by D N Meinster
Rikki briefly turned her head from Hatswick. Her great-grandmother was involved in everything. For once, she thought she was going to hear a story that didn't mention her.
"It was only a few days after she was given her crystal that it, along with the staff, were obliterated. I think your great-grandmother was happy to see it go. It was an unpleasant looking thing. I saw the pieces of it once. Anyway, the Bellish were perplexed by the situation. Of course, it seems obvious to me now that they knew the crystals could supplement the power of the mage, they just didn't understand how it did.
"Your great-grandmother wasn't about to undergo any tests, so the Bellish could only guess at the issue. Our staffs direct magic from us and through the crystal. They presumed that her abilities were far too great for one crystal to handle, so they gave her two. She was given a majestic staff worthy of such power. And she was given a necklace that bore another crystal. You might have heard that these articles were buried with her a century ago. But they were not." Hatswick turned around and tapped his staff on the desk. There was a flash of blinding light, and he turned back to face his student.
Rikki could not see what was on top of the desk, but it was easy enough to fathom. "You didn't rob her grave, did you?"
Hatswick's grin revealed his perfectly straight and gleaming teeth. "I kept them ever since she moved on. But they have spent enough time in my possession. They belong to her descendant." He stepped aside, revealing what he had summoned.
Sitting on top of the desk were two silver objects. One was a staff with the body constructed of a closely knit spiral. At its top, on each side of the enormous crystal, were two silver wings. The necklace beside the staff bore the same design. Two wings appeared to be extending from the crystal, while the transition to the chain was seamless.
Rikki stared at the staff and necklace. She moved close to them but refused to touch. They may have been heirlooms, but they were also two of the most significant items in Kytheran history. They belonged on display, not in her possession. "I can't accept these," she said.
"They are yours, by right," Hatswick replied. "You may not have Amelia's talents, but you remind me of her in other ways. You're intelligent, you're feisty, and you also hate your first staff." He flicked his hand toward the objects. "There is your alternative."
Rikki leaned her bronze staff against the desk and let go. She extended her left arm and gently placed her fingers down upon the silver staff. She held her hand there, soaking in the history. Images of the past raced before her eyes, as the staff rushed to show Rikki all of Amelia's experiences. She couldn't take in what she was seeing, but within seconds her hand was wrapped around the staff. She lifted it off the desk and brought it close.
"This is all I need," Rikki said. "The necklace would be wasted on me."
Hatswick grabbed the necklace off the desk. "It is a pair. They go together." He placed the chain around Rikki's neck. "Besides, one day you may live up to it yet."
She looked up at Hatswick. "Thank you."
Hatswick nodded and grabbed the bronze staff. "I'll hold onto this. Though unfortunately, the next mage who gets it may be stuck with it."
"I pity them already," Rikki responded. "You should just let me destroy it." She pointed her new staff toward her old one.
"You know we only have a finite supply of crystals," Hatswick said. "However..." He raised the bronze staff over his head. It shook in his hand as if someone was pulling at it. A bright spark flew out of the staff's body and landed on the desk. The spark extended until it was shaped like a rod and then transformed into an exact replica of the bronze staff. "A symbolic destruction would be better than no destruction."
Rikki gripped her new staff with both hands and aimed it at the replica. That bronze menace had held her back all these years. There were always high expectations of her because of who she was related to. Amelia's heir was bound to be the most powerful mage in the land. But she had always disappointed.
Now, she was holding her great-grandmother's staff. It was the staff that had locked away the Beast and parted the lands. For once, she felt like there was a chance to fulfill what she had already deemed impossible. Maybe she could live up to Amelia's legend.
As Rikki found hope once more, the bronze staff that had held her back shattered. But it was not the replica that broke.
Hatswick glared at Rikki as pieces of the staff he had been holding smacked into him and dropped to the floor. He bent down and picked up the fallen crystal from among the chunks of bronze. He showed it to her, and it was still intact. "Finite means limited."
