in pain, dashing away from him, cradling its leaking stump with the other hand. Mashed flesh and spiky bone stuck out from the creature's wound. It simpered like a dog a moment, snorting and whining. Steam rose from its nostrils into the cold, wet air. The man watched several paces away, his chest heaving, waiting for the creature’s next move.

  The beast’s eyes narrowed and the man shivered. It felt like it was looking straight into his soul. Then it shrieked like a rabid monkey and pounded towards him. The rider’s eyes grew wide. He raised his sword, but the creature sprung up like a frog and drop- kicked him in the face before he could swing. The rider’s jaw dislodged and several of his teeth sailed through the air. He could taste the blood from his cut gums. His vision blurred heavily, as if the haze from the rain wasn’t enough. He threw his sword in front of him as he saw a fuzzy limb come at him, but the creature knocked it from his hand and hit him clean in the chest. Winded and cut across his torso the man fell, hunched over in agony. Warmth spread across his body and for a moment he seemed so very, very far away. It was over, he knew, and as he closed his eyes he pictured his wife, his child, and the house in which they lived, bathed in the amber glow of an autumnal light. He smiled at their faces.

  The haggard creature seized the moment to defeat its prey. It threw its razor-sharp claws down into the rider’s back, thrusting hard and breaking his spine before bursting out through his chest. There was no time for the man to scream- he was dead before he could utter a noise. The creature freed its hand from the gaping hole in the man’s body and inspected the fleshy ligaments that sat tangled between its claws, sniffing them curiously. The rider’s corpse slumped to the ground, lifeless.

  A hideous, wicked smile emerged on the creature's face as it inspected the kill closer. It bent down and smelt the iron in the man’s blood with its forked tongue as it poured from his body and soaked into the mud. Then it threw its head into the air and howled with delight, dancing in the torrent of rain in triumph. A moment later, with its celebrations over and acting with purpose once more, it began rifling with its one arm through the man’s clothes, searching his pockets and tearing the shirt from his body to find what it was looking for. It grew ever more desperate as it continued, tugged the body this way and that, patted and slapped at the sodden fabrics of the trousers. But it was gone. The rider no longer had what it was looking for.

  The creature’s screams carried on the wind for miles.

  The rider-less mare fled from the sound with all the speed she could muster, her hooves pounding the sodden land for traction. Fields of grass blurred into one another. The rain finally died down and in the distance, the shadowy image of a large city came into view against a mountainous backdrop. She flew for the silhouetted land. Never in her life had she moved as fast as she was at that moment. Howls from close behind spurred her on until the colossal pyramid- shaped structure of archways and pillars resolved itself further out of the darkness from the light of thousands of torches within. She approached the grass plains at its base.

  Behind, the demon gained ground once again. It had to have what it had come for! Failure was not an option for it! The enemy could never have the gemstone! As it slapped the reins of its horse harder, it closed in on the mare. The creature smiled: it would reach her before she could make it into the city. Closer. Closer. Close enough! A twisted arm reached out to the exhausted animal. Then the beast’s deep, dark eyes caught sight of a flash in the black skies above and a bolt of lightning seethed downwards, straight towards it, striking it in the chest and sending it flying from its horse, rolling through the soaking grass. When it stopped the creature looked down at its steaming chest. A black mark stretched across its ribcage.

  Through the rain a new rider hurtled towards the creature, a tall iron staff in hand. Their eyes glowed like bright sapphires in the darkness and their curly brown hair whipped in the gale. The monster snarled, rose to its feet and then ran towards them as they pointed the staff towards the demon. Fire poured from the end of the rod, engulfing the creature. It wailed and threw its flaming body around, trying to shake off the maelstrom, but it was useless. As the skies rumbled, the beast fell, burnt to the core.

  The new rider stopped for a moment in front of the body, poking at it with the staff and then nodded. He looked around, but the creature’s horse had already fled into the night. He turned away from the corpse and reared his own horse, galloping back towards the city, the lone mare now safely in its grounds and with her, the velvet bag and its contents that her rider had died for.

  Above, the storm raged on.

  “The storm front approaches upon the horizon and all that seems to stand between it and the sacking of the world are the band of four, who haunt my dreams every night this past year. They appear destined to blow away the sickly winds and cast out the darkness that seems so insurmountable. I am almost certain now that they are the only saviours from that horizon of storms, even if those around me think me mad and dismiss my warnings. But there is more I see. One amongst them holds the bloodline of the Akari!”

  From the notes of Isser Interlock, the Poet Laureate of the Kingdom of Aralia, written 451 N.E. (New Era).

  An Eye at the Door

  112th Day of the Cycle, 495 N.E. (New Era)

  The sun had only just begun to creep above the horizon of early morning as a knocking on the east gate of the City of Rina, Capital of the Kingdom of Aralia, broke the peace. Mist hung heavily in the crisp air, and dew coated the grassy plains that spread out from the white, stone - walled city in all directions for miles. Aside from the dusty, gravel path that wound its way around the countryside, the city was an isolated, whitewashed beacon within the lush, overgrown fields, filled with early summer blooms.

  The door to the little - used entrance rattled on its old, iron hinges as the knocking continued. Its cause was a lone, young man, who rapped again and again with the end of a tired, wooden staff. He stopped a moment to let the dust settle from the surrounding stones, swept the long, straight, brown hair of his fringe out of his eyes and across his mildly tanned brow, and then exhaled impatiently, puffing out a tune through his lips. He was tall and slender, with a posture that exuded confidence. Then, clicking his tongue, he rapped again, louder still than before. With his free hand he played with the pendant around his neck, twisting it impatiently between his fingers. The silver arrowhead caught the emerging daylight, and a round cut ruby encrusted in its centre glinted. To most people on the continent of Triska, the meaning of the emblem was palpable: only a wizard of Mahalia wore such jewellery, and men had learned to tread carefully when the arrowhead made itself known.

  “Come on,” the man sighed, and then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I haven’t got all day, you know. If I did I would be somewhere warm and cosy.” He knocked his staff against the door again, and again, and then again – rata-tat, rata-tat. At last a person opened the peephole in the door, and a beady, bloodshot eye poked out. It took in the young man standing just beneath the hatch, studied his delicate features, and then, with a guttural voice, addressed him.

  “Who’s there?” the eye said. “For the gods’ sakes, I was ‘avin
g a bloody nap! Do you know what time it is?”

  “Time you answered the door,” the man said beneath his breath, but then smiled broadly. He struck his staff into the soft earth and brushed off his expensive red coat, its shoulders bristling with golden - embroidered overlay twisted into delicate, floral patterns, and its gregariously flared sleeves glittering with sequins. Lace spilled out the ends from a silken white shirt beneath as he raised his hand in salutation, and with his other hand he loosened a dark blue cravat, tied messily around his neck, as he spoke. His grey eyes sparkled, and for the smallest of moments they seemed to flash a bright blue.

  “My name is Matthias,” he announced, nodding to the peephole. “Who are you?”

  “That’s none of yer business! Bloody foreigner!” the eye grumbled. “Right pains in the backside!”

  Matthias raised a brow in surprise. “Do you speak to all your guests so politely?” he asked.

  “Yer ain’t no guest ‘ere,” the eye continued. “Not whilst you is on that side of my gate! Now what is it you want?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Why do most people knock on one side of a door? I would like to come in,” the man known as Matthias continued.

  The eye squinted. “If I’m to let you in Mister, I’ll need to know more than just yer blooming name! What’s yer business ‘ere?”

  Matthias sighed. “I’ve come from Mahalia. I have business in your city on behalf of the Council of Wizards.”

  The eye in the door sniggered at him. “The Council of Wizards yer say? A young lad like you? You is barely what – twenty years old?”

  Matthias leaned forward. “Let us just say, my friend, that I look good for my age.” He smiled knowingly.

  The eye snorted. After a pause, the voice continued, the man’s rough tones muffled by the wood. “So you ‘ave come on important business?”

  “I believe those were my words,” Matthias continued.

  “And you come knocking on an old side door? Sneaking round the back of Rina like some peddler?”

  “Sneaking would imply that I have something to hide,” Matthias said. “Do you accuse me of lying?” he asked back.

  The eye appeared unnerved a moment. But then its owner regained their confidence. “You ‘ave papers?”

  Matthias shook his head. “No papers, my friend.”

  “What, you ain’t got nothin’?” the eye asked.

  “Identities can be forged with the possession of nothing more than a quill and some ink. What point would my showing you a piece of parchment do?” Matthias queried.

  “So ... you ‘ave no identity. No escort. No proof of who you say yer are? You is ‘aving a bloody laugh, you are. Tell me, what is it you is really doing ‘ere? C’mon, out with it! I can spot a phony when I sees one.” The beady eye squinted at him through the peephole.

  Matthias rolled his eyes. This would be harder than he thought. “I’m telling you the truth,” he replied curtly, outstretching his arms in protest. Then, clicking his fingers, he clutched to the pendant around his neck between finger and thumb, and waggled it at the hole. “Look. Surely you recognize the meaning of this symbol?”

  The eye continued to stare, blinking quickly, moving up and down, and studying him.

  Matthias frowned at the man’s apparent inactivity, and he let go of the pendant with a flourish of his hand. He picked up his staff from where he had stuck it in the ground, and leaned forward towards the peephole, allowing the brace to bear his weight.

  “Well?” he probed. “Do you recognise it?”

  “I know what it is! I ain’t stupid! You could’ve nicked that!”

  Matthias smiled confidently. “Not possible.”

  The eye narrowed again and continued to stare, as if waiting for further proof.

  Matthias raised his brow as he continued to stare down the eye. “I could force the door open, you know, with a flick of my wrist.”

  The eye sniffed. “Then why don’t you?”

  “That would be... How do you say? Overkill? And hardly polite when on business.”

  “Well, it’s the only way yer getting’ in ‘ere,” the eye said. “Cos’ I ain’t letting a scoundrel like you in any other way!” The eye scoffed, and narrowed.

  Matthias sighed. “You enjoy your job, don’t you?”

  “It has its moments.” The man seemed pleased.

  Matthias shook his head. “You know my friend, I always thought Rina welcomed travellers with open arms. But from the treatment I have received here today, it seems I was wrong.” He clapped his hands together, and spun his staff around in the air dramatically. “Very well. I suppose I will have to make my way to one of the other gates then.” He sighed. “It is a shame though. That is, it’s a shame for you.” He turned to go, picking up and slinging his tattered bag across his shoulder.

  The eye squinted. “Why’s that then?” the man asked with more than just a hint of curiosity in his disembodied voice.

  Matthias turned his head to look back at the peephole. “I would have richly rewarded you if you had let me in. I’m here on very important business, and I’ve been given a great wealth from my people to make sure I am tended to properly. Ah, it’s no matter,” he said, and waved the eye away with a hand. “I’m sure someone at one of the other gates will be able to help me.” Matthias shifted his coat and began walking away from the door.

  The eye seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “Richly rewarded?” it said. It seemed to move closer toward the peephole, as if the person behind the door were leaning heavily in to the door. It practically bulged out of the wood.

  Matthias nodded, and was met with yet more silence. The eye took in the cut of Matthias’ clothing, seemed to notice the fine gold embroidery on his coat for the first time, the fine linen of his shirt and then, at last, made its decision.

  “Alright. Hold on, it’ll take a minute!” The eye disappeared and the peephole slid shut.

