A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos) (48 page)

“So who won?” Basilard asked seriously.

 “I did . . .” Basilard chuckled and began a healing spell.
The pair begged him not to as they were having a “Who Can Get Up First”
contest. Basilard shrugged and stepped over them.

“Will they be all right?”

“They'll be fine.”

They entered the lobby and made their report to Mia. Since
his own novices had summer jobs, Basilard told her to give future missions to
another team. She recorded that in the guild's database and reported that
Princess Kasile requested Eric's presence at the palace tomorrow.

The mercenary was allowed through the curtain wall without
argument. They had orders to let someone of his name and description in, no
questions asked, by the princess herself. They didn't even insist he have an
escort.

The title of “Princess Rescuer” might have raised his stock,
but the ambiance was still far from welcoming. The last time he came, it was
for a job and he was treated like riffraff. Now he was here as a guest and
treated like a germ. Two guards stood at Kasile's door and announced his presence.

A princess cleaned and polished by a corps of handmaidens
opened the door. She looked just as royal as the day they met, but unlike then,
he wasn't dazzled by her beauty. They were too familiar for that. Instead of a
princess, he saw a friend.

The princess penthouse was decorated in shades of red and
pink and gold. From her bed to her vanity to her bookshelf, the style of fire
dominated. The princess sat at a table molded like an open flame and prepared
with tea and biscuits.

Hands in her lap she said, “Eric, I wanted to thank you
again for all you've done for me.”

Eric slipped into the opposite seat. “You don't have to keep
thanking me. We're friends.”

“I know, but thanking is all I can do. Father wouldn't agree
on a reward . . .”

“It's okay, Kasile, you don't need to feel bad about it.”

Flames in her eyes, she politely asked, “Are you feeling my
emotions again?”

“I can't help it! It feels like a cold draft.”

“To business . . .” Kasile ran a gloved hand through her
hair. “I didn't invite you just to thank you again. I want you to compete in
the New Scepter Magic Competition.”

“The what?”

“A week-long contest for mages under twenty-one years of age,”
Kasile explained. “It is
supposed
to be open to everyone, but there are
still rules that weed out anyone not enrolled at the Royal Academy of Magical
Study.” She grinned like a trickster. “As a royal myself, I can bypass all
those horrible pretexts and recommend someone.”

Eric deadpanned, “So I'm a tool in your latest political
protest?”

“Eric! How could you say such a thing!?” Kasile placed her
hand over her heart. “I would
never
call you a tool!” The grin returned.
“You're my co-conspirator.”

“Tomeytoh, tomahtoh.”

“We're friends and friends help each other.”

Eric stood up. “As much as I'd love to get tangled up in
your political conquests, I'm going to work at the Across the Sea restaurant so
I won't have time for them.”

Kasile raised her cup. “Royal tutors are paid better.”

Eric pushed his chair in. “Was the old one a
murderer
?
I killed an Ataidar citizen the other day. I can still see his blood on my
hands. ”

“Not a problem.” She sipped her tea. “Your advocate already
contacted the Knight of Justice and presented your case to him. He agrees that
you shouldn't have to appear in court. If, for some reason, you do . . . I
might have a few things to say.”

Eric slouched. “You don't take 'no' for an answer, do you?”

Kasile smiled charmingly. “That's how I was raised.”

This is a historic moment. I'm being strong-armed
into
a job
. “Well, then, I guess I will accept the position of your magic tutor.”

“Great!” Kasile clapped her gloved hands together. “I'd like
to start with barriers . . .”

Just like with mana spheres, she was a quick study and
formed her first one within an hour. Not only that, Eric couldn't break it no
matter how hard he punched or kicked. Dengel was absolutely ecstatic at this
turn of events. He lectured (not bragged) about his elevated role as an
imperial tutor in ages past and how delighted he was to be one again. Eric
reminded the dead mage that
he
was the one teaching. Furious, the tenant
dared him to teach fireballs.

“Kasile, how do you feel about fireballs?”

Kasile tiled her chin down and stared. She flung her arms
out at the fire symbols in the room of the most recent descendent of the fire
goddess Fiol.

