Kings of Ghumai- The Complete series Box Set

by D N Meinster

  "You know, it hadn't occurred to me that the King was so disliked until today," Aros said, keeping his voice down.

  "I suspect you don't think about the King much at all," Leidess said, walking beside him.

  "I've only ever thought about him as a customer," Aros stated.

  "That's the problem, isn't it? Kytheran kings are usually active in the community. Halstrom has delegated all his duties and locked himself up in the castle. Not a way to gain favor amongst the citizenry."

  "I'm kind of excited to see him today. I've never seen the King before."

  "I have," Leidess replied. "When I was younger. It wasn't that special, to be honest. It will be much more exciting to learn the Grand Mage's identity."

  "Right," Aros said, trying to recall what Leidess had mentioned about the Grand Mage before. If he was still alive, he would be incredibly old. Leidess tended to doubt the rumors. "So could he have secluded himself too?"

  "I think the whole castle's been secluded," Leidess said. "It's another reason today's celebration is so special. It's the first time kids our age get to peek inside."

  Aros removed a rusty key from his pants' pocket as the pair arrived at Ratch's shop. He inserted the key in the hole above the doorknob and pushed the door open. Aros dropped the key back in his pocket and beelined straight to the back of the shop, leaving Leidess standing in the entryway.

  "Come on back here," Aros urged.

  He pulled out his clawblades, which shined with their fresh coat of polish.

  "I've seen those," Leidess said as she came up to his workstation.

  "You haven't seen this," Aros said, pulling out an odd contraption. Hanging from his hands were crisscrossed leather straps, with two metallic blocks attached to each strap. Aros slipped into the straps so that the four symmetrically placed blocks were on his back while the brown leather formed an "X" over the front of his shirt.

  "Are those what I think they are?" Leidess asked.

  Aros grinned and lifted one of the blades over his right shoulder. He slid it diagonally across his back, so that the blade was resting against two blocks, and then let go. The clawblade stayed in place.

  "They are!" Leidess shouted, her voice reverberating through the room. "Magnets!"

  Aros took the other blade over his left side and slid it diagonally on top of the only visible set of blocks. This blade also stayed in place. Both hilts stuck out over his shoulders, with the curved swords left clinging to his back. "The shape of the swords made normal sheaths impossible. I had to innovate."

  "Ratch just has a bounty here, doesn't he?" Leidess commented.

  "It's no wonder the smoke thief chose to steal from here," Aros replied. "Magnets; Ligold; all rare commodities in the world we live in."

  "Turn around," Leidess insisted.

  Aros spun so that his back was towards Leidess.

  She examined the clawblades, which rested obliquely on Aros' back. She flicked one of them with her finger, half expecting it to fly off, but all it did was make slight dinging noise. "I'm impressed."

  "I knew you would be," Aros said, spinning back around. "Now that this project's complete, I can work on another."

  "Gonna keep this a secret too?"

  "Nah, I figured I'd tell you," Aros said. "Since it's going to be for you."

  "I don't need a sword," Leidess responded.

  "I know that," Aros said. "I'm making you a bow."

  Leidess looked Aros right in the eyes. "So we can play Splitting," she said, beaming.

  Rikki didn't want to get out of bed. She didn't feel like partaking in any sort of celebration. She couldn't find any pleasure on this anniversary. Milo was dead, and he wouldn't be around for this milestone or any other.

  Rikki and Milo had never been particularly close. They were very different individuals, with little in common except for their abilities. She never helped Milo study or train, and rarely saw him in her free time. She was more likely to be with Doren than anyone else in the castle. Yet this death had paralyzed her. She had scarcely left her room in days. Rikki could tell this depression was not just hers, but Magenine's as well. The Goddess was crying for the lost mage, for the boy who should have lived. He had a future. She had a plan for him.

  Almost everyone in Kytheras was a Magenite. They all believed in Magenine's power, and that she controlled the broad strokes of their lives. She not only oversaw life and death but also the Great Bastion, where souls found peace when their lives were over. Milo's soul did not find this peace, which meant that many more souls could be at risk.