  Sounds of various bolts and latches being undone came from behind the heavy wooden door. Matthias’ lips twitched into a smile as he waited – he could hear the man fumbling with the door, breathing heavily.

  “Isn’t money a wonderful thing?” he whispered to himself. He inspected his fingernails as he waited, and then finally after a moment more, the door began to creak open. The eye, or rather, the person the eye belonged to became visible as a hand beckoned for Matthias to come inside. He was a man of many years, dressed in a tattered brown coat – or, more accurately, what was left of a brown coat, with its ripped sleeves and stretched button holes. It was a sharp contrast to the soldiers at the main gate that Matthias had spied, their breastplates gleaming in the sun, with the emblem of Aralia--a golden Phoenix--shining proudly in golden leaf adhered to the steel. But then he didn’t want to speak with them. He could handle someone like this.

  “Right. Come on in then,” the man said awkwardly, jerking a thumb behind him.

  Matthias passed through the gateway, his staff tapping on the floor as he moved through. He emerged into a small cobblestone-floored yard, with stacks of broken crates piled up in the corners. An old cart lay rusting to one side, propped against a wall, covered in moss and crawling with snails. The air smelled of old, rotting vegetables. Matthias congratulated himself silently, whilst trying to block out the stench. He had guessed right - this was a little used gateway, and just what he had needed. Somewhere quiet to gain entrance.

  “Welcome to Rina!” the man said with mock enthusiasm, and rubbed the back of his grey-haired head nervously.

  Matthias nodded his head. “Thank you,” he said with equal sarcasm. He reached into his coat and pulled out a leather purse. The man’s face lit up, as Matthias took out two gold coins – Mahalian Marks - and placed them in the man's waiting palm. His stubby fingers snapped around them as soon as the metal touched his greasy skin. “Your assistance is appreciated,” Matthias said. “It wasn’t that hard, was it?”

  The man shook his head as he shoved the coins into his poc
ket. “You’d best not be ‘ere in Rina to make trouble. I knows that a man of yer standin’ who is so desperate to come through this way is up to some sort of mischief.” He leaned forward. “Whatever it is you is up to, it ‘ad better not be anything that’ll hurt this city.”

  “Or get you into trouble?” Matthias suggested

  “That too.”

  Matthias smiled and nodded in acknowledgement. “I hear you loud and clear, my friend. Don’t worry yourself. I’m a wizard.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” the man said.

  “My point is if I wanted to cause trouble, I could burn this city to the ground single-handedly. From the outside.” Matthias knelt down so he was level with the man’s face. “I’m not your enemy. Believe me.”

  “There ain’t many people round ‘ere who would believe the words of a wizard,” the man retorted.

  “Are you one of them?” Matthias asked.

  “Ain’t ever ‘ad any reason to dislike your kind,” the man said.

  Matthias nodded. “Well then, that’s good.”

  “Ain’t ‘ad any reason to like ‘em either,” the man added quickly.

  Matthias smiled. ”I give you my word. I am here to help.”

  The gatekeeper looked him in the eyes, and nodded. “Well… that’s alright then. Glad to hears it.” He shook his head. “Confident young lad ain’t yer?” he added.

  “What’s your name?” Matthias asked, ignoring the comment.

  “Jadin. Jadin Spickett,” he said uncertainly.

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Jadin,” Matthias said. “You know, there is one other thing you could do for me,” he added, lifting a finger and looking around. “Is it possible you could show me how I get to the main courtyard from here? I haven’t got a clue!”

  The gatekeeper shook his head, again rubbing the back of his neck. “I ‘ave to stay here and look over the gate. It ain’t worth my life to abandon this post! You never know what kind of person will try to get in or out when I’m not looking. ‘Ave to keep constant vigi… er…”- he faltered, and scratched at his head.

  “Vigilance?” Matthias proffered.

  “Exactly! So I’m sorry, but I can take you no further! As I said, it ain’t worth my life.”

  Matthias slowly reached into his pocket again. “Perhaps it would be worth another Mahalian Mark? In Aralian currency I think that’s enough for…” he paused, squinting his eyes in thought. “Fifty - three pints of your ale? If I’m not mistaken?”

  The keeper’s hand shot out at an impressive speed and snatched the money from Matthias' own. “More like sixty,” the man said uncertainly. He nodded in front of them. “Follow me then. I’ll take you to the bloody courtyard.”

  Springing into a brisk walk the man beckoned for Matthias to follow, his small legs moving ten to the dozen. Matthias chuckled, shaking his head as they headed off into the city together. “Such a helpful man,” he whispered to himself.

  They walked through a series of dark, narrow streets. Torn rags were suspended above from precariously hanging ropes. Wooden buckets of varying shapes and sizes sat outside lines of slapdash houses, filled with... well, Matthias could hazard a pretty good guess at what they held. The air was thick with the smell of urine and the cobbles were cracked and littered with weeds.

  “Where are we?” Matthias asked his guide as he stared sombrely around him.

  “We call this ‘the skids’” Jadin replied. “I don’t think I need to tell you why.”

  They passed a woman in threadbare clothes who gave Matthias a deathly stare as they passed. He was hardly dressed appropriately for walking through the slums.

  “Every big city has a place where people slip between the cracks,” Matthias mused. “People clutching to life by a thread. How many people live in this area?” he asked.

  “Hard to say. Maybe a few hundred,” the man replied. “I live on the outskirts. It’s a small house, but it’s better than some around ‘ere ‘ave got. I expect you live in a mansion or something similar?” he asked bitterly.

  “Not quite Jadin,” he replied, but didn’t elaborate further.

  They emerged out into a merchant area, with market stalls lining one side of a long, narrow street. Chickens stacked atop each other in small, wooden boxes clucked at him as he passed them, their beady eyes flicking hastily around themselves, and tied up by their legs, several dead rabbits hung from the wood frame of the stall, their ears flapping in the breeze.

  Matthias browsed over some of the goods being sold as they made their way through the area. One stall that caught his eye was filled with pendants and medallions. Matthias paused a moment to look them over.

  “See anything you like, My Lord?” the owner asked, leaning forward expectantly. He smiled with yellowing teeth through his thick, spiky black beard. “Here, how about this?” His chunky hand dove into a tangled collection of pendants in a wicker basket and pulled out a crude looking pewter knot with a piece of coloured glass in the middle. He showed it to Matthias. “This here, see, is made of urunahenium, the rarest metal in the world! It acts as a barrier against black magic.”

  Matthias eyed the trinket cautiously and tried to keep a straight face. “Black magic, you say?” he repeated. “Like the sort a wizard would perform?”

  “Meslip-” Jadin began, shaking his head at the owner, but the man cut him off.

  “Oh yes!” the man continued, as Jadin tugged at Matthias’ arm. “It would ward off any spells from those creatures,” he said, grinning.

  “Really?” Matthias exclaimed. “Perhaps I had better take a closer look at that...” He leaned forward, and the Mahalian pendant around his own neck dangled into full view. The owner caught sight of it and his eyes boggled.

  “You know, I think... yes, I seem to remember, I had sold this already, to another lord! He is coming by later to collect it! I am sorry!” He started to sweat quite profusely, and dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief.

  Matthias put on a face of mock disappointment, and clutched to his chest. “Alas, I will have to do without it.” He bowed his head to the owner with a wry smile and left with Jadin, who tried to pull him away as quickly as he could.

  “Are all Aralians as crafty Jadin?” Matthias asked with a smile as they walked on.

  “Forgive Meslip,” he said anxiously. “He has been hard done by of late. His wife ran off with the local Blacksmith. Took all his possessions of any value, what little money he had. Yer... won’t do anything to him, will you?” he asked anxiously.

  Matthias stopped. “Why would I?” he asked.

  “It’s just there are stories of wizards who take revenge on their enemies.” Jadin shrugged. “Meslip was lying and saying things about yer people,” he said awkwardly.

  Matthias shook his head. “I would never do that Jadin.” Then he smiled. “I was just playing with him. There was no harm done! I say good luck to him. There must be hundreds of nobles in this city gullible enough to fall for such a trick, and if they do, then they deserve to be tricked. It’s amazing he isn’t rolling in coin!” He glared up at the sky. The sun was growing higher, rising above the wall of the city and peeking around the scaffolds as it made its slow ascent. “Are we much further from the courtyard? I’m afraid time is against me, and I can’t afford to waste any more of it.”

  “Not much further,” Jadin replied, his tone lighter. “Come. It’s this way.”

  “Your people are wary of wizards, aren’t they?” Matthias asked.

  “We’ve heard stories of what wizards can do. You ain’t too popular amongst most people in these parts.”

  “We try to keep the peace,” Matthias said. “For the most part, we have succeeded.”

  Jadin nodded as they walked. “So yer say. But from what I’ve heard it’s sometimes peace created with fear, and that ain’t no peace at all, not in my book.”

  Matthias paused a moment and stared at the man. “You are very perceptive.”

&nb
sp; “Not what you was expectin’?”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose I should know better than to judge someone by first impressions,” he said distantly.

  “I’m not sure how to take that,” Jadin said.

  They carried on through a narrow alleyway, and then under a bridge from which scaffolding poles stuck out at odd angles.

  “Do you have a large family Jadin?” Matthias asked as they continued.

  “I ‘ave a wife and three children,” he said. “Two boys and a girl. Why?” he asked.

  “It’s rude not to get to know your hosts, I always think,” Matthias replied with a smile. “How long do you sit at that gate for?”

  “Ten hours a day,” Jadin replied. “Ten hours I sit on my old crate and keep an eye out for trouble!”

  “I can’t imagine many people come round your way very often?” Matthias asked.

  “I get the odd merchant. But it’s more locals coming in and out of the city. Never ‘ad a lord before!”

  Matthias smiled. “I’m not a lord, Jadin.”

  “You sure look like a lord!” the man called back as they turned another street corner.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Matthias replied. “As we have already discussed.”

  “So you ain’t going to tell me why yer really did come through my gate then?” Jadin continued.

  “It wouldn’t be my first choice,” Matthias replied. “It’s... complicated.”

  “We can’t have just anyone coming on in you know!” he replied. “I could gets a bad reputation if I did! Especially letting a wizard in.”

  “Then why did you let me in?” Matthias asked.

  Jadin turned. “Because that kind of money puts food on our plates,” he said. “And I would be a fool not to take up an offer when it comes my way, wizard or not.” Matthias nodded again thoughtfully. Jadin looked sombre. “I ain’t a sell - out, if that’s what yer think,” he said. “I loves this kingdom.”

  Matthias placed a hand on his shoulder. “I understand,” Matthias said. “And I told you, I am here to try and help.”

  Jadin nodded. “Alright. Maybe... maybe I do believes yer.” Then he turned and plodded on. Finally, after a few more minutes’ walk, they came to a stop by a tall archway, leading to a path built under a wooden building on stilts.

  “Just through this path ‘ere and you come straight out into the main courtyard. Can’t miss it.”

  Matthias nodded. “Well I suppose this is where we part ways.” He bowed his head to the gatekeeper and looked upon the short man softly. “Thank you. You’re a good man, Jadin Spickett, and I am pleased to have met you.”

  Jadin shook his head. “I’ve been called many things, but never that,” he laughed. “Ah, it was no bother, really.” He held out his hand to Matthias, and his eyes narrowed. “You know, despite what I first thought back there, yer seem a decent kind as well. For a wizard.”