“Right . . .Stupid question.”

“Even so, they're not fireproof.” She stood up and her
gown's many layers rustled. “We'll need your guild's training room. Do you get
teleportation sickness?”

“Uh . . . yeah . . .why?”

The princess held her skirts in one hand and walked to her
vanity. “All the more reason to take this off.” She snapped her fingers and the
laces and hooks of her beautiful dress undid themselves. Eric closed his eyes
and covered them with his hands.

“I appreciate that, but it's unnecessary.” The princess hung
up her dress because underneath it she wore commoner clothing. Next to go was
her jewelry, make-up, and gloves. The result was a girl who, while still
pretty, didn't look particularly royal. She used a cloak and hood to conceal
even that.

“Are you going undercover?”

Kasile shrugged. “It's not easy being a gorgeous and beloved
princess.”

“Uh-huh.”

The kidnapping made her father paranoid and so he forbade
her from leaving the castle. That's why a royal nomad visited the Dragon's
Lair. Somehow, he found out about that and now she was forbidden to leave her
room. That's why an extra guard stood outside her door.

“All it means is that I have to be more creative.” She
pressed her right hand against the floor. “By the royal seal of my right hand I
command thee to open!”

A crest engraved in fire appeared on the back of her right
hand. The image of a tiger appeared on the floor beneath it and it grew to a
length of ten feet with a line of power encircling it. From the border arose a
curtain of light that blinded Eric. When he could see again, Kasile stood in
the center of a large red crest. “'If all fails' emergency escape system.”

 “Isn't this some kind of national security secret? Am I
allowed to see this!?”

Kasile rolled her eyes.  “If everyone doesn't at least
suspect
that we have something like this, then their intelligence division is a waste
of budget.” She pulled Eric into the circle. “Come on.”

Once he was within the borders of the crest, Kasile said a
command and Eric felt the awful nausea that came with teleportation. It took
longer than the last time and the sensation was worse. When they rematerialized,
they were standing outside the castle walls under the cover of trees and deep
overgrowth. Eric threw up.

“See?” Kasile remarked. “I couldn't risk getting that on my
dress.”

 On the way to the Dragon's Lair, she told Eric about the
contest, pieces of “friendly, non-cheating” advice, and the prize for the final
winner: a full scholarship to the University of Roalt.

Bitterly, she added that anyone who could afford the Royal
Academy of Magical Learning would not need a scholarship. Then she monologued
about how the contest was merely the vestige of an elitist history and how she
was going to change it as soon as she was crowned Queen. Eric didn't mean to
but he tuned it out just like Dengel's monologues. The dead mage, however,
listened intently.

The training hall was occupied but only by Tiza practicing a
battle dance. Two months ago, every step was a wobble. Now she truly danced
through punches, kicks, and blocks. She struck the finishing move, yelled, and
returned to the starting position. She was oblivious until Kasile clapped.

“Hey Dimwit, you get a new girlfriend already?”

Eric blushed. “NO! Stop that!” Tiza chuckled. “Aren't you
supposed to be at work!?”

“It was boring. So I came over for a lunch break.”

“But it's not even eleven o'clock yet.”

“Do I look like I care?” Tiza said, and took a long swig
from her water bottle.

In order to avoid a nasty social bomb, Eric tried to start
the fire magic lesson right then and there, but Kasile had other ideas. She
wanted to see the battle dance again and Tiza proudly showed it off. The dance
ended, the girls shook hands, and the bomb went off.

“You're the princess . . . A
tent
!”

“A tent . . .?”

“Yeah!” Tiza snarled. “I could make a great big tent with
your cloth mountains!”

This only confused Kasile further. For her sake, Eric
resumed his role as translator.
Tent: a dainty and/or weak person, most
often wealthy, who never does any sort of work and forces others to wait on
them hand and foot.

Instead of being insulted, Kasile merely smiled and said, “I
like your shoes.”

