The Making of a Mage King: White Star

by Anna L. Walls

  Mattie was at his side in an instant; her touch, so skilled at tricking him to sleep, now struggled to wake him. The only response her efforts earned was that his hand flopped in from its sprawl to rest on his chest, then he was quiet again.

  Clayton, with Armelle still wrapped in his arms, suddenly appeared in the middle of the room.

  Leaving Clayton standing there white-faced, Armelle pushed her way between Elias and Mattie and crawled onto the bed. “Sean, can you hear me?” She reached up to touch his face. Her voice had the effect that Elias’s slap had not.

  Sean frowned and his eyes rolled back and forth behind his eyelids sluggishly. Then, his eyes began to twitch and flutter as scenes of whole battles, scenes of individual skirmishes, scenes of training, fighting, tournaments, brawls, drinking, raucous laughing… It all flashed across his vision, across his mind like watching the wheels of a freight train flash past from only a few inches away. But no…

  “Sean?” she called again. “Wake up, love.” Her voice was shaking and another tear slid down her nose to splash on his cheek.

  That was a woman’s voice. His hand moved to touch the unfamiliar dampness on his face. There are no women here. He didn’t have a woman here. That was somewhere else…some…when…else. The scenes behind his eyes changed. He fought to focus on her face. “Irena?” he whispered, then closed his eyes. With his eyes closed, he reached up to find her face.

  Armelle clutched his hand and pressed her cheek into it, more tears wetting his palm.

  “No, not Irena,” he mumbled. “Blonde.” He struggled in a mire of memories; he was drowning. She had called a name, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He tested several names, but he knew they were all wrong. He pulled her to him and buried his face in her golden hair. The names and their memories crashed over him like a bore tide, and he clutched at her for anchorage.

  In an effort to protect her from the crushing tide, he rolled to the side, pulling her inside his coil so he could take the brunt of it. He had to protect her, protect their child. The tide evolved into face cards being shuffled into a deck by a master dealer. They shuffled and flashed, sharp and brutal, were cut and then shuffled again.

  The last one, the last face, had a name – it had a name that he knew was right. He felt as if his chest would burst. “Armelle,” he sobbed and gasped raggedly. He sobbed from pain, from relief, from fear. He ran his trembling hands over her curves, then opened his eyes just to make sure it was real. They were steady, clear, hungry – desperate.

  Elias ushered Mattie and Clayton out of the room as soon as he heard Sean utter Armelle’s name. Leaving a guard at the door, they went down to find Larry and Jenny.

  Gasping, Sean held Armelle’s face so he could drink in its contours and drown in her fascinating eyes. He brushed her tears away with his thumbs every time they leaked past her lashes, then he made her a hanky, letting her go only enough so she could blow her nose. “I missed you,” he whispered, and pulled her to his chest again. Those words are so dim.

  “I saw you only a week ago,” she said into his chest. Her voice still trembled with emotion.

  A week? It felt like a million miles stretched between us. I’m exhausted. I want to make love to her before I lose her again. God, I can’t lose her again, not again. He clutched her close. He wanted to hold her close like this for the rest of his life. He felt like he could sleep for the next hundred years. He loosened his grip enough to rub his hands up and down her body as far as he could reach.

  Feeling her body through the thin material of her nightgown, he realized – remembered, where he was, where they were, what she was wearing. “You’re not dressed. How did you get here? I don’t remember…”

  “Clayton brought me,” she said, as she squirmed around enough to get under the covers with him. The morning was frosty and damp with fog from the river. She wasn’t about to tell him how terrified she’d been – she thought she was losing him, that he was dying. The thought threatened to bring more tears.

  She snuggled close to his warmth and felt him relax. He mumbled something indistinct, then she heard his breathing go deep and easy under her ear.

  Someone cracked the door to peek in, then Larry slipped in and took the chair Elias had been using. Armelle looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and smiled, then she sniffed and closed them. She drifted off to sleep too, safe and warm with the sound of his heart next to her ear.

