A Magic King

by Jade Lee

  As always, they turned to Daken and a now familiar pain curled in her chest.

  When had she fallen in love with him? Had it started that first morning when he brought her back to life by painful inches? Or had it been when they laughed so freely while bouncing painfully on the buckboard. Or maybe it was in the inn when he kissed her with such passion?

  It didn't matter. She had fallen for him hard. And now, when she finally realized the truth, she couldn't bring herself to act on it. In fact, she'd already decided to act against it and him.

  Jane sighed, feeling the large expanse of her cold bed. They hadn't even had their one night of ecstasy. But how could she tell a man she loved him, bed him with passion and honesty, and then turn around and dedicate herself to thwarting the main goal in his life?

  He wanted to start a war. She wanted just as passionately for him to resolve his conflict peaceably. The last thing she would ever do was give him the weapons he wanted or support his cause to the Council. In his eyes, that would be the ultimate betrayal. In her eyes, it was the only reason she had to continue living. She would not allow this new Earth to descend into bloody war.

  Impasse. And in the face of such diametrically opposed goals, how could she still ache for his touch and long for the sweet delight of his kiss?

  * * *

  Daken's muscles burned and the hilt of his sword grew slick from the sweat on his hands, but still he fought, swinging his weapon in tight circles and thrusts, parrying and stabbing with vicious determination. There were no enemies in his room except his own private demons. He sparred with the air, but it was the only way he knew to defeat the emotions seething within him.

  He had already picked her for his wife and queen. He had planned to seduce her last night, binding her to him in every physical way possible while his words of love snared her heart. It was as good as done, and she was willing in every way.

  But now she was the Keeper, and he was still the failed son of a king. He had no wife, no fulfilled prophesy, and not even a release from the lust that had burned in his blood from the first moment he'd seen her, half frozen in the meadow.

  He'd hoped for a moment. When the Elven Lord asked if they had a special relationship, he'd waited. She knew he wanted to marry her. Her excuse was gone. She no longer could pretend she belonged somewhere else. As the Keeper, her home was here, in this land. True, they'd probably have to live apart as she would be in Bosuny while he returned home to his war, but that was a minor detail. The advantages of having the Keeper as his wife far outweighed the frustration his body would feel at the long separation.

  Of course, none of that happened. She threw away her chance to declare before the Lord that she would be his wife. She remained stubbornly silent, clinging to her strange, separate ways even as she clung to his arm.

  Which left Daken with nothing except her vague promise to help him.

  Daken swung his sword in a vicious cut to the right, arcing the sword back so fast he nearly lost his grip and his hands cramped with the effort.

  So be it, he thought grimly. He would accept Jane's new status. He would play the courtier and sycophant, begging for the weapons he needed for his people's survival. So long as she succeeded in the end. She must convince the Council to give him what he wanted.

  Hell in all its fury would not match his anger if she failed him.

  * * *

  They came for her before she was ready, but then again, Jane probably wouldn't have felt ready for another few years.

  She hadn't lounged in bed for long. Stewing over Daken wouldn't serve any purpose. Impatient with her own thoughts, she roused herself, using the fading light to inspect her environment. Her rooms were useful, comfortable, and rather dull. One bedroom. One sitting room. And both needed a few prints to liven them up.

  Once she'd exhausted the confines of her room, she stepped into the hallway. Propping open her door in case it locked behind her, she went to explore the four other doors on this top floor. As expected, three were locked. The fourth was a delight that thrilled her down to her toes.

  She'd found a bathroom. It was surprisingly modem with running water, a toilet, and a bathtub. No shower, but she wasn't picky. Hastily stripping off her clothes and mumbling apologizes to anyone who might "live" in the water, she dropped into a lukewarm bath and felt like she'd slipped into heaven. There was soap to one side, and she used it all over, including her hair. Ten minutes later she felt almost clean.