  “What made you change your mind?” Matthias asked.

  Jadin shook his head. “I’ve seen yer people come ‘ere before. They come barging into Rina as if they owns the place! All these guards and escorts. They’re stuck up, self-satisfied snobs.”

  “My people have been known for their arrogance, I’ll admit,” Matthias said. “It’s a reputation well earned.”

  Jadin nodded. “But yer don’t seems that way. You wear those posh clothes, but yer don’t sit well in ‘em’”

  “Well I will have to tell my tailor,” Matthias joked.

  Jadin shook his head. “You knows what I mean. Yer seem different.” He sighed. “Whatever it is you is doing ‘ere, take care of yerself.”

  Matthias nodded. “Thank you,” he smiled.

  “If you is needing any more guiding around town...” Jadin proffered.

  “Then I know exactly who to call!”

  The squat man nodded and turned, walking back the way he had come. Matthias watched him disappear around the corner, and then, ducking his head down, made his way through the makeshift pathway beneath the house on stilts, feeling around the damp, wooden, moss - encrusted struts in the shadows and avoiding the drips that fell from the rusting drain - pipes, until he emerged back into the sunlight.

  Into the City

  112th Day of the Cycle, 495 N.E. (New Era)

  Matthias’s eyes constricted as he stepped out into the morning sunshine that shone on the Everlyne Courtyard. He shielded himself from the light and peered at the way before him. He had emerged into a part of Rina that seemed to be bursting at the seams with commotion. Despite the early hour, the expansive plaza heaved with scurrying people going about their business, the floor tiled with the emblem of Aralia almost entirely masked by the bustling footfall and plenitude of wooden market stalls. He was right at the city’s heart: a beating throng of people milling about the streets and alleyways.

  The wizard turned a full circle to survey his surroundings. All around the edges of the courtyard a multitude of buildings large and small vied for space in the prominent yet cramped perimeter, jutting out haphazardly like teeth in an overcrowded mouth. The Obsidian Hall was an easy building to identify: an extravagant two-storey structure of shiny black stone and golden leaf highlights, well known as the trading centre for many of Rina’s unique wares that had earned it an impressive reputation amongst merchants. By its side there was the imposing King Metherill Municipal Courthouse, where public trials were watched over by a public greedy for tales of debauchery to brighten their own routine lives. As he continued his survey, a large, curved building caught his eye. It was visibly decaying, surprising for a building in its prominent position. The plaster was crumbling from its walls in great chunks. He squinted at the chiselled golden lettering above its doors, worn and flaking: ‘The Oval Playhouse,’ it read. Its doors were sealed shut by a thick, diagonal wooden plank, which had clearly been in place a number of years by the wear it showed. Scrawled on it in big, red handwriting was the word ‘unclean’. There must have been a reason for the beautiful and elegant building to have fallen into such disrepair. Matthias made a mental note to try and find out why, when time allowed him to pursue such curiosities again. He had read much about Rina on his journey, but some things still eluded him. You couldn’t absorb seven hundred years of history in a few weeks.

  Sitting behind the large buildings, dotted about in all directions, mounds of unusually different looking smaller buildings stretched skyward, slumped over one another in a hotchpotch manner. Rina ascended up on itself, hundreds of years of construction defying gravity instead of more traditionally, and perhaps sensibly, expanding outwards. The logic was that it ensured its people were better protected this way, enclosed within the confines of Rina’s famously thick and impenetrable stone wall. The downside to the plan was that the city had literally piled buildings on top of itself, one another, layer upon layer, seemingly with no plan or design, until all around the skyline scaffolds of houses rose from the ground in staggered tiers, stretching higher and higher until they seemed to reach the clouds. And yet, somehow the chaos of its ad-hoc structure produced a city that was a wonder to behold, with no two houses alike, no roads the same and a world of discovery waiting around every corner.

  The more impressive looking establishments of the nobility of Rina had found a way around the inherently eccentric nature of its upward construction by building their own little pathways, crafted from wooden beams that sat atop scaffold supports, where they peered down on the world below then, held together with an array of ropes, chains and cables. Who maintained the scaffolds was anyone’s guess, but it all seemed to work, including the precariously crafted plumbing and drainage system that spiralled down to earth and filtered itself, rather unceremoniously, into large, sulphurous ditches at points around the edge of the city, where the pile-up was then gathered up onto carts weekly and used as both a manure for fields and as an unhealthy swill for pigs and the less picky of livestock.

  Matthias had what he felt was a misfortune to have arrived on one of
the three weekly trading bazaars, and the sheer number of people who crowded the area made it difficult to move. He picked his way clumsily around a crowd of people who had gathered to see one of Rina’s resident jesters flailing around on a hastily erected plinth.

  Do these people never sleep? Matthias thought, as he glanced up at sky, which was really only just beginning to colour with daylight. It can’t have been later than seven, and yet it seemed the entire population of Rina had spilled out on to the streets. As he stared upward, his eye was drawn to the shape of a blackened body, dangling from a bloodied beam outside a pub a few paces away. The skin was a mix of dark hues, and a gaping hole sat where their features should be. It had clearly been there a while.

  “Excuse me,” Matthias said, stopping a middle-aged woman in her tracks as she passed him. “Do you know what they were hung for?”

  She smirked, and the dimples in her considerable cheeks stood out like great potholes in her face. “You mean James Maston?” she answered, indicating to the body. Matthias nodded. “He stole a loaf of bread,” she said.

  “Was that all?” Matthias exclaimed.

  “That’s someone’s livelihood!” She frowned, shaking her head. “That could feed a man for a week if he managed it right!” She looked him up and down. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

  Matthias smiled and shook his head. “It is that obvious?”

  “You have the tan of a foreigner alright,” she said, as she looked back up at the hanging body. “Well, if I were you, I’d stop asking questions like that. That boy warrants no pity. If you ask me, he deserved every second of his strangling!” She nodded to him, and then moved on her way.

  “A loaf of bread,” Matthias repeated. “And they call us barbaric,” he whispered, shaking his head, before he set off again through the crowds.

  He emerged into a gap in the throng, completely flustered, as the warm sun beat through his thick coat upon his back. His eye caught the glint of light on water from a large fountain bubbling away happily ahead of him, and he made for it, dipping his hands in the cool water that fell into the pool from marble amphora above, and splashed his face gratefully. He stopped a moment to gather his thoughts, and then as people began clambering atop the fountain's rim for a better look at the jester, who was pulling more and more people towards his display, he moved again, weaving his way again until, eventually, he made his way out from the courtyard through a vast archway carved with ceramic flowers and vines, dotted with real wildflowers planted in pottery baskets. A plaque carved out of stone read: ‘The Northern Habitual Quarter.’

  He walked up a cobbled street filled with shops and a lone inn, the ‘Rusty Bucket’, avoiding a cardsharp outside its doors who tried to grab his arm and entice him into a game of Shove Penny, and trotted down a thin line of steps into another street.

  As the sun disappeared beneath the canopy of a scaffold structure above him, Matthias reached a dead-end, save for a wooden ladder that reached up to the higher level. He looked up at the underside of the wooden structure, where trailing ivy and plant life hung limply. A thin mist of water sailed down on a breeze from between the boards. With a shrug he grasped the ladder and hoisted himself up. As he reached the top, the city opened out in front of him yet again. Atop the platform sat elegant, half –timber decorated houses, with chunky chimneys and stucco walls and beautiful gardens. It was a floating island of tranquillity above the chaos of the courtyard below. The people rose in prosperity like the city itself; level upon level, with the Palace at the very top. Climbing the social ladder in Rina could often be more than just a saying. He stopped a man mid-stride in the street, and asked him for directions to the city’s guardhouse. To his relief, he was only a few minutes away.

  Finally, a short while later, after climbing another ladder to yet another level of the city, Matthias arrived at his destination: a tall, three-storey building made of sandstone. He made his way up its large wooden steps, to a set of solid, arched doors. Two fine cloth tapestries hung to either side with the King’s coat of arms emblazoned on each: a griffin and a phoenix, intertwined around a pea-green shield decorated with horizontally-placed depictions of swords. Above, chiselled into the large keystone at the crown of the doorway, a motto was engraved in an ancient script:

  “Evican Verdani Litani Militia.” Matthias racked his brain for a translation. It was an old Aralian dialect: ‘Into the military, our lives we trust,’ if he wasn’t mistaken. Which he might have been? It was hard enough learning the current languages, let alone the ancient ones of civilisations long since passed. There was only so much room in his head.

  He stood and stared at the building a moment longer, and in his heart he felt a great weight of uncertainty fall upon him. He had kept such feelings at bay so far on his journey, but now he had finally arrived, the reality of his situation hit him. There should have been another way, a way that didn’t involve so much subterfuge. Perhaps Jadin had been right about his people. But equally, perhaps the man was wrong about him. Was he a good man? The term had been diluted to a point he couldn’t even tell himself any longer. He shook his head. The only other way didn’t bear thinking about. If he didn’t do this, then the girl’s life would be over, one way or another.

  He took a deep breath and grasped the golden door handles. “Right then, now comes the hard part!” He pushed the handles down; the latch opened slipping from its housing, and shifting his weight, he thrust the heavy doors inward and made his way inside.

  The Guardhouse

  112th Day of the Cycle, 495 N.E. (New Era)

  The room was dark to Matthias’s eyes after being in the bright sunlight, and it took a while for his vision to adjust to the shadowy recesses of the room. When the green spots had finished dancing in front of his eyes, he focussed on a chipped, splintered table that stood in front of him, a layer of varnish peeling off from its topside. A man clad in military uniform sat at one of the five chairs set at regular intervals around the oblong surface. He was well built and stocky, with broad shoulders and a square chiselled jaw, a prominent nose and dark, slightly curly hair that covered his ears. Compared to the man, Matthias was a stick insect. He looked up from a worn, leather-bound book to look at him.

  “Good afternoon,” the man said, standing. “My Lord?” he ventured the title, looking at Matthias’ rich clothing. “Do you require some assistance? Are you lost?” His pale blue eyes studied Matthias intently through heavy lids and black – ringed eyes.

  Matthias bowed his head and smiled. “Good afternoon. I do need your help. That is, if it’s not too much trouble?” Politeness, he had found, often got you everywhere. Well, perhaps not always, but it was the best place to start.

  “Please,” the man said, and beckoned to one of the empty seats. Matthias took it gratefully, and could not stop a sigh from leaving his lips at the relief of being off his feet for the first time in almost two days. The man took the seat opposite, pulling his trousers up to waistline level as he eased himself back into the chair. He clasped his hands in front of himself and smiled. “Well then, My Lord, how can I be of help?”

  Matthias took a breath. “Please, I am not a noble. You don’t need to refer to me as such.”

  The guard nodded. “Of course. How should I address you?”

  “My name will be enough. It’s Matthias Greenwald.”

  “Very well then, Matthias Greenwald, I repeat my question: how can I be of help to you?” he smiled.

  Matthias took a breath. “I am here to speak with King Arwell. I would like to meet with him. As soon as is possible. Please,” he added for good measure.

  The guard’s brow furrowed. “The king?” he repeated.

  “That’s right,” Matthias nodded.

  “His Majesty, King Arwell?” the guard clarified.

