Prophecy of the Flame

by Lynn Hardy

  Jamison shrugs. “I hadn’t developed my character that in depth. I haven’t even role-played. Is this something easy to learn?”

  Not wanting to appear rude, I continue our discussion in Cuthburish now that Szames has once again joined our discussion. “I know an enchantment that will enable you to recover faster. But I need something solid, preferably metal or glass, to center it on. Do you have something on you? A pendant, ornament, or even a decorative chain will do.”

  “I don’t think I’ve got anything like that…” A quick search of his person leaves him empty-handed.

  “I have a medallion that may work. Please, accept this in appreciation for the work you have accomplished today.” The elderly healer, the one I was unable to grant even the slightest gift to, quickly removes the pendant from around his neck.

  “Thank you, Laeknaen. I don’t know what to say.”

  “No, thank you. If it will enable you to speed the recovery of those in need, then you are the rightful owner of the Physician’s Medallion of Excellence.”

  Jamison hands the necklace to me. The medallion is three times the size of a quarter and much heavier. It is made of the same type of metal as the candleholder in Prince Alexandros’s dining room. It is neither pewter nor brass, but a mixture of both. The medallion is exquisite in its simplicity. An engraved pair of hands is cupped together as if offering something. Writing is arched above and below the symbol.

  “What are the properties of this metal?” I try to get a better feel for the object before I cast the spell. “Does it rust or tarnish?”

  “It is a metal alloy we call perinthess.” Prince Szames explains, “It is a mixture of brass and corinth. It does not tarnish nor rust, and is more malleable than iron.”

  “This will be perfect.” I hold the medallion in my hands, letting the chain dangle between them. Feeling a pressure on my bladder, I glance around. No time for that now. Besides, who knows what kind of facilities they have.

  Exhaustion nags me. My headache is finally tolerable, but I know this is something we need tonight, not tomorrow.

  The elf stands, towering beside Jamison. I swallow my pride. “Got enough energy for an aspirin?”

  I grimace at his cocky smile. His voice fills the room. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. Second by second the pain recedes.

  Centering myself, I reach once more for the magic tingling just beneath my skin.

  “The gift has been used, and with its power,

  Many lives have been saved in this dark hour.

  Yet more work is there still to be done,

  The war we wage is still to be won.

  If my soul is good, helpful, and kind,

  You will aid me in the strength to find.

  As I rest with you placed against my skin,

  Recharge my reserves, normal speed times ten.”

  The world spins about me. I give a push at the end of the mantra. Pain free, I nonetheless grit my teeth until my jaw aches, determined not to swoon. I gulp air as a teal light surrounds the medallion, sinking into the brassy surface. Looks like pain isn’t the only factor. To magesight it now has a soft aqua glow. Not the most poetic of rhymes, but hey, it worked!

  I hand the necklace back to Jamison. “You’ll want to wear this under your shirt. It’ll help you regain your energy. If the other healers have an accessory suitable to hold an enchantment, I’ll take care of those when I stop by to help with the containers.”

  “Thanks, Reba. With this, maybe all the soldiers will be on their feet in the next few days.” A loud rumbling emanates from my midsection into the silence following Jamison’s heartfelt acceptance. My cheeks turn crimson.

  “Milady Archmage Reba.” Szames bounds to his feet. “Dinner is being kept for us.” He places a hand on my chair to maneuver it for me.

  Is this also courtesy, or have I offended him by taking charge? Lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time. I wish my empathy wasn’t blank. “That sounds great. Allinon, are you coming with us?” I rise as the prince assists me.

  “There’s no reason for me to stay. With the AV taken care of, my aid is limited.” The druid’s pessimism sounds odd in his soprano accent. I feel not only fear, but depression warring within the elf. He’s taking Charming’s wounds harder than the paladin.

  Mounted, the trip to the castle is swift. In the frigid darkness, once again we enter through the more convenient servants’ quarters. Entering the warmth causes my overworked muscles to relax. Exhaustion slams into me. My muddled brain refuses to focus. Like the time I drove in fog so thick that I couldn’t read the exit signs, I stumble blindly onward. I concentrate on raising one foot then the other, unable to even glance at the direction we are taking.