Rikki's face turned red. "Sorry."
Chapter Three
Among the High Council
Doren couldn't take listening to the unending bluster of these Kytheran egotists for much longer. Ever since his father insisted he attend High Council meetings several seasons ago, he'd had to put up with the bickering codgers and arrogant dullards that composed this advisory board. None of their opinions or decisions mattered, for it was really the King that had the final say in all goings-on. Despite this, they all acted as if they, too, were royalty. Doren had tried to get out of each session he was dragged to, but his father would remind him that he was obligated as the Prince of Kytheras and only heir to the throne.
The Council Chamber was no more inviting than the members that occupied it. It was a cold room, lit only by a few candles in the corners and on the rectangular stone table where everyone had gathered. There were a few narrow windows high up near the ceiling, but hardly any light ever shone down through them. There were eight stone seats decorated with cushions around the table: three on each long side and one at each end. Seven of the seats were occupied.
Doren sat at one end. He was clothed in robes of gold and light green, which were a prince's formal colors. He had long, untidy black hair that fell past his shoulders and covered his forehead and even part of his pointed nose. Dark gray eyes looked out from the tangle of hair that concealed his eyebrows and ears. He had a well-defined chin and subtle lips that were presently frowning.
At the other head of the table was King Halstrom of the line of Tunsev, ruler of Kytheras, and a descendant of the Great Unifier Aergo. He had a beard that was to be envied, but no accompanying mustache. The seventeen years of rule showed on his face, but his neatly trimmed hair had always been deep gray. His forehead was crinkled, and his light silver eyes had a weariness that was further enhanced by the crow’s feet surrounding them. He was dressed in a fabulous green ensemble that glistened even in this dark room. It was the same type of outfit Aergo had worn in his time. In fact, the sword that was strapped to Halstrom's belt was the very sword that Aergo had once wielded. Halstrom had a deep love for his lineage, but Doren was convinced his father was just trying to mask his shortcomings with trinkets from the past.
Doren braced himself as one of the council members opened their mouths.
"Where is Grand Mage Hatswick?" Wilma, the only female on the council, asked. She was middle-aged, with an upturned nose and black hair that was interrupted by a thick white stripe at its center. Doren, along with several others, called her Skunk in private. He had a feeling that she had heard and embraced the name, for she was also wearing robes of white and black. It was either that or she was just a plain ignoramus. Both were plausible.
Several council members glanced at the empty chair, and then looked to the King.
"He's occupied with training," Halstrom told them in a commanding voice.
"He's been busy when he's supposed to attend our sessions for almost the entire season," Orlan complained. Orlan was a middle-aged man with dark skin that was so tight against his face that it was almost like looking at a skull. He had short black hair and wore a glorious purple garment that draped over his lanky body.
"Evidently Hatswick finds party planning beneath him," Saunders observed in his cracked voice. The oldest man on the council, he had lengthy white hair on the sides of his head, but none on the top. He had tan skin and a blue
and amber scarf that was wrapped around his neck and covered most of his light ensemble. Saunders had a keen eye but was easily tempted to begin extensive ramblings on resource management that would put Doren to sleep.
"He should know we do more than just prepare celebrations," Kelvin interjected. Ambition was evident in every aspect of Kelvin's appearance, from his slicked back hair to his dull yellow eyes. The cane he carried with him was almost certainly a prop, while the cape he had stuck on his black attire was an attempt to convey importance. He might've controlled all the gems in the kingdom, but it wasn't enough. If Kelvin could kill someone to become king, he probably would have.
"There are serious concerns that have been brought to our attention," Alphonse said. "Hatswick should be here." Alphonse had pale and freckled skin, with a red afro growing on top of his head. His wrinkled brown cloak contributed to an untidy appearance that further enhanced rumors that he spent his nights sleeping on the streets. Regrettably, such an act had nothing to do with outreach nor security.
