by Jaxon Reed
The prince nodded, considering the sums.
“And now, sellin’ to th’ human, ye’ll get a gold coin each. Did he say what type o’ coin?”
“He did, Highness. An island doublet.”
Dudge nodded again. The island doublet was a heavy gold coin. Not as big in diameter as most coins, but twice as thick. In days long past it had been the Ageless Isles’ national currency. Coral allowed the islands’ mint to continue producing the coins, so long as King Keel’s face appeared on one side. It remained a favorite of sailors and travelers since it took up less space in a purse than other coins.
“And ye think he’s trustworthy?”
“I do, Highness. He comes from a long line o’ merchants in th’ islands. They’ve done some tradin’ with dwarves before. I met his father when his ship stopped in Port Osmo once. He dealt fair with th’ wharf tenders an’ others he met.”
Dudge grunted in appreciation. Port Osmo was Norweg’s only seaport. Dwarves were not terribly fond of the ocean, but their kings had long considered the need to maintain a port for various reasons. An occasional human trader sailed in and bartered with the locals, although they were usually regarded with suspicion. Maybe one in four provided what the dwarves considered good deals.
The humans mostly came looking for dwarven knives and swords, which were highly regarded. On occasion, someone from Norweg would sell an old blade for a handsome price to one of the traders. Even dull, rusty dwarven blades were highly prized by the humans.
“Truth be known, Highness, I met his father’s father in years past as well. They were all trustworthy in that line. Never tried to cheat anyone.”
Dudge raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment. Humans often forgot dwarves had longer life spans and placed a premium on family. If a man’s ancestors had proven trustworthy, a dwarf was more likely to trust him, even three or four generations removed from the original transaction.
Barley thought of one more thing.
“Aye, Highness, I’ll get rich. But he’ll make at least three gold off every one o’ those barrels in th’ human lands iffen last night be any indication.”
“Hmph. No more than th’ alehouse owners ye already sell to. Ye said yerself they triple their money once every mug is sold.”
Barley considered it a moment, then agreed.
“Aye. ’Tis true.”
“And he can sell those barrels while ye’d have a much harder time with commerce in th’ human lands, if ye could even sell there at all.”
“Aye.”
“So take yer gold doublet over th’ habsilber you used t’ make. By th’ Creator’s beard, yer gonna be rich beyond belief iffen this goes through!”
“There’s one problem, Highness. I can only scrape up th’ grains and barrels and spices for about five hunnert barrels. I kinna make a thousand th’ first year, there’s just no way.”
Dudge thought for a moment, stroking his beard and fingering his ribbons. Fret continued snoring on the floor. Finally, the prince came to a decision and looked up at Barley.
“I’ll see to it ye get a loan from th’ treasury. We’ll come to terms, and take a portion of profits from th’ second five hunnert barrels, on top o’ taxes. But ye’ll still come out ahead, and th’ merchant boy will get his thousand barrels o’ beer.”
STIN WOKE up to the sound of songbirds and shafts of sunlight shooting through the branches. He groaned as he stood and stretched, easing the kinks out of his muscles.
He looked back toward the road. In the daylight he could clearly see where it disappeared. He walked back to the place he had fallen from the wagon. It seemed about the same area the road disappeared.
Experimenting, he stepped past the end of the road.
Nothing. He stood on grass. He turned and looked back at the road behind him.
His stomach grumbled. He looked around in a vain hope of finding one of the wagon’s food bags on the ground, and saw movement from a tree nearby instead. Drawing closer, he realized it was a coney struggling in a string trap.
“Good morning, breakfast.”
He gathered some dry leaves and twigs together, then a few fallen branches. He was incapable of an igniting spell, but he had manual devices that could do the same thing. So he took out his fire starters and struck them together until the leaves caught spark. Blowing gently, he nursed a flame, feeding it ever larger twigs, then sticks. Soon he had a decent campfire kindled.
He walked back to the coney, took out one of his knives and grabbed the animal. He stabbed it in the back of the head, untangled it from the trap, flipped it over and gutted it. Then he skinned it.
He picked up one of the thinner branches he had gathered and quickly whittled the end to a point. He pierced it through the animal’s length and held it over the fire. In a few minutes, the meat cooked through and he bit into it.
“Mm, bunny for breakfast. Delicious.”
The inn’s unattractive serving wench appeared on the road behind him. She gasped at the sight of Stin, the campfire, and the half-eaten coney from her trap. He turned and looked at her.
“Hello. Are you from the village? Tell my boy Kirt I’m very disappointed in him.”
She screamed and ran back down the road, disappearing at the same spot he fell off the wagon.
MITA WOKE up before Cutie came in to get her out of bed. She felt dampness between her legs. She lifted her head and looked. Blood spread out on the white cotton sheets.
Cutie opened the door, walked in and saw the stain too.
“You have bloomed. You will find rags in the bathroom.”
She turned around and walked back out.
Mita pulled the stained covers back and they disappeared as she made her way to the bathroom.
After breakfast, Mita walked out of the kitchen and headed toward the gymnasium. The wizard came out of the library and stopped her.
