Children of Prophecy

by Glynn Stewart

  Tal faced Shel’nart across the dueling field. Both youths had their swords drawn and out in front of them. Neither blade wavered.

  The longswords were slightly curved, designed to aid in a slashing cut, the only kind possible from the back of a horse. The weapons were designed with cavalry in mind, but Tal’var training taught just as much about fighting on foot as on horseback. After all, a knight never knew when he’d be dismounted, and he wanted to have at least some chance.

  Tal’s mind focused on the two blades and his opponent. Everything else, from who his opponent was to why he was fighting, was out of the focus. It was there, known, even important – but it wasn’t a distraction. It was an ability that aided both in magic and swordsmanship, and one very few who used either bothered to truly master. Tal had.

  The Armsmaster gestured Tal and Shel to advance and Tal did. As he walked, he slowly deactivated every one of his magics. There were half a dozen spells he kept on all the time, one of them his warning net. He’d promised no magic, though, so he would use no magic.

  He reached the center of the field, and raised the Islander blade to cross it with Shel’s even fancier weapon. The Armsmaster raised an amulet and looked at it. No glow marred its surface. “There is no magic here. It is a contest of men and wills, not spells. They fight to first blood.”

  The Master lowered the crystal, and the two youths stepped back, lowering their swords to position. He nodded to them. “Begin.”

  Tal raised his sword to guard and held it there. Shel did the same, and Tal watched him move. In his focus, he noted every muscle twitch, every slight gesture. Shel threw him a mocking grin, but Tal ignored it, lost in his focus.

  Shel’s grin turned to a snarl, but he paused. No swordsman liked to strike first. Tal remained motionless, sword held at guard. Without even thinking of it, he let an easy grin spread across his face.

  Shel struck. His blade lashed out faster than any eye could follow. Tal remained motionless to the last second, and then moved swiftly and smoothly out of the way. Shel’s blade smashed into the ground, digging into the dirt of the field.

  Tal’s blade flashed out once, the blued steel carving a line down the side of Shel’s face. Before the cut could even begin to bleed, the Islander-forged sword flashed down the other side, slashing a line down the other side of the noble’s face.

  Blood began to trickle from the two wounds almost simultaneously, and Tal stepped back. He raised his sword in salute to Shel as he allowed his focus to fade, then turned to the Armsmaster. “First blood has been shed,” he said flatly, “This duel is over.”

  Lowering the blade from salute, he sheathed it and left the field.

  Tal knocked on the solid wooden door hesitantly. He knew perfectly well that he was late for his lesson with Shej’mahi. He’d taken the time to clean his sword and clothes.

  “Come in, Tal,” a voice from inside ordered.

  He entered the room quietly, shifting his sword on his hip to avoid hitting the door with it. He glanced around the room.

  Shej’mahi sat in a large, well-stuffed, chair next to the fireplace at the far end of the room. Voluminous black robes enshrouded the old man’s figure, but they didn’t conceal his turning to face Tal. “You’re late, Tal’raen,” he said simply.

  “Something came up,” Tal replied calmly.

  The Battle Lord, one of the most powerful Magi alive, and the man all the Battlemagi looked to for guidance, smiled slightly. “Yes, I heard,” He admitted. He paused for a moment, then gestured to the other chair by the fire. “Sit down, Tal.”

  Tal sat, hesitantly. Clearly Shej’mahi had heard about the duel. Just how much trouble am I in? he wondered.

  He met Shej’s eyes without hesitation. The old Mage sighed. “Did you really have to death-seal the wounds?” he asked.

  Tal shrugged. A death-seal made the scar of the wound permanent. Shel’nart wasn’t soon going to be forgetting the lesson he’d been taught. Nor would he be quite so gorgeous anymore. “I was making a point,” he replied.

  “A rather permanent point, I must say,” Shej observed, raising a steaming mug of tea to his lips. He paused just before he drank and gestured. Another steaming mug of tea lifted itself from the table and landed next to Tal’s chair.

  “Shel’nart is noble, and the son of a powerful Earl,” he continued. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to unseal the scars?” Only the Mage who cast a death-sealing could remove it.

