The Making of a Mage King: Prince in Hiding

by Anna L. Walls

  Cordan noticed and smiled. “My father is an innkeeper. He taught me how to make that when I was a kid. It’s got a kick, though; I make it stronger than he did.”

  Sean took a sip. “It’s smooth,” he said, winning a shy smile from Cordan. “I like it.”

  Cordan chuckled. “You’re different than I thought.”

  “How’s that?” Sean asked, then changed his mind. “No, don’t bother answering that. I’ve been acting like a brat lately. Tell me more about things around here.” He glanced at Mattie. She was sitting in a rocking chair near the window with some mending in her lap.

  “I’ll take good care of her,” said Cordan, soft enough so she wouldn’t hear.

  Sean thought she was listening very hard; she just didn’t want them to suspect. “I can see that.” Sean glanced around the cozy home. “Make sure there’s more than one kid in this house. An only child is a lonely child.”

  “I will,” he said.

  Sean couldn’t read the expression on his face. Was he relieved, or confused? He went back to his other topic.

  From Cordan, he learned things no one else had bothered to tell him. Only sixty-some-odd men, all of whom doubled as farmers. How am I supposed to lead a revolt against the crown with that?

  As Cordan talked about the different crops and the different livestock in this small microcosm of life, Sean could see that things were well balanced here. This place is self-sufficient now, but if we do what Ferris and Darrel want, we will strip this place, and everything will quickly crumble unless we work with blinding speed and stunning success. The little he knew of wars (what was reported in the news), told him that wars never went as planned. The little he knew of plans, (Dungeons and Dragons), quick was sloppy, and quicker was deadly. They’re right about one thing. We need an army, a large army, but this little community can’t support such a thing, not even for a day or two.

  Cordan continued to talk with little prompting while Sean continued to hash out some sort of plan using the information Cordan was covering. He was talking now about the strengths and weaknesses, as he saw them, of each of the men. He spoke of their skills and specialties. He named off men skilled with a bow; both long bow from the ground and short bow from horseback. He spoke of those skilled at riding and training horses. He even told Sean who could use magic, even if only a little, which, aside from Darrel, amounted to six men; three could use fire, two could use earth and one could use water and a little air.

  By the time Cordan wound himself down, more than one beer had disappeared from their mugs, and the plates were empty. Sean had come to only one simple conclusion; he needed to drum up a following, and to do that, he needed a banner, a flag. He needed something for people to rally around. He thought of the American flag and how fiercely loyal most American’s were to it, but that wasn’t his flag, not here; he needed something that stood for him, Sean, King Seanad Éireann Barleduc-Ruhin, and the flower wasn’t it. He turned to Mattie. “Mattie, your grandmother called me a white star, do you remember? What did she mean? Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  She looked up in surprise. “Yes,” she said. “She told me once of a vision she had when she was a girl. She said the White Star would walk among us.” She stood and climbed a staircase that was little better than a ladder and disappeared into the loft. She returned with a small, rolled up bundle that she set on the end of the table while she carefully cleared, then wiped it. “She showed me this once too. It was her most treasured possession.” With the table cleared, she unrolled the cloth. “She made it shortly after her vision – it took her a long time; the colors were hard to come by.”

  She discarded the plain outer cloth on a chair. Inside was a roll of shiny black cloth, fine enough to almost see through if it hadn’t been the deepest black. Spread out across the table between Cordan and Sean, neatly hemmed on all four sides, it was about four feet square. Dominating the center of the cloth was a large, white, four-pointed star. The star was made to stand out from the background by finely stitched rays that started out white, then evolved into the four different colors representing the four different magics. It looked like an exploding sun, only much more colorful.

  “There’s a story behind this symbol, isn’t there?” asked Sean, as he reached out to touch the stitching.

  “There is,” said Cordan, as he too touched the stitching lightly. “It’s a child’s tale.”

  Sean sat back and looked at him.