  “Yes, that’s the one. Unless you know of another?”

  The man looked away a moment, stared inwardly, and then addressed Matthias again. “Why?” he asked.

  �
�I have some important information to bring to him,” Matthias told the man. He knew what would come next.

  “What sort of information?”

  There it was: the question he had dreaded being asked because he knew he could give no answer. “Extremely private information,” he tried, enunciating the word ‘private’ heavily.

  The guard scratched his rocky chin awkwardly. “You are foreign?” he asked. Matthias nodded. “From where?” Matthias opened the top of his coat and pulled his pendant from his shirt, and indicated with it to the guard. “You are a wizard?” the guard asked with a mix of surprise and trepidation.

  “I am,” Matthias nodded. “But please, don’t roll out the red carpet.”

  The guard looked at him with astonishment. “You… I…” he shook his head. “Are you an ambassador?”

  “I suppose you could call me that, yes,” Matthias smiled. “It’s as good a word as any.”

  The guard nodded as if trying to arrange the information in his mind. “Ambassador, I must say that with all respect,” he began, tapping the sides of his hands on the table awkwardly, “You cannot just… pop in and request an audience with the king like this!”

  “I know it isn’t exactly proper,” Matthias nodded. “But I felt the need to arrive unannounced.”

  “For what reason?”

  “Because the information I bring is sensitive, and I didn’t want it to be known by other countries or people that I am here.”

  The guard stared him in the eye, and stroked his stubbly chiselled chin again. His look of absolute puzzlement would have been comical in different circumstances. There was a moment of awkward silence as Matthias and he sat whilst the man engaged in silent analysis. Matthias sat patiently, his expression as fixed as a statue, and awaited a response. The guard opened his mouth, but no words came out, and so he shut it again, rethought what he was going to say, and then, taking a breath again, continued.

  “You must understand that I can’t just simply take you to the king. Your identity has to be confirmed for a start. Moreover, the king has to accept your request to see him. He is, after all, a busy man.”

  “Understandable,” Matthias nodded. “Ask what you need of me.”

  “Very well. Let us get the basics out of the way. Do you have your proof of identity? Your papers of entrance?”

  “Papers? No, I have none,’ Matthias answered calmly.

  “You have no papers?” The man exclaimed. “Then how in the names of the three gods did you get into the city in the first place? No - one gets into Rina without being issued with papers!”

  “Let’s just say I found a way in. As I said, I am trying to remain hidden. I could not risk being compromised.”

  “By our own guards? The men trusted with the safety of this kingdom?”

  “These are treacherous times,” Matthias replied with a raised brow. “You might trust them, but I am afraid I don’t.” Matthias thought for a moment as the guard’s face became ever more concerned. The man was shaking his head, clearly vexed by it all. An idea came to Matthias and he placed his hands behind his neck, undid the latch holding the chain and locket and gave the pendant to the guard. The man studied what he had been given blankly and then looked up at Matthias.

  “My identity,” Matthias said with a smile, folding his arms.

  “You expect this jewellery to confirm your identity?” the man exclaimed, holding it up by the chain. There was more than a hint of disbelief in his voice as he stared at the grubby, battered pendant swinging within his grip.

  “That is a wizard’s pendant.”

  “I know what it is, sir,” the guard replied. “But how does it help me prove who you are?”

  “They are only given to a wizard who has been admitted to the Order. It should at least prove to you I am from where I say I am.”

  “For all I know this could have been stolen from a wizard and you could be an imposter!” the man declared loudly.

  Matthias smiled and shook his head. This infuriated the man even further. His eyes were sharp and analysing. “Believe me, if anyone tried to steal a pendant from a wizard, they wouldn’t try again. To us, these pendants are like an arm or a leg. Wizards have died rather than lose them. Men have died stealing them – or at least, trying to. Never in our entire existence has a pendant found its way into another’s hands. I would destroy that pendant or destroy myself before giving it up to a thief. To give that to you as I do now feels as if I am ripping out my heart and placing it in your hand.”

  The guard probed Matthias’s eyes as if he were peering into the inner recesses of his soul, looking for any hint of deceit in those deep, hazel eyes. He fumbled absently with the jewellery in his palm, stroking the rough arrowhead with his thumb. Then he sighed again and put the pendant carefully in his pocket. Matthias watched it intently as a mother watched her child when being held by another.

  “I will take it to the king and I will tell him what you have told me. You are free to wait here, though I cannot say how long I will be.”

  “Thank you. What’s your name, by the way?” Matthias asked.

  “My name is Thadius. I’m an officer to the Knights of Aralia. And on occasion I also sit here and tend to this place, on a quiet day like this,” he added. “I will return as soon as I can.” He snorted as he stood up from his chair. “I’ll say this for you; you’ve certainly made my day a lot more interesting.” He moved quickly to the back of the room and opened a door, and spoke in hushed tones. A moment later, another guardsman appeared. “This is Lauric. He will be here to assist with anything you require whilst I’m gone.” The man nodded to Matthias and he in turn bowed his head. With that, Thadius turned and marched through the main doors.

  Matthias watched him go and drummed his fingers on the table. Lauric stood in front of him and for a moment there was an awkward silence.

  “Can I get you anything sir?” he asked.

  Matthias shook his head. “All that I need is to see the king as soon as possible, and with any luck your friend will be able to help me with that request.”

  The man nodded. “As you say, sir,” he said. “Well, if it pleases you I will get back to my duties?”

  Matthias nodded back. “Don’t let me keep you from what you were doing.”

  “If you should need anything, please call me. I will only be through here.” He indicated through the door.

  Matthias thanked Lauric and he swiftly retreated to the back rooms. The wizard breathed a sigh of relief at being left alone at last and sat back in the chair. His neck felt bare without the familiar feel of the steel-threaded thong and the pendant’s weight on the top of his chest. It felt alien to him. Being without it took him back a fair time into his past, before he had become a wizard. Simpler times, he mused. Times when my head didn’t swim with information and ideas. Before plans and deceptions.

  After a time his relief at being left alone dissolved and the lack of any presence grew disconcerting as he continued to pine for his beloved jewellery. For a moment he considered going to find Lauric, if only to distract himself from the silence in the room and the thoughts in his head, but then he thought better of it. After all, what would he even speak to the man about anyway? Instead he rose from the table and took a tour of the room. Though the cubical office was flanked by three tall, wide windows, they failed to pull the room from the darkening influence of its mahogany wood panelling. He considered lighting the candles suspended from the wrought iron chandelier above his head, but thought better of it, so instead he looked at the paintings that covered the walls through the penumbra.

  There were portraits of various generals and commanders of the King's Guard through the many ages of Aralia’s past, spaced across the walls in date order. The depictions grew cruder and simplistic the older they were and Matthias had to stifle a laugh as he reached the last picture. Dated some five hundred years ago, the subject had his eyes crossed and a nose sticking out where an ear should have been. It was either that the artist h
ad a very poor grasp of perspective, or the subject was the ugliest man Matthias had ever seen. Each portrait he moved to revealed a different style of clothing and a different set of hairstyles unique to the era they were from. They all shared one thing in common though: they all looked as pompous as sin. And they all had big chins. He felt his own unconsciously.

  After a half hour or so of studying the pictures and letting his mind wander as he stared closely at the cracking oils on the canvasses, Matthias sat down at the table again. He settled himself into a comfortable position and picked at a chip in his staff absent – mindedly, before running a finger down the dead root that twirled around the staff’s lower segment, from another plant that had eaten into the branch. He contented himself to this preoccupation and his daydreams for another half - hour until his thoughts were interrupted by the re-entry of Thadius into the room. Matthias stood on his arrival, his face alert with anticipation. The man coughed awkwardly as he approached Matthias.

  “I have spoken with King Arwell. He has asked me to personally escort you to his chambers. It appears the pendant you wear bears significant sway with His Majesty.”

  “Lucky for me.” Matthias smiled and nodded his head. “Thank you. You’ve done me a great service, Thadius. Come, we have to go see him, right now!”

  “Impatient, aren’t you?” Thadius sniffed.

  “Oh yes,” Matthias replied with a grin. Impatient to get this over with, more like, he thought to himself. If convincing Thadius to arrange a meeting was not hard enough, convincing the king of what was about to come next would be near impossible. He did not relish what was to come, but he had a job to do, and if that job meant getting his head lopped off, then so be it.

  “Well, seeing as you are so eager, we’d best not keep the king waiting, had we?”

  Into the Maze

  112th Day of the Cycle, 495 N.E. (New Era)

  Thadius gestured with a hand to the door of the guardhouse and Matthias stepped back out onto the stone steps and into the street beyond. The man raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight that peeked around a building in front of them on high stilts.

  “This way would probably be best,” Thadius motioned after a pause.

  “Is it very far to the palace?” Matthias asked, adjusting his baggage slung across his back.

  “About an hour’s brisk walk from here.”

  “You hadn’t been gone that long,” Matthias commented. “Had you?” he questioned himself.

  Thadius smiled. “No. It’s much quicker to take shortcuts through the scaffolds. But with those bags you’d find it a struggle.”

  “I can make it,” Matthias replied. “Please, the quickest way would be preferable to me.”

  “Well it’s hardly the most picturesque journey, but then I’d warrant you’re not that concerned about that?”

  Matthias grinned. “You should see the way I came in to the city. I’m really not fussed.”

  Thadius analysed him a moment. “Alright then. This way,” he said.

  They doubled back and headed down an uneven pathway. Houses leaned on each other like drunks at a tavern all along its length. “While we’re on the subject, how exactly did you make it into the city?” Thadius asked as he turned to walk through a winding, paved alley.

  “I wouldn’t like to get my accomplice in trouble,” Matthias replied.

  “It was Jadin, wasn’t it? He’s the only one I know of with the gall. Mind the gap!” Thadius added suddenly as he side - stepped a hole in the floor. Matthias peered down it. The paving stones they walked on were affixed to a thick wooden frame, which had partially rotted away. There was nothing below for at least fifty feet apart from a criss-cross of splintering wood and a tangle of rusty piping.

  “Thank you. I couldn’t possibly tell you as they never gave me their name,” Matthias replied.

  Thadius snorted. “How much did you give him?”

  Matthias sighed. “If you must know, I created a gateway through the city walls,” he lied again. “No-one helped me.”

  “You can do that?” Thadius asked, staring aghast at him as they stood at the foot of a ladder.

  “Oh yes. It’s child’s play!” In actuality, no - one had managed anything of the sort for over a hundred years. Even then the wizard that had managed it got stuck halfway through the wall and had to be chiselled out.

  “I will have to tell the guards to review their security measures,” Thadius asserted. “Will you be alright on here?” he asked, patting the ladder made of bamboo and twine, knotted together tightly.

  Matthias grinned. “I used to climb trees when I was younger. I’ll be fine even with all this on my back,” he indicated to his full satchel.

  Thadius nodded, and heaved his frame on to the rickety ladder. The struts creaked as he set his leather boots on each step, but they held well enough. “You look as if you have brought a tree with you,” Thadius commented.

  “Excuse me?” Matthias queried.

  “Your staff. Pardon me for saying this but it looks a little fragile.”