  Why was Milo dead? There hadn't been one word about how he died. Was it so horrible that it needed to remain secret? And that smell coming from the coffin. It couldn't have been what she suspected, could it? She'd have to remember to ask the healer when she got a chance.

  Rikki felt her body prop itself up from the bed. She glanced around her dark room. Most of the red decor had been turned black. Her staff flew into her hand and she used it to drive herself off the bed.

  She dragged herself over to her closet, flinging it open without moving a muscle, and scanned the row of outfits, most of them white or red. Her eyes focused on the black one; the one she had worn to Milo's funeral. This was the one she truly felt like wearing. Maybe she should just turn all her dresses black, the same way she had transformed her room. But Rikki knew that would be inappropriate. She was to be onstage with Hatswick and the King. She couldn't be in attire that was meant for mourning, no matter how she felt inside.

  She ripped a solid white dress out of her closet. This one had a close-fit top with several alternating layers of skirts sewn into its bottom. It was good enough.

  Rikki caught sight of herself in the mirror before tossing the dress onto her bed. She looked awful. Her hair was a complete mess, and her face was plainly unwashed. She hadn't bathed in several days. Perhaps the day where she was to be in front of the entire kingdom was the time to break the streak.

  After taking a longer bath than usual, she went back to her bedroom. The ambient noise outside her window was louder than she had ever heard it. The guests must have started arriving in the square. Rikki took a few deep breaths. She felt weighed down and without any desire to be amongst crowds. She closed her eyes. "Please Magenine," she whispered. "I feel as you feel. But we have to get through this day. And then the next. We can't stop, even if we want to. Will you help me? Will you guide me?"

  Rikki continued preparing for the day. She touched the staff to her skin to instantaneously dry herself off, and then put on the dress she had chosen earlier. She looked at herself in the mirror again, much more pleased with what she saw. Rikki brushed her bangs to the sides of her forehead and shut her closet.

  Staff in hand, she marched out of her room and down the corridor. With each step, she could feel the melancholy fade. Rikki was the only young mage left now. She would never forget Milo, but she had to accept he was gone. Magenine had to accept that as well. The world had changed, and they had to adjust. There was too much going on in Kytheras to remain frozen.

  Rikki suddenly recalled what Doren had reported to her on the day of Milo's funeral. She had spent so much time thinking of Milo that Doren's story had been far from her mind. But it suddenly seemed incredibly significant. A boy made of black smoke was shuffling through books in the library. This was not a common occurrence.

  Upon reaching the first floor, she redirected herself and headed toward the library. There was still time before the ceremony began, and she didn't want to wait another second to examine the scene. She should have gone there days ago.

  The halls on the first floor were as busy as she had ever seen them. Servants and volunteers were sprinting past each other, carrying platters of food or drinks. Some were lugging garbage, others had trays piled with empty glasses and plates. The citizens were certainly taking advantage of the free meals.

  Rikki dodged the hectic servants and made her way to the library. She pulled open the light brown door and was taken aback
to find that she wasn't the only one inside. Hatswick was there, his back to her, and at his side was Doren. Both of them were standing amongst an incomprehensible mess of mistreated books.

  The symbol of the Five Kingdoms was a ubiquitous sight in Castle Tornis. It was adopted centuries ago by King Aergo and was more hierarchical than glamorous. It was broadly in a "T" shape, with the top horizontal bar representing Kytheras. Down its vertical shaft were three alternating protrusions that stuck out like they were arrows shot into the "T." These lines represented Faunli, Belliore, and Terrastream. At the very bottom of the "T," separate from all the others, was a small square, representative of the Twilight Islands.

  Doren had never been fond of the symbol, perhaps because it symbolized five kingdoms and he had only known one. It was a reminder of that which did not exist; a land that was as much a myth now as it was history. Kytheras deserved a new banner that reflected modern times. He was certain that the other kingdoms ditched this one immediately after the Parting. His kingdom should have done the same.

