by Lynn Hardy
A guardsman dashes into the building as we approach. Another soldier greets Szames by crossing his right arm over his waist, touching the hilt of his sword with his fist, then snapping heels together with a curt bow at the waist. The prince nods, giving his horse’s reins to the uniformed guard.
Szames motions for us to accompany him. Arms Master Stezen bows from his saddle, also touching his fist to his saber, before heading back to the castle. Hastily we move to follow the hunky, blond prince into the building.
Inside, the solitary source of illumination is from a pair of narrow windows placed at either side of the entrance. Though the day outside is bright, the light fails to reach the corners of the dim interior. A stairway follows the opposite wall, continuing up through the wooden ceiling. Other than a stained, rough-looking table; a couple of chairs; and a few piles of straw nestled around the edge, the room is vacant.
“This leads to the upper walkway. Archmage Reba, are you ready?” Prince Szames inquires as soon as all are gathered in the small room.
I give an affirmative nod, starting toward the stairs. I take them two at a time. My breath comes in quick bursts by the time I halt in front of the entrance to the walkway, but I am not yet winded. Starting as Prince Szames reaches past me to open the door, I squint, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dazzling, morning sky. Easing my way to the edge of a crenellation where the wall dips below my chest, I take my first look at the country I have sworn to protect.
Winter’s harsh embrace grips the undulating hills in an unforgiving embrace. Whispering, “Sight,” I scan the open vista. If the enemy is out there, they’re hidden beyond even magical sight.
“Charles, would you please take point?”
The ebony warrior quickly complies with my request.
“If you’re ready, Your Highness. It will be as it was when we worked on your brother. Just relax.” I take down my hood. Turning to the prince, I extend my left hand.
Prince Szames hesitates. My heightened mage senses pick up a prolonged inhalation. Assuming he is having second thoughts about working with magic, I expound, “A physical connection makes borrowing energy easier. Once I finish the incantation, we will walk. We need to make a full circle of the city before I can complete the spell.”
Seconds after our hands meet, I get a glimpse into the emotions at which I have, until now, mostly guessed. The fleeting sensation of sensual arousal disappears like lotion on scaly skin. I dismiss the insight as irrelevant, concentrating on the task at hand.
Prince Szames gives a nod, indicating his readiness to proceed. I close my eyes. Securing the connection, I combine our powers. With the world sealed away along with my vision, I begin the most powerful spell I have ever contemplated.
“As I walk the path of this magnificent wall,
Following in my wake, I leave a magic hall.
Power flows through this corridor unseen,
Awaiting my instruction. My idea is so keen.
On my command power will spread,
Forming a dome far over our heads.
Far underground magic will go,
Spreading thin but impregnably so.
A force field you’ll form, surrounding this city,
To keep it safe from malevolent entities.
If to this kingdom you pose a dire threat,
Touch this field and vaporized you will get.
Their energy you’ll capture for your power.
You will guard us well through our darkest hour.”
An orgasmic sigh escapes through my clenched teeth. I fight to remain erect. My body feels as light as a feather, as if I could walk on air right off the side of the battlement. Magic coils about me.
I force the power to pool below me. Magic spills around my feet. The flow steadies. I ease my eyes open. A dull throb settles in the back of my skull. Prince Szames gives an inquiring gaze. I nod. We begin to stroll along the wall, following Charles, leaving a trail of magic behind us like Hänsel and Gretel and their trail of hope. I pray this endeavor turns out better than their bread crumbs.
The magic continues to stream behind as I pictured in my mind. I focus my concentration on the pathway of the magic, intent on stabilizing the flow. Accessing the small reservoir of green energy, I ease the shrunken membranes in my head. There… now I should have a little more freedom of thought.
Looking to my right, quite a bit of the countryside is visible. Stark as it is, the beauty touches my soul. Before me is the most striking winterscape I have ever seen. More than a dozen shades of brown interweave into a majestic pattern. Is it the scenery, magesight, or the world we are on?
