Prince of Magic (7 page)

"So I hear. Emperor Sebestyen would drug his enemies, as well as the wives who had lost their appeal, and then he'd toss them into this hole beneath Level Twelve. Every day or two the guards would toss down Panwyr and food, but not enough for everyone. The prisoners fought and killed one another for the drug or their food. They lived in the dark, like animals, and eventually became little more than animals."

"And yet your aunt survived this place?" Sian sounded as if he did not believe her, and in truth she couldn't blame him. Level Thirteen sounded very much like a tale whispered to children to make them do as they were told.
Eat all of your peas, or the ghost of Emperor Sebestyen will snatch you up while you sleep and drop you into Level Thirteen
…

"There was a wizard, Thayne," Ariana explained. "He's Aunt Isadora's father, actually, and last I heard he still lives, though he was old then so now he must be ancient. He's a wizard for the Circle of Bacwyr. Long ago there was an unpleasant prophesy, and Sebestyen had Thayne, who delivered that prophesy, tossed into this pit in the ground. Thayne protected some of the innocents who were thrown into Level Thirteen, including Aunt Isadora, and eventually they escaped. After the end of the war, Emperor Arik closed Level Thirteen. My mother says he's a good man who would not make use of such a terrible place. It's dormant, I suppose, but if dark energy lives in this palace, surely it lives
there
!"

"If the tale is true, it makes sense."

"Of course it's true. Aunt Isadora wouldn't lie. As it is, I don't think she told us everything." She'd never forget the look that had crossed the usually stoic Isadora's face when Duran had boldly asked her about Level Thirteen.

Sian sighed. "I suspect you might be right, then. We'll examine this Level Thirteen, or what remains of it, but not right now. First we need to do something about your wardrobe."

Ariana felt a woman's immediate ire at having her attire criticized. "What's wrong with this gown? The fabric is quite sturdy, and this shade of green doesn't show dirt, and—"

"Stand up," Sian ordered as he rose to his feet and moved back to stand in the center of the landing.

Ariana stood and faced the wizard. Now that she was certain Level Thirteen was the root of the rising evil, she was anxious to conduct a proper examination. Perhaps there would be clues there as to how to stop the evil. Perhaps there would be a sign to indicate exactly what she'd be fighting.

"Kick me," Sian ordered.

Ariana looked up so she could study his face. He didn't look as if he was joking. "I beg your—"

"Kick me," he said again. "Surely a woman who has eight siblings and an immense number of cousins has kicked someone in the past."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

"I'm stronger than I look," she argued.

His purple eyes narrowed. "Must I inflame you before you'll do as I ask? Fine." His nostrils flared slightly, and the small wrinkle between his nicely shaped eyebrows deepened. "The fate of the world is in your hands, and that bothers me greatly. I fear for our future, now that I know
you
must play a part in the war which is to come. I have never known a less competent warrior, and that is what you must be, little girl, a warrior. A soldier. I do not believe that you have the strength to do what must be done. You don't have the magical strength or the physical strength. I can only hope your cousins are better equipped…"

"Fine," Ariana said, her indignation rising as Sian had no doubt intended. She drew back one leg slightly, as if preparing to kick the man who'd ordered her to do so. He was prepared for her toe to meet his shin with as much force as she could muster.

He was not prepared for her fist to come up swiftly and catch him in the jaw.

Sian's head snapped back, and he stumbled. He muttered a vile word as he regained his balance.

Ariana shook her hand. Connecting solidly with his hard jaw had been painful. "I have three brothers," she explained.

"They taught you well." Sian cradled his jaw in one hand for a moment, and then he dropped his hand and managed a brief, crooked smile. "You've proven the point that you are not entirely unprepared, but my point is that you will be better able to fight, and to examine places like Level Thirteen, if you wear trousers and a loose-sleeved shirt which allows more freedom of movement than the fashionable frock which you now wear."