  “It’s really not,” Matthias chuckled. “I found the branch this came from when I was just six, playing in the woods outside my home. It had an interesting pattern, with the root bound around its length, so I took it home. I fashioned it to use as a rambling stick. After I became a wizard it served me just as well as a conducting staff to channel the earth power. I shortened its length slightly and sealed it with sandarac resin for preservation. This staff has accompanied me on many a journey. In many ways it’s as much a part of me as the pendant you hold in your pocket.” Matthias paused a moment. “You do still have it, don’t you?”

  Thadius smiled as he climbed. “Unless someone has picked my pocket.” Matthias stopped a moment beneath him, his eyes wider as he considered the prospect. Then he shook his head and carried on climbing. “I find you a curious man ambassador,” Thadius said as he hefted his bulk upwards.

  “How so?” Matthias asked, chuckling. “And please, call me Matthias.”

  “Very well. I find you… puzzling," Thadius replied.

  “That’s hardly an answer,” Matthias replied.

  Thadius exhaled out of his nose. “You appear to have none of the airs and graces your kind traditionally carry, and you insist on informality when it comes to showing deference, yet you wear a noble’s clothes and carry yourself with grace. One moment you appear to speak honestly, then another quite cryptically. Your mannerisms sway between a man of the gentry and that of a common man.”

  “Anything else?” Matthias asked whimsically.

  Thadius pondered a moment and then added: “With every word that comes from your mouth I get the sense that there is a great more depth to their meaning than you will let on.”

  “All that from only knowing me an hour or so?” Matthias chuckled. He waggled his shoulder as the strap of his bag dug into his shoulder.

  “I have always prided myself as a good judge of character,” Thadius advised. “At first glance you appear to be an honest man.”

  “I only appear to be?”

  “I can’t ignore the method of your arrival into the city. Aside from being a Mahalian, which in these parts provides little reassurance, you come into the city by sneaking around the backstreets and alleyways. How can I trust your intentions are good? I’m taking you to see the king. For all I know, your intent could be to plant a dagger in his back!"

  “I am here to help! Why won’t anyone believe me?” Matthias asked. Because you can hardly believe it yourself, he thought to himself.

  “Trust has to be earned,” Thadius advised, helping him off the ladder, as they stood astride another level of the city. “A bond of trust is the most important of thing.”

  “And what if there’s no time for that?” Matthias asked. “What if all you have time for is blind faith?”

  Thadius looked at him and considered. Then, without an answer, he turned on his heel and marched onward.

  Matthias sighed. “Why m
ust everything be so complicated?” he whispered quietly to himself.

  They clambered across more platforms and struts, shimmied up ropes and ramps, until they began to reach what could be considered by Rinian standards solid ground. The cobbled floor seemed firmer and the buildings were much grander than below.

  “We’re entering the noble levels,” Thadius said, as if picking up on Matthias’s silent admiration. “You will find the views much more impressive from this level.”

  “Just how many levels are there?” Matthias asked as he peered up at the delicately balanced structures climbing still higher. They were starting to disappear into mist above.

  “There are fifteen levels divided between merchant areas and living space. We are on the eleventh. Most of the people here are well-to-do lords and some merchants who have done exceptionally well for themselves, as you can tell by the buildings.”

  Matthias nodded. The buildings were indeed impressive, sturdy looking structures, with tiled roofs and brick walls. Some had gardens, metal gates and even statues. “I take it the Palace is at the very top?” he asked, with a smile.

  “Naturally,” Thadius replied.

  “What exactly is your place in the King’s armies, Thadius?” Matthias asked as he marched to keep up with the pace of his burly escort as they stormed across the widening roads. A horse and cart passed in front of them, its wheels clattering on the cobbles.

  “I’m a guardsman. A soldier,” he replied.

  “Yes, but of what rank?” Matthias continued to ask.

  “Of none in particular,” Thadius replied stoically.

  “Then you aren’t decorated?” Thadius nodded. “And yet you have a direct line of communication with the king?”

  “Do you always ask a man his private business so soon after you have met him?” Thadius rebuffed.

  “Well I was expecting to speak with a half-dozen guards and soldiers before I met one who would be able to bring me to the king. I thought I might need to see your own ambassador.”

  “He is away in Ordovier, as I understand it. Anyway if you must know, my father, Lord Wilhem and King Arwell are good friends,” Thadius answered.

  “I see,” Matthias nodded. “So… your father is a lord and yet you are not a knight?” Matthias probed with curiosity.

  “Do you always ask so many questions?” Thadius retorted.

  “Does it bother you?” Matthias responded, to which Thadius’ face creased. Then he rolled his eyes and answered.

  “This is not the same kingdom as it was in previous times. A man must first earn his titles, ambassador, through hard graft. I have earned the ear of the king off my own back, despite my father’s friendship to His Grace. And it is my choice so far not to be knighted.”

  “Why?” Matthias asked abruptly.

  “I do not feel I have earned it myself yet. A knight is an honoured position, given to those with great burdens of protecting this realm. I have not yet faced any such challenge that I feel would qualify me as being worthy of a knighthood.”

  Matthias nodded, weighing the answer as they continued their journey. “I didn’t mean to question your integrity. I apologise.”

  “So you should,” Thadius said, suppressing a smile. “Men have been killed for less. I would remember that, if you are to survive in these parts.”

  Matthias smiled. “Duly noted,” he said. “You might not have any title, but I would imagine it is safe to say you have encountered many battles in your time as a soldier?”

  Thadius grunted as he clambered upward. “I have seen my fair share. But of late all the troubles the kingdom has are small skirmishes within the Tikritian Pennines. There are some small pockets of eastern Aralia who feel they no longer wish to support the king in his endeavours and would rather pledge their allegiance to Adalric and his Empire. They were not trained fighters and we put them down easily. Aside from that we have been at peace with our neighbours for a long time now, and are all the better for it if you ask me. The time of endless scuffles amongst nations has long since passed.”

  Matthias nodded. “All the same, your king’s men are ready to fight should they ever be called upon to do so?”

  Thadius turned his head abruptly. “Is there a reason for this new line of questioning?” he said tersely. “Because if my king or my country is in any sort of danger, I need to know about it!”

  Matthias was a good foot shorter than the man, but nevertheless he kept his cool and didn’t succumb to intimidation. “I was just interested,” he replied, smiling.

  Thadius looked at Matthias a moment with a look of confusion on his face, and then shook his head. “Come on,” he sighed.

  They walked a few more minutes, slipping around the edge of a crumbling building’s gardens and up another ladder, before Thadius spoke again. “We talked earlier about faith,” he said.

  “What of it?” Matthias asked, as he peered down behind him. All that stood between him and a fall back down three levels was a rope bound around some fragile looking wooden poles. He shouldn’t worry, he told himself, given that he could easily cushion his own fall, but there was some inbuilt sense of human self - preservation that made his heart pound, and he took a deep breath as he continued shuffling across.

  “I’d like to speak honestly,” Thadius said. “I think our journey here has afforded us both a kind of rapport to do so, despite its brevity?”

  Matthias nodded.

  “Trust and faith amongst nations must be shared both ways for it to be successful. Your people don’t trust us, Matthias, and so, in turn, we don’t trust them. If you want me to trust you - if my king is to trust you- for whatever reason, you have to trust us as well. You have to speak the truth. Whatever it is you have to tell the king, if you want him to consider your words with any kind of credence, you have to be honest with the facts.”

  “What makes you think I wouldn’t be truthful?” Matthias asked.

  “Your people have a knack for keeping information to yourselves. You twist the fate of the world to your own ends and dispose of those who stand in your way. Despite your relaxed manner, your claims of being here to help, you are still a Mahalian, working for Mahalian interests.”

  “My people do what they do for the good of the world,” Matthias responded.

  Thadius sniffed. “Is that not the clarion call of all oppressors? To justify their continued existence?”

  Matthias smiled. “You are very forthright, considering who I am and what you have just said about my people.”

  Thadius stopped for a moment and hung from the rung of a long ladder that seemed to climb for miles. “Perhaps I am speaking out of turn,” he said. “But I sense you aren’t the sort of man who is deceived by empty platitudes.”

  “True enough,” Matthias nodded. “Anything else you have noted about me?”

  “Just one thing,” Thadius said. “You’re a little young to be an ambassador,” he replied.

  Matthias smiled. “Thank you,” he said.

  “That wasn’t a compliment,” Thadius advised. “It was more of a question, I suppose.”

  “I told you to call me Matthias.”

  “Not really an answer is it?” Thadius said.

  “No, it isn’t,” Matthias smiled.

  “I think you’re intentionally trying to annoy me,” Thadius said, shaking his head. Then he turned and continued to climb. Matthias followed.

  The wood creaked as the two men hoisted themselves upwards. Matthias stopped a moment to catch his breath, and turned his head to look how high they were. Layer upon layer of wooden boardwalks stretched out beneath them, and the wall of the city wound its way around them. The trees in the fields looked tiny.

  “I thought you were in a hurry Matthias?” Thadius called down to him with a smile.

  Ignoring the comment, Matthias reached up and continued to climb.

  They advanced for another few minutes in silence, until finally Thadius reached a hand down to Matthias and he emerged through an opened gr
ate onto a cobbled street.

  “Well, here we are,” Thadius said.

  Matthias tapped the cobbles beneath his feet warily. “How do you keep this city from falling apart?” he asked.

  “You’re not the only ones who can work a little magic. But our wonders come from hard graft. As you can see.” Thadius nodded behind the wizard, and Matthias turned and looked up. An impressive sight had sprung up in front of him. The building that lay before him was highly theatrical, with ornamental turrets, triforia – shaped windows and decorative cornices running around its exterior. The Palace was the icing on the multi-tiered cake that was Rina, surrounded by greenery and smaller gatehouses attached by stone arches and walkways to its main bulk. Its limestone walls reflected the sunlight of the mid-morning sun. A crow - stepped gable completed the front of the symmetric building, with half a dozen gargoyles sitting atop their steps and two large windows beneath their protection glinted in the sunlight.

  “Impressive,” Matthias said, shielding his eyes to take in the architecture.

  Thadius chuckled. “Ah, you haven’t seen inside yet.”

  An Audience with the King

  112th Day of the Cycle, 495 N.E. (New Era)

  As they approached the palace, Thadius greeted two guards who were standing outside the towering main doors that gaped open before them. He walked into the vast entrance hall of the building and beckoned Matthias to follow. Matthias passed through and looked around at the grand hall. The floor was one giant, coloured mosaic. He cocked his head as he analysed the scene it depicted.

  “It’s the End of Days,” Thadius advised, noticing him looking at the floor.

  “It’s a little strange to show an image of the last battle in the world’s greatest war in your entrance hall,” Matthias commented. “It’s hardly a welcoming scene.”

  Thadius looked perturbed. “It was commissioned during the first few years into the rebuilding of Rina after the old city was destroyed,” he explained. “King Ostavar ordered the construction of a high scaffold to serve as the foundations for the new palace. This palace. He chose this scene,” he indicated to the floor “-because it was the moment when his father and Aralia’s allies overcame the Dreadlord Tanzanal. It’s the greatest moment in our history. I can’t think of any greater image to welcome visitors.”

  Matthias raised his hands defensively. “Point taken.” He gazed around. The walls were wood-panelled and gold-lined, the ceiling painted a navy blue with oval with gemstones inset into the plaster for stars. Sited in the curved corners of the ceiling were four angelic creatures garbed in white robes, their blue faces staring down at the tiled floor. Matthias lingered on them a moment, eyes wide.