Smiling, I turn to Prince Szames. “If all your land is this fair, then your kingdom is rich beyond words.”
With an unconscious smile, Prince Szames’s voice is a mere whisper. “This is but a pale shadow in comparison to the sight of her crowned in full glory. Castle Eldrich is known for its beauty throughout the world, but spring is the season for which she is famous. The knolls shimmer with colors so vibrant, you would think the hills have gowned themselves with gemstones.”
“Why, Prince Szames, I didn’t know the soul of a poet could inhabit the body of a warrior. Or do all the men in this kingdom possess a natural affinity for words that let them speak with tongues of silver?” A little flirting often loosens the tongue better than wine.
Pouty lips curve downward. His brow furrows, showing the honesty of his puzzlement. “I am afraid you have mistaken me, perhaps for my brother? I have never been one to manipulate words for a flattering effect. I speak of what my heart sees in an honest fashion. I know of no other way. Perhaps the company I keep has inspired my heart to communicate more intimately with my mind.”
“Then your heart sees beauty where others might not, and you speak of it in a fashion that makes me long to share your sight.” Touché and en garde. The battle begins. “If it is my company that inspires you to speak with such passion, then we must keep company more often. A heart filled with such as yours is wasted if it is not shared.”
Prince Szames’s cheeks brighten with my compliment. I discern a surge of arousal from the warrior, but it disappears as I try to pinpoint it.
Please don’t tell me I’ve made this movie star of a man blush with a little compliment. Surely being tall, blond, and hunky he gets constant attention. Hmm, maybe I should take it easy with the flattery until I learn a little more about this place. Here women might flirt to let men know they are ready to hit the sack. Denying a princely proposition may cause more trouble than the information is worth.
The smile he sports is dopier than ever. “It will be my pleasure to accompany you whenever you are in need of an escort. As I have said before, rank does have some privilege. It will be an honor to guide you through this world.”
Yes, I will definitely have to watch the flirting. “Your Highness, I thank you for your offer. I will keep it in mind. I have a feeling I will be in need of a guide. Your world differs from mine in more ways than I can count.” My lips curve to reassure him while I provide a way out. “However, I don’t wish to monopolize your time by adding more demands to your schedule of duties.”
“Please, call me Szames, as my friends do when the situation does not demand otherwise. Milady Archmage Reba, I would like to count you among my friends.” His deep voice holds warmth and thoughtfulness I dare not take at face value since I can’t sense what he is feeling.
“Then I insist you call me Reba.” My thin lips nearly disappear as my smile broadens.
“Reba, you tell me your world is greatly different from mine. In my youth, when I had a greater amount of time to call my own, I loved to study history and science.” Szames’s eyes light up. “Other lands across the dimensional planes were not suitable material for a prince, so my father always held, but I must admit they fascinate me far more than any topic this world holds. Perhaps we could exchange information about our worlds. I will provide you with a guide through mine, while you provide me the forbidden knowledge
I long to study.”
“Szames, you have yourself a deal. An exchange of information it is.” Oooh, careful now. Is he more than a dumb jock, an overmuscled football player? Could he have brains behind all that brawn? I shake my head in denial of the bothersome thoughts. Yeah, right! He’s just outmaneuvered me on the field of flirtation. He’s a playboy philanderer, not a genius in disguise.
In the distance two guards stare at the horizon. Hearing Merithin and Charles approach, they turn and salute, as the others have done, ending with heads up and eyes straight. As Charles passes, they glance in our direction. When the wind brings a startled whisper to my ear, I wish once again I had taken a look in that mirror with my hood down. It seems my looks make a profound impression even from a distance. The sentries snap to attention again as they recognize my escort.
The silence expands as we stroll along, hand in hand. I haven’t been for a walk holding any man’s hand but Kyle’s for so long. I’d forgotten how small, how delicate a big guy makes you feel.