  Mindful of the time, she ran another bath and did her best to clean her costume. She wondered briefly when she could retrieve her new clothes still at the inn while congratulating herself that she'd made her outfit out of quick-dry Lycrasheen. Her orange hightops were less easily fixed, but that was too bad. It was best if everyone accepted from the start that she was less than perfect.

  It was the right attitude to adopt, especially given that a man suddenly appeared to escort her to dinner while she sat hunched over the tub trying to scrape mud off her sneakers. Her hair was still spiky wet and her clothes were damp in all the wrong places. It was a mortifying position from which to meet a slim man with soft feather-like hair and delightfully sharp eyes. He was clearly kin to some bird, but rather than detracting, it seemed to enhance his features. She found him rather handsome in a delicate sort of way.

  Which made the situation all the more embarrassing.

  She was stammering out an apology when she remembered. She was the Keeper, the new hot star. No longer some peon computer tech, she was the big guns, the prophesied one. And more than that, she had an important job to do—keeping mankind on a peaceful, non-violent tract. So if she wanted to sit half-wet in a bathroom, scraping mud off neon orange high tops before a big presentation dinner, then she damn well would do it.

  Giving the man her most brilliant smile, Jane lifted a finger to tell him she'd be a moment longer, then regally shut the bathroom door. She didn't reopen it until she'd brushed back her hair and put on her shoes. There was nothing she could do about being still damp, but she knew her clothes would dry soon enough.

  The man was still there, his expression calm, his attitude one of respectful patience. Almost without conscious thought, she flipped through Dr. Beavesly's memories to try and place him. She saw him first arriving as a nervous twenty year old, literally hopping from foot to foot as he introduced himself to the Elven Lord and begged permission to study magical flight.

  That was all she needed. Smiling again, she pointed to him. "You're Dinal, right? Dinal?"

  He bowed. "I am honored to greet you, Oracle." He spoke not in English, but in Common, and Jane was delighted to find she understood his words. Although it took an extra step, Dr. Beavesly's memories easily provided translations for her. It was an enormous relief to know she would be able to speak with the people around her and not be chained to Daken as her interpreter.

  She fumbled through Dr. Beavesly's memories for the appropriate formal response. "Your greetings are a kindness, Mage Dinal, and I thank you." The words were stilted, spoken in a halting, stuttering way, but he seemed to understand her.

  "If you will follow me, I will take you to dinner."

  She nodded, appreciating the fact that he spoke slowly, giving her time to translate each word. She hoped it would get easier with time.

  As she expected, dinner was in the large cafeteria. What she hadn't expected were the glittering masses of people crammed into the large room all staring at her. If it hadn't been for her determination to live up to her new status, she would have turned tail and run. As it was, she hastily scanned the room, searching for one large, masculine body.

  Daken. It seemed like ages before she saw him. He was seated just to the left of the head table, his dark hair and large frame making him stand out like a bull in a china shop. Still, he looked very regal, his expression polite but cold, his distancing mask firmly in place.

  She wanted to go straight to him if only to be near him when she faced this excited throng of people, but Dinal lead her to
the empty seat in the center of the head table. On her right sat Ginsen and beside him, Kyree. On her left was a short, stocky dwarf with golden eyes, and beside him an elegantly plumed man with bright yellow hair and a pointy face. Another bird-man. She nodded to them all, Dr. Beavesly's memories telling her they were the members of the Council.

  The evening went the way of all formal dinners. Ginsen gave introductory comments before a nourishing but rather bland meal was served. She spoke politely, if a bit awkwardly, with the dwarf Silm sitting next to her, who was eager to learn of her land and time. Not seeing any reason to lie, she spoke honestly.

  "Mine was a violent home where people forgot how to live peaceably together. Their paranoia caused them to decimate the planet, but for some odd reason, I was saved, brought forward to now to see that such horrors are not repeated."

  It was a clear statement of purpose, and she was gratified to see he approved.

  "Very appropriate, Oracle. Very learned." He almost sounded surprised.

  Later Ginsen caught her eye and expressed his own pleasure with her goals. "I have been speaking with Silm, Oracle. We are pleased that your feelings so closely match our own."