  “They’re the Akari,” Thadius advised.

  Matthias nodded. “I know who they are.”

  Thadius followed his gaze to one of the four figures. “Sometimes I spend time staring up at them like you are now, admiring the workmanship. They’re brilliantly carved, fascinating to look at. Of all the mythical creatures I have read about, they are the most interesting to me.”

  Matthias looked at him in confusion. “Exactly what books have you been reading?”

  Thadius shrugged. “I’m not sure. My father gave a book to me on ancient myths and legends when I was younger. I don’t remember the author. Why?”

  Matthias shook his head. “No reason. Please, can we go to the king now?”

  Thadius nodded. “If you have finished critiquing our architecture?” he said acerbically.

  Thadius led Matthias into an adjoining corridor, where enclosed lanterns hung at regular intervals in the ceiling. The floor was carpeted with a deep red rug that stretched its entire length and at its end was a flight of stairs, which Matthias was led up to another corridor, this time bare of carpet and tangibly cold by comparison. They ascended again up a tight spiral staircase into another equally drab walkway.

  “This isn’t the way I’d normally take guests,” Thadius advised. “It’s not exactly the most glamorous way around the palace, but it is the quickest.”

  "Quick suits me very well," Matthias replied. “As you may have noticed.”

  Thadius nodded. “It’s probably just as well. You may have cast your artistic eye over more of our workmanship.”

  Matthias smiled. “I had no bad thing to say about the quality of the floor. I was merely curious about the subject matter. I fear I may have insulted you again Thadius.”

  The soldier turned to look at him. “I’ve got thicker skin than you might believe, Matthias Greenwald.”

  They walked along on silence for a time, until they reached a large, closed set of doors. Two guards flanked them either side, each man holding a partisan decorated with tassels of gold fabric beneath the spearheads. On seeing Thadius one of the men reached around and opened one of the doors, allowing them through. Thadius nodded thanks to them as they entered the next room.

  Red marble pillars flanked them to either side of the long chamber, holding atop their delicately carved tops a series of golden arches, etched with blue, mottled patterns stretching from one end of the room to the other. The floor depicted another tiled scene.

  “This one may be more to your liking,” Thadius quipped.

  “I don’t recognise the setting,” Matthias commented. By the looks of it, the scene seemed to tell the tale of a gathering: a large marquis dotted with fluttering flags along its top sat in the middle of the depiction, surrounded around its perimeter and the field beyond by soldiers and nobles in their best livery. “It’s beautifully complex,” Matthias complimented and knelt down to feel the tiles with a hand. “The intricacy is stunning.” As he knelt, Matthias followed his eye line to the far side of the room. At its end a throne stood centrally atop a dark varnished, wooden dais. The intricate oak chair contained detailed carvings of ivy leaves and stems flowing around the legs and climbing the back like a real plant would have. The ivy leaves themselves were covered with gold leaf, and the backrest of the throne was a deep - red, silken material. Beside it to the right, a wood carved griffin reared up on its hind legs and on the other side a phoenix sat proudly with its wings curled around its body, inspecting the two newcomers from its jet - black, beaded eyes. In each far corner, two gilded stand - lamps stood unlit. There wasn't any need for them that early in the day, especially as the ceiling above them was made entirely of glass encased in thick lead frames, covered in more gold leaf, revealing the bright azure - coloured sky, dotted with white clouds.

  “A beautiful room, isn’t it?” a voice said from the doorway behind, and Matthias rose and turned to the owner. “You can even make out the looks on the faces of the people portrayed on the floor. It almost seems a shame to walk over them with heavy, muddied boots sometimes.”

  “Your Grace,” Thadius addressed him, kneeling.

  The king strode into the room confidently, a black and silver, fur lined overcoat wrapped around his neck and shoulders. He passed them both and walked up on to the dais, where he circled the throne and stood behind it a moment, stroking one of the Ivy stems. Thadius looked up at Matthias.

  “Are you forgetting something?” he whispered.

  Matthias caught his eye and gave him a puzzled look. Then he realised what the soldier was talking about. “Oh yes, of course!” he exclaimed with a start and lowered himself to one knee. From his crouched position, head lowered slightly in deference, he looked at the king properly. The man was tall, well above the height of an average man, and his dark brown hair, that hung to neck length, was mottled with strands of grey, giving away his not insignificant years. He had pock – marked cheeks and a square - cut beard, which masked his pale, white skin. Despite his ageing appearance, he still cut a confident and regal figure as he looked down at the pair of them, wrapped within his bulky, intimidating overcoat.

  “This is the Throne of Althern. It was made for my ancestor King Thesius some three hundred years ago. It has had to be reupholstered a few times, but otherwise, it is all the original wood and
in magnificent condition. Ahem, that is, until I carved my own name into its back when I was five years old.” He stared down to the back of the throne and smiled as his eyes picked out the unseen carving. “But I was only young and knew no better.” He looked up again and as if properly noticing his guests for the first time, strode forwards to the edge of the dais and looked down on them. “Gentlemen,” he addressed them.

  “Your Grace,” Thadius coughed, clearing his throat. “May I present, for want of a better word, Ambassador Matthias Greenwald from the Realm of Mahalia. Matthias Greenwald, this is His Highness King Arwell, Holy Lord and Protector of the Light of Aralia.”

  “Your Grace,” Matthias replied politely.

  “Please rise mister Greenwald,” the king commanded, gesturing upwards with a hand. Matthias smiled, uttered his thanks and rose to his feet. He was a few inches shorter that the king anyway, but he felt like a dwarf looking up at the man as he stood atop the dais

  “I am grateful for your time, Your Grace.”

  The king smiled thinly. “Something tells me that I had no choice in the matter of giving a wizard my time, hmm?” He waved the comment away with a hand. “It is no matter anyway. You are fortunate enough to have caught me on a slow day. I am told you come hear bearing important news for my ears alone?”

  Matthias nodded. “The news I bring is private, Your Grace.” Then he paused and looked from the king to Thadius. “However I now believe it would be of benefit for Thadius to hear what I have to tell you as well.”

  “Oh you do, do you?” the king snorted.

  “Your Grace, please accept my apologies for this young man!” Thadius spluttered. “That is of course your decision to make!”

  “It is alright Thadius,” the king replied. “If that is the case ambassador, then why would you not tell Thadius of your reasons for visiting me before?”

  “Because I had no reason to trust him before, in the guardhouse,” Matthias replied.

  The king paced the dais slowly. “And your swift journey up to the palace has convinced you otherwise?” he asked.

  Matthias nodded. “Our climb together has shown me his honourable nature. I feel able to speak openly in your presence with him by your side.”

  “Ambassador, I have known people under my reign for decades and still have yet to judge whether they are honourable or not. You cannot know someone’s true nature in less than a morning,” the king advised.

  “You’re right,” Matthias responded. “But my gut hasn’t proven me wrong before. I see no reason to question it now.”

  The king studied Matthias a moment, and then smiled, exhaling out of his nose and chuckling under his breath. He nodded. “Very well then. But might I suggest we relocate to a more suitable place to speak. This room may be beautiful, but it grows so cold in the morning. Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Actually, now you mention it, I am a little, Your Grace,” Matthias said, smiling. As if suddenly awakened by the thought of food, his stomach rumbled. When had he last eaten? It must have been a day or two, aside from an apple he had munched on this morning.

  The king nodded. “Good. Then we will adjourn to the parlour where we can continue our conversation. Thadius will join us. You could do with some more meat on your bones soldier,” he chuckled.

  “Thank you, Your Grace. Though I think there is more than enough fat on this figure already!” Thadius smiled and patted his stomach.

  The king led them through the palace, issuing orders to servants as they passed to ready breakfast. They scattered before him to work.

  “You are quite lucky ambassador,” the king said, “I have usually eaten by now, despite the time, and would be off for a morning hunt. However today I was taken to sleeping in a little longer than usual.”

  “Fortunate for my stomach, Your Grace,” Matthias quipped.

  “You are also fortunate that I know so much about the legends surrounding that pendant of yours and that it proves validity of your identity. Had it been down to Thadius alone you would have never made it this far.”

  “I knew you would be aware of its meaning,” Matthias said, “Having held relations with my people for so long.”

  “Relations,” the king mused. “Is that what you would call it?” There was an edge to his tone. Then he continued regardless of the lack of an answer. “I know that the pendant binds to a wizard like a part of the body and to remove it from its owner for a length of time is akin to losing a heart.”

  Matthias nodded, and seeing the curious look on Thadius’s face, elaborated. “We receive our pendant when we graduate to become a full wizard. It’s irreplaceable.”

  Thadius shook his head. “It doesn’t look irreplaceable,” he commented. “It is a lovely looking piece, but it’s just metal and a jewel suspended on a chain.”

  “It’s not just a ruby. Inside the gemstone, deep within its core is a captured moment,” Matthias advised.

  “What’s that?” Thadius asked.

  “It’s a memory of the moment when we ascend to become a wizard. It’s not only precious, but irreplaceable, and no wizard would ever let it come to harm.”

  “How do you capture a moment?” Thadius asked.

  “With great difficulty,” Matthias smiled back.

  They walked around the maze of corridors, up sets of stairs and crossing through extravagantly decorated chambers, until they emerged into a room with a semi-circular bay window overlooking the plains of Rina. The expansive grasslands and fields of flowers stretched out beneath them, waving in a breeze, and sunlight shone through the window onto the dining table just behind it.

  “My quarters are above this room. I consider it to be the finest view anywhere in the world. The beautiful fields of green and the mountains, far in the distance..." He waved his hand across to emphasise his point.

  Matthias stared at it longingly. “It’s very beautiful, Your Grace,” he said.

  A trio of liveried servants entered the room and brought in three bowls of steaming soup, placing them on the table before leaving the room again. Thadius and Matthias sat opposite each other, and the king sat at the head of the table. The servants returned again and brought in a carafe of red wine. They filled three glasses. Matthias stared at his a moment.

  “Is there a problem?” Thadius asked him.

  Matthias shook his head. “No, not at all. I’m just not accustomed to drinking wine at breakfast.”

  Thadius nodded. “It is a luxury to have wine instead of ale at the dinner table.”

  Matthias smiled, and then shook his head again. “Actually, that’s not what I meant. I tend to drink tea,” he advised.

  Thadius’ face screwed up. “Tea? That’s that drink the Tekritians import from the Far World, isn’t it?”

  Matthias nodded. “Not so far for me. It comes from my homeland.”

  “I have sampled tea several times,” the king said, interjecting. “Interesting flavour, and a curiosity to have a drink boiled, but I am afraid it’s not my bag. Too spicy for my tastes,” he sniffed, and raised his glass. “To good health,” he toasted, and supped at the red liquid. Matthias and Thadius joined him and then as they tucked into their soup, they carried on with their conversation.

  “All the way from the realm of wizards,” the king said as he supped his soup. “It’s been a fair time since your people have felt the need to grace me with their presence. It used to be that your people would check in every six months, remain for a few weeks, and then return to Mahalia. But the last time I had a visit would be nearly five years ago. I thought we had been let off for good behaviour,” he scoffed.

  Matthias nodded. “I believe that there hasn’t been any need to visit you for quite a while.”

  “And now?” The king questioned.

  “Now I’m here,” Matthias replied.