Kyle is five foot eleven and not too big. Lord knows, being five-eight, I don’t feel petite often. Szames’s hand is so huge… Yep, now I remember this feeling from high school. It used to intimidate me, feeling so small. But now I don’t feel intimidated at all, even though the man outranks me as well as towers over me. It must be the tremendous store of magical power. Now size doesn’t matter… A chuckle escapes me at the unintended pun.
“It sounds like that much fun, this exchange of information?” Szames interrupts my wandering mind. “Reba, you are an unusual woman.”
I hesitate to correct his misconception. “I’ll take that as a compliment… I think.”
“I assure you I mean it with complete admiration.” Szames returns my smile.
Any male model would kill for a smile like that, goofy as it is. What am I thinking! I don’t have time for this. Turning my thoughts within, I check the progressive flow of magic. Everything looks good.
Spotting the stairway overhang, I realize we are approaching the southern guard station. I should have no problem with the energy supply. I’m not even feeling the drain yet. I tilt my chin to peer at the clear, blue sky. The sun is past the midpoint.
Unsure of when we began the journey around the city, I ask for a second opinion. “Szames, will we be able to make a complete round of the battlement by nightfall?”
“It will be close. Will your spell be affected if our speed increases?” he inquires.
I monitor the power stream as we speed up. Everything is still peachy keen.
Off to my right, a new vista steals my breath. A cerulean ribbon sparkles as a river winds its way through the hills. A crystalline curve and a patch of sand denotes a bend in the waterway. Farther north, just below the horizon, lays a dark smudge. A forest perhaps? I have the strangest feeling we are being watched. Determined to ask Szames about that later, I reinforce my effort to stay focused.
“How many—?” my question stumbles to a halt. I find no word for “hours” in the versatile language of Cuthburish. “How long until dark?”
“It will be several marks before dusk, much less full dark. Will there be enough energy between the two of us?”
“As things stand, there should be plenty. I would prefer to keep the lieutenant around, though, in case we hit a snag.”
With business taken care of, I can’t resist broaching a new topic. “Since we were speaking of differences in our worlds, I don’t feel like a complete dimwit asking: What precisely is a ‘mark’? I understand it refers to an increment, the amount of time it takes for a candle to burn a certain distance, but I am unsure of what amount of time it represents, even in the vaguest sense.”
“Hmm, an interesting question. I had not realized the term might be unfamiliar to you. How to account for a mark?” Pausing, Szames gives a comical half smile and a shake of his head. “I never realized explaining something so simple could prove to be such a difficult task. Maybe the best reference is the bells. Have you heard the tolling?”
I nod. I heard bells when we first arrived.
“The bells are spelled to toll eight times a day. Once at midnight, once at dawn, once at midday, once at sunset, and once in between each of these, dividing those times in half. A little more than two marks separate the bells during the day and about three marks separate the bells in the evening at this time of year. There are roughly twenty marks in a day.”
“Fascinating…” A wristwatch is so much easier.
“If not with a mark, by what do you measure the day on your world?” Szames asks.
“We divide the day into twenty-four equal parts: hours. The hour in which the sun sets and rises changes with the season, but the hours in a day are always numbered the same. In the winter the sun rises later than during the summer. So if your mark equals one of my hours, then we would have four more hours in our day… but more likely marks and hours differ. Without a clock, which we use to measure an hour, we will never know.” I’ll magic up a digital one later.
“It would be fascinating to compare the flow of a day on two worlds. These ‘ow-ers’ of yours are measured on a ‘clack’? Is that a type of candle? If you know the dimensions, perhaps I could have one made?” Szames’s interest seems genuine.
“A clock”—I stress the “ah” part of the word—“is a very complex machine. I am not sure how it works, but I will tell you what I know: it is composed of many small wheels of varying sizes, rotating at constant speeds. These wheels move a lever held stationary at one end. The other end of the lever moves at a consistent pace around a circle inscribed with numbers representing the hours of a day. The movable end of the lever points at the hour it is.” Chuckling, I finish what feels like a timepiece lecture. “Now aren’t you sorry you asked?”
