Prelude to Fire: Parts 1 and 2

by D. K. Holmberg

  Nast gave Lacertin another lingering stare and then stepped to the side, but did so reluctantly. Theondar pushed past and opened the door, guiding Lacertin into Ilton’s rooms.

  Lacertin had been into King Ilton’s private chambers before, but it had been some time ago. Much had changed. Gone was the long dresser and the tall wardrobe made of ornate aldenwood. In their places were chairs and a narrow table set with vials of medicines and dried herbs. A vase of fresh-cut flowers attempted to fill the air with their fragrant aroma but still didn’t completely mask the thick stench of illness.

  Lacertin pinched his nose at the smell. Theondar glanced over and a glimmer of amusement crossed his face. “You could simply pass on whatever message you have for him,” Theondar said. “I’m sure the archivists could ensure he gets it in between their ministering to him.”

  “No. He will hear it from me.”

  Theondar only shrugged. “Your choice. Only, from your face, you would rather be anywhere but here.”

  Lacertin took a small, shallow breath. “The smell. It reminds me of home.”

  Theondar arched his brow. “Then Nara is even worse than most say.”

  “Not Nara. There are small lizards within Nara, gilander lizards, and they would sun themselves atop rocks. Occasionally they remain in place for longer than what is healthy, and the sun would dry them too much to make it to water. The sun would burn them, and their flesh stinks as it rots. It draws scavengers to it and they would pick at the flesh, tearing it from the bones.”

  “A good thing we are not in Nara, then. We would have to fight off both Ilton’s illness as well as whatever scavengers would set upon him.”

  “That’s not what I was—”

  Theondar stopped at Ilton’s bed and looked down at the king. An unreadable expression marred his face. “I know that isn’t what you were saying, Lacertin. Come. Speak to your king while he can still hear you.”

  Lacertin looked up and fixed Theondar with a hard expression. Theondar might become the First Warrior once Ilton passed, but for now, it remained Lacertin. Having Ilton’s favor had to account for something, even though it might not always feel like it. With Ilton sending him off out of the city for weeks—months, this most recent time—there were few who felt any sort of jealousy toward Lacertin.

  Theondar’s smile faded and he raised his hands. “Fine. You speak to the king. I will leave you. Remember, Lacertin, that once Ilton passes, there will be changes in the kingdoms. It remains to be seen how many will benefit you.”

  Theondar closed his eyes and a soft shaping built. Lacertin noted it as pressure in his ears, the distinct sense that all water shapers had when another shaped around them, and wondered what Theondar shaped. Then he took a deep breath, letting it out. The shaping washed away from Theondar and toward Ilton. He sighed once, and his breathing eased.

  Theondar nodded and then started back toward the door, leaving Lacertin standing by the king, alone.

  When he was convinced that Lacertin was gone, he attempted a shaping of his own. Water didn’t come as easily to Lacertin as the other elements, but he was able to use what little he could and sent a shaping through the king, trying to understand how far along the illness raging within Ilton had progressed.

  As before, the illness rebuffed his ability to do anything with it. None of the dedicated water healers had managed to do anything to help him, so Lacertin didn’t really think that he could either, but he could learn how far along Ilton’s illness had progressed.

  He pulled on the shaping, pressing through a faint resistance. It had been months since he’d attempted to shape the king, months since he’d done anything to try and heal him, and in that time, Lacertin had little practice with this shaping. Shaping was much like any other skill. Without practice, any skill with it would be lost. The trials he’d gone through on behalf of the king had ensured that.

  He considered adding fire to his shaping. Like most from Nara, fire came easiest to him, and he could mix it into other shapings. But fire could burn too brightly and he didn’t want to risk it, not on Ilton. Instead, he used a fire sensing and recognized the heat of the illness raging within his king, burning through him. The illness pushed against his shaping, threatening to overwhelm him.

  He knew enough of water shaping to buy Ilton a moment with him, but that would be all that he would get. Pushing a surge of water through the king, he overwhelmed the heat within his veins.

  The king’s eyes opened.

  “Lacertin,” he said. His voice was thready and weaker than when Lacertin had seen him last, but carried with it much of the authority the king had once possessed so easily. “You have returned.”

  “I’m sorry that I needed to wake you, my king.”

  Ilton pushed against the bed and managed to sit. He looked around his room as if seeing it for the first time, and closed his eyes. “I’ve asked you not to be so formal with me,” he said. The king sighed. “How… how long has it been, Lacertin?”

  “Long enough,” he answered.

  The king took a rattling breath and let out a long exhale. Even his breath was stale, as if whatever remained lingered within his lungs, growing increasingly stale the longer that it did. “Tell me, Lacertin, have you acquired what I asked of you?”

  Lacertin reached beneath his cloak and pulled out the plates that he’d spent the last three months chasing. It had been one of the most difficult tasks that Ilton had ever asked of him, and the first time he had failed.

