Fate of the Fallen

by Kel Kade

  “It is disgusting,” said Warlock Rastiv. “In Mouvilan, we believe in honor and fidelity.”

  Wizard Everly said, “They have already sacrificed for their positions. It would be cruel to ask for more. In Uyan, we honor sacrifice.”

  The warlock blatantly eyed Wizard Everly’s garish attire and sniffed. “Yes, I can see that you are well acquainted with sacrifice.”

  “Perhaps Sir Forester has something to say with regard to sacrifice,” said a familiar feminine voice from behind Aaslo.

  He and the two magi, as well as everyone else in the hall, stood as the queen moved to take her seat at the end of the table beside Aaslo. The five princes, ranging in age from twelve to twenty, two of them being twins, filled the remaining chairs. The king presided over the other end of the table. All of the attendees were required to sit as one, since it was improper to be seated before the king or to be standing over him when he was seated. Each of the table guests had their own server who pushed their chairs in for them as they sat, with Brontus performing the task for Aaslo.

  As soon as everyone in the hall was seated, the servers began setting platters in front of the guests. The queen sat poised with confidence, sipping her wine as her server spread the napkin over her lap. Once her server stepped back, the queen said, “Well, Sir Forester?”

  Aaslo glanced at her, then at the other table guests. The king was ignoring everyone beyond his sons, who were engaged in some debate, and the two magi were both looking at Aaslo as if he were a strange insect to be studied. He glanced at the queen uncomfortably. He was supposed to avoid talking to her. He had been hoping to avoid talking altogether.

  “She’s the queen, Aaslo. You’re keeping the queen waiting.”

  Aaslo cleared his throat and met the queen’s amused gaze. “We have a saying. A tree that bends in the breeze does not bend for the sake of his neighbors.”

  Wizard Everly narrowed his eyes at him as if trying to determine if Aaslo had issued offense. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  The queen wore a slight lift to her lips as she said, “I believe it means that someone who endures a loss due to coercion or expectation has not truly sacrificed. It is a question of motive, is it not, Sir Forester?”

  His gaze shifted to the magi. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “And what of you?” Wizard Everly said to Aaslo. “Do you think yourself worthy of the honor you’re given?”

  Aaslo pondered his response.

  “They’re not foresters. They aren’t that patient. Delay implies lack of confidence.”

  Stalling, he decided to ask a question instead. “Forgive me my ignorance, but what is the difference between a warlock and a wizard?”

  “Warlocks are skilled,” said Rastiv. “Wizards are brutes.”

  Everly scoffed. “That was uncalled for, Rastiv.” He turned to Aaslo. “Warlocks use rituals and incantations to cast magic—”

  “Like a witch,” said Aaslo.

  “The women are called witches,” said Rastiv. “They don’t like to be associated with us. It is an old grudge. The truth is, I don’t think anyone remembers the reason.”

  Everly continued. “Wizards use an object—usually a staff, wand, or amulet—to focus their own power into spells—unlike a mage, who uses the power within the earth or other objects to cast spells. But, Sir Forester, you did not answer the question posed to you. Are you worthy of your honor?”

  “They’re on to you, Aaslo.”

  Aaslo was agitated by the necessity to answer before fully considering the question. He said, “If I am to be honored for my sacrifices, then being a forester should not be one of them.”

  “Then, you think the foresters should not be honored?” said the wizard.

  “I do not speak for the others, only for myself. If foresters are to be honored, though, it should be for their work. It is an arduous task, a necessary one. It is one that few appreciate and even fewer choose to undertake. If it is sacrifice that must be honored”—he glanced at the queen—“I have endured others more trying.”

  The queen leaned toward him. “Have any of these sacrifices been in relation to you being a forester?”

  Aaslo saw a pretty brunette with a stormy gaze in his mind’s eye. He recalled how the wind had whipped loose locks across her tearstained face as she rejected him. He said, “Some, for certain.”

  The queen leaned back with satisfaction. “Then, the fact that you enjoy your work should not negate your sacrifice.”

  Aaslo blinked at her in surprise. He hadn’t considered that, yet he didn’t disagree. He tipped his head and said, “Her Majesty is wise.”