Just like that, Tiza calmed down. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. They look a lot more comfortable than the high-heeled
monstrosities I have to wear. They're good for kicking too, am I right?“

Tiza smiled. “Yeah, they are. I tried them on this desert
pervert and—” She remembered who she was talking to and her smile inverted. “You're
still a tent!”

Kasile smiled understandingly. “I know, dear.”

Tiza turned red. Whether it was from anger or embarrassment,
Eric couldn't tell. She muttered something about “not wasting time on a tent”
and stomped out of the Training Hall.

“Impressive . . .”

“No, that was practice. Now about those fire spells . . .”

The mercenary began his lecture by saying it helped to have
a staff that was not a pyro-phobe. His staff pulsed its offense. Kasile laughed
and said she would do so. She didn't have one because her father said royals
didn't need staves.

This triggered another brief funk before she masked it. Even
with their link, Eric could barely feel it. He didn't need to; her latent rage
fueled the fireballs. She narrowly avoided third degree burns.

“I synched with you the other day.”

“Really? What was I doing?”

“You were hiring Laharg to teach physical combat.”

Kasile chanted and a small sphere appeared. “Is he a softie
like Malize says?”

“Not as far as I know . . . but he won’t cut corners
training you.”

“Good to know. No pain no gain, right?” The sphere flared to
such an intense heat that she had to drop it. It melted the stone floor.

Eric pretended not to notice. “What's with the sudden
interest in battle power? Magical arts with me and fighting arts with Laharg .
. . Is your next target Ataidar's military?”

“No,” she said with the voice of someone haunted. “I'm just
. . .preparing myself.” Her mask slipped back into place, including the painted
smile. “For the next batch of kidnappers.”

“Anything else?”

“What does your radar tell you?” Kasile asked pleasantly.

“Yes.”

“Well . . . the truth is . . .I've been looking over my
shoulder a lot since I got back.” She gave a non-committal shrug. “It's
probably just post-traumatic stress.”

 “Kasile, your friend is asking what's wrong.”

“Eric, your client is asking about fire spheres.”

“Kasile, your tutor needs to know what is distracting you.”

The tiger was a cornered mouse. Whatever she was hiding, she
didn't want to let it out and yet she did. Eric felt a range of conflicting
emotions and desires. They were just barely held behind her mask; a dam ready
to break.

“Kasile, my dear friend, please tell me.”

The princess checked for witnesses. No one was in the
Training Hall, but the two-three-of them. She let out a long sigh and dropped
her shoulders. The act cost her an inch in height and regality.

“There is a tradition in my family, some call it a curse,” she
began softly. “It dates all the way back to the formation of Ataidar. The
monarch must undergo a trial to prove they deserve the crown and its
responsibilities. It happens in every generation without fail. The founder
unified the city-states into one nation, her daughter defeated a monster god,
her grandson fought a war, and her
great
-grandson ended a drought!”

 She stared at the back of her right hand.

“On and on it goes! Every link of the royal chain down to my
mother! She prevented the country from splitting over civil rights! And now . .
. and now . . .it's my turn. Sometime in the future, Ataidar will be struck by
a crisis and it will be up to me to save it.”

Sure, every generation has its problems . . . unless it
really IS a curse . . .Dengel?

It is within the realm of possibility.

“Come on, Kasile, you don't know that.” Eric said
reassuringly. “Maybe you'll be the exce-” He was whipped lashed by a royal
glare.

“Two millennium Eric; Two
thousand
years! Not
one
of my ancestors was exempted! Not in all that time! Some catastrophe
will
come and
I
will have to deal with it! I thought it was politics but then
there was the kidnapping and Ceiha's coming and Latrot's acting suspicious . .
. and . . .I don't know! I don't know what it is or when it will come! All I
can do . . . is . . . prepare for it.”

 Her voice cracked and her shoulders shook. “What if I fail?
What if
I'm
the one that causes Ataidar's ruin? The one who breaks a
royal line reaching all the way back into antiquity!?”

She gasped as arms encircled her.

“Don't worry,” Eric said softly. “Everything's going to be
all right.”

She latched onto to him and bawled. Fifteen years of fear and
frustration ran down his shirt. He patted her back and whispered more
reassurances.