“Today we will begin advanced training. Follow me.”
She turned and followed him as he walked out the front doors and over to the edge of the castle grounds.
She stood beside Oldstone, looking out over a vast expanse of wilderness thousands of paces below. It was a beautiful sight, she thought, and one very few people were privileged to see from this height.
The wizard waved his hand, and the nearly translucent barrier over the castle grounds disappeared. Cold air swept in immediately. She shivered, and grew the armor down her arms and around her hands and fingers.
Oldstone spoke, finally, as he looked out across the vista.
“A battlemaiden needs to know how to fly. Today you will learn.”
She jerked her head to look at him in surprise.
“Fly? Only the greatest wizards can fly. I’m not a wizard.”
“You are a wielder of magic far more powerful than most. You are a late bloomer. The greatest magical women always are. Today you have bloomed, and now the full extent of your capabilities will begin to manifest. We will hone them to perfection.”
He looked down at her and smiled for the first time since the banquet. That seemed so long ago, she thought to herself.
“Remember, your armor will protect you if you don’t learn the first time.”
He shoved her in the small of the back and she fell off the edge of the castle grounds.
Mita screamed in horror as the ground sped up closer to her, her arms and legs flailing in the wind. But when she drew a ragged breath to refill her lungs, she realized she still fell through the air and the ground remained thousands of paces below. She had time.
The cold air cleared her head, and she started trying to use her magic to slow her fall. It seemed to work, but she couldn’t tell. She tucked her arms in to her sides and tried to control the direction she fell. Soon, she could see the land moving under her, and she knew she must be coasting horizontally. She craned her neck, looking back up at the castle above her, and willed herself to go up.
It worked! The direction of her fall changed, and she felt herself rising in the air.
>
She whooshed back up to the edge of the castle grounds and stopped, hovering about twenty paces up. She grinned down at the old wizard, feeling giddy with excitement.
“I can fly!”
He nodded in agreement, then pointed his right hand up at her and unleashed a bolt of energy. It hit her in the stomach.
“Oof!”
She plummeted back down toward the ground.
The wizard jumped off the edge of the castle and followed her down, sending more bolts of energy streaking toward her.
She recovered from the surprise of his attack and slowed her fall. Two more blasts hit her in the stomach.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s a simple energy bolt, packing enough punch to kill a horse. You need to learn how to avoid these in flight. Now dodge!”
Another bolt of energy slammed into her. She began flying in evasive patterns, changing directions erratically. The next few bolts sailed past her, harmlessly. Then one caught her in the back and she plummeted a few dozen paces before recovering.
“Don’t rely on evasion alone! Sense when danger is coming, and avoid it before it gets to you.”
He shot another bolt toward her and she jerked out of its way just before it reached her.
“That’s better. Now, repeat the spell. It’s a simple energy bolt. Watch.”
He shot again. She dodged it and thrust her arm out at him. A bolt of energy streaked toward the wizard. A blue globe of protection flared up around him. The bolt struck it and fizzled out.
Mita squinted, examining the protective globe. Then her eyes relaxed as she figured out how to cast the spell herself. A blue globe of energy sprung up around her, too. She experimented, casting another bolt of energy toward the wizard. It shot out of her globe, and sputtered against his.
“That’s right. Anything you send out won’t be affected. On the other hand, it stops most of what comes toward you.”
He shot her with another bolt, and it skittered harmlessly along the surface of her globe.
“Let’s play a game, and see how many times we can hit each other. Starting now.”
He shot a bolt at her. It fizzled against her globe. She frowned.
“That’s not fair!”
“Nothing is fair, Mita. Particularly in battle.”
He shot her again.
“That’s two.”
She whooshed up above the castle, trying to get away from him. He followed, shooting bolts after her. She evaded them, then quickly turned and shot three back at him. He avoided them all but she saw a grin on his face as one came close to his globe.
Later that night, when Mita had time to reflect back on one of the greatest days of her life, she realized it was the first time she could recall the wizard had ever called her by name.
MARGWEN ATE the last bite of her strawberries and cream and laid the fork down in the dainty bowl. A serving girl immediately took it away and headed toward the kitchen.
“Isn’t this delightful?” Anabella said, looking at both Margwen and Isabeth. Both nodded in agreement.
Trant’s nanny Isabeth was the only other human in the manor besides Margwen, Anabella, the prince and Greystone. She and Anabella were about the same age, and they had become fast friends. Isabeth shared many delightful stories about Trant growing up, and how Emerald had fared under his father so many years ago.
“Isabeth, I know it must have been hard to leave the court and your family behind, but thank the Creator Greystone was able to provide such a wonderful place for you two.”
“Yes, Highness. It has greatly eased our burden, especially with these creatures of his working as servants. They are ever so much nicer than the ones I remember from back home. They never complain, they never tire. They’re always polite and I’m fairly certain they don’t talk about us behind our backs.
“If Greystone is ever able to restore Prince Trant to his rightful place on the throne, and we go back home, I fear I will miss many things about our life here in the village.”
Margwen and Anabella nodded again.
“How long have you been here?”