  She smiled in appreciation, then turned to a disgruntled Everly, changing the subject to something to do with enchanted bells. Aaslo blocked out the conversation, content to dwell in the memories of loss the conversation had evoked. He glanced to his right to see Warlock Rastiv pointedly staring at him.

  He said, “Is something amiss, Magus?”

  “I haven’t decided. What’s in the bag?” The warlock’s gaze dropped to the velvet bag at Aaslo’s side.

  “That’s none of your concern,” said Aaslo.

  Warlock Rastiv pursed his lips. He said, “I sense that it is something of great importance.”

  “Yet it is still none of your business,” Aaslo replied.

  “You are important,” said the warlock, and Aaslo noticed that the man’s gaze did not seem completely present.

  “Are you a prophet?” said Aaslo.

  “No,” the man mused, “but I sense the importance of things and try to place them appropriately.”

  “Does that have something to do with your bloodline?” Aaslo said, fishing for information.

  “Indeed,” said the warlock. “I am a Saft.”

  Aaslo waited for the man to say more, but none was forthcoming. He glanced to Wizard Everly who grunted and said, “Safts think magic should be used for the advancement of the human species.”

  Warlock Rastiv’s gaze cleared, and he scowled at Everly. “You say that like it is a bad thing.”

  “A waste of time,” said the wizard as he shoved a chunk of roast boar into his mouth.

  Warlock Rastiv said, “You think we should all be getting rich like you Sereshians?”

  Aaslo glanced up at Wizard Everly with sudden interest. This man was somehow related to Mathias. Was he Mathias’s grandfather? Maybe his uncle or a distant cousin? Aaslo didn’t see the family resemblance.

  Wizard Everly chuckled. “When magic ends, our progeny will be sitting comfortably in our estates while the rest of you toil in the fields and streets with the other common folk.”

  “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

  “You are a selfish lot,” said Warlock Rastiv.

  “Selfish?” said the wizard, his face reddening. “We use what blessings we have to ensure that our children and grandchildren live in comfort, while you would sentence yours to poverty. It is you who is selfish.”

  “That’s quite thoughtful of my grand-something.”

  Warlock Rastiv pointed his fork at the wizard. “We work to ensure that everyone can live in comfort, not just our own.”

  “Ah, he has a point. I’m torn.”

  Both men held their tongues as the queen said, “I am curious as to what Sir Forester has to say about this as well.” Then all three looked at Aaslo.

  “Think quickly.”

  “I’m not a magus. It’s not my business how they use their powers, so long as they’re not hurting anyone.”

  For the first time, the queen appeared disappointed.

  “Too fast, Aaslo. Think better.”

  “But,” Aaslo added hastily, “they should be unified for at least one singular goal.”

  “What goal is that?” said Warlock Rastiv.

  “Life,” said Aaslo, “human existence and the existence of every other species.”

  “Well, that’s a bit dramatic,” said Wizard Everly. “I suppose such naiveté should be expected of a ma
n who spends his days in the woods. Listen, young man, magi do not go gallivanting off on grand adventures to save mankind. That kind of thing is for the stories alone.”

  Aaslo glanced at the queen and then said, “And the Aldrea Prophecy?”

  The two magi and the queen all stopped to stare at him. Aaslo felt a heat rise on his neck and glanced over to see that the king was also looking at him, although the princes were still preoccupied with asserting who was the better huntsman.

  Wizard Everly said, “What do you know of the Aldrea Prophecy?”

  “More than I’d like,” said Aaslo. “If it came to fruition, would you step up to help?”

  Everly chuckled. “If you know anything about that prophecy, then you know it’s up to the chosen one to fight and prevail.”

  “Yes,” said Aaslo, “but as far as I know, it does not say he must fight alone. What if his effectiveness is in his ability to unify the people?”

  Everly shrugged as he went back to cutting his meat. “Then I suppose we will be unified.”

  Aaslo said, “If the path of the prophecy foretelling the chosen one’s victory should fail, what then?”

  “Then we all die,” said Warlock Rastiv.

