Prophecy of the Flame

by Lynn Hardy

  “Were there any survivors?” I whisper.

  “I believe there are two children, a boy of eleven and a girl of nine.”

  “What will become of them? Do they have relatives to take them in?” Two kids, orphans because of my mistake.

  “I am unsure. If no relatives are found, they will be made wards of the Church.” His answer is as pensive as I feel.

  I rotate back toward the castle. “If I knew which rooms are mine, I could land us on the balcony,” I ramble, still thinking of the kids.

  “I believe I can point it out for you,” Szames offers as we cross the inner battlement, flying over a tiny forest. Is it an untamed park? “It should be the sole balcony facing the northeast on this wing of the castle.” Szames indicates the entire side of the fortress located between two round towers.

  The stones of the castle don’t seem to be held together with mortar, there are no obvious seams. The blue-gray stone has a marbled weave. Seeing the palace from this distance, I shake my head in disgust. Close up it is not as noticeable, but from a distance you can see the stones have been placed purposefully. All the veins run vertically. They are laid out to give the impression of flames.

  A dejected sigh escapes before I can rein in the emotions threatening my ability to control the flight spell. The blazing blue-gray and white pattern is breathtaking. It implies so very much. As Szames indicated, I possess the sole balcony on the entire wall.

  “Reba, is there something you find amiss?” Szames asks anxiously.

  “I’m beginning to wonder how long you’ve been waiting for my arrival.” I scowl. And how much you expect out of me? And if you’ll let me go home?

  “Now that is a story which will be long in the telling if it is done right.” Szames evades a direct answer.

  I land us gracefully on the balcony outside my rooms.

  “It is a story I would love to hear.” I flutter my eyes, hoping to persuade him into revealing what I am desperate to know. “If you’re free for dinner tomorrow, maybe you will tell it to me then?”

  “Dinner? With you?” His deep voice stumbles as he reaches to open the French doors, holding back the velvet curtain. “Tomorrow?”

  Inside, the enormous plateau of the bed stands before me. The alarm in his voice causes me to panic. “I apologize if it was inappropriate of me to ask.” With burning cheeks, I stammer, “I just thought… well, you know… that exchange of information we talked about yesterday. I was thinking it would be a relaxing way to enjoy dinner.” I hasten around the offensive piece of furniture toward the reception chamber.

  Szames’s long strides bring him to the door before me, despite my haste to be away from the all-too-obvious love nest. Holding the door open, he begins awkwardly, “No—I mean, yes, I would love to join you for dinner. And no, it was not inappropriate.”

  Within minutes he recovers his princely confidence. “You merely caught me off guard. It is not often that a woman has the boldness to extend such an offer.”

  “Tomorrow, here at my chambers, then.” If he thinks dinner implies more, maybe I’ll have a better chance at hearing that prophecy. I’ll live with the consequences. “I was wondering if making another request would be out of line?” My lips curve as if nothing is amiss.

  “Of course not.” His smile seems sincere. “Whatever you wish. If it is within my means, I will supply it.”

  “You haven’t even heard my request yet,” I coo, keeping up the charade. When he chuckles, I continue. “I don’t know your customs, your ways, so please tell me if what I ask is… unacceptable.”

  My mood turns somber as I present the proposition I began forming on our flight back from the ruins of last night’s fire. “I would like to have the surviving children assigned to my personal staff if they wish and if there are no surviving relatives. I feel responsible for what occurred. The creation of the shield antagonized the demons into attacking. It was my oversight that allowed the enemy to penetrate the defense.”

  “What you ask is not unacceptable. I will see to it that they are made aware of your offer, but, Reba, trust me when I say you are being too hard on yourself.” Szames laments, looking as if he wants to reach out to me. “This is war. Loss of life is part of any conflict. Even you cannot change that.”

