CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mizar, Sen, and Vaxi set out from Thage just after sunrise. Many of the citizens, also up early, thanked both Mizar and Sen for their efforts the previous night as they escorted them to the city limits.

Their merychs had been well-tended to by the inn’s staff, and all seemed satisfactory as they set out on the final leg of their journey, but the weather chose that morning to stop cooperating. An hour out of Thage, the rain came, complete with a cold, bitter wind. For a short time, Mizar was able to keep the rain off them by using his Wielding, creating around themselves a bubble of warm air the rain couldn’t penetrate. However, after two hours of this, it became too difficult to maintain his concentration, so Mizar unpacked two of his spare cloaks, passing them to Sen and Vaxi as they rode onward.

The wind and rain diminished to a light drizzle after several more hours, but by then the roadway had become a muddy mess. Mizar had hoped to quicken their pace in order to cut down their travel time, but Hilly, having spent her entire life on a farm and not bred for cross-country travel, was unable to keep that speed for very long.

By midday, the rain had stopped, and the sun shone at sporadic intervals through the fast-moving clouds rolling over the country of Darad. While Mizar rode a short distance ahead of them, Sen passed the time by explaining to Vaxi the rules of etiquette and courtesy she would need to obey while within the walls of the Castle Randar.

Until Mizar could determine what Vaxi’s role would be in the upcoming drama, Sen explained, she would do well to stay out of harm’s way. For example, if she bowed respectfully to any member of the royal family she might encounter, they would likely pass her by with only a cursory acknowledgment and forget her within moments.

Right around the time Mizar had the vision that led them to the site of Vaxi’s rescue, King Aridor had to depart Darad for Imar. His intention was to meet with the leaders of both Imar and its neighbor, Barju, to discuss possible alliances for dealing with Elzor, his army, and most especially the female Wielder, Elzaria.

Prior to departing for Ghaldyn province, Mizar and Sen had spent several days poring through the writings of the previous High Mage, Merdeen the Sage, looking for clues regarding the origin of Elzaria’s Wielding. Aridor had tasked them with finding something critical to help them with the Elzor situation before he returned – which would probably be any day now. As soon as they returned to Mizar’s study, they would have to resume their translation of Merdeen’s prophecies.

Cresting a small hill, the sprawling metropolis of Dar spread out before them. Sen looked at Vaxi, who stared in wide-eyed wonder at the vast sea of structures and the swarm of people going about their daily business.

Much like Thage, the city seemed to have been built as a series of rings, with the more dilapidated structures occupying the outermost section and becoming more grandiose as one proceeded inward. The biggest difference was that Dar resembled more of a semicircle, at the center of which was the mighty Castle Randar, a grand edifice that kept a watchful eye on the city.

Looming like a great stone giant directly behind the castle was Mount Calabur, the tallest mountain in Darad, at the center of which lay the Crystal Cavern, the source of Mizar’s and Sen’s powers. The only entrance to the Cavern was located safely within the grounds of the castle, and guarded day and night.

As they guided their merychs down the central thoroughfare, Sen saw Vaxi’s look of wonderment replaced with one of anxiety. Her eyes flicked from side to side, and she seemed determined to keep Hilly no more than a few yards away from Mizar’s merych at all times.

The sun shone brightly as they rode the last few yards up to the castle gates which, uncharacteristically, were open. Several guards on the battlements above eyed their approach, and the guards manning the main entrance bowed their heads at Mizar and stood aside to let them all pass. As Sen expected, they paid neither him nor Vaxi much notice, though one guard’s eyebrows raised at the sight of the bow slung across Vaxi’s shoulders.

The three of them rode their merychs to the center of the enclosed space, where stables lined both the eastern and western walls. Mizar had no sooner dismounted his merych and handed the reins to a waiting stable-hand than a portly middle-aged man with long, graying hair rushed into the courtyard through the wide opening leading to another, smaller courtyard. He wore a dark blue cloak, a puffy orange tunic with red trim, and a red four-cornered hat. Sen chuckled as he danced around the scattered piles of dung that littered the ground. “High Mage!” he called.

Sen recognized Taron, the King’s chamberlain. Taron was a pleasant enough man, and had proven himself invaluable at keeping all the regional governors happy and comfortable during the regular council meetings. Despite looking like a great, colorful, flightless bird, he possessed a sharp mind and a keen intellect.

“What is it, Taron?” Mizar asked as the rotund man came fluttering up to him.

Sen dismounted but did not interrupt his Master’s conversation. Vaxi did the same.

“I am glad you have returned, High Mage. I have a message from the King that requires your immediate attention. I expected you yesterday.”

“I was delayed,” Mizar said curtly. “When is the King due back?”

“I’m not certain,” Taron said. “His last messenger came in today. I expect he’ll return tomorrow morning. King Largo and Viceroy Callis will be arriving later in the day, as will King Torvin of Rhys.”

Mizar seemed floored by this news, but quickly regained his composure. “Well, then, it looks like your organizational skills will soon be put to the test.”

“Indeed.” Taron turned toward the inner entrance. “If you would accompany me to my office, I will give you the message in private.”

Mizar nodded. “Very well. Sen, take Vaxi to my study and wait for me there.” He produced a key from an inner pocket and threw it to him. “The Forbidden Knowledge is locked inside the big chest in the corner. We must resume our labors with all due speed.”

“Yes, Master,” Sen said, and Mizar strode through the arched passageway with Taron.

Sen gasped in disbelief. Every crowned head of Elystra was going to be there tomorrow. He couldn’t remember such an event ever taking place in recorded history.