  How’d I get seated? All thoughts focus on the plate and utensils placed before me. I nod yes to Jerik, who offers to pour a cup of mulled wine. He also spoons a couple of the large, oval vegetables onto my plate. They resemble beets but are lighter, almost pink in color, surrounded by a thick, burgundy sauce. My stomach rumbles. The dwarf continues to serve a little of everything on the table until my plate is heaping. I eat quickly, barely remembering to place a napkin on my lap.

  I eat every scrap on my plate. Everything tastes great; whether due to my ravenous appetite or the food, I will never know. I help myself to seconds of almost everything, including the beets.

  The door behind us sweeps open. Rejuvenated by the meal, all my senses are alive once more. The whisper of the well-oiled, four-inch-thick door sounds like someone standing beside me, whooshing into my ear.

  An elderly gentleman hastens around the end of the table. I perceive his shock upon seeing me, although his face betrays not a hint of surprise. Is it because I’m a woman, or what Jamison says is my “awesome” hair that causes everyone to do a double take?

  “Archmage Reba, this is Master Steward Hestur, head of the castle’s staff.” The balding gentleman bows stiffly. The way he bends his wiry frame nearly in two speaks of his strict adherence to protocol, as does the crisp, gray shirt tucked into creased, royal blue trousers. His slate-hued belt mirrors the color of his polished shoes.

  “I am honored, Milady Archmage Reba. I will personally escort you to your rooms.” His nasally, aristocratic whine is a perfect counterpoint to his antiquated style of clothing. His shirt balloons out of the trousers, which are similar to dress pants with an extended waistband above the belt. They are formfitting through the waist with legs like the slacks I am used to seeing. Where are the tights and calf boots?

  Allinon’s chair scrapes noisily into the silence of the room. “We are ready to see our rooms now.”

  The others scramble to their feet. I stand. Szames stands with me. “Prince Szames, I appreciate your help today.” How do I say good night to a prince?

  “It was my pleasure,” Szames replies. “If I may be of use to you in the future, do not hesitate to ask.”

  “I will keep your offer in mind. There is much that needs to be done.” I turn a critical eye on the man I have spent the entire day with, trying to get some kind of feeling.

  Only Allinon stands taller than him. His broad shoulders match his stature perfectly. Big men usually don’t have legs that fit their torso as well as his do. Add to that his movie star good looks—a chiseled jaw, strong chin, and straight nose, not to mention the blond hair and blue eyes—and you have standing before you every woman’s dream.

  His clothes add to his physique. The suede trousers aren’t tight, but they don’t need to be; they provide mystery. You can tell by the way they are tucked into his boots that they hide well-muscled legs. Chain mail covers him from shoulders to mid thigh, which makes his butt status inscrutable as well. No matter what is left to be revealed, he is, in all honesty, a drop-dead gorgeous man and a prince to boot!

  Never trust anyone that good looking. I’m glad I have Kyle to go home to, or I might be tempted to get myself into trouble on this stupid world, even though blonds really aren’t my type.

  �
�I am at your service,” he concludes with a slight bow.

  “I bid you good night,” I reply, hoping for sophistication, not pretentiousness.

  With a slight shake of my head, I dismiss the empathetic efforts as a lost cause.

  Allinon clears his throat. “Master Steward Hestur, if you will lead the way? We are ready to see our rooms.” Irritation cloaks him like a cloud of flies.

  Prince Szames

  Chapter Eight

  “Right this way, Milady Archmage Reba.” Hestur bows again then reaches to hold the door. The master steward leads us into one of the more elegant hallways, where five uniformed women are waiting. I feel surprise reverberating like a shock wave through the ladies.

  The servants curtsy without hesitation, but their eyes dart from Allinon’s great height to Jerik then toward Charles’s unprecedented ebony and back to me. Boy, what I wouldn’t give for a mirror! Women are taken aback by my looks, even compared to a dwarf, an elf, and so far the sole black-skinned man in this city.