  Staring into his blue eyes, I feel compelled to expostulate. “Casualties may be part of battle, but I’m going to see to it that we take as few of those losses as possible. That’s my job. Last night, in my arrogance, I failed to take the proper precautions. It cost innocent people their lives. I’m going to do my best to see to it that never happens again.” I blink, holding back tears.

  I temper my emotional request with logical reasoning. “Aiding these children will not only help me to forgive myself for my mistakes, but if they’re close by, they’ll serve to remind me to think things through more thoroughly.”

  “Your compassion shames me and my kingdom. Your work, your magic, has already saved so many lives. We accept the limited losses we take as a blessing. We have forgotten that a fortnight ago, all would have lived to see the spring.” For once I sense something from him: sadness and regret.

  “Mine is a fresh perspective. Having no previous expectations, is it any wonder that my tolerance for death is much lower? But speaking of perspective, I’m curious.” With deftness I didn’t know I possess, I maneuver the conversation. “Have you started to change the sleeping schedule of the men to get them used to being awake all night?”

  “As a matter of fact, we have. Charles suggested it at the War Council. It was decided a gradual change would be best. Tonight the training will continue until the midnight bells. Reveille will sound at midmorning.” Szames’s mood seems to lift with the proactive topic.

  “Then we’d better plan on mid-evening bells for dinner, if that will suit your schedule.” Szames agrees as the door to the bedroom opens.

  “Your Highness, Milady Archmage Reba.” Crystal curtsies. “Will you need dinner served?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll be joining the royal family for dinner to be presented to the nobles at evening bells,” I reply by rote, my mind still worrying over my dinner date with the prince.

  “Milady, if you like, I can assist you in preparing for it.” She has my full attention as she adds, “We will need to hurry if we are going to keep you from arriving unfashionably late.”

  “I can escort you if you wish,” Szames offers.

  “Yes, thank you.” I smile over my shoulder, heading toward the door Crystal holds open.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I undress, thoughts racing inside my head. Crystal rushes to the armoire. My brain centers on the proposal I made for the orphans, and the world flashes a dazzling white as high intuition sparks a premonition.

  Standing before an image of myself are two bedraggled children. First the young boy bows; then the dark-haired girl follows suit in an awkward sort of curtsy. Before I can blink, a brilliant light tinges the world once more.

  “Whoa…” I shake my head, attempting to jar some logic into it. Is that what I look like to others?

  “Milady?” She inquires from my elbow.

  “Crystal, at what age does training for chambermaids begin?”

  “I came of my own accord at the age of fourteen, but that is considered late to begin training. Most start instruction around the age of ten, milady.” She fetches a red and gold outfit.

  “Would it be possible for you to take someone under your tutelage? Like an apprentice?” Losing my patience with small talk, I get right to the point as she nods. “There are two survivors from the fires last night. One is a young girl. I’ve asked that she be placed on my staff if she wishes. When she shows up tomorrow, I’d like you to take her under your wing.” Lord knows she’s going to need someone to help her adjust!

  “Of course, milady. I will personally take charge of her training. But if I may ask, why have her assigned here?” Confusion overwhelms her as she tries to follow my logic. “Did you know
her parents?”

  “I arrived yesterday and cast a spell that set off the demons like a hot rock on an anthill. They found a way around the defense I put into place. The monsters took the lives of innocent people and left two kids orphaned.” Pausing as she helps me into the blouse, I try to see if she still retains any depth of emotion or if her “special services” have hardened her heart beyond reach.

  “Overnight this child has been made homeless, motherless and fatherless, and probably scared half out of her wits. Right now she needs more than a roof over her head. She needs someone to help her find a new way in life. I don’t think this falls within your job description; I ask it as more of a personal favor.”

  “You want me to supply her with a big sister?” Crystal summarizes what I have implied. “For me to be a big sister to her?”

  I nod as she fastens a belt around my waist, not daring to speak, afraid it might ruin the way her emotions are trending.