  Jane nodded, her gaze wandering as she searched for Daken. Fortunately, he wasn't with them to hear her non-violent platform. He would undoubtedly learn of it soon, but for now, she had enough to deal with.

  The polite chit-chat and eager questions continued to absorb her attention, but even so, Jane was never more aware of Daken. All through the meal, she could feel his eyes on her. Whenever she glanced his way, he was staring at her, his eyes steady and cold. It felt as if he were judging her. That tonight was some sort of test which she was probably failing.

  Like a dark figure of violence, he lurked always nearby, a constant reminder that no matter what she did, no matter who these people thought she was, he knew the truth. He knew she was a fool from a violent past that could no more lead the world into a peace than a starfish could become a star.

  It wasn't until much later, after they adjourned to the central courtyard that she displaced Daken's disturbing presence in her thoughts. And then, he was replaced by something even worse.

  She had become quite adept at retrieving bits of information from Dr. Beavesly's memories. He had spent a lot of time in the capitol city, and so there was some bit of information on everyone. Images came to her naturally, usually short scenes, occasionally just a flash or a picture, but always associated with whichever person she greeted at that moment.

  She had been smiling at an elderly matron whose eyes were weak from age, when Jane chanced to look up and catch sight of a thick, powerful man strolling across the grounds. He had one arm draped in a fatherly gesture across Steve's shoulders. An image flashed in her mind like lightning, brilliantly illuminated, then gone. She grabbed at it, startled because of the violence of the emotion associated with the memory. Dr. Beavesly's thoughts were usually cold, empty information, rarely colored by any interpretation or feeling.

  But this memory was filled with anger and frustration at a ghost's inadequacies.

  Still not quite understanding, Jane excused herself from the matron and slowly worked her way through the crowd as she followed the man and Steve. It wasn't until they neared the computer center that she grabbed hold of the memory and saw it in its entirety. Then once she'd caught it, other images flooded past her, inundating her with its horror. By the time she got close enough, she was shaking with rage.

  "Just a minute!" Her voice quivered with suppressed anger. Nearby people quieted, turning at the urgency in her voice. It was that lull in conversation that finally caught the man's attention.

  She wasted no time, quickly closing the distance between them. She reached out for Steve, but the boy shrank back, trying to slip away from both adults. He might have escaped, except the man, whose name was Borit, kept his meaty grasp on Steve's shoulder.

  "Where are you going?" Jane demanded.

  The man smiled politely, drawing his heavy jowls up toward pinched eyes that gleamed with the intensity of a bulldog. "I thought to take the boy into the House of Prophesy. He wants to see what all the excitement was about."

  "Don't lie to me, you bastard. That's my House of Prophesy there. I know everything that goes on in there. Everything that went on in there." She kept her voice low, but it still vibrated with her emotions, carrying her words to everyone.

  She felt a hand at her back, large and protective, and she knew without looking that Daken was there, warning her to caution. His voice carried like the gentle rumble of distant thunder, but she heard the implied threat in his voice.

  "He's a powerful man, Jane. Don't make a scene over a servant boy."

  Jane shrugged off Daken's warning. She didn't fear this man. He was the kind of bully who preyed on the weak. She leaned forward and hauled Steve away from the large man, all the while venting her anger at the thug.

  "He's just a child, and you're an evil, depraved beast." That probably wasn't the best choice of words given that half the people here had close ties to one animal or another, but she wasn't in the mood to scrupulously guard her tongue.

  She pulled Steve against her in a protective hold. Borit drew himself upright, his face bulging in rage. "How dare you screech at me, woman. I am King Borit of Umbus."

  Jane felt her jaw go slack. "My God," she breathed. "You're a healer! That's despicable." She spoke half in English, half in Common, but the meaning was clear enough. All around her were surprised gasps, some in outrage, some in glee.