Who would’ve thought describing a clock would be such a task! We’ll have to watch what we say. One wrong word and we could inspire the invention of gunpowder, a grenade, or something worse!
Looking toward Szames to see if he took my words in the jovial manner I intended, I hear a deep chortle. My eyes never meet his, however, for they refuse to look anyplace but the city below. Tiny houses are lined up on a perfect grid. The streets are so straight, they look as if they were laid out on a drawing board. The buildings are shabby, some more so than others, but not as bad as I assumed they should be in this horse-and-carriage society. The streets, though, are what strike me as the most odd.
“Reba, I have no doubt our time together will be fascinating. If a clock is any indication, our worlds are quite dissimilar indeed.” The surge of attraction I feel tells me volumes before it blinks out of existence.
My eyes light merrily as I return his smile. Before Kyle, I used to be quite good at dealing with unsolicited attraction from men I couldn’t read. Perhaps this exchange will be in my favor even with the handicap of blinded empathy.
A breeze ruffles my hair. I walk holding the hand of a gorgeous prince, admiring the picturesque beauty of the town below. Is this all a dream? A town of this era shouldn’t be this clean. I’ve been to cities whose streets weren’t half this organized!
There is a smell of wood smoke in the brisk air. It’s all so real—more than real. It’s like all my life I’ve been dreaming. Now I’m awake for the first time. This world is so vivid and alive. Up ahead we are closing in on Eastgate. We are almost halfway done? I haven’t heard the midafternoon bells yet, so we must be making pretty good time.
As we draw near, I spot someone standing under the outcropping. After a few minutes, I make out a table and several stools positioned under the overhang. My brows knit in perplexity as I look to Szames.
He gives a shrug of his massive shoulders. “I hoped to make it to this point with time available so we may take a short break. I thought a snack would be needed.”
“How thoughtful. Thank you. The spell should be fine as long as we don’t move from this path.” If I keep eating every few hours, I will be as big as a house before I leave.
Five stools
surround the table. A cloth covers the contents. We slow to a stop as Squire Harold bows to Szames. “Your Highness, your arrival is most timely. I believe the bread is still warm.”
Chapter Six
“Merithin, Charles, Jerik, would you care to join us?” Szames inquires.
“Your Highness, you must know little about dwarves.” Jerik’s booming voice rumbles as he comes around the table, taking possession of a stool. “There’s seldom a time any of my race will pass up a chance for a meal.”
Harold removes the cloth covering the bread, cheese, and assorted fruits. Szames gestures to the remaining seats. “Reba, do we need to stay linked for this rest break?”
“Let’s separate slowly. I’ll monitor the link to make sure it remains stable.” I pause, turning my concentration inward as our hands part. “The spell’s holding. The less distance we put between us, the less energy it will require to keep it intact. If you wouldn’t mind…” I indicate the two seats placed side by side. Szames reaches to pull the right one out for me.
The food sits upon another cloth covering a roughhewn table. It is simple fare laid out before us. A single knife rests next to the bread lying beside a wooden tub of butter-cheese and a more solid block of cheddar. A wooden bowl holds fruit somewhat like the apples we tried earlier. They are a little more pear shaped, larger on the bottom than the top. Now this is what I expected a medieval world to be like.
“Milady, would you care for some bread?” Harold slices into the loaf.
“Yes, thank you.”
Charles’s silky voice eases into the silence. “Merithin’s been telling me about the attack. He says the walls weren’t broken in the assault, that most of the demons climbed straight up them, the ones that didn’t fly, that is. What I don’t understand is how they managed to get close to the city with all the sentries?” Prince Charming elaborates upon his rhetorical question, “You should’ve been able to make pincushions out of them.”