  “When I was younger, before I left home, I often wished for a sister.” Stretching out my senses, I discern duty, curiosity, and sympathy mingled with a healthy dose of compassion. “Yes. If she comes here, I will take her as my sister from that day forward.”

  “Thank you, Crystal. I owe you one. If you ever need anything, just ask.” My shoulders feel as if a condor has moved to another perch.

  The maid directs me over to the standing mirror, now that I am clothed in evening attire. I’m not sure I want to see this. Two shades of red combined with a gold belt?

  The ensemble comes together better than anticipated. The cuffs and collar of the scarlet blouse are darker than the rest of the shirt, the same shade as the burgundy slacks. Someone has even taken the time to embroider a golden flame on each of the four tips of the collar, accenting the gold belt at the waist.

  The outfit gives me a tall, thin, athletic look. The cut of the blouse makes my feminine figure apparent. The curves of the belt highlight my bust. Even though this look can’t be called sexy by any stretch of the imagination, at least I look a little more like a woman and a little less like a ninja.

  “Thank you, Crystal. I would’ve never picked this to wear.” I turn away from the mirror. “Well, I don’t want to keep the nobles waiting.”

  “We’re not done quite yet, milady.” Crystal hastens to the vanity. Opening a small jar, she touches the contents with her fingertip as she halts before me. She applies the tinted substance to my lips and administers a picklike comb to my hair. “There. Now you’re ready.”

  Turning back to the mirror, I am shocked at what a little thing such as lip gloss and a well-placed stroke of a comb can accomplish. “Crystal, I don’t know what I would do without you.” I give a grateful smile as she ushers me to the door to the reception chamber.

  The prince bounds to his feet. I place a toe of one foot behind the other heel. Bending my knees, I give my first curtsy. Looking up, my gaze is captured by an adoring pair of sapphire eyes. Blushing, I give a curt nod to cover my embarrassment. “Your Highness, if you’re ready?”

  “Milady,” is the single word my escort utters as he manipulates the door for me.

  The prince extends his arm in an age-old courtly gesture. The mannerism seems out of place on a man dressed in chain mail with unruly flaxen hair. Why didn’t he prepare for dinner? Do the turbulent times grant a more lax etiquette?

  With my hand on the top of his, he steers us down the hallway. We pass the hall leading to the master chef’s private kitchen. The walkway is well lit, and the rooms are widely spaced, though not as far apart as the ones around my chambers. None have the double doors gracing my entryway.

  The evening bells toll in the distance as we come to a grand staircase. The stairs are at least twenty feet across and two stories high. My hand remains captured by my hunky escort as we walk down the plush rug lining the center. I feel more out of place than I have since we got zapped into this world. Being a battle mage feels more natural than the royalty they are treating me as. I’m just a common housewife.

  The floor below is tiled in blue-gray and white marble. The exact color of the granite depends on how much dark gray, blue, or white the piece of rock contains. I find it awe inspiring even though I discern no pattern to the beautiful mosaic, for no two pieces of tile are the same size or color.

  Glimpsing the far wall, my mouth falls open as perception of the design rises from my worry-filled mind. A forest! It is not representative of the trees themselves, more like the shadows of trees or the spaces in between the trees of a forest.

  Looking back to the floor, taking in the entire area, the tiles come alive. The individual pieces are placed together, depicting a flowering meadow. Budding flora of all manner, shapes, and sizes are strewn together. The edges of one overlap to form the borders of another.

  “Szames, it’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful! The craftsman was a genius.” My prior discomfort is forgotten. “Tell me: Is it the same person who created my chambers?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it was. The same man created this castle and the entire city. His name was Rikard of Kempmore.”

  We enter the castle’s foyer. A set of massive doors, large enough to admit a freight train, lies at each end. The doorway on the right has a hallway to each side. The other entryway opens into the courtyard. The prince leads us toward the farthest hallway.