  “You would not fight?” said Aaslo.

  “What would be the point?” said Wizard Everly. “It would be better to spend what little time you had left enjoying life’s pleasures.”

  “On that point, we agree,” said Warlock Rastiv. “Besides, all of the other paths lead to naught but terror and death. Why would we want to subject our descendants to that?”

  Aaslo shook his head in dismay. He looked pointedly at Wizard Everly. “Is it not in your bloodline’s doctrine to secure your family’s wealth and privilege? Is existence not included in that?” Then he looked to Warlock Rastiv. “Every generation of your bloodline works to advance the species, yet you will just lie down and die when faced with extinction?” Glancing between them, he said, “The tenets of your bloodlines require you to fight with or without the chosen one.”

  Both men appeared disgruntled but also thoughtful. Wizard Everly eventually grumbled, “What you say has merit, but it is impractical.”

  Aaslo ground his teeth. “Is it not worth a moment’s thought to consider what you might do if the chosen one fails?”

  Warlock Rastiv chuckled. “The prophecy has been around for hundreds of years. Every generation thinks it will come to fruition during their lifetimes. Still, I suppose the subject is worth an academic consideration, or perhaps for a bit of whimsy.”

  Aaslo met the king’s warning gaze as he said, “You had best think quickly.”

  “Sir Forester,” said the queen. She held a goblet out to him. “Would you care for some wine?”

  Aaslo froze.

  “Ha ha! She’s going to poison you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  What was he to do? He wasn’t supposed to accept anything from anyone, but she was the queen. It would be terribly disrespectful to refuse. Perhaps he could accept it and not drink. Aaslo glanced at the king, who was still staring at him with fire in his gaze. He returned his attention to the queen, and then slowly reached out to take the goblet. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  The queen nodded, then lifted her wine for a toast. She watched him closely over the rim of her goblet as he drank. With her ardent gaze, it was not something he could feign. King Rakith abruptly stood to announce the commencement of the dance. The magi ceased to pester Aaslo, and the king claimed the queen’s attention. Unfortunately, there were plenty of ladies who wanted to brag about having danced with a forester. One young blond woman by the name of Adne was particularly adamant. She was pretty, but she followed him everywhere, sneered at the other women, and claimed at least half the dances for herself. By the end of the evening, Aaslo was glad to have had the chance to dance, since it meant he had survived the dinner, yet he hoped to never do it again.

  “But you’re so light on your feet. I’m starting to believe that you really are a faerie.”

  “I’m not a faerie,” Aaslo grumbled as he arrived at his door.

  Brontus slipped the key into the lock, then looked at him curiously. “No, Sir Forester, I never considered that you were. Oh, I know the people talk. Rumors abound, but I think you are only a man.”

  Aaslo turned to face the man directly. “You are probably the most sensible person I have met in this city.”

  Brontus grinned and bowed before following Aaslo into the room. “Thank you, Sir Forester. That means much coming from you.”

  Aaslo frowned. “Because I am a forester?”

  “Ah, no sir. Because I think you are quite sensible, as well. Shall I turn down your bed?”

  “No, thank you. I can handle that.”

  “Of course you can handle it. He doesn’t think you’re incapable.”

  Brontus glanced about the chamber. “Is there nothing else with which I may assist you?”

  “He looks anxious.”

  Aaslo narrowed his eyes at the man. He did look anxious. “Is everything all right?” Aaslo said.

  “What? Yes, sir. Everything seems to be in order.” He looked as if he might disagree with himself, and he did not attempt to hide his concern. “The room looks to be empty, and the doors are closed, so I’ll be on my way.” The man bowed one last time, then slipped into the dim corridor, closing the door behind him.

  Aaslo turned to survey the room. He felt like he was missing something. “What is it?” he said aloud, but Mathias did not answer. He moved to sit on the bench at the foot of the bed, where he shucked his fancy heeled boots. As a man who spent most of his time on his feet, he was surprised that they could hurt so much after a bit of dancing. He removed his belt, allowing it and the sword to fall to the floor; then his surcoat and tunic followed. He carried the velvet sack over to the table beside the bed. Although he felt it morbid to sleep with a severed head on his bed table, he wanted it within reach should he need to run. He glanced to the sword on the floor and decided he should keep it close as well. As he bent to retrieve it, he noticed the slightest breeze rustle the bed skirt.