  Doren took a mental note. If, for some reason, he did become king, this was a priority for change. It was only slightly down the list from getting rid of the High Council. But he pushed these thoughts away. He did not want to be king. That was the real prerogative.

  Despite his distaste for the old symbol, there were several objects it had been imprinted on that he was rather attached to. His eyes were presently glued to one such object. It was a circular bronze shield left hanging on the walls of the fifth floor for decoration. The symbol had long ago been engraved into the metal and had probably been meant to serve as more than castle decor. Doren had taken to this particular shield, especially since no one seemed to notice when it went missing. He would often take it off the wall and use it for practice. It may have been old, but it was still incredibly sturdy, as he had discovered through years of practice. The walls in his room were scratched up from the swipes and bounces he had performed with the weapon, but the shield was still in pristine condition. It was ready for combat, which is why Doren had come to take it.

  A Thalian interruption at the Celebration was a serious concern, but the High Council seemed more interested in placing bets on whether it would actually happen than on preventing it. Doren was not about to be ill-prepared in case of an attack. He would have a weapon at the ready; a weapon of his choice, not his father's or Julius'. This shield was all he would need to fend off Thalian interlopers.

  "What ever is the Prince doing up here?"

  Doren slid the shield off the wall and turned, ready to attack whoever may be behind him. He sighed when he saw it was just the Grand Mage, dressed in his black and gold cloak. Doren lowered the shield. "I could ask you the same thing."

  "Saying that is basically asking me," Hatswick replied. "You might as well have asked." He eyed the shield in Doren's grasp. "Were you about to use that relic?" He extended his hand, and the shield rushed from Doren to Hatswick.

  "Hey!" Doren watched Hatswick examine the shield and was quite sure he saw him briefly frown.

  "I'm very familiar with this one," Hatswick said. He tapped it upward, and the shield floated in the air before moving back toward Doren. "It's enchanted, you know? By Amelia herself."

  "Really?" Doren said. He grabbed the shield out of midair.

  "During the days of the Dark Incursion, we faced an enemy that surpassed all of our abilities. His army was overwhelming, and their victories were numerous. We needed an advantage. So Amelia enchanted armor, cloaks, and weapons for our forces. Their armor became impenetrable and their shields indestructible. That is one such shield."

  Doren flipped the shield around in his fingers. No wonder it was in such good condition. "And they just left it hanging on the walls."

  "You'd be surprised what's been left as just castle decor," Hatswick said. "But there's been no need for sword or shield of late. Not even a need for staff really." He raised his own staff. "Not many of us left, now. Soon this will merely be another ornament."

  "So what are you doing up here?" Doren asked, afraid Hatswick might drivel on. The Grand Mage hadn't tempered his conversations since his hours-long eulogy.

  Hatswick smirked. "Looking for you, of course."

  "Does the King want to see me?" Doren said. He should have expected a lecture on proper behavior before this celebration.

  ”No, I want to," Hatswick replied. "I thought I'd fill you in on what I found in the library."

  Doren perked up. "What did you find?"

  "Nothing," Hatswick revealed. "Besides the indescribable mess, that is."

  Doren felt his heart drop at the news. There was no evidence the smoke was there. If only he had been able to catch it. Or if someone else had seen it. "Do you believe me, Hatswick?" he asked. His father certainly didn't.

  "I have no reason not to," Hatswick stated. "I've heard of stranger things in my lifetime. Though I don't know why your smoke boy was going through books."

  "Wish I could explain it," Doren said.

  "There is one thing, actually," Hatswick said, stroking his beard. "We still can't find the librarian."

  Doren wondered if she had seen the smoke too. Was she hiding somewhere? Or did the smoke do something to her? Madam Brel could be the only one to corroborate his story. "You'll keep looking?"