  “Archmage Reba, these chambermaids will see to your needs,” his voice rings turgidly. “They will escort your men to their quarters. I will personally show you to yours.”

  Turning to “my men,” I relate in English, “I’d prefer not to be separated. It’s probably not considered proper for us to share quarters.”

  “Of course it wouldn’t be proper in this era.” Allinon smirks. “We should meet first thing tomorrow morning.”

  I continue in Cuthburish, “Can we meet a mark after first light for breakfast?”

  They mumble their agreement as three of the women from the rear of the group approach. Each of the chambermaids stands before one of the guys. After a curtsy, they start down the hall to the right.

  All five of our escorts are gorgeous, not to mention thin and busty. Two of the women leading my friends have the same mahogany hair Jamison now sports. The other one is a redhead with a mane the color of Lucille Ball’s. That leaves a blonde and a raven-haired servant. Talk about surreal. Almost everyone we’ve met at the castle could be part-time models. Or have we been running into the lucky few?

  Hestur, with a sniff of approval in the direction the others have gone, turns on his heel and moves in the opposite direction. I follow. The two remaining chambermaids trail a few feet behind.

  Ingenious contraptions resembling kerosene lamps with a metal back plate light our way. Even though the walk is short, the energy boost the food gave me is dampened by the time my guide stops before the first double door we come to. Hestur grasps the doorknobs with both hands and pushes in a grandiose gesture.

  My head snaps up. My eyes pop open. Getting a glimpse at what will be my accommodations for the duration of my stay acts like an injection of caffeine into the bloodstream.

  It isn’t my room, but rooms! I enter a carbon copy of the reception chamber Prince Alexandros has. Two large fireplaces warm a room with a massive desk and bookshelves filled with books. Come on, Rebecca. Don’t stand here gaping in the doorway like a bumpkin.

  I enter my new suite. Hestur hurries over to the right, opening the set of doors before proceeding to the opposite side of the room. Glancing into the first area, I govern my expression, noting I also have a private dining room. What do they think I am? Royalty? I’ve never seen rooms this fancy, much less stayed in them.

  My escort waits with one hand extended toward the next room. I move in that direction without fulfilling my curiosity about the other accommodations. I wish he’d leave. I need a few minutes to make sense of all of this.

  Without glancing at the room, I turn to the master steward. “Thank you, Hestur. These rooms will be quite adequate,” I declare with what I hope is a firm tone of command. “If you will excuse me, it has been a long day.”

  “Yes, milady. Master Tailor Edward is waiting, on Queen Szacquelyn’s request. A new wardrobe has been ordered with all possible haste. Shall I command him to return at first light?” His voice is less forceful but irritating nonetheless.

  An elongated sigh escapes me. “No, if it is the queen’s wish to supply proper attire, then we’d better get started. Please, have him shown to my reception chamber.”

  Hestur bows low then hurries from the room. With a vengeance, my bladder reprimands me for ignoring it for too long. I turn to the blonde chambermaid, who has always taken the lead position. She waits with her eyes downcast. “Excuse me, I am Archmage Reba. And you are?”

  “Crystal, your head chambermaid, milady. This is Bernadette. She will be Jamison’s chambermaid.” She curtsies, keeping her eyes downcast. “Is there a way we may aid you?”

  “Actually, what I need right now is a place to take care of…” I clear my throat. “A call from nature.” I receive a blank look. I try a more direct question. “I need a place where I can relieve myself. I believe it is called a chamber pot.”

  Inspiration brightens her blue eyes. “Oh, of course. Right this way.”

  I follow her to the far end of the room, which is half the size of my house back home. The bedroom has a complete living room and even a small dining set. I hurry on, the pressure on my bladder insisting I examine the room at a later date.

  Straight down the wall from the doorway, Crystal stands, holding another door open. “Milady, what you require is located through the door on the other side of the bathing room. Will you require my assistance?”

  “Thank you, no. I can handle it from here.”