“Fourteen years, Anabella. I missed home terribly that first year. But then we heard about the horrors Endrick wrought upon our kingdom. The people he tortured and murdered, the unreasonable taxes. He burned churches and killed priests and prophets. He enslaved the people and quickly slayed any noble who didn’t swear allegiance to him.
“Over time I realized the prince and I really were better off. At least here, Greystone can help prepare His Highness for the day he retakes the throne.”
“Quite right, and perhaps when that day comes, he may well take a bride. I happen to know of an eligible princess.”
Both the ladies turned and smiled sweetly at Margwen. She blushed. As the days passed by, she had found ample opportunities to spend time with Trant. She discovered that despite his isolation he had been well educated, and the wizard offered him a steady supply of books, both old and new. He was quite familiar with Edwardeo’s plays, and she had been delighted that “Creator’s Fist” was his favorite, since it was her favorite, too.
They seemed to share several common interests, and had spent hours and hours in deep conversation, sometimes late into the night after the others had gone to bed. Only the facsimile servants had remained present, ever ready to serve them at a moment’s notice.
“Well, in fact, I was on a journey to meet with several potential suitors before we were sidetracked by Darkstone’s attack. Any marriage, of course would have to be handled by my parents.”
“I think we can get King Keel to see reason, Highness. Prince Trant will need strong allies when he retakes the throne, and a marriage uniting Emerald and Coral would be a wonderful thing!”
Margwen smiled, and did not disagree with her nanny. Secretly, she felt herself falling in love with the prince, and could not imagine marrying anyone else. She wished deeply in her heart that she could indeed be allowed to marry him, and said a little prayer asking the Creator for that very thing every night before falling asleep.
The door to the dining hall opened, and Trant walked in, followed by Greystone.
“Good morning, Princess! Good morning, ladies!”
Two servants ran into the hall carrying more bowls of strawberries and cream. A third ran in with a tray of cups and a pot of coffee. The men settled at the table, and the five humans resumed conversation as various facsimile servants bustled about, tending to their needs.
They were interrupted by a polite knock at the door, and the facsimile of a butler stuck his head in.
“Begging your pardon, Wizard Greystone. The inn’s serving wench is outside demanding to see you. She’s in a frightful state, and insists a strange man is near the village’s Hidden Woods entrance eating all the coneys from her traps.”
Greystone and Trant exchanged glances. The wizard stood up, pushing his chair away from the table.
“I suppose I should investigate this coney thief, then.”
“I’ll go with you,” Trant said.
STIN SAT with his back against a tree, watching the road where it disappeared. The sun crept higher in the sky, but he was well shaded and it did not bother him. On occasion he swatted at a fly buzzing too close.
“Any day now, Kirt.”
Two men popped into view, walking down the road. One was tall and finely dressed. He looked to be high nobility, perhaps even royalty. The other wore bland and colorless wizard’s robes, his long blond hair and beard streaked with gray.
The first one saw him, pointed him out to the wizard, and they both headed in his direction. Stin stood up, brushing twigs and grass off his pants as they approached. He held himself erect, and sucked his belly in.
“Hello. I am Stin.”
“I am Greystone. Why don’t you come into the village, Stin?”
Stin looked pointedly back at the abruptly ending road, then gave Greystone a lopsided grin.
“What village?”
On reflex,
both Greystone and Trant looked back in the direction they had come. Then they looked at Stin again.
Trant said, “Do you not see the entrance to our village over there?”
“Nope.”
“What about the pixies around us?” Greystone said.
He opened his hand, palm up, and one flew over to float above his fingers.
Stin looked at the wizard’s open hand and shook his head.
“Empty air.”
Greystone and Trant exchanged glances.
Trant said, “Do you think it’s possible he has no magic at all? But even children can see this place.”
Stin snorted. “I’ve got magic same as everybody, believe me. Or at least I did until recently.”
“I don’t know,” Greystone said. “It is curious, though. Stin, would you mind if I used some of my wizard’s magic on you, and perhaps we can dig to the bottom of this?”
Stin shrugged. “Feel free.”
Smoke spiraled up in a small column above Greystone’s outstretched hand. It stopped about a pace high, slowly swirling, then it formed into a cloudy hand and reached out toward Stin’s chest.
Just before the smoke reached him, it poofed out of existence. Greystone and Trant jumped back in surprise.
“What happened?” Trant said.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen that before.”
“Never seen that? You’re a wizard, you’re supposed to understand these things.”
Greystone tried again. The smoke dissipated again. He tried other spells. Nothing worked.
Finally, Stin crossed his arms and frowned at the wizard.
“Well?”
Greystone tugged his beard in thought.
“I don’t think it’s me. I think it’s you. Tell me, Stin. Have you picked up any strange objects or artifacts lately? Are you carrying anything different on your person you weren’t carrying earlier?”
Stin raised his eyebrows.
“Well, I have been carrying this . . .”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out the ornate knife he had stolen from the duchess’s library.
Trant stared at the weapon closely. It looked to be about a pace long, with intricate designs carved into the metal. It glowed faintly in the morning light.