"He had my permission to miss this session," Halstrom said. "I believe we can go along fine without the Grand Mage."
"Like he'd need your permission," Kelvin scoffed.
"Hatswick has loyally served the Tunsev line for centuries," Halstrom said with his voice rising. "If I had requested his presence, he would be here."
Kelvin turned away from the King but said no more.
"Now, how has the Celebration been coming along?" Halstrom asked.
"We are prepared for over fifty thousand of our citizens to show up," Wilma said. "But we suspect less than half that number will make an appearance."
"We could definitely do a better job with outreach," Saunders stated.
"I'm more concerned with the citizenry that has heard about this," Alphonse said, sucking the air out of the room. Most council members knew what he was referring to, but no one wanted to acknowledge it.
"I do not believe such matters need to be heard by the King's ears," Saunders told his colleague. "As we told you in discussions prior to this meeting."
"Your Majesty, these idiots would keep you blind and deaf if they could," Alphonse lashed out.
Doren perked up, suddenly interested in the debate. Council members rarely insulted each other to their face.
Halstrom's eyes were locked onto Alphonse. "As my ears currently function, I would like to hear what you intend to say."
The rest of the council turned to stare at Alphonse. There were disapproving looks, but they couldn't mask the apprehension on their faces.
Alphonse leaned forward and spoke as if he were revealing a secret. "Some of us have come to believe that Thalians are active in our kingdom once more."
Saunders rolled his eyes. "Unsubstantiated rumors."
"It is no rumor that a curious number of horses are dropping dead each day," Orlan said.
"Not to mention that there are more reported grave robberies than in anytime during your reign," Wilma stated.
Halstrom absorbed the information but wasn't convinced of its connection. "What do horses and grave robberies have to do with Thalians?"
"I haven't the slightest," Saunders said. "Seems like there might be an uptick in crime or a horse plague."
"Any sort of illness should concern us," Kelvin said. "We all know the cost of the last plague."
Doren put his head down and tried to keep any tears from dripping down his face. Why do they insist on mentioning the plague? He glanced up to see his father's face, but there was no reaction. Twinges of anger flew through his body and down his arms. He'd love to strike that unaffected look straight off the King.
"You should all know why horses would be the targets of Thalians," Wilma pointedly stated. "Have you forgotten their connections to mages? To the Goddess?"
"The horse deaths may be worth looking into, be it an illness or some other matter," Halstrom said. "But grave robberies? I don't see a connection there. Have you checked for worshippers around the Door?"
"There are only kids around the Door these days," Orlan said. "I used to hang around there myself. You know, I once tried to play Splitting on the Door. But if any of you have ever tried to shoot an arrow at that thing, you know it's not possible."
Halstrom raised his eyebrow. "I doubt Thalians could stay away from it. Tell me if you ever find anyone other than children playing games."
Alphonse nodded. "I haven't even mentioned the fog yet."
"We'll investigate your horses," Saunders relented. "But we do have other pressing matters that require our attention."
"There should be plenty of men to keep watch at the Celebration," Halstrom said. "I know you are setting up security arrangements. See to it that they are made aware of your concerns, in the tiny, yet possible, chance you are right."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Alphonse said.
"If we can move along," Saunders said, still irritated. "I believe our food supply demands greater attention than frivolous paranoia."
Doren's shoulders dropped, and he closed his eyes as he prepared for the incredible boredom to commence. Just when the meeting had finally gotten interesting, they were going to discuss crops and irrigation. He was sure listening to a few minutes of it would put him to sleep.
"It is not even the tenth day of Spring," Halstrom noted. "Our harvest from last year was bountiful. There's been no talk of shortage from you before."
"This event will put extra stress on our rations," Saunders stated.
"We don't have to provide food," Orlan suggested.
Kelvin scoffed. "This is a celebration. Without food and drink, it's just a lecture."
