by Jaxon Reed
Stin feigned reluctance to part with the stone, but finally said, “You will use it more than me, Cook. And since you and the boys here have been so good to us, I’ll let you keep it for a trifle of what it’s truly worth.”
They each spat in their hands and shook on it. Cook ran over to his wagon and fetched several bags of food for them.
At last, Stin and Kirt hooked up their now heavily-laden wagon to the old horse and headed down the road to the right, waving goodbye to the caravan drivers.
After they covered a few miles Stin stretched, basking in the strong morning light, and smiled at Kirt.
“I should have kept that stone. I could have swiped it back when he wasn’t looking.”
Kirt gaped at him.
“Don’t look so surprised! He would have thought he lost it or something. No harm would have come from it. As it is, he’ll come to the slow realization he’s been duped.”
Kirt shook his head and offered a different opinion.
“The stone gives him more confidence to do his best. He’ll use it with everything he cooks the rest of his life. He’ll say any failures in a meal are his own fault, and he’ll give credit for all his good meals to the stone.”
Stin thought about it as the horse slowly carried them down the road. Kirt continued with his line of reasoning.
“Simpletons don’t have any magic, or at least not much. Since the stone makes him believe magic is involved, he might start using what little he has to help the meals taste better, just like a royal chef. Maybe he won’t be as powerful as a royal chef, but he’ll put magical enhancement in the food he prepares, all the same.”
It was Stin’s turn to gape at the boy. This was the most he had ever heard Kirt speak.
He nodded as he thought about it, the wagon gently rocking back and forth as the horse plodded down the road.
“You might be right, Kirt. You might be right.”
CHAPTER 7
Cutie woke Mita up, gently shaking her shoulder. She stayed in the room until Mita climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom, making sure Mita was truly up and going.
After her morning ablutions, Mita returned to the bedside and pulled off her nightgown. It disappeared as soon as it touched the sheets. Then her servant’s dress appeared on the bed, fresh and clean. She put it on and walked out the door.
She walked downstairs to the kitchen, pulled a bowl out of the cupboard, filled it with rolled oats and poured fresh milk into the bowl. She topped everything off with a spoonful of sugar, and ate her morning meal in silence and solitude.
When she finished, she brought the bowl and spoon to the large sink along one wall and watched in gratitude as it disappeared.
At least I don’t have to wash dishes, she thought to herself.
Lunches and dinners had been particularly difficult. Each meal involved Cookie presenting a new animal for her to slaughter. She found herself remorseful upon discovering deer and horseflesh tasted fairly good.
Cookie showed her how to kill each animal quickly and humanely, then Mita had to repeat the procedure. The one that bothered her the most was the dog.
“You might wonder why nobles take dogs on expeditions and such, dearie. Their cooks will always bring pots big enough to stew the dogs, mark my words!”
Cookie then demonstrated how to quickly kill a dog, by shoving a pick into its ear. Mita followed suit, killing the dog assigned to her, then repeating the skinning and gutting of the animal while Cookie led.
Mita shuddered at the memories of killing it, and also having to clean and eat dog meat. The meat did not actually taste bad, but the memory of the cute and cuddly animal she had killed and cut up negated any pleasure from eating it.
Cutie reappeared, and she followed the facsimile out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the hallway she was to clean today. Cutie pointed to the bucket of soapy water, the brush and towel, and smiled. Then she left and Mita was alone again.
She had learned to spend the time and effort necessary to make the hallways perfectly clean the first time. Any spot left unclean Oldstone would notice upon inspection, and make her clean it again. Thus it seemed easier to do the job thoroughly the first time, thereby avoiding a second or third effort.
This morning she sighed as she looked down the long hallway, and thought about the day ahead. She glanced at her knees, which were scuffed and sore from long hours scrubbing the floor.
An idea formed in her head. She looked over her shoulder, and found Cutie long gone. She looked back at the brush, bucket, and towel, and made a raising motion with her hand. The brush levitated into the air. She moved her hand to the right and it followed the motion, floating over the bucket. She made it dunk into the water and started it scrubbing a floor stone. When it finished, she tied on a simple repetition spell, and the brush dunked itself in the water again and moved on to the next stone, scrubbing away.
Next, she sent the towel after the brush, wiping up the water and polishing each stone. She sat down on the floor, back against the wall, and watched as the brush and towel progressed down the hall. Over time she made adjustments to their motions, making sure they cleaned each stone thoroughly.
WELL BEFORE LUNCH, the hall was spotless. Mita grinned in satisfaction at the sparkling clean floor. She heard a throat clearing behind her, and jumped up in surprise. Oldstone stood with his arms crossed. She flushed and averted her eyes, wondering how he would treat the discovery of her use of magic.
She looked up and met his eye. He nodded. “Well done. Follow me.”
He turned and headed down the stairs. Mita realized she had been holding her breath. She released it in a gentle sigh, and followed him down the stairs to the ground floor and into the library.
He stopped in front of a display case featuring the portrait of a beautiful young woman with brown skin like Mita’s. Her black hair reached down to her waist, and her dark eyes stared back at Mita with a remarkable strength of character she had never noticed in another painting. The portrait displayed her from the waist up. She was dressed all in black.