"Trousers? Women don't wear—"

"Conventions must be set aside for what's to come, Ariana. Women don't do a lot of things. They don't wield a sword, they don't wear trousers, they don't fight battles. You must do all that, and more."

"You did not tell me that I had to go into combat." He'd said she'd be called upon to fight, but fighting could take many forms. Combat, on the other hand, was another matter.

"You must be prepared for anything."

"If it comes to that, I don't see why I can't fight in a skirt," Ariana grumbled. She could only imagine what people would think of her if she took to running about the palace in men's clothing! Not that they didn't already think she was odd. Still, she did have her dignity, and she wasn't anxious to toss it away.

"This is why." Sian moved quickly. He grabbed her skirt and yanked, and she stumbled. "Escape, Ariana. Get away."

She slapped ineffectively at his hand for a moment, but he had a large amount of fabric caught in his very large, hard fist. Again she tried to punch him in the jaw, but he was prepared this time, and he avoided the blow. In fact, he yanked her around again, and she landed on the floor. Hard. He crouched, and every time she tried to stand, he yanked her back down again, with very little visible effort. Since his arms were so much longer than hers, she was unable to free herself, and he made it all look so easy.

"You're wrinkling my skirt," she complained.

"I don't care."

"Fine. You've proven your point. A traditional skirt offers too much fabric for an enemy to grab and manipulate. If it comes to that, and I don't think it will. If I'm to play a part in this war, then it must be through casting spells and healing and such. That's what I do."

"You must be prepared to fight in a more traditional manner, I'm afraid."

It was impossible to free herself, and she soon became frustrated with the efforts. "Perhaps I should fight naked. Then there would be nothing for the opposing soldiers to grab."

Sian's only response was a lift of his eyebrows, and a twinkle of awareness in his purple eyes. The color darkened and shifted, as if she were looking into a fast-moving indigo rain cloud. "My, what a picture that paints in my fertile imagination."

That was not what she'd intended! She'd only wished to point out that his ideas about her fighting were ridiculous. "I'm not a soldier."

"That is one of the things you must learn, so you'll be prepared for anything."

Her brothers were adept at fighting. They had been trained almost from birth to use swords and knives, bows and arrows, and their fists. She had not. If she had to fight in this manner, her part in the battle to come wouldn't last very long.

For the first time the truth hit Ariana, hard. If the prophesy Sian had delivered to Emperor Arik was a true one, then she was likely going to die. Nobly, perhaps, but still… she was going to die. She prided herself on being a strong woman, but she was not a soldier. She was not a fighter.

She quit trying to free herself and sat on the landing. Sian continued to clutch at the fabric of her skirt, so that it rode up to her knee. The position was less than ladylike, but she didn't much care at the moment. Being told that one had a part to play in a war against darkness was shocking enough. The moment when the words finally felt
real
was enough to take her breath away.

"Will I survive this?" she asked softly.

"I do not have the gift of sight."

She yanked her skirt from Sian's hand, and he let her have it. "What kind of teacher are you?" she snapped. "You're supposed to tell me that if I'm a good student I will survive. You're supposed to promise me that if I try very hard I will win this fight and the world will not move into darkness. You're supposed to give me faith that I can
do
this."

"Any faith you have must come from your heart, not my words."

His calm manner annoyed her. "I don't want to die."

Sian sighed and leaned back against the stone wall, adopting a casual pose that belied the severity of the situation. "No one wants to die, but to be afraid of death is like being afraid of nightfall. It comes, for all of us. Fear does not hold back the night, nor does it hold death at bay. That fear can only make you weak, and you cannot afford weakness, Ariana Kane Fyne Varden." He looked at her, his purple eyes boring into her, seeing through her. "Would you live a life filled with fire and purpose, or would you hide yourself away in a place that's safe but uneventful? Would you leave this earth in a battle against all that is wicked, or would you cower behind the safety of solid but isolated doors? Will you die proudly with a warrior's scream of excitement, or will you live long and afraid with a whimper forever on your lips?"

Ariana took a deep breath and blew it out slowly before answering. "I'm rather fond of whimpering."