  Cordan sat back too, and with a sigh, began the tale. “It is said that one day, the Dark Lord came to us and walked among us with impunity. He took from us whatever he wished and there was no sense to it. No one could stand against him. No one could tell him ‘no’. He took men, women, children, animals or crops with indifference, however his mood struck him. Anyone who looked him in the face died within days, if he wasn’t taken right then, and with every death, the Dark Lord grew stronger.”

  It took Sean a moment to place the name ‘Dark Lord’ and remember that Errol had called the shadow blocking the sun by that name. He had died less than a week later.

  Cordan continued. “In their fear, the people revolted. Fearing to pick a more direct target, they fought among themselves. Each of them thought their neighbor was the favorite of the Dark Lord because a valued member of one family was spared when that of another was not.

  “One dark day, a bold young man looked past the conflicts of his neighbors and stood up to the Dark Lord himself. He was enraged by the senselessness of it all. He struck at the Dark Lord with all of his puny strength and rage. He did no damage, he couldn’t hope to, but the very act drew the Dark Lord’s attention and his wrath. He struck at the young man; it was said that he sought to obliterate him from the timeline of fate, but fate had other plans. The young man, little more than a boy, still stood when the smoke cleared. He was surrounded in a shield that glowed white-hot with the lights of fire, water, air and earth.” Cordan’s fingers gently traced the star’s colors as he spoke of them.

  “The Dark Lord was enraged,” he continued. “He engaged the boy using all his might, and the land was ripped asunder with their battle. Mountains heaved up, rivers found new beds, and fields were scorched. The boy saw it all. Seeking to stop the destruction, he grappled close with the Dark Lord, then he threw them both out among the stars. To this day, they still battle; it can be seen every night. The Dark Lord fights free sometimes and he turns his gaze on us, but if we do not meet him with our eyes in boldness, he cannot use our strength, and the White Star will be able to keep him from returning.”

  I wonder if this was some legend the ancient peoples of this world came up with to explain away the acquisition of a second moon or some other astronomical event. “Was this boy and this Dark Lord real? Were they real people?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just a legend; there’s no knowing if it’s real or only a story that’s grown over time. Maybe some tribal leader went mad once upon a time and this kid was able to defeat him. Maybe it’s just a story to keep children from misbehaving.”

  Sean turned back to Mattie. “So, what did your grandmother mean when she said that the White Star is walking among us again?”

  Mattie shook her head and shrugged, so Cordan offered an answer in her stead. “We needed a champion then and we need another one now. I’ve heard some grandfathers say that the magics came about that day, and gossip has it that you are unmatched in magic.”

  Sean chuckled and caressed the stitching again. “I was told it was all a matter of breeding. May I keep this long enough to copy it?”

  Mattie rested a hand on Sean’s. “If my grandmother named you the White Star, this is you. Keep it.”

  Sean turned back to Cordan. “Would this be recognized? What would people do if they saw it?”

  Cordan cocked his head. “You’re thinking of using this symbol as some sort of herald, aren’t you? It’s hard to say what will happen. Everyone would understand its meaning, but whether they would rejoice or despair, would be imposs
ible to say. It chills my blood laying here.”

  They continued to talk. Cordan’s words led Sean’s thoughts onto grounds never explored before. As their conversation continued, Mattie folded the new herald and returned it to its cover, and set it aside. Later, supper came and went from the table too. After supper, Mattie left; she did not sleep there. Her action reminded Sean of the passage of time and he looked out the window to see that the sun had set, and yet he still wanted to pick this man’s mind. Some hours later, Cordan was yawning hard enough to wring tears from his eyes, so Sean too left, and let him go to bed.

  As he walked into the moonlight, he looked up at the twin moons. He’d never paid much attention, but he didn’t recall ever seeing them very far from each other. He wondered if their orbits were close or if it just looked that way. They didn’t look alike either. One of them was obviously darker than the other one, though both of them were in the direct glare of the sun.