  I enter at a brisk walk. Noticing a candleholder occupied by a fat candle, lit and burning, I take it with me as I hurry to the far door. The room smells musty. Even with a mage’s night vision, I can tell that it is dark. All the colors are black, white, and shades of gray.

  Looking down, I shake my head at my first sight of a chamber pot. A large, metal container is positioned in the center of the small room. It has a round bottom that narrows to a short neck that flares out, forming a three-inch lip. It looks like a giant spittoon!

  Are you supposed to sit on it or squat over it? I hate squatting, even in the forest. Frustration consumes me. I can’t see this happening right now. Longingly, I picture the toilets back home. I begin a rhyme.

  “The day has been so long; really tired I am.

  This pot won’t do, even if they call it ‘the can.

  ’

  Of magic you will be made and maintained, that’s right,

  Porcelain, but warmed, so clean, so shiny, and so white.”

  The power coursing through me highlights the fact that the last time I relieved myself was more than twelve hours ago. I squirm as azure light envelops the metal pot, which disappears as the magical force moves toward the back wall. The brightness intensifies. I squint. All the illumination is, once again, snuffed out.

  If magic holds true to form, taking more from my mind than from the rhyme, this toilet should work automatically. It will whisk away the used water to the approximate center of the earth when weight is lifted off the seat.

  Before the spots clear from my eyes, I am beside the new piece of brightness that has been added to my suite of rooms. I have my robe off and pants down in record time. The leather laces on the black suede pants are tricky, but when you have to go that bad, your mind and fingers seem to make a direct link; they work of their own accord. Sinking onto the familiar surface gives me the freedom of thought that comes with modern facilities such as these.

  Now this is a pretty cool outfit. The suede pants are snug from the waist to hip. They are on the baggy side after that, fitting like the slacks Hestur wears. My calf-high boots are also black and my shirt too. The button-down blouse is made of the same soft suede as the pants. The shirt is rather plain. The sleeves are not tight. They are cuffed securely at the wrists, leaving room for maneuvering. Unable to resist, I lift up my shirt to investigate my new body. I immediately pull it closed again.

  Shivering in the chill air, I glance at my robe with longing. A variation of the duplication spell should work.

  “Despite the chill, you keep me com
fortable, you do.

  The air that surrounds me stays cool and warm too.

  Decorum keeps me from being clothed in your substance.

  Now my skin will share these properties in abundance.”

  The goose bumps rise from more than the cold as magic tickles my skin. I smile as warmth envelopes me like my favorite blanket.

  “Much better.” Now let’s see what the transfer here has done to my body.

  A little thinner, especially around the thighs but not quite as bony as in my college days. Great muscle tone, though. No cellulite dimples anywhere. When my gaze moves upward, I sigh in disappointment.

  You know, since they were improving my body, you’d think they could have increased my boobs a little. The cloth brassiere, shaped like a sports bra and equipped with laces in the back, looks as if it still holds B-cup-sized breasts. Athletic maybe, but aesthetic definitely not.

  In a flash, all the childhood taunts of “stick” and “too-tall” come rushing back. Well, my height doesn’t bother me anymore, but at least now I have the power to change the other easily and painlessly. Besides, they said to cast as many spells as possible. With that final thought, I begin an enchantment.

  “In all this garb, a B-cup isn’t flattering.

  A ‘C’ plus will help fill in for the padding.”

  I smile as light surrounds my chest. The bra, boobs, and all begins to expand. In a matter of minutes, I have the cleavage I have always wanted. Ignoring the acid that has suddenly filled my stomach, I inspect the enhancements.

  I already act more like the men in this world. At least with these killer curves there’ll be no mistaking my gender. I don’t want to have to worry about my weight while I’m here. Those twenty pounds will come back fast.

  Hmm… I was contemplating a youth spell before I left…

  “Since I’ve been taken to this foreign place,

  Trying my best to save the human race.

  With this spell I won’t grow old or fat.

  Breast will stay firm and my tummy flat.

  And let’s not forget the most important part.