  The plates were made of heavy gold, and the sides were adorned with runes written in the style of the ancient shapers. What little Lacertin recognized of that language—and given how few knew anything of Ishthin these days, that wasn’t much—told him that these were the parts that Ilton had asked him to find. Not that there had been any doubt. The Great Mother knew how difficult it had been to reach in the first place. Little else would have been that difficult. Beyond that, he had the pages of diagrams that Ilton had given him, a map of sorts that had brought him his prize.

  Ilton let out another soft breath of air. “You found them,” he said. He stared at them with eyes that were far more sunken than they should be, and a face that was gaunter than it had been even a few months ago, when the illness had already begun to ravage him beyond what the healers would be able to delay. “Now we only need to assemble it…”

  Lacertin had tried, and failed. He suspected the pieces went together, but couldn’t determine how. More than that, there seemed to be one missing, only he didn’t know what, and the pages Ilton provided didn’t explain what he should find. “I couldn’t find all of them, my lord.”

  Ilton patted his hand weakly. “Doesn’t matter. What you’ve found will be enough.”

  “What do they do?”

  The king ran his bony fingers along the sides of the top plate. “The archivists claim that it will bring us strength. Perhaps enough to…”

  That had been the hope. That they would have enough strength to heal Ilton, but how could this help heal him?

  Lacertin wasn’t sure that anything would have enough strength, not anymore, but the archivists were some of the brightest minds within the kingdoms, men who had trained in the histories, who chose learning and knowledge over chasing the ability to shape. Understandably, Ilton trusted them.

  The tenuous strength that had filled Ilton failed all at once and he sagged, falling back onto the bed. His head hit the pillow and rolled to the side, his eyes taking on something of a glazed look. His breathing became erratic, and Lacertin wondered if he had pushed the dying king’s body too far and too hard with the shaping that he’d used. It had given him more time, or so he thought, but then again, Lacertin had used a shaping, and like with all shapings, there was a cost.

  The king’s breathing steadied and he opened his eyes once more. “Lacertin,” he breathed when he saw him. “You have returned.”

  Lacertin’s heart fluttered. Had the king declined so much that his memory failed him now, too? If so, then perhap
s Althem ruled truly. And if so, then maybe Lacertin should bring the device to the prince, especially if there was anything that could be used to help heal the king.

  “I have returned,” Lacertin said softly.

  The king reached for his hand and took Lacertin’s in a bony grip. Some strength remained, though it was brief. “You have stopped Incendin?” he asked.

  “My lord?” Was there more to the Incendin attack? But of course, there must be more to the attack, especially if two of the kingdoms’ most accomplished shapers had been lost. Now that he was back, Lacertin needed to understand what.

  “They think to claim Nara, Lacertin. You will stop them?”

  Lacertin held his breath. The claim on Nara was the reason for the decades-old war, one in which Incendin thought to reunite ancient Rens. But Nara had been a part of the kingdoms for a thousand years, and the kingdoms were unwilling to cede even a strip of land to Incendin.

  “I will do all that you need, my king.”

  Ilton nodded. “I know that you will.” He sighed. “You are the First. You command the warriors. You will tell Althem that you speak with my voice.”

  Lacertin swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat. He had once served as the king’s Athan, a title bestowed upon him so that he could speak on his behalf, and so that he could forge necessary alliances, but it had been years since Lacertin had exercised that right. Not since Althem had come of age.

  But nothing had changed him serving as First Warrior. Nothing but Ilton’s death would change that.

  Did Ilton speak lucidly, or was this the illness speaking?

  He didn’t know, and that made it all the more difficult to know what he should do.

  “You will secure the border. That will keep us safe,” the king whispered. “That will give us peace.”

  Ilton closed his eyes and said nothing more. His breathing became slow and regular. Occasionally, he would cough, and he muttered softly, as if trying to say something more, but then he would fall back into a deep slumber.

  Lacertin looked around the king’s chambers. Given how weak that he was, it was likely the last time that he would be granted access. Lacertin did not think that he would want to come again, especially not until he knew how clear the king’s mind remained.

  He pulled his hand free from Ilton’s grasp and started to turn. The gold plates made him pause. Would the next person to enter the king’s chambers appreciate the reason that Ilton had requested them, or would they think it some trinket that the dying king had brought to him?

  If there was power to be had with them, shouldn’t Lacertin see that the archivists had a chance to use it? Shouldn’t the king be given every opportunity needed to improve?

  Lacertin sighed. Perhaps Theondar was right. His king was gone. That didn’t mean that Lacertin would stop serving him, though.

  He took the plates that he’d spent so much time searching for on Ilton’s behalf, and returned them to his pocket. He needed to find someone who might be able to help use them on behalf of the king, but who? The archivists would take time studying, and there was no guarantee that they would be able to use them. There was a part of Lacertin that suspected shaping was required to utilize the plates, especially given the difficulty that he had finding them, but that meant the archivists wouldn’t be able to use them anyway.

  He could use them, but he would need someone who understood them. He could think of only one person to ask, though he wasn’t sure the princess would even see him.

  For Ilton, he would have to ask.

  CHAPTER 3

  Lacertin found the shaper Nast standing guard outside the king’s chambers, waiting for the warrior when he left. The same sneer that he’d worn prior to learning who Lacertin was had returned to his face, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Is Ilianna in the palace?” Lacertin asked.