A glass stand in the middle of the case held a simple black leather cord in the shape of a circlet, about the size of a bracelet.
“This is a portrait of Theena, the greatest battlemaiden of them all. And this is her armor. It’s yours now.”
Oldstone waved his hand, and the glass fronting the case disappeared. He turned around, facing away from Mita.
“Remove your clothes, and put on the bracelet.”
She hesitated a moment, staring at the wizard’s back. Then she steeled up her nerve and removed the servant’s dress, dropping it to the floor. It disappeared.
She reached into the display case and picked up the black leather band with her right hand. She stared into the eyes of Theena. The portrait almost seemed alive and staring back at her. She gulped, and slipped the band over her left hand.
As soon as it fell into place it contracted, shrinking and flattening. Mita gasped, and twisted her hand back and forth, staring at the seamless black finger-wide line on her wrist.
“Now,” Oldstone said, his back still to her, “control the armor. Concentrate, and make it cover you.”
Mita furrowed her brow. The black leather spread up her arm, over her shoulder, and across her torso. It went her down her other arm, over her waist, and down her legs. Soon, her body was covered in black save her hands, feet, and head.
“Are you fully clothed?”
“Yes, Master.”
He turned and inspected her.
“Very good. Theena’s armor is magical, as you have no doubt surmised. You control how much of your body it covers at any given moment. You will wear it from now on. Even when you return to Pert at Winterfest and don royal attire, Theena’s armor will be with you. At its smallest, it will be a thin black line around your left wrist. At its greatest, it will cover your entire body.
“Now, focus and make it cover your feet in boots.”
Mita looked down at her bare feet and
furrowed her brow again. Black leather crawled across her feet and formed into high-heeled boots.
“Cover your hands. Give yourself gloves.”
She looked at her bare hands and concentrated. Black leather spread up the top of her hands and snaked across her fingers and palms.
“Very good. Now, give yourself a mask. Allow for openings at your eyes, ears, mouth and nose.”
Mita thought for a moment, then the leather spread up her neck and over her head. When it finished, her head was covered in a thick black mask.
“Good. The leather is magical in that not only will it respond to your will so far as covering your body, it is also impervious to all forces set against it. So, no sword will cut you, no arrow or lance or pike will strike you down. Best of all, no magical energies can harm you. It’s one of the best and most powerful armors ever devised.”
Mita nodded, and made the mask recede from her face until the leather only covered her throat. She looked at her hands and made the gloves pull back, then shortened the length of the armor’s sleeves up to her elbows. She kept the leather over her legs, and the boots.
“This feels about right for everyday use.”
The wizard nodded in approval.
“Go see Cookie for lunch, then report to the gymnasium for your first fighting lesson.”
Mita walked into the kitchen and found Cookie.
“What animal are we going to kill for lunch today?”
“Oh, I think we’ve done them all, dearie. If you come across any others while you’re out adventuring, they’ll work much the same. Today we’ll start learning how to forage. Come out the side door with me.”
She followed the facsimile outside, and found herself in a lightly wooded part of the castle grounds. They were surrounded by blue sky, and she saw clouds far below.
“First let me show you how to discern whether a mushroom is poisonous or not.”
AFTER LUNCH, Mita found the gymnasium down in the castle’s basement. Additional doorways led to stairs leading further down. She decided these must mean the castle had additional subbasements and maybe dungeons deeper down as well.
Focusing back on the gymnasium, she found it as well equipped as the one she was used to back home, and maybe a bit larger.
Oldstone walked in behind her and waved his hand. A trail of black smoke appeared from his palm. It arced out in front of him and a man materialized.
“This is a facsimile of the greatest swordfighter who ever lived, Artereo.”
A rather short man, just above five paces tall with light brown skin, silver hair and a silver goatee, bowed to them both. He wore the traditional sparring outfit: a white shirt, pants, and shoes.
“I am at your service.”
Mita stared at the man, then turned to Oldstone.
“I’ve heard of Artereo. Everyone who knows anything about swordplay has. How did you get his facsimile?”
“I asked him politely, and he agreed to let me cast the spell.”
Mita’s brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of Oldstone’s statement.
“But, Artereo died centuries ago.”
“Indeed. That is why it is quite fortuitous we have his facsimile here to teach you. Not only will he perfect the styles you’ve already mastered, he will reveal to you some he invented himself that only he knew about. He was an excellent teacher in his day, training all the great swordsmen of the era. His facsimile will do the same for you.”
Mita stared at the wizard with a mixture of awe and wonder.
“You knew Artereo?”
“My dear, they don’t call me ‘Oldstone’ for nothing. Now if you will excuse me, I will leave you to your lessons.”
As the wizard walked back upstairs, Artereo’s facsimile gestured toward a rack of swords nearby.
“Shall we begin?”
DEEDLES NUZZLED MARGWEN AWAKE. She stretched, luxuriating in the silken sheets on her large and ornate bed.