  Arwell studied Matthias a while over his full soup - spoon, hovering over his bowl, then took another slurp. “I usually see another wizard. Lord Fenzar is his name. He has been coming
here for decades. He’s much older than you are, with bushy eyebrows and a face like a dried up old fig. There’s more lines on that man’s face than on an old oak tree!”

  Matthias grinned, picturing the man in his head. “I’ve always thought he more resembled a walnut. Though I’m sure you know better Your Grace.”

  “Where is he now? He’s not dead is he? Are you his replacement? I really have known oak trees less old and gnarled than Fenzar is. It must be well past time he was put out to pasture.” The king chuckled.

  “No, he’s not dead,” Matthias said. “I suspect he’ll outlive us all.”

  Thadius joined in the conversation. “He normally comes through the gates with an attachment of dignitaries, heads straight through the main street to the palace making one hell of a din. He loves a procession.”

  Matthias nodded. “He is an… interesting man, to say the least. In any case, I’m not his replacement. But he is indisposed.”

  The king nodded. “I see. Well you may be new and lacking experience with my kingdom, but I wonder if you might explain to me the reason you snuck into the city alone through some unknown entrance, like a viper in a bird’s nest?”

  “I’ve never been one for making a fuss, Your Majesty,” Matthias rebuffed.

  “Mmmm.” The king mumbled, raising an eyebrow. He opened his mouth as if to say something further, but before he could, there was a knock at the door. A liveried man strode into the room and, head raised high, spoke loudly and formally.

  “Your Majesty. The Princess of Aralia wishes to enter, with your permission?”

  The king stood abruptly, and looked to Matthias. His brow furrowed and Matthias resisted the urge to shrink back at the burning gaze he gave him.

  “Tell her that I am busy entertaining,” the king said tersely.

  “I did, Your Grace, but she is most insistent. She wishes to meet your guest."

  The king took a deep breath and nodded. “Very well,” he said and turned to Matthias. “Ambassador, it seems you will be meeting my only daughter!”

  Matthias’s breath caught, but he managed to speak. “It will be an honour, Your Majesty,” he nodded. He took a sip of wine.

  The servant disappeared a moment, re-entered and then, after a pause for breath, and straightening himself so much that his back looked as if it were made of a plank of wood, announced: “Her Royal Highness the Princess of Aralia, Josephine Arwell.”

  Thadius rose and beckoned to Matthias who, after taking the hint, wiped his lips free of soup and wine and stood, turning to face the door.

  Despite trying to compose himself for her arrival, he was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted him. He had seen paintings and heard tales of the woman known as the ‘Jewel of the West,’ but the intense beauty of the young woman who walked into the room was enough to take the breath from anyone’s lungs. Her golden hair hung in ringlets, spiralling down below her shoulders, which were left bare by her delicate blue dress. A line of pearls ran the length of the neckline, framing squarely across her breasts. A delicate silver locket hung from her neck, the clear jewel encrusted in its centre winking as it caught the light. Other jewels were sewn into the front of her kirtle and her hemline sparkled as the sun shone in through the window. As she curtsied to her father and regarded Matthias, her bright, sapphire eyes caught Matthias’s own. They dazzled, framed by her delicate, porcelain skin. Her lips were thin and she had subtle dimples in her cheeks.

  The wizard suddenly became aware that his mouth was open, so he shut it quickly, hopefully before anyone noticed. His cheeks flushed crimson despite himself. So much for all those years of training he had performed to suppress his emotions in such situations. He had never been very good at that.

  “My daughter!” the king said warmly, embracing her. “I had not expected to see you today. Especially here, in the company of my guest.” He motioned with a hand to Matthias.

  “My apologies, Your Grace. I heard you had a visitor from Mahalia and I was compelled to introduce myself.” She nodded to Thadius. “My good man,” she said warmly, baring her teeth in a warm smile. “How are you?”

  Thadius nodded. “Very well, thank you princess.”

  “This is Matthias Greenwald,” the king advised. His confident demeanour seemed to have become unsteadied now the princess was in the room.

  The princess’s gaze turned to Matthias, and her smile dimmed. “Ambassador Greenwald,” she addressed him, nodding her head. “I trust you are well?”

  Matthias nodded back. “I am all the better for seeing you, Your Royal Highness,” he replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “You are a man of charm, ambassador. But you should work on your tone if you wish to convey yourself with sincerity.” She smiled.

  Matthias’s cheeks grew crimson again. “I assure you princess that my words were sincere.”

  The princess squinted at him. “Fascinating,” she whispered, peering closely at Matthias’s face.

  Matthias coughed. “’Fascinating’, Your Highness?”

  “Your eyes. They do not glow with magic as I would have expected of one of your kind.”

  Matthias smiled at her. “That’s a common misconception. Our eyes retain their natural colour unless the earth power is wielded. But when it is seized, they turn blue. A little like yours shine now,” he added.

  The princess gave a start, and her breathing caught a moment, but she regained her composure almost instantly. “They are a gift from my mother’s side," she advised. "Her family have been known for their beauty for centuries."

  “You have never met one of my kind before?” Matthias asked. “Not even Lord Fenzar?

  “I try to keep my daughter out of my discussions with Mahalia,” the king interrupted.

  “Would you show me what they look like?” the princess asked.

  “I’m sorry?” Matthias queried. “Show you what what looks like?

  “Your eyes. I should like to see what they look like when you use your magic.”

  “Josephine, perhaps another time would be better to satisfy your curiosity,” the king interrupted. “We are in the middle of our breakfast and the ambassador and I have a lot to discuss.”

  “It’s alright, Your Grace,” Matthias replied. “I don’t mind.”

  He stepped back a pace and held out a palm upwards in front of Josephine. His irises cracked from hazel to sapphire, and from thin air a ball of water no larger than an apple whirled into existence, spun and swirled three inches above his palm. He let it hang there a moment before his fingers twitched and the ball began freezing. In a second he had formed a sphere of ice, which dropped into his waiting hand. Matthias clasped it tightly. The princess watched with amazement.

  “Incredible,” Thadius whispered.

  Matthias smiled, and from between his fingertips water began to leak. The ice melted, evaporated almost instantly, leaving only behind a small pool of cold water on the wizard’s reopened palm and droplets on the floor. “It’s just parlour trick, Your Highness,” Matthias said, wiggling his hand until the remainder of the water disappeared. “But I hope you approve?” His eyes flashed back to their natural hazel.

  The princess took a breath. “Most impressive ambassador,” she said. “An effective demonstration.”

  “If you would like I can show you more of my abilities? The earth power allows me to tap in to all the elements of the world. I can light a flame as bright as the sun from nothing and then extinguish it with water as cold as ice.”

  “That will be quite alright,” The king said sharply. “I think your spectacle is more than enough for one morning.” He turned to look at his daughter sternly. “My dear, I have business to discuss with the ambassador now.”

  Josephine withdrew into herself at his gaze and nodded. “Of course father. Please forgive me Your Grace.” She nodded to Matthias. “Ambassador, it has been a brief but interesting pleasure.”

  Matthias bowed to her. “The pleasure has been mine,” he repli
ed.

  The princess nodded to Thadius and then turned to her father. “Your Grace,” she addressed him again and bowed before turning and swiftly leaving the room. Matthias stared after her, lingering on the door as it closed behind her.

  “I must apologise for my daughter,” the king said. “She does not get to meet many people outside of the usual nobles. It is not often that we have guests that prove to be more interesting.” He beckoned for them to sit again.

  Matthias shook his head. “It was an honour to entertain your daughter, however brief it may have been,” he said.

  “Well, now what is left of our soup is likely cold and the pleasantries are over with, perhaps we should discuss your reason for your being here?” the king suggested.

  Matthias nodded. “Yes, of course.” He placed his hands together and rested them on the table. “Your Grace, the truth is that I am here on matter of great importance to you. I have to tell you about a great danger to Aralia.”

  “I knew it,” Thadius exclaimed. “All your talk earlier of our armies being prepared for battle.”

  Matthias nodded. “My queries were thinly veiled at best,” he responded.

  “You were as transparent as glass,” Thadius quipped.

  The king shook his head. “What kind of danger are you referring to?” he asked.

  “It’s Sikaris, the creature known as the Great Dragon. He’s breaking free.” He shifted his gaze from the king to Thadius, observing their reactions.

  King Arwell looked at him perplexed. “The Great Dragon?” he repeated. Matthias nodded. “The Great Dragon?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Matthias said. “There is no other.”

  The king shifted in his chair. “But that’s impossible!”

  “I wish that were true,” Matthias replied.

  “But the creature has been imprisoned for over four hundred years!” the king exclaimed. “Your kind turned him to stone!”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Matthias replied. "But a stone prison made of the earth power like any prison made of iron and steel has its own weaknesses, and someone, somewhere has finally found them.”

  The king rose from his chair and towered over him. “How has this happened?”

  Matthias took a breath. “It’s… complicated. The Council of Wizards has good reason to believe that a group of people with the ability to wield one of the five streams of power are working on releasing him.”

  “To what end?” Thadius interjected, as the king paced to the window.

  Matthias shook his head. “We’re not sure.”

  “Well, who are the people doing this?” Thadius continued.

  “We’re… not sure of that either.”

  “Is there anything you are sure of?” he snorted. “Where has your ‘information’, such as it is, come from?”

  “That’s also complicated." Matthias turned to the window, where King Arwell was staring intently out towards the horizon. "Your Grace, have you heard of an object called a seeing stone?" he asked.

  Arwell turned and nodded. "I have heard of them. They are rare gems, said to contain messages from the gods," he answered. “But I thought they were mythical?”

  “Your description is right. Except seeing stones aren’t imaginary. Inside they hold prophecies: images and words, voices and noises, all held deep within.”

  “Like the jewel in your pendant?” Thadius asked. “This ‘moment’ they hold inside?”

  Matthias tilted his head. “A little. Except that they aren’t man - made. As far as is known they are created by the three gods and sent down to Erithia to be read. If you know how to, you can decipher their messages. They are so rarely found though that they’ve become legendary. There have only been a half dozen found in the last two thousand years.” He leaned forward in his chair as the king returned to his own and sat down. “The images that have been deciphered have always come true. They are always accurate.”

  “So you are saying they are sent down from the gods to warn us of danger?” Thadius asked.

  Matthias nodded.

  “And you have found one that has warned you about the dragon?" the king asked.

  Matthias nodded. "We have. It showed Sikaris breaking free from his prison and devastating the world. There were also images of people using one of the powers to release him. These events are coming. Soon.”

  “But... if these stones show you images of the future, how do you know when the events depicted are due to occur? Could they not be decades away? Centuries?” the king shook his head in confusion.

  “There were indicators in the prophecies that narrowed down the time of the events.”

  “Like what?” Thadius asked.

  “People, places, things along those lines,” Matthias advised. “My people have experience in researching the prophecies in the past.”

  “But you can’t tell who the people are who are supposed to be breaking the dragon free?” Thadius asked. “There are no recognisable faces?”

  “No,” Matthias said with distaste. “Unhelpfully.”

  "I can't believe that anyone anywhere would want to free the dragon!" the king exclaimed. “How can you really be sure of these prophecies?”

  Matthias smiled. “Your Grace is free to believe what you want of course. But I have come here to tell you that the Council of Mahalia recommends that you prepare for this threat.”

  “And what if we ignore your warnings?” Thadius asked.