  Aaslo whipped the sword from its sheath as he stood, turning to face the door. The wooden structure was unchanged, still closed, and no intruders stood before it. He glanced around the dim chamber, lit only by an enchanted sconce near the bed. He wondered, again, what was wrong. There were no windows, and the door was closed.

  “Doorsss.”

  Then he realized what Brontus had said. It had been a warning. Aaslo shifted around the foot of the bed and turned to survey the dark recesses behind the bed-curtains and tapestries, one of which swayed as his gaze passed over it. He gripped his sword and said, “Show yourself!”

  A black-clad figure stepped far enough into the light that he could see it was a woman.

  “Adne?” he said. “Whoever you are, you had best leave. I neither desire company nor will suffer an assassination.”

  The woman chuckled as she stepped closer and raised the black lace veil that covered her features. She said, “Adne is persistent, but she would never be so bold. I, on the other hand, can afford to be bold.” She sidled closer, brushed her fingers along the knuckles that held his hilt, then placed her other palm on the bared skin of his chest. Her cheek brushed his as she spoke into his ear. “Do you know that it is an offense punishable by death to bare your blade at your queen?”

  The sword produced a thud as it landed on the rug at his feet. The queen grinned and then slipped around him, heading toward the still water in the center of the room. As she neared, colored lights began to shift beneath the surface, splaying across the ceiling and walls in dancing drifts while the water began a lazy circuit of the placid loch. The bewitched lute awoke to play a haunting melody, and the crisp scent of evergreens suffused the air. The queen’s black dress slid from her shoulders, dropping to the floor in a puddle of shadow beneath a captive rainbow. Colorful swirls of vibrant light played off her feminine curves as she slipped into the enchanted
pool. She turned and beckoned to him with a flutter of her fingers, her russet locks made slick by her glistening flesh.

  Aaslo was mesmerized, but mostly he was terrified. “I don’t understand,” he said, glancing around the room as if royal guards might swarm him at any moment.

  The queen’s laughter complemented the melody of the lute. “Come now, Sir Forester, you do not seem like the kind of man who does not understand this.”

  He stepped into the pool until the water reached his knees. She looked at him coyly and fluttered her fingers again, so he proceeded until he stood directly in front of her. “What of the king?” he said. “What if someone comes in and sees us?”

  She ran her fingers over his shoulders, dribbling water down his chest and abdomen. “Rakith is with his consort in his quarters. No one is permitted in my chambers without my express permission.”

  Heat rose to Aaslo’s face, and he didn’t think it was from the water. “These are your quarters?”

  “Of course. You are my guest.” She ran her finger over his lips. “The Sapphire Room is where I enjoy my lovers. I have none at the moment, save for you.”

  “You don’t even know me. What if I intended you harm?”

  She shook her head. “I do not believe that of you, but I should probably warn you that Captain Lopin and several of his men are right outside the door. They seem to have mixed feelings about you.”

  “It was you, wasn’t it? You put them up to the challenge.”

  She grinned wickedly. “They did that on their own. They are protective of me.”

  Aaslo groaned. “So, everybody knew why I was brought to this room but me.” She giggled and splayed her fingers over his chest. He captured her wandering hands, touching her for the first time and wondering if it would be the last. He said, “Why me?”

  She pulled her hands from his, then wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him onto the submerged bench. After piling her lithe legs atop his lap, she looked him in the eyes. “I have always admired Rakith for his strength. Time and again he has stood against the tide, never one to back down. I think he would have led the charge himself for any other war without delay and without fear. The man you and I saw today was not the Rakith I know. To see him so forlorn, overcome with despair, defeated before the battle is begun, was terrifying. You, Aaslo, give me hope.” She guided his hand to her face and pressed her lips to his palm. “This is a pleasure of the flesh. What you have given me is a pleasure of the soul.”