"I am to be your teacher. You must promise not to lie to me."

"Fine," Ariana said sharply. "I've never been at all fond of whimpering."

"I thought as much."

She was in no hurry to rise and continue down the stairway. Beyond this landing there waited trousers and swordplay and a wizard's lessons and Level Thirteen. She remained in a seated position and looked at Sian, studying the sharp planes of his face and the strength of his neck and the ruggedness of his hands. He was a powerful wizard—a powerful man. She could do worse, where teachers were concerned. He had the power to manipulate some physical objects, like the doors to the emperor's suite. Could he teach her to do the same? She had a feeling she'd need every advantage she could muster.

Sian had once offered to take her place in battle, fearing for the world if the fight was left to her. He was likely a good swordsman, and though many enchanter's tricks were little more than illusion, he had some substantial talents. He had taken her voice, that one time, and had threatened to freeze her. Now, that would be a useful trick to have when battle came upon her. She suspected that was the sort of magic that was either inborn or took a lifetime to perfect.

"When the time comes, will you fight with me?"

"No," he answered without a moment's hesitation. "This is your battle, not mine. You will have need to raise an army, but I am no soldier. When you are properly trained, I will return to my home."

And she would continue on without him. She barely knew the man, and still that thought made her heart leap.

"I did not ask for this responsibility," Ariana said sharply as she rose to her feet. "I did not ask to be burdened with the fate of the world!"

Sian stood much more smoothly and gracefully than she did.

"Heroes rarely do."

When Ariana had been dismissed for the day—Level Thirteen as yet unexplored—Sian went to his assigned room and barricaded the door behind him. He lit a single candle, and sat before the weathered desk near the head of his bed.

Sighing, he withdrew the prophesy from a deep pocket of his coat. He didn't dare leave it lying around for just anyone to find. There were promises here he was not yet ready to share. Not with Arik, not with anyone.

He gently unfolded the document which was already showing signs of wear, it had been folded and unfolded so often. His long fingers raked down the left edge of the paper, stopping to rest over the passage that haunted him. His grandfather had been wrong about the fine women. Perhaps he was wrong about this as well.

Probably not.

Of the three fine warriors who are called to this battle, one will find and wield the crystal dagger. One will betray love in the name of victory. And one, the eldest, will die at the hands of a monster who will hurtle a weary soul into the Land of the Dead.

Ariana Varden was the eldest, and by sending her into battle, he was sending her to her death.

The Prophesy of the Firstborn

A darkness creeps beneath Columbyana and the lands beyond. This darkness grows stronger each and every day, infecting those who have an affinity for evil. As it grows stronger, it will also begin to affect those who are of weak mind, and eventually it will grow so strong no one among us will be able to defeat it. If this darkness is allowed to grow to this point, the world is doomed to eternal shadows, where evil will reign.

Only the firstborn children of three fine women
[later translated as Fyne]
have the power to stop the darkness and restore the world to light. These firstborn will be the warriors who lead the fight. Our fate rests in their hands, and in the hands of the armies they will call to them.

Of the three fine
[Fyne]
warriors who are called to this battle, one will find and wield the crystal dagger. One will betray love in the name of victory. And one, the eldest, will die at the hands of a monster who will hurtle a weary soul into the Land of the Dead.

Many monsters will rise from among us in this unholy war, soulless monsters such as the world has never seen. Heroes will be born and heroes will die. Death and darkness will threaten all those who choose to fight for the light.

Scribbled in the lefthand margin, in an almost illegible hand:

Beware Serrazone,

and beside it,

He who walks through fire may show the way. @

Scribbled in the righthand margin:

These who are called must choose

between love and death,

between heart and intellect,

between victory of the sword and victory of the soul.

The remainder of the prophesy is illegible scribbling and indecipherable sketches. A scraggly tree; a bird with wings too large; a flower; a heart; a dagger.
[The crystal dagger, perhaps?]
Do they have meaning or are they simply a dying old man's insignificant doodles?