He looked to the side to see Vaxi staring at him. “Things are bad, aren’t they?” she asked.

“So it would seem.” He gestured at a nearby staircase that led to an upper level. “Come with me.”

She followed him up the steps, but he stopped halfway up. “Oh,” he said, starting back down. “I forgot our bags. I’ll be right back.”

Vaxi nodded, and he ran down the steps and into the stable where their merychs had been taken. He emerged a minute later with several bags slung over both shoulders. He crossed the courtyard again, and saw her smile down at him.

She’s not prepared for this, he thought. But then, who could be? Who would have thought that one innocent girl from a distant land could hold the key to the future of all Elystra?

Great Arantha, she’s beautiful. I wonder if ...

“Out of the way!” came an angry voice from behind him, accompanied by a loud, furious clatter of hoof beats.

Sen snapped out of his reverie to see a large white merych charging through the castle gate, heading straight for him. He threw himself to one side, narrowly avoiding being run over. He landed flat on his back, crushing a recently expelled pile of merych dung beneath him. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

The rider pulled his mount to a halt, jumping to the ground with a clang of armored feet. Sen looked up to see a young man scowling at him. He was clad in a tunic and trousers in brilliant shades of red and white, complete with a silken red cloak with white fringe. The breastplate of his armor bore the Daradian emblem of an enormous bird, spreading its wings across the horizon. His mustache and beard were neatly trimmed, unlike the flowing dark hair that spilled around his shoulders.

Sen knew this man, and his frown. He’d never seen him with any other expression. Prince Agedor.

“Oh, it’s you,” the man said, giving extra contempt to the last word. “You vacuous dolt! I could have killed you!”

Sen fought the instinct to stand up. Instead, he bowed his head as deferentially as he could from his position. “I-I’m so sorry, Your Highness. I did not hear you approach. Forgive me.” He averted his eyes, hoping to avoid any further wrath.

Agedor pulled his gloves from his hands and slapped them together. He pointed a finger at Sen, looming over him. “You are lucky I have other business to attend to, or I’d teach you a lesson right now. Not that a pathetic wretch like you is capable of learning anything.”

Sen hauled himself to his feet, stepping away from Agedor but keeping his head bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Several other men who had followed Agedor in on merychs of their own had dismounted as well, and were awaiting their prince’s company. He gave Sen one final sneer, and then strode through the inner entranceway, his cohorts in tow.

Not until their footsteps faded away did Sen look up. When he did, he saw Vaxi staring at him from the staircase. She’d seen the whole thing, and was looking at him with ...

Pity.

Avoiding Vaxi’s eyes and doing his best to ignore the stench oozing through the back of his tunic, he rushed up the stairs and past her. He did not speak as he led her along the covered walkway overlooking the courtyard, through an inner door and down several corridors. When he reached the door to Mizar’s study in the northeast corner of the castle, he opened it and motioned her inside. “Wait here,” he said tersely. She entered without a word, and he shut the door behind her.

Sen proceeded to his own quarters, a modestly sized room with a bed, a chest for his text-scrolls and spare tunics, and a wash basin that the servants thankfully changed every day. He whipped off his soiled tunic and threw it into the corner, knowing full well the smell would seep into every part of the room by the time he returned. He scooped a mugful of water from the basin, took a sip, and poured the rest over his head and body, hoping to make himself more presentable.

All the while, he cursed his inattention, his clumsiness, his cowardice, and his luck. Of all the times for the prince to humiliate him, why did it have to be at that exact moment? What must Vaxi think of him now? Since their conversation in Thage, he’d grown to respect her, to admire her. When they had embraced, he felt something stir within himself that he’d done his best to subdue since becoming Mizar’s apprentice.

He’d escaped the prison of his childhood and now had a greater purpose, he told himself. Mizar had recently confessed to him that he hadn’t taken a wife because of the restrictions his duties put upon him. It was not a choice he made willingly, but rather because of circumstances. Sen wondered if those same duties would force him into a life of celibacy as well.

Questions raced through Sen’s mind. Does serving my King preclude the kind of relationships that all other citizens are entitled to? Will my life as a healer fulfill me to an extent that makes the crushing loneliness worth it? Am I destined to never fall in love, to marry, to have a family of my own?

In a burst of frustration, Sen brought his fists down hard on the sides of the basin, making the water inside ripple and shake. He quickly steadied the vessel before it tipped over, chiding himself for his outburst. He looked toward the door, worried that Vaxi might have overheard him.

What was he thinking? He’d only just met Vaxi. He barely knew her, and once the drama involving Merdeen’s prophecies, the Ixtrayu, and the menace of Elzor and his sister were concluded, she would no doubt return to her home, a place where he would not be welcome.

His thoughts turned to his mother who, after a lifetime of wondering, he could now put a name to: Lyala. He pictured her in his mind: a woman in her forties, tall and thin, with dark hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones, traits he could only have inherited from her. He imagined his sister, Sershi, also a healer. She would likely be a few years older than he, with the same physical characteristics as their mother.

Sen shook the questions from his head. With all of Elystra at stake, his personal feelings were irrelevant.

He swore to help Vaxi while she was in Darad. After that, she would move on with her life, and so would he. He would be her friend, but there was no room in either of their lives for more than that, no matter how much he wished it could be otherwise.

Why would she ever want a ‘pathetic wretch’ like me anyway?

With a resigned sigh, he donned a clean tunic from his chest, smoothed out the wrinkles, ran a hand through his damp hair, and made his way back to his Master’s study.