  “No,” Tal said shortly. “How good a lesson would it be if it was taken away immediately?”

  “Very well,” Shel said with a sigh. “It was a duel, and I guess it was within your rights as victor.” He met Tal’s gaze over his mug. “Now, perhaps we should discuss just why you were fighting that duel in the first place.”

  “He was harassing my friend,” Tal told him, trying and failing to keep his anger with the other youth out of his voice.

  “Ah, yes,” the old Mage acknowledged. “Initiate Brea’ahrn. You are aware that the two are intended to be betrothed?”

  “Lord Shej’mahi, any man who treated a woman the way Shel’nart was treating Brea, no matter what was between them, deserved what Shel received,” Tal said hotly, glaring at the older Mage. “Besides, I have heard much of ‘intentions’ to do with their betrothal, but Brea is opposed to the very idea.”

  Shej’s head snapped around to meet Tal’s glare. “She’s what?” he demanded.

  “Opposed to the idea,” Tal repeated, suddenly confused. “She despises Shel’nart, and I can’t say I blame her, either.”

  “Then why is this betrothal occurring?” Shej demanded.

  “She told me her father is insisting on it,” Tal told his teacher, confused, “that he refuses to hear her disagreements.”

  “He does, does he?” Shej’s voice was low and dangerous. “Tal, I was told she had agreed to the betrothal, was even enthusiastic about it.”

  “What?!” Tal blurted out. “Never!”

  “Indeed,” Shej’mahi, Battle Lord and Master of all Death Magi, said, nodding slowly. “I guess lessons are canceled for tonight.”

  “Why?” Tal asked, even more confused now.

  “Because the betrothal is being held tonight. I would have had to leave early to witness them,” Shej told him. The old Mage stood to leave, but paused, looking down at Tal for a moment.

  “Come with me,” he told the still seated youth finally.

  “Where?”

  “Just come.”

  Brea sat cross-legged on her bed, a small smile playing across her lips as she remembered Shel’nart’s reaction when the Healer had found she could only heal the wounds Tal had left, not remove the scars.

  Hopefully, Tal’s actions would get the lout off of her back. She was about as enthused with the idea of marrying him as she was with the idea of marrying a viper. Actually, I think I’d prefer the viper.

  A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “It is Lela, child,” her nurse replied.

  Brea sighed in irritation. “Come in,” she replied, finally. After the woman had bustled through the door, Brea turned her best glare upon her. “What do you want?”

  Her maid rushed over to her and pulled her to her feet. “Come, milady,” the maid told her busily. “We must get you properly dressed.” The woman opened up Brea’s closet and looked over the line of white tunics and other clothing in it. “Do you not possess even one dress, child?” she demanded.

  “I am a Mage, Lela,” Brea said, irritably. “The only formal clothing I possess is my robes.”

  “No, no, that won’t do,” Lela told her, rummaging through the closet. “After all, you want to look good for your betrothal.”

  “Hold on a moment,” Brea snapped, her voice freezing Lela where she stood. “My what?!”

  The maid turned to face her. “Your betrothal,” she repeated. “To Shel’nart. It is tonight; your father told me to bring you.”

  Brea felt he
r face slowly freeze over. “In that case, I think my robes are most definitely what I want to wear,” she said flatly. Robes for a Mage, after all, are the robes of a Judgment.

  This time Brea didn’t have to destroy the door. The Kingsman who guarded the chamber had clearly heard what had happened to the last guard to get in the Princess Initiate Brea’ahrn’s way, and opened the door for her with an almost unseemly haste.

  Her father looked up from the table where he was talking quietly with the Earl Jil’nart, Shel’s father. The High King Kelt’ahrn nodded. “Ah, Brea, I’ve been expecting you,” he said, sounding far calmer than he could possibly be.

  “You lousy piece of filth,” Brea screamed at him. “Does it amuse you to roll in such muck and justify it with politics?!”

  Jil’nart looked at her calmly then glanced over to her father. “Is there going to be a problem with the betrothal, my liege?” he asked calmly.

  “No,” Kelt’ahrn said. “Brea will give her consent when the time comes.”