  If possible, the man grew larger. He stood straighter, bunching his massive fists, stepping forward until he practically towered over her. Jane refused to cringe, not because of the audience that watched the scene with the anticipation of a crowd at a hanging, but because of the boy literally quivering against her. She'd already used him once for her own ends. This was her chance to help him even if it meant she was about to get herself beaten to a pulp.

  She needn't have worried. Even before she could draw breath to excoriate the man further, Daken pushed her aside, placing his own massive bulk between her and King Borit. Thankfully, given her less than peaceable hopes, Ginsen interrupted the growing confrontation, bringing his own brand of calm to the area.

  "Oracle, is there something I can assist with?" As he spoke, he pressed his way between the two men while drawing Jane and the shaking boy forward. Daken stepped to the side, but remained firmly between Jane and Borit.

  "Yes, Elven Lord." She used his title, making sure he understood this was a formal complaint. She drew a deep breath, taking in the dead silence of the crowd as well as the nervous squirming of the boy who clearly wanted to disappear. Jane wouldn't let him go, wanting him to be here when she got rid of his tormentor.

  Although Ginsen spoke in English, Jane spoke in her halting Common, wanting everyone to know the extent of Borit's crimes. "King Borit has been repeatedly molesting this boy. He's been doing it for years, using a back room in the House of Prophesy. He should be punished. But more than that, he must be stopped."

  She wouldn't have thought Ginsen's young face could look so grim so fast. It was as though a blight appeared on his skin. Even his eyes dimmed. He looked at Borit, his voice low and sad. "Is this true, King Borit?"

  "Of course not, my lord!" sputtered the man.

  "Like he'd admit it."

  "Be quiet." That was from Daken, though his eyes never left Borit's enraged features.

  "The woman is a stranger, my Lord," continued Borit. "She is not one of us and has no understanding of our ways. That she could make such an outrageous accusation only proves the extent of her ignorance."

  "Ignorance! It doesn't take a Ph.D. to recognize a brute beating a child into silence before he..." She couldn't speak past the memories surging again in her mind. It was traumatic just knowing about it. How much more hideous had it been for Steve?

  Ginsen looked down, his dark eyes focusing on the boy who now stared morosely down at his feet. Jane tried to com
fort him, gently squeezing his shoulder, but Steve flinched away, and she let her hand drop though she remained right beside him.

  "Steviens, can you talk about this?" Ginsen spoke in a new language, one Dr. Beavesly also knew, but it was much longer before Jane could manage a translation. While she fumbled to understand, everyone stared at the boy, practically climbing over one another to peer into his face.

  Jane glanced at Daken. He too watched the boy, then he looked up at her. She expected to draw comfort from his eyes. To feel that he believed her and knew that she was doing the right thing. Instead, she saw recrimination, even anger in his eyes.

  Jane was shocked by his betrayal. How could he take the part of a child abuser against her? She was still reeling from the shock when Ginsen spoke. "Oracle, are you sure of what you speak?"

  Jane turned away from Daken, firmly closing him off in thought and gesture. "Yes, Elven Lord. I'm positive."

  "There is no room for misinterpretation? Could the boy have been willing?" To his credit, she didn't think Ginsen believed it, but had to ask anyway.

  "No, Elven Lord. Steve was most unwilling."

  "Very well." He nodded and two large mages materialized out of the crowd. One she recognized as the formidable youth who had guarded the doorway when she worked on the computer. The other was equally large, almost bearlike in his proportions with a face to match. They both grabbed Borit's arms and led him away while he sputtered and screamed about her ignorance.

  The crowd exploded into a roar of conversation, whispered mutterances and loud exclamations. Jane ignored it all, turning instead to speak to Steve. But the boy was gone. He'd disappeared from the crowd as though he'd never been there. And when she looked up, she saw Daken leaving as well.

  "Daken," she called, running after him. He stopped, but his entire stance spoke of anger and outrage. She touched his arm, but he flinched away.

  "Please, Daken." She spoke in English, knowing he would understand while most everyone else around them wouldn't. "I need to know what will happen next."