  "Naturally," Hatswick replied. "I'm about to fix up the library, see if there's a clue to where she went under all those books. You're welcome to come along."

  "I'd like to," Doren said. He threw off his light green coat and fastened the shield to the sling on his back. Then he pulled the coat back on over the shield and his bright yellow top.

  "You're taking that to the Celebration?" Hatswick asked.

  "I heard there may be Thalians," Doren said.

  "You know I could handle them if our guardians could not. There's no need for the Prince – "

  "Let's get to the library," Doren interrupted.

  "Very well." Hatswick held out his arm for Doren to grab.

  Doren just looked at him. "What are you doing?"

  "We'll shift there."

  Doren was hesitant to grab Hatswick's arm. He had heard that the Grand Mage refused to teach anyone else to shift, and thus no one else had done it in generations. He didn't know what it would feel like to shift from one place and end up somewhere else, and he'd much rather walk. "Is it safe?"

  "I do it all the time," Hatswick said.

  "With someone hanging on to you?"

  "Well, no," Hatswick answered. "Not for a while, at least. But no harm will come to you, my Prince. It's best we save time so we aren't late to the Celebration." He wiggled his outstretched arm. "Come along."

  Doren grudgingly placed his hand on Hatswick's arm and clamped his fingers around it.

  "Now don't let go," Hatswick cautioned.

  There was no need for the warning. Doren couldn't have let go of Hatswick's arm if he wanted to. His whole body instantly went numb. He was no longer able to feel the silky fabric of Hatswick's cloak, or the weight of the shield on his back. Paralyzed by the Grand Mage, he couldn't even blink.

  Doren was forced to watch as the stone walls surrounding them became a translucent blur. He had seen Hatswick shift before, and it had always appeared like he was the one who faded away. Now it seemed like it was the world that did so.

  While the corridor disappeared, a new environment came into focus. Both locations seemed to overlap at one point, and Doren thought he may be in two places at once. But the dark architecture of Castle Tornis' halls was abruptly replaced by the brighter wood of the castle library. The library was still in disarray and the misshapen piles of books were obvious even while the rest of the room was coming into view.

  The books beside him took a solid form, followed by the spiral staircase and the librarian's desk. Doren's body tingled back to life, and he released Hatswick's arm so furiously that he almost toppled back into the books.

  "Never again," Doren said while blinking frantically. That was not a
n experience he would be willing to repeat.

  "I've been doing it for hundreds of years," Hatswick stated. "You get used to it."

  "Why would anyone put themselves through that misery?"

  "Used to be the best way to get around, when there were five kingdoms," Hatswick said. "Now there's no need for anyone to shift when you can walk to your destination in less than a day."

  Doren exhaled slowly, regaining his bearings. "So that's why you've stopped teaching other mages how to shift."

  "I only do it 'cause I'm an old man," Hatswick said with a wink.

  "What if Rikki lived to four hundred? Shouldn't she know how to?"

  Hatswick considered the question, before extolling an emotional response. "It'd be nice to have a young mage live that long."

  Doren could have slapped himself. Not only had he reminded the Grand Mage about such a tragedy on what should have been a day of celebration, but he might have caused him to relapse into a never-ending sermon. Searching for a change of subject, Doren urgently recalled what he should ask. "Did Rikki ever ask you about the bottle?"

  Hatswick tilted his head to the point where it was a certainty that the trilby hat he wore was stuck on him by magic. "What bottle?"

  "I saw the King receive a scroll that was delivered in a glass bottle. Any idea who it could be from?"

  "There are a few possibilities that spring to mind, but none of them should concern a prince." Now it was Hatswick's turn to change the subject. "Let's clean up this mess, shall we?"

  "How can I help?"

  "Stand back. And watch."

  Hatswick raised his staff well above his head. The channeling crystal began to glow, and quite suddenly, the books at his feet jumped up from the ground. A few of them hovered for a moment before flying up to the higher floors. Book-after-book flew off from the pile, heading back to its proper place on the library shelves.