  “I will never consent to marry that piece of slime so you can suck up to his piece of shit father!” Brea snapped.

  Her father raised a hand with a pained look. “Perhaps, my lord Earl, you should wait outside?” he asked.

  “Perhaps I shall,” Jil’nart agreed with a slow nod. “I hope this will not jeopardize our arrangement.” The burly soldier paused. “If I were you, Kelt’ahrn, I would not allow my daughter to play with magic so readily. It makes her arrogant, and there are those who will not stand for a Mage upon your throne.” With that, Jil’nart nodded to Kelt’ahrn and left, brushing past Brea like she didn’t even exist.

  Kelt looked at his daughter. “Fortunately for the Kingdom, Brea,” he said quietly, “your consent is not really important. I am your father, and you will do this. Do you understand?”

  “And what does mother think of my consent being ‘not really important’?” Brea spat at him.

  “Your mother understands that it is for the best,” he said calmly, but his gaze flicked away from her as he spoke.

  Brea was silent for a moment. “You haven’t told her, have you?” she asked finally, her voice flat. He didn’t respond for a moment. “Have you?!” she screeched.

  “No, I have not told your mother of your intransigent, childish, behavior,” her father admitted. “You should be grateful I have not embarrassed you so.”

  “Embarrassed me?” she snarled. “You cowardly piece of slime! You dare bind me to this and say you have not embarrassed me by telling mother that you are playing pimp for your political alliances!”

  “That is enough!” Kelt’arhn thundered. “I am your father, and you will obey me. It is my right to choose your husband, and I have done so!”

  The door behind him suddenly slammed open, as if blown by a strong gust of wind, and a voice quietly said, “Actually, it is not your right. It is hers.”

  Brea looked to the door in hope, to find the Battle Lord Shej’mahi, accompanied by the Eldest Poli’jar, leader of the Life Magi, both in full ceremonial robes. Poli nodded to Brea as she finished speaking, and the leaders of the two Mage Councils entered the room.

  “We must, however, confirm her choice,” Shej’mahi said quietly. He faced Brea. “Princess Initiate Brea’ahrn, as a Life Mage Initiate, have you given your consent to this betrothal?”

  “Never,” Brea responded. She caught a flash of movement by the door, and hope turned to certainty as Tal, in full formal raiment, entered behind the two senior Magi.

  Shej’mahi nodded and turned to Kelt’ahrn. “You lied to us, Kelt’ahrn,” he said flatly, coldly. “You told us that she had consented, was even eager for this match.” He gestured towards Tal. “If not for my student’s friendship with her, we might have allowed this to go through.”

  He glanced towards Poli’jar, who nodded to him to continue. “We will not. We will not allow you to force a Mage to marry against her will. It is our oldest right: a Mage chooses his – or her – own consort.”

  “I am her father,” Kelt’ahrn exclaimed.

  “The right of a Mage overrides that,” Poli’jar said calmly.

  “She is a Princess!”

  “She is a Mage,” Shej responded. “That is more important. When she became a Mage, you gave up a father’s rights over her. This betrothal will not happen.”

  “Much rests on this marriage, possibly even the future of Vishni itself,” Kelt’ahrn said desperately, clearly trying to call on the Magi’s sense of duty.

  “Then, perhaps, you may have convinced her to agree to it,” Poli said calmly. “But given her opinion of the man in question, it was unlikely to begin with. With the way you have treated her over this matter, I sincerely doubt she will even give the idea a moment’s thought.”

  Brea shook her head. “Never,” she said flatly. “I don’t care what rests on it, I will not marry that slime.”

  “Therefore, you will not,” Shej confirmed with a nod. He returned his gaze to Kelt. “Find another way to bind your political alliances, Kelt’ahrn. Your daughter is a Mage, and shall make her own choices.”

  With that, the three Magi turned to leave. Brea hesitated for a moment, looking at her father. He seemed frozen in place, overwhelmed by the speed with which the two Magi had demolished his certainty and his plans.

  She followed the Magi.

  When Brea caught up with them, halfway down the hall from the chamber, Tal was waiting for her. He met her with a smile, which she returned enthusiastically.