  As he gazed up at them, he could imagine a moonless planet, innocently orbiting its sun until a black comet comes by close, spraying the planet with its poisonous tail like in the movie, Night of the Comet, bringing with it volcanic upheaval from gravitational forces. Because of some astronomical coincidence, another comet crosses paths here too, passing very close to the first one. The gravitational upheaval would have been redoubled. Their proximity to each other would have slowed them both in their headlong rush through the solar system; it might have been enough to ensnare them around this innocent planet in an eternal battle between light and dark. He could imagine all that, but he liked the story much better. He could see children enwrapped at their father’s knee listening to the story of how the fates had chosen one among them to be their champion, and the only way the rest of them could help him, was to look away from the Dark Lord. In that small way, they could deprive him of their strength. In that small way, they had some control over their destiny.

  Sean brought his gaze down from the moons to the field a few feet away. The young plants were about a foot tall now and stood in neat, carefully-tended rows and files. The moonlight turned their rich green to black. The double exposure from the moons coupled with a light breeze gave them walking legs and waving arms, turning them into people moving across the land, thousands of people in every direction, all of them looking to their king for protection, all of them willing to die for him. He, who was a comet screaming through their ranks to clash with the Dark Lord before he could destroy another family or another farm.

  “My lord?” A hand rested on his shoulder and Sean’s hand was snagged into the leather armor of a throat. The eyes above his hand bulged in astonishment and he realized that the young face above his hand was not the Dark Lord. He was only a young man pulling guard duty.

  Sean released him abruptly. “Sorry,” he said. “I was thinking about something else. You startled me.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lord, but I didn’t expect to see you out this late. Is everything all right with you?” asked the young man, recovering quickly.

  “I’m fine,” said Sean, then he had an idea. “Take me with you on your rounds. Show me what you look for.”

  The man was bewildered by the request, but he answered quickly enough. “Yes sir. This way, sir. I’m just starting my shift.”

  As they walked, he explained the watch to Sean. Cordan had told him of it, but not in this detail. The route was six hours long and went from hilltop vantage point to hilltop vantage point, west of the farm. Four guards made the rounds at any one time and therefore were about an hour and a half apart, easily within earshot of one another. At the end of each round, their replacements were awakened for their turn. There were four such loops, each of them heading off in four different directions from the main compound. Two guards were also posted to patrol the main compound itself, and they were on a six-hour turnaround as well. The six-hour shift made for a seemingly random shift change and allowed the men to do other things during the day too.

  At each vantage point, Sean’s guide pointed out and explained what he looked for, and Sean was impressed at the detail, not to mention the fact that the man could spot it at night. He looked for branches out of place, birds flying when they shouldn’t, even grasses leaning in the wrong direction. Some of that was difficult to discern in the dark, but even Sean could see it after the guard pointed it out. He also pointed out subtle indicator traps and wardings set all along the trail. Anyone passing through could easily disturb them, and though they would cause no harm, the compound could be notified of intruders long before they reached the house.

  It was just growing light when they returned to the yard, and Sean thanked the man for putting up with him and his questions. He slipped into the house quietly, trying his best not to wake anyone. Ferris had waited up for him without much success. He was snoring with his head on the table.

  Experiments

  Sean carefully leaned the big sword he still carried in a corner by the door, then he eased himself into a chair as quietly as he could and prepared to wait. Marinda came out a little while later to start up the stove for breakfast and saw the two of them. Sean signaled her to say nothing. He could tell she was bursting with questions, but perhaps Ferris realizing that he’d been caught sleeping on duty might be worth waiting for answers.

  She tried to be careful, which bought Ferris a few more zzs, but what she had to do couldn’t really be kept quiet, so he roused eventually.

  Ferris looked funny waking up. He was upright in his chair for a full minute before he actually opened his eyes, then it seemed to take him forever to realize that he had an audience. “Where have you been?” he growled.

  “Never very far,” said Sean grinning. “How long have you been sleeping?”

  He rubbed his scruffy face. “Not long enough,” he grumbled. “You done throwing a tantrum?”

  “For now,” said Sean, frowning. He didn’t like being reminded of his latest tantrum; its cause still made him angry.