  Sean woke to the touch of a hand on his shoulder. “Are you hungry?” Elias asked softly.

  Without opening his eyes, Sean squeezed the bundle of warmth he was curled around. “Starved.”

  Armelle unfolded, stretched, and yawned hugely. “Me too,” she said through another yawn. It was contagious.

  Sean yawned a jaw-cracking yawn, then heaved his long frame in a back-bending stretch that almost dumped him out of the narrow bed.

  Elias laughed. “Supper will be on the table in a few minutes. Get dressed.” He tossed a package on the chair by the bed. “Jenny went shopping. She said this should fit; she apologizes about the color.” He left them to dress.

  While Sean pulled his shirt and pants on with hands that were still weak from sleep, Armelle tore open the package and pulled out a brilliant red dress accented with black ribbon, white pearl buttons down the front, and white lace at the cuffs and hem. “Oh my, red,” she said. She tossed it on the bed and pulled out a silk shift to wear underneath, and a pair of white slippers.

  She pulled the slip over her head and felt Sean’s hands there to help it settle in just the right place. She giggled. “We’ll miss supper.”

  He hummed a single tone that might have been a growl if it had been rougher. His eyes glittered as he helped her with the small round buttons up the front of the dress, then brushed the bare skin of her shoulders where the dress didn’t reach. The bodice fell from below her shoulders to below her hips, fitting her body delightfully close. The wide neckline was traced with a black ribbon, and twin black lines traced down from there, over her breasts to the beginning of the skirt, inviting his finger to trace their intoxicating path. A single black line traced her spine in back, but he only had two hands. The sleeves fit just as snuggly down to her elbows. The rest of the distance to her hands was filled with a froth of white lace. The skirt flared full to within a foot of the floor, where another line of black ribbon could be found. The rest of the distance to the floor was like her cuffs; hundreds of yards of white lace must have gone into that hem. Her white slippers would only just peek from underneath the foam as she walked.

  By the time she had her slippers on, Sean’s hum was becoming hoarse, and he had a dangerous glint in his eyes.

  “Red…did it have to be red?” she murmured. “Could you change the color? Green perhaps, or blue?”

  “I like it,” Sean said in a husky voice, as he blinked trying to master himself enough to finish dressing. His stomach growled hard, making him wince as he sat to lace up his boots. Armelle was a vision difficult to pull his eyes away from, and he had trouble with the laces. He laced his pants and tied his sash, then he opened the door, not taking the time to pick up his coat or even his sword belt.

  The trip to the bottom of the stairs was barely enough time for him to finish mastering himself enough to be presentable. He greeted his cousin and thanked him for bringing Armelle, sparing a grin for Larry on the other side of the table, then minding his manners long enough to see that Armelle was seated, he made a dive for the table.

  Jenny was dressed much like Armelle, except her dress was pale lavender, without the black ribbon, and instead of foaming white lace, her dress was accented by gathered white satin; it didn’t overpower her blonde coloring.

  Mattie’s dress was even more modest. It was golden brown, and though the front and back were very low, her shoulders were covered. Only a thin line of white lace went around the neck, cuffs, and hem that went all the way to her wrists, and the floor, respectively.

  Armelle’s dress was by far the best in Sean’s
opinion, but then he liked what was in it, too. In the presence of all that pale skin, he didn’t taste much of what he ate. If he had been one whit less hungry, supper would have been much shorter.

  By the time he had caught up with missed meals and spent energy, he was thinking seriously about loosening his sash, but he would have to move to do that; it wasn’t like a belt you could just unbuckle. He had just been toying with the idea of remedying the situation upstairs when Elias spoke up.

  “I thought you would like to know another ten demons arrived from Nord the day Armelle returned from Lorraine, and Dad sent another five from a garrison on the north end of Arden. His messenger says to tell you that he’s on speaking terms with the governor at Remi, and the search for a distant member of the Arden family continues, although he’s not too hopeful. Also, the blacksmith said you could pick up your sword this evening. I think he closes at, or near, dark, so if you want to pick it up today, we ought to get on over there.”