"Do we have exact figures?" Halstrom inquired.
"Saunders would have those," Wilma said, even though she was in charge of managing the farmers.
Saunders pulled some sheets of paper from his pocket. He searched through the scribbled writing looking for relevant numbers. "These are all projections for this season." He flipped through some more papers. "The rotations around Strife Lake are going well. Apple trees appear healthy. Wingless River's current has returned to normal." Saunders looked up at the King. "I don't seem to have the figures with me."
"From what you just said, I don't think we have much to worry about in the way of food at the moment," Halstrom said. "Kelvin is right. We are celebrating three hundred years since Neanthal's demise. This is not just a history lesson. Meals will be provided and beverages will be served. Scale it back slightly if you are so concerned, but do not deprive our citizens what they have earned in three hundred years of solidarity."
Saunders crumpled the papers back up with a tense and wrinkled hand. "Very well."
"We haven't had a food shortage in many years," Wilma said. "No reason to believe one will start now."
"We must be wary of becoming too complacent," Orlan warned. "We do not want a repeat of the troubles during King Elemazen's reign."
"Fortunate that our king is wiser than his grandfather and his father combined," Kelvin opined.
Doren rolled his eyes. He wondered if his father was even able to see past such flagrant flattery. Surely these sycophants said the same thing to previous kings. They didn't really believe such nonsense. They just wanted to maintain their illusion of power. Getting rid of these dolts was almost enough to make Doren want to be king. Almost.
There was a brief knock on the door to the chamber, and a heavyset woman burst in. She had wild hair of black and gray, and her lipstick was a vile shade of red. She was unpleasant to look at, even when she wasn't wearing such a hideous blue dress. Doren saw her all too often. She was one of the head servants in the castle.
"The caterers have arrived," Phyllis informed the council.
"Wonderful," Kelvin said. "There will be plenty of samples to try."
Alphonse perked up. "There is a joy in free food."
Several council members began to rise from their seats, but Orlan remained seated. He cleared his throat. "We cannot leave yet."
The other members were per
plexed. "Why not?" Wilma asked.
"We haven't discussed construction in the Outer yet," Orlan answered.
There was a brief moment of silence, as they considered the statement from the reigning architect. This was followed by outbursts of laughter from every member. Orlan finally got up, still in a fit of uncontrollable giggles.
The cold expression on Doren's face hadn't changed, but he was relieved that the meeting was over. It was disgusting how the Outer was a joke now. It was still a part of their kingdom. It deserved to be taken care of, not mocked. For it was the men in this castle that neglected the area and had led it to its current conditions.
"Dorenculous," Halstrom said before Doren could leave his seat. "Please stay a moment."
Doren focused on the King, still sitting at the other end of the table. There was a slight pain in his chest as all the other one-on-one conversations he had with his father came rushing into his memory. They were never cordial, and always ended in threats and screaming. Couldn't his father have just run off for some food like the other dolts? There was nothing he wanted to speak to him about.
King Halstrom ignored the pained look on his son's face. He only spoke when the room had emptied. "Julius told me you've missed several sessions. Why are you skipping out on your training?"
Doren searched carefully for the words to answer. He wanted this interrogation to end quickly. "I do not believe there is any more he can teach me."
"How many times must we do this?" Halstrom asked.
"None if you would let it go," Doren answered.
Halstrom was not pleased with the response. "I cannot let it go when you are the only heir to the throne." He pushed himself off his seat and stood tall while preparing to reprimand his child. "A king must be a warrior. They must have the courage to fight and the skill for victory. Every king since Aergo has wielded a sword." He reached to his waist and pulled out a polished steel blade that had obviously not seen battle in some time. "You will be no different. One day, you will possess such a sword. It is not a decoration. It is a weapon."
Doren gazed, unimpressed by the sword his father brandished. He did his best to keep his eyes from rolling and turned his head away from the King. "You waste your time and your breath, father."