  “Prince Althem requires your presence,” Nast said, ignoring the question.

  Lacertin closed his eyes for a moment. He had hoped to avoid Althem a little while longer, but perhaps it was best that Althem summoned him so soon after he returned, especially since he’d seen how far gone Ilton already was.

  Still, something about the way that Nast said it set Lacertin on edge. “Althem will see me when I choose, Shaper Nast,” he said.

  Nast’s eyes widened slightly. “You would risk angering the king?”

  Lacertin let out a frustrated sigh. “He’s not the king yet.”

  Without waiting for Nast’s response, Lacertin hurried down the hall. Once back in the main part of the palace, he paused. Tradition held that warrior shapers would stay in the palace, but now that Althem ruled, and with his history with Theondar, staying here didn’t seem like the right decision.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Bren glanced at him but hurried on his way, disappearing down the stairs leading to the lower part of the palace. Lacertin had a room there, but it had been years since he’d considered the palace any sort of home to him. Home had been his travels, and more often than not, it had been some sort of battlefield, and usually with Incendin.

  He considered following Bren and searching for Ilianna, but given the reception that he’d already received, cleaning himself up made the most sense. A change of clothes, perhaps a shave, and then to find answers to what had happened to Roln and Pherah. Now that Althem ruled, he would not find answers in the palace, especially not from Theondar, but there was a place where Lacertin’s name still mattered.

  Lacertin reached the door leading out of the palace and paused. Now that he had finally returned, Lacertin felt confused. He’d been so single-minded over the last few months, searching for the plates, and then to return, that now that he had found them and had returned, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. What would happen once Ilton was gone?

  It had been nearly as long since he’d wandered the streets of Ethea. Especially near the palace, the streets were crowded. Servants moved to and fro, many carting food or what Lacertin suspected was medicines toward the palace. He caught sight of a pair of black-robed archivists and considered catching up to them, but decided against it. He would find Ilianna first and then the archivists.

  One of the archivists glanced over at him. As he made eye contact, Lacertin felt a soft build up of shaping. Lacertin pulled his eyes away from the archivist and looked around, but didn’t see any other shaper around him. When he looked back to the archivists, he didn’t see either man.

  Lacertin considered shaping himself through the streets but decided against it. There was a reason there was a shaper circle at the university. The kingdoms relied on their shapers, but there was a level of distrust with shapers regardless. Sensers were more common within the kingdoms, but shapers were rare. Those without the ability to shape were jealous of those who could, and many thought the Great Mother overly gifted those able to shape each of the elements.

  No, better for him to walk. The people in the street delayed him but also gave him the chance to think about what he would do next. With Ilton dying, he should have known that he would need to involve Althem, but Lacertin’s dislike of the prince made that difficult. The timing of the Incendin attack on the kingdoms was unfortunate as well.

  The chances were good that he would be drawn away to help with settling the borders. The barrier that he’d designed had helped, but there was weakness to it, as well. There was no perfect way to design the protection between Incendin and the kingdoms, and the hounds had managed to slip past the barrier more often than what was safe, especially for those living along those border towns. He still didn’t know how they could slip past, but then, so little was really known about the hounds.

  He should have checked with Theondar. They might not always agree with each other, but Theondar could provide him the insight he needed, filling in the gaps of what he’d missed out on during his time away.

  But Theondar wasn’t the only warrior in the kingdoms. There were nearly two dozen warriors—or there had been before Roln and Pherah
died—and at any given time, there were nearly a dozen within Ethea. His standing might have changed over time, but he was still First Warrior even if he spent much of his time outside the city.

  Lacertin approached the university from an indirect route. Coming through the main entrance meant that he would have to face not only shapers, some like Nast, but also shapers in training and sensers with nothing more than a desire to become more than they would ever be able to.

  Few sensers who came to the university ever amounted to anything more than sensing. They could be taught to hone that ability and could use it in ways that benefited the kingdoms—the price they paid for their training in the university—but only a few ever learned enough mastery of sensing to be able to shape. And of those shapers, fewer still learned enough that they could attempt another element so that they could become warrior shapers.

  The main entrance of the university opened into a wide courtyard. The back side, the entrance where Lacertin now went, was nothing but a wall of stone. A few windows were set into the stone, but not enough to create much light inside. The university had stores of shapers lanterns to add additional lighting, more than any place other than the palace. Lacertin took a small door inside and up a flight of narrow stairs. Stone pressed around him and he lit the shapers lanterns along the way, giving the stairs only a dim light as he made his way up. Few people came this way, and Lacertin saw no one as he went up.

  The stair let out into a wider hall. Lacertin made his way down the hall, glancing at the doors as he went. Toward the end, one of the doors remained open. It had been a while since Lacertin had been here, but the door to the Master Library usually remained closed. He hesitated, wondering if there was something else going on at the university, when he heard voices coming from behind him.

  He ducked into the open door and closed it. Why had he come here? Just because Ilton was dying? That wasn’t anything new for him. He’d known the king was dying before he left on his search. Why was it that seeing him had unsettled him so much?