  “They are not my warnings, or Mahalia’s. They are from the gods.”

  “According to you,” the king rebuffed.

  Matthias shrugged. “Regardless who the prophecy is from, if you don’t prepare then you risk the event that this country will burn.”

  “A threat?” the guardsman asked.

  “A truth,” Matthias responded.

  Thadius’s face grew dour. He turned back to the king. “Your Grace? What do you think of this news?”

  King Arwell exhaled deeply. “If this is the truth...” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I believe in many things. The first is to never underestimate a Mahalian wizard.” He looked to Matthias gravely. “If he says it is true then gods help us, it most likely is.”

  “But Your Grace would be the first to admit that Mahalia is known for deception. Wizards weave trickery in every word they speak!” Thadius exclaimed. He turned to Matthias. “You seem no different in that.”

  “Your every sentence does invoke a deep sense of confusion in me ‘ambassador’,” the king said to Matthias. “There’s an old saying: ‘Better to bed in with a den of vipers than to take a wizard at face value.’” Matthias raised a brow. Then the king sighed. “But then again, there is also another saying: ‘Foolish is the man who distances himself from the advice of those who wield fire and water.’”

  “Might I ask which of those you are inclined towards?” Matthias asked.

  King Arwell sniffed. “I have been king for nearly thirty years, mister Greenwald. In that time I have been lied to many times by your kind. But even so, I have always been inclined – some would say pushed- to swing to the latter and heed your people’s warnings. Sometimes your Council has led us on a true course, and other times I have been burned by them. As have my forebears. It is a delicate balance to navigate your ‘recommendations’.”

  “Your Grace, you will certainly get burned should the dragon be freed,” Matthias advised. Then he sighed. “I know that you have no reason to believe me. But if I were trying to deceive you, then why would I ask you to arm your men to the teeth?”

  King Arwell looked at Matthias thoughtfully. “Your people were the ones who sealed Sikaris into that prison. Can’t you simply, I don’t know, reinforce the cell?”

  Matthias took a sip of his wine and smiled. “Your Grace knows that this is no normal prison. I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that. The cage was formed by petrification, an old trick of the earth power that turns skin and bone to stone. It’s not something a wizard has been able to perform for quite a long
time.”

  “You have forgotten how?” Thadius asked. “I thought your people were meant to be clever?”

  “It’s not so much a case that we have forgotten how. It is more that no – one has the strength to weave the necessary threads of power anymore.”

  “You mean your people have grown weaker?” the king asked quickly.

  “In short, yes,” Matthias replied just as abruptly. “We are less powerful that we used to be, less adept at using the earth power of the world.”

  The king’s lip twitched into a thin smile. “It’s unlike a wizard to admit to weakness,” he said.

  “My people aren’t infallible,” Matthias shrugged. “Why pretend it is otherwise?”

  “I have never known any wizard to reveal a chink in their armour,” the king said, belying his surprise.

  “Perhaps I’m no ordinary wizard?” Matthias suggested, and gestured with his wine glass to him.

  “That much is certain,” the king responded. “The question is whether that is for better or worse.”

  Matthias smiled knowingly. “I can see that I have a good deal further to go before I earn your trust, Your Grace. The reality is that we do not have much more time for me to do so.”

  The king took a breath and looked away from him. He fidgeted where he sat as he pondered. “I am no stranger to the stories of the dragon’s ability to destroy,” he said. “The creature’s past and my kingdom’s own fate have been intertwined since Sikaris reduced the city on which this new Rina is built to ashes. Four hundred years may have passed since that time, but the memory of those events has been embedded deeply within my forebears and thus, myself.”

  Matthias nodded, recalling the tiled depiction of the End of Days in the palace’s entrance hall: the battle from which the dragon began his reign of terror. “Too many people from many civilisations died in those battles,” he said grimly. “But there was one positive amongst all that death. People from all across the Triskan continent worked together in a common goal, to stop the Dreadlord Tanzanal from expanding his reach.”

  The king sniffed. “And we got the dragon in return for that, didn’t we? The dreadlord couldn’t bear to die un- avenged, seeing all his old enemies working together to defeat him. So he used his last breaths to seize the dragon, our ally, and twisted its nature until the creature was rabid with hate.” He drummed his fingers atop the table. “I cannot ignore the possibility that Sikaris could return to wreak more destruction on my people.” Matthias nodded in response. “How much warning do you think this foretelling has given us?”

  “Not long at all,” Matthias advised. “Perhaps a month or two.”

  “Barely any time at all to recall my forces from across Aralia,” the king murmured. “And even then, if the creature does come here, then what would my men do against such a beast? It would sear the flesh from their bones in a heartbeat!”

  “The first thing you should do is to prepare for the worst,” Matthias advised. “Shore up any strongholds you have in Aralia. Gather food and drink there. Prepare for a siege. You should start to make plans to move your people to safer ground. But I would suggest not making the information public just yet. People can be dangerous when panicked,” Matthias instructed.

  “And that’s it?” the king asked. “We simply lie low and wait for something else to happen? For the dragon to leave? To grow old and die? Or until your people find some way of stopping him again?”

  “There must be something else we can do to help?” Thadius asked.

  Matthias took a breath. “Perhaps there is.”

  “What?” the king asked. “What is it?”

  Matthias looked at him lingeringly, and then with a start, shook his head. “You… you misunderstand me, Your Grace. Perhaps there is more you can do, but I am afraid we just don’t know what that is yet. I’m sorry for the confusion.” He smiled once again. “I haven't spoken Aralian for many years. My grasp of the nuances of your language is… mixed.”

  "Then the proposal is to prepare to shelter our people and be on the lookout for the dragon?" Thadius shook his head. "That doesn’t sound like much of a plan to me.”

  “You’re free to make you own plans of course,” Matthias responded. “I was only sent here to warn you, after all.”

  “Ambassador, if the dragon is as close to freedom as you say he is, then it is Olindia that your people should be warning first,” the king said. “After all, the dragon sits atop a pillar in their capital city of Crystal Ember, like a hideous great gargoyle! They will be the first place to be struck if he breaks free.”

  Matthias shook his head. “Olindia won’t listen to The Council anymore. We haven’t been welcome for a good few years.”

  “Ah yes, the other wizard. I had forgotten about that,” the king responded, nodding knowingly. Matthias showed little response. The monarch tapped his lip. “Then you really did come here for the sole purpose of warning me of this danger?” He asked. “There is no catch? No subterfuge? Your people want nothing in return?”

  Matthias looked the king straight in the eye. He looked dejected a moment, and he took a breath. “All I would ask is you keep an open mind when it comes to my people, Your Grace. We are not all as alike as you might think. My reason for being here is to help, however it might come across.”

  After a pause, King Arwell nodded. He moved around the table and placed a hand on Matthias’s shoulder. “Then… you have my thanks,” he said. “Perhaps it is time for a change in relations between us. I would welcome any suggestions you might have to fortify our city against this threat.”

  Matthias nodded. “Well I’m not a soldier, but I will help where I can, Your Grace. Perhaps…” he paused a moment, and then continued. “Perhaps we could talk further later?”

  The king nodded. “You will stay in the palace whilst you remain here. I will have some rooms prepared.”

  Matthias spent the rest of the day assisting the king with preparations to make the city safe. Given how Rina was built (designed would be too good a word for the hotchpotch of layers that stacked on top of each other), defending such a structure from a creature like the dragon would be no easy task, even with the thick wall that surrounded its innards. Most of the king’s higher ranking men were away from the city, undertaking campaigns which the monarch was not likely to reveal to him, and so Matthias worked mostly with Thadius and the king to avoid spreading the word of the threat facing them too far for the moment.

  It turned out that Rina had a maze of catacombs carved out beneath its foundations, which the king had kept secret from most people aside from his most trusted men. There was space in their confines for most of the inhabitants of the city, if not all, and if they were cleared then there would be room for another hundred or so. The first task they decided upon was to empty them to make that room. That did mean removing the bodies of the ancient nobles that were deposited down there, but the king advised that since the tunnels had not been used for burials for well over a century, the likelihood of anyone missing the corpses was slim, and when it came to a decision between storing the bodies of the dead and saving the living, there was no contest. It would be difficult to remove the bodies without causing panic, and so it was decided that they should be taken via a secluded tunnel during the night, by the most trusted members of the King’s Army, and moved by wagon to a remote location for reburial.

  “It seems I may owe you an apology,” Thadius said to Matthias that evening after they had feasted on roast pheasant and the king left them to take care of other matters.

  “I don’t see why?” Matthias asked him.

  “I didn’t trust your intentions,” he said. “And I have been quite rude to you. But I can see from your efforts with us that you really are here for a good cause.”

  Matthias regarded him a moment. “It’s as you said: trust has to be earned. You had no reason to take a stranger at his word, not least from one of my people.”

  “You speak as if you do not like the way your country is
run?” Thadius suggested.

  Matthias smiled. “There are aspects of my country’s nature which I don’t agree with, that much is certain. But isn’t that so of any land?”

  Thadius snorted. “You expect me to answer that as we sit in the dining room of the king?”

  Matthias chuckled back. “Perhaps not. But your country has had its share of rebellions. People don’t always see eye to eye with each other.”

  “I’m not sure I see your point?” Thadius responded, squinting at him.

  Matthias shook his head. “No point,” he sighed. “In any case, I had best be off to bed. I am sure there is more I need to speak to King Arwell about tomorrow.” He stood and bowed his head. “Thanks for your company,” he said, before he left the room.

  Thadius stared after him. “Stranger than a barrel full of earwigs, that one,” he muttered, before lighting his pipe and kicking back in his chair.

  “Are you mad girl?” King Arwell barked as he paced the floor of his daughter’s chambers. “You must be,” he spluttered with a manic laugh. “Why else would you venture into his company like that?”

  “I wanted to see what he was like father,” Princess Josephine replied. “You have kept me at arms length of Mahalia for so long, that I have never had the chance to meet a real wizard before.”

  “There is a very good reason for that!” he exclaimed

  “He did not have the look of one that would do harm to me. He was unlike those other men you have told me about.”

  “He is… different, I will grant you that. And he has been helpful today. But he is still a wizard of Mahalia! Do you have any idea what their Council could do to you if they found out about you?”

  “You have told me more times than I can count!” she retorted. “But I have grown tired of hiding in the shadows! It has been over two years since I have felt as much as a flicker of the energy. It is no longer a problem, thanks to the wise woman.”

  “There are still signs they can pick up on. They are clever people. At one point I thought he knew already, when he spoke about your eyes.” He looked at her sadly. “I could not bear to lose you, Josephine. After everything we have been through, that would be too much to bear, even for a toughened old ox like me!”

  “I know,” she said. “I am sorry if I worried you. Perhaps I was too forward in entering without your permission.”

  The king smiled. “If I had done that to my father, he would have had me strung up by my ankles for a week!”

  “Then I am fortunate that you are not your father,” Josephine smiled back.

  “I cannot be angry with you for long,” he said, shaking his head. He felt his temples. “It has been a very long day.”

  “You should rest father,” Josephine advised. Then she smiled wryly. “You will need your wits about you if you intend to take more advice from Mahalia.”

  The king shook his head and chuckled. “We have been just another pawn in their plans for a long time. But I must admit, there seems more to this wizard than meets the eye. He might just be a wizard I can do business with.”

 

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