  Sean groaned. I’d almost forgotten about that. Then again, I can barely remember taking it there in the first place. “How many demons does that make now?” Sean groaned again. “How many are there?” Sean turned back to the matter at hand. “I was going to help the smith with that sword. How did it turn out?”

  “You did help,” said Elias. “Don’t you remember? Anyway, all I saw was the finished blank. He said he still had to polish it and put a hilt on it. Come on, I’m anxious to see how it turned out. I’ve never watched a sword being made. And for your information, we have accumulated forty of Ludwyn’s favorite pastime.”

  “What about the horses? What are they doing with their horses?” asked Sean.

  “There was some mention that the horses were being destroyed. They were too mean, and no one could handle them. Other than that, I didn’t ask.”

  As they all trooped over to the smithy, Sean scarcely heard what Elias said as he struggled to remember helping to restore Soran’s blade. When he saw the forge, he thought he remembered looking over the smith’s shoulder at least once, but he was uncertain about the indistinct memory; it could have been someone else’s memory.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up today. You looked a little peaked last night,” said the smith, as he took his apron off and tossed it onto a bench.

  “I only just woke up in time to have some supper,” said Sean.

  “There were no leftovers from our table. The poor house cat will go hungry tonight,” said Larry.

  The smith smiled. “That’s not surprising. Well, here it is.” He presented Sean with a shiny new blade, all clean, polished and sharpened, and sporting a new hilt. The metal had a dusky cast to it, but Sean hefted it and gave it an experimental swing. Without a word, he walked out into the street in front of the smithy and started a set with a salute first to the moons just visible, cradled by white-capped mountain peaks, then to the smith who had come out to watch.

  Within moments an audience began to form. Patrons from the inn began to crowd out in front to watch. The men and boys that worked at the smithy also gathered. It wasn’t long before the gathering itself was attracting even more spectators.

  Someone started to play a flute, and someone else started tapping on a small tension drum. Sean paused only long enough to find the vision in red that was his wife; he’d danced with her several times, but never with her like this.

  She lifted a long, straight knife from the belt of a tall man with gray peppering his hair, much to his astonishment, before joining her husband. The music fueled their dance. The two of them were grace and beauty; they were danger and death. His wide, white sleeves billowed while his tight pants outlined his frame to perfection. The lace at her wrists foamed and flowed, belying the gleam of the sharp blade that was first in one hand, then in the other, then switched back again. Her red skirts lifted and swished softly, never breaking contact with her partner.

  The whole scene was eerie in that there was very little sound. The two dancers both had soft shoes, so the only sound besides the haunting music was the gentle swish of her skirts and the big sword slicing through the air. Where he stepped, she stepped. Back to back, when he turned to his right, she turned to her right. They moved so completely as one; their spines could have been stitched together. Her blonde head was always centered between his shoulder blades; her knife guarded his flanks with deadly precision. His long blade whomped with each cut, whether high or low, and yet the flow looked easy, almost lazy.

  The tall man with graying hair nodded toward the musicians, and the music climbed to a deadly crescendo, causing the dance to climb as well. Colorful and dark, blonde and black, they spun and cut. Another nod from the tall man and the music wound down into silence, as did the dance. When the music was silent, the dance ended, leaving the dancers in an embrace that was as much a stance of defense as it was a lover’s clasp. The audience, which now numbered nearly a hundred men and women, remained silent for a long minute.

  As soon as Sean and Armelle moved, the people cheered and clapped. The tall man, who seemed to have orchestrated at least part of this, stepped forward and bowed a shallow bow of a military man on duty. “I was informed of who you might be,” he said as he straightened. “Now, I have no doubt. I am honored.”

  Still struggling with too many memories that belonged to someone else, Sean asked, “Does the hand still hold the pass, ganio?”