  Ferris pushed himself heavily out of his chair and headed for the back door.

  An idea burst into Sean’s head. “Don’t shave. I have something for you to do.” Ferris merely glanced back over his shoulder, then nodded and went on about his business. It feels strange giving orders to men well over twice my age, and even stranger to have them obeyed without question.’

  While Ferris was gone, Marinda had Sean heat a pot of water for chamma, and Ferris thanked her gratefully for his cup when she set it in front of him. “What is it you want me to do?” he asked.

  “I need you to go into town, and I don’t want you to look like a soldier. We’ll scrape together a handful of appropriate coins for you to use. I want you to be there for a day or two. I need your impressions for an experiment I want to conduct.”

  “An experiment? What kind of experiment?” he asked.

  “If I told you what I was going to do, you would be too prepared for it. You’ll just have to wait and see. I just need someone with trustworthy intelligence behind a pair of eyes. Someone I’m fairly confident won’t panic or laugh.”

  “All right,” he said, drawing the words out. “I’ll get ready. What am I supposed to buy with my appropriate coins?”

  “Since we’re to have a celebration this afternoon, you don’t have to go until tomorrow. As to what to buy, Aunt Marinda, is there anything you need? Herbs, salt…nothing big.” Sean shrugged and turned that subject over to her.

  After breakfast, everyone was ordered to take a bath. Marinda had new clothes for her nephew to wear. Since there were no stores around here, he could only assume that she had made them for his Uncle Clayton, and they had been sitting in a drawer for the last ten years or more.

  With all the cooking that was going on, Sean was surprised that lunch was so skimpy. Very few people came around to eat, and only cold meats and bread were set out. He soon learned why.

  The afternoon affair wasn’t just a wedding, and the fact that three young couples were getting hitched made no difference. The weddings wer
e an excuse for everyone to get together and have a party.

  Shortly after Sean made his appearance in the yard, a girl of about eleven hurried up to him and bobbed a curtsey. “Miss Jenny sent me to find you. She wants to see you.”

  “Lead the way,” said Sean grinning. From her hurried steps that didn’t really cover all that much distance, and from her many glances over her shoulder just to make sure he hadn’t vanished since the last glance, he could tell she was absolutely bursting with excitement about being involved with one of the brides and could scarcely contain herself about being asked to speak to him. She reminded him of a sixth-grader who had once asked Larry for an autograph after they had won a game; they had taken state that year. Both girls tryed very hard to act dignified, but if they were any more animated, they would have been hopping.

  The girl led him to a medium-sized house where both Jenny and Mattie were getting ready. As soon as Sean entered the sitting room, Jenny turned to him with a beaming smile and said, “We’ve decided it’s only right that you give us both away.”

  This little ritual reminded Sean of the fact that Jenny’s father was not here. It would be easy to retrieve him. “Your father…”

  “Dad is a long ways away, and he would never understand any of this,” she said as she pushed him into a chair and turned to the buttons on Mattie’s dress.

  “He’s not that far away,” said Sean. “I could bring him here in a heartbeat.”

  Her fingers paused. “Don’t you dare,” she said. “I have no desire to watch my father have a heart attack on my wedding day.”

  I wonder what her abrupt disappearance did to him.

  “My father would have been very happy with the match Mistress Marinda found for me,” said Mattie.

  “Cordan is a good man,” said Sean, remembering that she had no family to enjoy this day with her.

  Giving two of the brides away wasn’t the only responsibility they had saddled him with. Sean soon learned that he was responsible for keeping the increasingly inebriated new husbands’ eyes, hands, and of course any other applicable body part, from wandering away from their brides before the wedding was properly consummated. He was also responsible for seeing that they made it into the right bed sometime before they passed out. Sean also discovered that everyone else would do their level best to make sure the grooms got as drunk as they could make them, and there was no shortage of young women willing to lead them astray. With everyone ‘helping’, keeping track of one man was quite enough; keeping track of two was almost impossible. The night was a very long night.