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THE FIRST STONE
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THE APPRENTICE SKULKED around the bodies of the palace guards like a tiger in hunt. The shouting and screaming from outside were silenced as the great doors slammed behind him. Not even the spirits protecting the Argia palace were a match for the thing inside him.
A shadowy dust slithered around the hot, sticky patches of freshly spilt blood before settling on the marble floors. He trod carefully, no sense in soiling good shoes with bad blood.
His eyes were as empty as the hollow halls of the palace, glowing the colour of the darkest depths of space. Every so often, they’d flicker the colour of blinding blue lightning, but the void would always reclaim them. With one hand poised beneath an orb of brilliant glowing blue, illuminating only the tiny patch of ground he trod on, he brushed his other delicately over the portraits of kings and queens of old that lined the walls, bearing witness to all.
He had never been a fan of royalty, even before his crusade. They sat high and mighty on gilded thrones, basking in the light of their own fires, while their people’s magic faded. Despite what anyone else would say, he knew his actions were just.
The Apprentice stopped.
The echo of his previous footfall faded in his pause. His hand hovered tentatively over the last painting, hidden shamefully at the end of the hall. He, with eyes that saw all, had almost missed it—almost. The Apprentice raised his hand higher, casting the melancholy blue light over the full portrait.
The bottom left quadrant had been scorched in an anger that still lingered around the painting, but the subject remained mostly intact. He stared up at the eyes of the subject, sensing things he’d long forgotten—fear, loss, pain—and for the first time since his crusade had begun, his heart skipped a beat.
The Apprentice questioned his actions for only a moment before something else began calling him back. It reminded him of a debt, of a soul, of necessary action. His spine prickled with its message. It told him to push ahead and not look back. He brushed off the chills and continued walking. The further he got from the painting, the further away the emotions faded, until there was nothing left but the memory of feeling, and even that would fade, eventually.
He continued his search, following traces of magma across the walls to arguably the grandest room in the palace. Light seeped through the crack beneath the heavy gilded door. He took a deep breath, put out his light, shaded his eyes, and pushed it open.
The chamber was ablaze; the light from the sconces and tracings of magma reflected on every surface imaginable. It took a second for his eyes to adjust before he was able to see her.
A draping white nightgown danced in the chilly morning breeze that sauntered through the open windows. Golden curls hung loosely at the side of a symmetrical face, hiding the stifled rage of her rosy cheeks. The last queen of Osiir. She looked resplendent and strong on her golden throne. Despite being a queen of fire, her gaze had all the piercing qualities of ice. The Apprentice bowed in her presence. The sentiment was not returned.
“I know what you’ve come for,” she said firmly.
“Good,” he replied smoothly. “That will make this much easier.”
“As easy as wiping out my entire palace?”
“Necessary action.”
The reigning queen of the Argia compressed her lips into a thin line. The depth of his voice betrayed no trace of remorse or regret. It angered her. Part of him enjoyed her rage; the other was unable to voice its opinion.
“You speak as if you were prohibited choice, but here you are, alive, whilst my people lay strewn through the castle like autumn leaves,” she hissed, her fury bringing flames to her fingertips.
The Apprentice sighed. “I am sorry, my lady, that you and he do not see eye to eye—”
“I do not meet eyes with cowards,” she scoffed. “You come here after the fact, having stained my soil red with the blood of my people, having destroyed my palace, and claim it is nothing more than a difference of opinion?” The queen of the Argia stood firm, regally marble-esque, with a glower to scorn generations. “He has trained you well, but a creature of no remorse deserves no forgiveness. You are a monster.”
“It seems cruel of you, my lady, to call me a monster and a coward, when we both know what you did to your last child—”
“That’s enough!” she roared, a blast of fire spewing from her lips like the mouth of a dragon. “Speak of my spawn once more and you will be turned to ash, the very kind your master manipulates.”
“I suppose, my lady, do not plan on cooperating.”
“With Him? The pretend king on his presumptuous throne? No.”
The Apprentice had predicted as much. “I am afraid, my lady, that you have no choice.”
“Tell me,” she began softly. “Do you take pleasure in being his attack dog? Do you relish in the suffering?” Foul hatred tainted her melodious voice.
“I take pleasure in knowing that my work is just.”
“You are no better than the wild animals of the forest, looking for your next meal, your next fill of blood. Someone should cage you.”
The Apprentice frowned. “You mistake me, Majesty. I am not in the business of murder. I, like you, have a part to play in correcting this world.” His voice was steady, calm, and, he noticed, ground at her nerves. “In this case, I simply offered Your Highness the more civil option.”
The queen of the Argia thrust her hand forward, creating a ring of white flames on the floor around his feet that burned hot in the open air. “Come no closer,” she threatened, closing her fingers slowly; a movement mimicked by the dancing flames.
The Apprentice muttered under his breath and enveloped himself in travelling dust. When he reappeared at her side, part of him was happy to see her pride shift unequivocally to fear.
“Now then... I came for something important, and sadly, I am not allowed to leave without it.”
He cast his hand in the direction of the queen, casting a rope of blue light around her hands and feet—and mouth, for good measure. She thrashed around violently on the floor, but he paid her little mind now that she was incapacitated. On the throne behind her, he found what he had come for: a small glass orb, nestled in the ornate golden fretwork, containing a flame from the time before time itself. Carefully, he worked it out of its holding place and turned it once over in his hand.
“An inextinguishable flame,” he announced, gazing upon it thoughtfully. “You should be more careful with such valuable objects, Majesty.” He stooped low over her and rested his hand on her shoulder. An image flashed from her mind to his. “Oh?” His eyes turned to the tiny, glowing glass pendant that hung from her neck. “He will be pleased indeed,” he added as he ripped the charm from her neck and rolled it around in his palm...
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THE APPRENTICE STROLLED casually out of the dimmed palace, into the brilliant hues of the sunrise. He wiped a smear of fresh blood from his cheek and gazed out beyond the horizon. The queen hadn’t been entirely wrong in her judgment of him. He had much blood on his hands, but all would be worth it in the end, to see Visanthe as it was—as it should be.
Just then, a creature of the night appeared at his side, popping into existence as this creature typically did. The large black panther, with wings that spanned the length of a full-grown adult, purred in a rumble that shook the stairs beneath them. It waited by his side, watching the sun creep slowly over the town. Glints of light caught in the bubbling fountain beyond and cast shining ripples over their faces.
“Tell Him I have it.”
The panther took a step forward.
“And...” The Apprentice paused, fighting with himself over whether to divulge the interesting piece of information he’d uncovered. One part of him begged his lips to stay shut. The stronger part of him silenced it. “That I found her, the child.”
The panther yawned and stretched its wings.
The Apprentice stared down at the charm in his palm. A low pulse emanated from within. One half of him fought to protect it, the powers of the missing child. The other half won. He tightened his grip, cracking the glass and releasing the tiny ball of lavender light. It flew up into the sky, and in a flash that spanned the length of the heavens, it disappeared, seeking out its true owner.
“It will find her,” he said to the creature, keeping his eyes on the horizon. “Follow it.”
The panther took off in one great leap, disappearing from the world in the next beat of its wings.
Alone, The Apprentice sat quietly on the stoop and watched the remainder of this pink and orange sunrise, the broken glass still clenched firmly in his fist, a puddle of dark red blood forming beneath it. You won’t forget this, he thought to himself, pressing the shards harder into his skin.
A wicked smile grew on his face. “Neither will you,” he replied aloud.