  “The hand still holds, my king,” replied the general, as if he had expected the question.

  Sean shook off the duality as he caught his breath. “I would like to ride the patrol,” he said.

  “You’re in luck then. The patrol departs in the morning at the fourth hour, my lord.”

  “I’ll be ready,” said Sean.

  The general bowed to Armelle next. “You must be from Aquitana, my lady. I heard that they taught their daughters to dance with the knife. I didn’t quite believe it until today.” He bowed again, quite low.

  “It’s not quite the same when you dance with your brothers,” said Armelle, and she offered the knife back to him, hilt first.

  Instead of taking the knife back, the general unbuckled the belt that held its sheath and presented it to her. “I would be honored if you would accept that as my gift.”

  Armelle took the belt, sheathed the long knife and bobbed a curtsey.

  The spectators began to disperse, along with the last of the sunlight, and now the general offered his openhanded salute and left too, leaving behind the inn’s guests, who were also starting to filter away, the people who worked at the smithy, and Sean’s friends. Sean brought his baldric from his room, sheathed the great sword of his ancestor, then draped the baldric over his shoulder, noticing by the action how much he had missed its weight when it couldn’t even be sheathed.

  Turning to the smith, he asked, “How much do I owe you?”

  The man snorted. “After what I just saw, my wife would run me out of the house with a broomstick if I took money for that sword. It’s an honor.” He bowed and started to leave, ushering his employees before him back into the smithy.

  “Who’s your wife?” Sean called after him.

  “She runs the kitchen at the inn,” replied the smith over his shoulder, grinning.

  Sean grinned too and led the way back to the inn. He had no problem at all identifying the woman in charge of the kitchen, as she supervised the supper cleanup. Nearly as round as she was tall, which wasn’t very tall at that, it was obvious she ruled the kitchen; even the rotund innkeeper jumped at her bark. “My dear lady,” said Sean, as he bowed deeply to her.

  She turned to him wondering who would venture into her domain uninvited. “Who are you?” she asked.

  Sean stepped forward and clasped her hand in his as he gave her a peck on the forehead. He left a gold coin behind in her hand when he let her go.

  “What’s this for?” she asked, coming near to being alarmed.

  “That’s for being married to the greatest man in the world,” said Sean, as he ski
pped out of the kitchen before she could think to return his gold or raise her spoon.

  “That was sweet,” said Jenny, as she handed him a beer.

  The Hand

  Since Sean had slept the entire day away, it wasn’t too surprising that he wasn’t quite ready to sleep again just because it got dark, and Larry was positively bursting with questions, so he, Jenny, Clayton, and Mattie gathered in Sean’s room to talk. Elias, who hadn’t gotten near enough sleep in the past twenty-four hours, moved into the room Clayton had been given to catch up on it. Four o’clock would come around all too soon.

  The first question out of Larry’s mouth was, “What is the ‘hand’? You asked that man if ‘the hand still stood’.”

  Sean was into his answer before he thought about it. “My first command was five brothers…” Then he began to listen to what he was saying. “Soran’s first command. Each of the brothers had about twenty-five or thirty men, and…and Soran had another fifty, more-or-less. W… They all had their families encamped here, so they were desperate to hold the pass. If they fell, none of what we all have now would have existed. I…Soran was able to move himself and those five commanders so efficiently that, even though they were grossly outnumbered, they succeeded in defeating the Aarauians soundly, and the hand has remained undefeated to this day.” Sean sighed. “They were so effective that they earned the moniker ‘the hand’. The hand striking a bug, the hand striking a horse, it didn’t matter where or what they hit, they hit so fast and so sharp, they caused a reaction that was always in their favor.” Sean chuckled softly. “It was the Aarauians who gave them the name.”

  “If they had someone like you moving them around, I’m not surprised,” said Larry.

  Sean looked at Larry. “Soran was like me; where do you think I got it from?”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” said Larry. “What’s this patrol we’re going on in the morning?”