She stroked Deedles a couple times, then pushed the sheets aside and padded several steps to the far wall and the door to her bathroom.
When she entered, two of the manor’s incredibly beautiful servants smiled at her and chimed in unison, “Good morning, Princess!”
One disrobed and walked into the room’s giant tub filled with warm, soapy water. Margwen followed suit, sat down in the middle of the tub, and let the servant scrub her back with a large brush.
When she finished and Margwen climbed out, the other servant held a large soft towel and vigorously rubbed the princess dry. Another servant came in with a soft white robe and Margwen slipped into it. Then she sat in front of the mirror while the servants combed her hair and applied makeup, lotions, and perfume.
At long last she left the comfort of the bathroom and returned to the bedroom, where two more servants waited patiently with undergarments and a beautiful dress. They helped her put everything on, then showered her with compliments as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror.
Satisfied all was in place, she opened the door to her room and walked down the hall toward the stairs. Reaching the ground floor, she headed toward the dining room for breakfast, but stopped halfway there when she heard a familiar voice. It came from the library.
She approached the double doors to the library, which were closed, and put her ear to the door.
“. . . And furthermore, Highness, I cannot in good conscious agree this is a worthy idea.”
“I understand, King Keel. I would like to take the opportunity to—”
Margwen threw open the door.
“Papa?”
She saw her father sitting at a large round table in the center of the room, his back to her. Other kings sat at the table, with Trant at the front and Greystone at his side. Everyone turned to look toward her.
King Keel turned around and looked surprised at seeing her. He wore formal court attire, with the soft orange-red colors of his kingdom and a thin golden crown with a polished nugget of coral in its center.
“I say, Margwen! Not now! Can’t you see the Council of Kings is meeting here?”
“It’s quite alright,” Greystone said. “We’ll conclude later.”
With a wave of his hand, the kings of the land disappeared in puffs of smoke.
Margwen gasped.
“What happened to my father?”
“It’s not what you think, Highness. These were all merely facsimiles, just as your servant girls are. They were only representations of the real people.”
It took Margwen a moment to grapple with the notion.
“So, that wasn’t really my father?”
“No. Just a very good likeness of him. It looks like him, and responds as he would were he truly here. I apologize for getting your hopes up. It was not our intent to mislead you.”
“What was he, or rather his likeness, doing here? Why were you talking to him and the other kings on the council?”
She looked between the wizard and Trant. They looked at each other, then back at her.
Trant said, “Greystone produces facsimiles of people to train me in how to conduct meetings and affairs of state. The facsimiles respond just as their real counterparts would. After meetings like this we review where I went wrong and what I did right.”
“Oh.”
The explanation made sense, in a way. Margwen stood in the doorway thinking about it. Suddenly, several pieces fell into place for her. She looked at Trant dressed in his formal court attire, wearing bright green coat and pants, and a crown with a shiny green gem flashing out from its center.
“You’re the Lost Prince!”
Trant smiled, and made a polite half bow of acknowledgement.
“Yes. I am Crown Prince Trant, firstborn of Tren and Karla, the former rulers of the Emerald Kingdom, and rightful heir to the Emerald Throne.”
MITA FOLLOWED Artereo’s footsteps as he showed her the moves first in slow motion, then a little faster, then at normal speed. The steps were incredibly complex for swordplay.
&nbs
p; “You cannot master a sword fighting method without first knowing the steps!”
She nodded, and went through the steps with him again. They had spent three full days on the footsteps of this new style, and were starting the fourth. Artereo stopped, crossed his arms and tapped his foot.
“Mita . . . you are a good pupil, a fast learner, and you have been taught well. But to be a master sword fighter, you must step up to the higher levels.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Of course you haven’t. I created it for my own style of combat, and only a handful of people have ever seen it. Most of them died shortly after. But you will become the next generation to know this method, and with it you will devastate any opponent you face by sword. But first, you must master the footwork.”
Mita rolled her eyes, scratching a spot on the back of her head.
She had not known how to address the facsimile when they first started. He suggested she simply call him “Artereo,” but she felt uncomfortable addressing him so casually. Even though this was not the real Artereo, she nonetheless felt in awe of the facsimile’s presence. Finally they agreed she would address him as “Teacher.”
“Teacher, the true masters of a style began learning the footwork as a child. Boys and girls as young as three start with the steps and don’t even take up a practice sword until they’re older. You’re asking me to learn an entirely new fighting style in a matter of days.”
Artereo sighed. It was a long, drawn-out sigh.
“Mita, Mita, Mita. You are not thinking like a battlemaiden. I understand you are quite proficient with magic.”
She shrugged.
“I suppose so. I was never trained in magic. I’m a late bloomer.”
“You must be very good or Oldstone would not have agreed to take you. And when you do bloom, he will train you appropriately. But right now you’re not thinking about this magically, with a battlemaiden’s logic.
“A simple swordsman, with the usual modest amount of magic most people can manipulate, would indeed spend his entire life learning a style were he desiring to become a master of that method. A proficient swordsman might pick up half a dozen styles, and be able to hold his own in each.