  “His story is a fascinating one. Sir Rikard was a master stonemason by twenty. He was then discovered to have the gift of magic. In his third year of training, he had a vision from Andskoti. Once a priest sanctified Rik’s testimony, King Sheldon did not hesitate. He authorized everything needed to fulfill the prophecy.”

  “The masonry wizard led the workers straight to this hilltop and set them to digging the sewer system. He then took another group of recruits to the Northern Reaches. The cliffs were unmapped at that time, so it was considered a risky venture. Unerringly, he led them to the largest deposit of marmari-sterk ever discovered.”

  “Marmari-stark?” I ask.

  “Marmari-st-er-k,” he says slowly, correcting my mispronunciation, “is the most prized of all building stones known to man. It is as strong as granite yet has the beauty of marble. Rik used his magic to cut each piece of stone himself while the workers began the transportation. He then used his powers to place each piece, reforming the marmari-sterk into a solid block. Though he spent his entire life devoted to the project, it is said he passed on still talking of its completion. Finished or not, his work is known as the crowning jewel of Cuthburan. This city and Castle Eldrich are his legacy.”

  Szames concludes his story as we approach a pair of doormen stationed beside an entryway. The prince nods. They sweep inside, holding the twelve-foot doors open.

  “The Archmage Reba and Prince Szames of Cuthburan, General of the Forces of Cuthburan,” the men intone.

  The room echoes with the rustle of clothing and shuffling of boots as hundreds of people come to their feet. Szames looks down at me, a question in his eyes. I dip my chin, signaling my readiness, while I work on convincing my knees to stop quaking.

  Holding my head high, I concentrate on placing one foot in front of another and not on top of each other. Ignoring the deep silence followed by a gigantic intake of breath, I try to quiet the thrumming of my nerves as Szames steers us down the middle of the room then along the front of the head table. We come around the end of the twenty-foot dinner tableau, sweeping back toward the center. I steal a glance past my escort at the crowd of nobles.

  Two rows of eight tables are lined up at a ninety-degree angle to the massive table where the royal family sits, facing its subjects. Each table is a little larger than the one in the dining room of my apartments, seating sixteen people.

  There are more than 250 people out there. The realization nearly causes me to stumble. Calm down. Don’t, don’t think about them. They’re just nobles: pretentious, rich, and snobby… nothing I need to worry about, right?

  Szames makes a quick turn, stopping before an empty cha
ir on King Arturo’s left. The king looks askance at his son. Szames’s cheeks flush. He forgot to change into dinner attire! After years of training it’s no wonder he’s embarrassed.

  He relinquishes his hold on my arm, sketching a quick bow. Stretching his hand forth, Szames indicates a seat with an encouraging smile. I turn, standing before the waiting chair.

  King Arturo’s voice bellows, capturing the attention of everyone present, “Many of you have heard the rumors of my son’s mortal wound and his miraculous recovery. All of you have seen the fire bloom in the sky as the demons besieging our city meet the magic put in place after the prophesied arrival. The time has come for you to meet the one who brings such miracles and many more changes in the days to come.” The room remains silent as he pauses, masterfully manipulating the moment.

  “Archmage Reba and the Crusaders of the Light, we present to you the nobility of Cuthburan.” Every man in the room bows and the women curtsy. The king again pauses, this time for shuffling feet to silence.

  “Let there no longer remain any doubt: this is the time of the prophecy. We, the sovereignty of the kingdom, proclaim it to be so. Embrace what is asked of you. As it is written: change is our salvation in the days to come.” King Arturo finishes his speech in a triumphant shout, “Tonight we dine with the Flame-haired One!” In unison, every person in the room pounds a glass on the table twice in salute.

  Servants file into the dining room, carrying ponderous trays. I turn to my right as a refined voice remarks, “Milady, I am delighted to see my angel has not returned from whence she came. I am in your debt and at your service.”

  He gives an elegant dip of his chin. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Alexandros, and you, of course, must be the infamously beautiful Archmage Reba.” Taking hold of my chair, he maneuvers it out for me.