  She then turned her gaze, and smile, to Shej’mahi and Poli’jar. “Thank you,” she said simply.

  Shej’mahi simply nodded. Poli’jar smiled at Brea. “As we said to your father,” the Eldest told her, “who you betroth yourself to is your choice, not his. We could not allow you to be forced into a betrothal.”

  “Nonetheless…” she trailed off.

  “You should thank your friend Tal’raen here more than us,” Shej told her with a snort. “If he hadn’t told me that you hadn’t consented to the betrothal, we would have let it go through, believing that you were willing.”

  Brea glanced at Tal, who simply shrugged, his cheeks turning slightly pink, and smiled some more.

  Shej smiled gently at the two Initiates. “I believe I still have some things to attend to,” he told them, “so I shall bid you all good night.”

  “I must do the same, I am afraid,” Poli said with a small nod. She glanced over Tal and Brea. “Take care, you two.”

  The two Mage leaders faded into the night as the four came out into the main courtyard. Brea glanced at where they had gone, then turned back to Tal.

  He smiled awkwardly at her. “I should probably be going myself,” he said quietly.

  “True,” Brea said, stepping up to him. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t have many friends, Brea,” Tal told her quietly. “I like to keep them happy, for their rarity value if nothing else.”

  Brea looked at Tal for a moment, and then kissed him softly on the cheek. His face colored even more, and he stepped back slightly. Brea met his eyes and smiled. “Even so, thank you.”

  Chaos Mage

  Stret’sar paused on the roof of the building to tie his long blonde hair back into a ponytail, to stop it waving in the wind. He loosened his knife in the makeshift sheath he wore. He gaged the distance to the window on the building across the alley. After a moment’s hesitation, as every muscle in his body tensed, he leapt.

  The window shutters swung inwards as he hit them. He fell through them and sprawled onto the carpeted floor. He pulled himself to his knees with a grin and glanced around the bedroom of the most powerful merchant in Telnar.

  A large canopied bed occupied the center of the room, but it was empty. The merchant had left some time ago, as Stret watched from the roof. He didn’t know, or care, where the man had gone, only that this room was vulnerable.

  His quick survey of the room found what he’d been looking for: a small chest hidden under the merchant’s bed. He pu
lled it out, and looked over the padlock.

  Will it work this time, he wondered. He touched the padlock and focused on it, visualizing it clicking open. For a second, nothing happened, then there was a click and the padlock fell away.

  With a grin, he opened the lid. The neat stacks of gold and silver were only a tiny fraction of the merchant’s fortune, but it was more money than Stret had seen in his entire life. He closed the lid, sealing it with the padlock he’d brought for just that purpose.

  Picking up the chest, he grunted with its weight. He wasn’t going to be doing any jumping around carrying the chest. He lowered the chest to the floor and reached inside his vest for the coil of rope he kept there. He wrapped the rope around the chest’s handles – he didn’t quite trust his padlock to hold the weight – and lifted the chest to the windowsill.

  He carefully moved his own bulky form onto the windowsill. At fifteen, he was rapidly becoming too large a man to do this, hence his attempt to set himself up for life with this robbery.

  Gripping the rope carefully, he kicked the chest off the sill. With a quiet grunt, he took the weight of it onto his hands through the rope. He glanced out the window to be sure there was no-one in the alley below, and began to lower the chest down.

  The chest was almost down when the door behind him opened. Stret swore and dropped the chest, spinning around to find a blue-uniformed guard standing in the door. The man stood and stared at him for a moment in shock, giving Stret the time to slip his knife free of its sheath and throw it.

  The guard opened his mouth to shout for help, but the knife slammed blade first into his throat, cutting off all air to his voice forever.

  Stret dropped off the windowsill, running across the room to grab his knife. He’d learned from other people’s mistakes that Life Magi could track you if you left anything of yours at the scene. He glanced around the room to be certain he hadn’t missed anything and then followed the chest out the window.

  He slid swiftly down the rope. Reaching the bottom, he grabbed it and yanked hard. It came slithering down to him, and he coiled it up again.