The prince galloped at full speed, all the while keeping an eye on the strange girl he held by the waist. Her fall and her long stay in the river worried him, not to mention whatever had happened to her before that. After all, he knew nothing about her, except that she was dressed like a peasant but could not possibly be one, with her delicate features and her beautifully maintained hair. Nevertheless, he hoped that Kenton had been wrong in assuming that she was a rebel.
He tightened his hold on her frail body and spurred his horse forward. He rode for a while before he saw in the distance the high wall of the castle. Eight towers stood near the building: four in the east, four in the west. To reach the castle, he had to cross a drawbridge over a moat, at the end of which stood an immense door of solid wood.
“His Highness has returned! His Highness has returned!”
In Goran, the arrival of a highborn always had to be announced, no matter the circumstance. This tradition, which the prince found pointless, had meant that he had never been able to come and go freely or unnoticed. As a child, he had suffered from the permanent control and isolation, which resulted from being constantly watched. As a teenager, he had often rebelled against his reclusive life by staying out all night. Of course, when he had, the whole court had known and gossiped about his exploits, which had greatly displeased his father.
“His Highness has returned!”
The trumpets sounded again. The prince ignored them and crossed the drawbridge. The night guards at the rampart entrances bowed as he passed, then ordered the door be opened.
The area inside the fort was dim and nearly empty at this late hour. In addition to the eight towers, there were more than twenty other buildings, each home to about thirty people. The prince looked for the regiment of soldiers who had come along on his hunt but did not see them. He decided they had probably returned to their quarters. He advanced at a trot towards the royal palace, a four-story structure of golden stone. Its only entrance was a double door perpetually flanked by two guards. Back beyond it, to the east, were the stables and the three covered areas where carriages were kept. Off near the western towers was a garden, which looked small from the front of the palace but extended across a larger area in the back.
The prince passed the four-story building and continued on to the stables. There, he dismounted, took the limp body in his arms and handed the horse over to Argos, the stable boy. He was striding towards the palace when he came across Neilarus.
“Your. . . Your Highness,” the lieutenant began, seeing the stranger in the prince’s arms. “What . . . who is that?”
“I’m in a hurry. Kenton will explain everything to you.”
“But. . .”
“Do you know where I can find Larzac?”
“He has retired to his chambers for the night,” he managed to say.
“Thank you. Were you able to track the chimera?”
“No, I lost track of it after just a few moments. I couldn’t even tell you which direction it went.”
“I see. Thank you.”
The prince hastened and entered the palace, aware that he would have to be quick to avoid bumping into servants in search of gossips.
The foyer was richly decorated. A great stone staircase rose to his left; a spacious hallway before him led to the throne room and other ceremonial rooms, and another narrow one to the right guided to a small wooden door. A long carpet covered much of the floor, and paintings of Goran’s kings adorned the high walls. Strangely, there was not a soul in sight, but the prince could hear muffled voices coming from the floor above.
Taking advantage of the privacy, he went to his right, pushed open the little door and hurried down the long corridor behind it. There were a dozen doors along the hallway. The floor was covered with a red and yellow carpet that was so thick the prince’s footsteps made no sound, but still he prayed that none of the doors around him would open. Even if this part of the castle was isolated, there was always a chance of bumping into a servant or a man sneaking out of his secret midnight meeting place. The prince hoped for his sake and the girl’s that everyone would be discreet tonight.
At the end of the corridor, he had to choose between two passageways. He proceeded to the one on the right and went down another hallway, before finding himself face-to-face with a dead end. The prince tapped a stone that stuck out further than the others on the wall, and it activated a mechanism. The stones separated, revealing a door he pushed open to find a staircase that led downstairs. The passage was very dark at first, but as the prince reached the bottom, he saw a light, which he followed to the foot of the staircase. There he found two wooden doors: one leading to his master’s bedroom, the other to his study. Not knowing which room the druid would be in, the prince knocked at random. When there was no answer, he tried the other: “I need you!”
Still nothing.
“I know you’re there, Larzac, answer me!”
The door on the left opened. A small man with a pointed nose, and long gray hair emerged. He was so tiny that his head only came up to the prince’s belt.
“Were you sleeping already?”
The Mini-As shot him a dark look: “I was trying, anyway. What in the world. . .”
He frowned at the body in his student’s arms.
“What is this? Not one of your conquests, I hope. . .”
The prince knew what his master was referring to. It was true that he had spent much of his teenage years frequenting the bars of Minabis, even if he had never brought his conquests back to the castle. Because the druid had used his magic to send him to the city, Larzac had often seen him in good company.
“This is no time for jokes,” the prince said. “You know I’m done with all that.”
“So who is she?” the Mini-As persisted, still staring at the unconscious stranger.
“Someone who needs your druid talents,” he answered, forcing his way into his master’s chambers.
“I did not give you permission. . .”
Before Larzac could finish his sentence, the prince was already inside.
The room was an impressive mess. Larzac had never been one for tidying up and his taste for knowledge did not help. There were scrolls and books everywhere the eye could meet, most of them with unpronounceable names dealing with magic theories, legends and masex. The masex themselves were carefully arranged in the back cupboards as they were the only possessions the druid kept out of reach and sight of his visitors.
The prince, eager to save the girl’s life, rushed to the little bed against the wall, nearly hitting his head on the viewol that lit the room.
“You should really raise your viewol,” he told the druid, exasperated. “I nearly bashed my head.”
“It’s not my fault you’re so tall.”
“That’s not the point. I can’t believe you’re so careless with such a rare object. I’m going to end up breaking it one day!”
“My dear student, you cannot break a magical stone like that. It sure looks like my lessons have fallen on deaf ears. . .”
“I knew you would say that!” Meanwhile, you are the only one I know who needs a viewol to cope with his fear of the dark, thought the prince, suppressing a smile.
He laid the body gently on the bed. His master joined him, anxious. He knew his student was impulsive and often got himself into trouble; all his lessons had not changed that. Being his personal druid had its advantages, but as the years had taught him, it also frequently placed him in difficult and unpleasant situations. He would have to be careful.
“I hope that you’re not going to cause me anymore trouble.”
“Can you save her? I’ll explain everything later.”
The druid sighed. He searched through one of his cupboards and brought out a masex, which he attached to his magic belt. The stone lit up. He concentrated, and in no time, his hands were suffused with a soft light. He held them over the body and moved them around for a few seconds. Once he had finished, the light faded and he removed the masex from his belt.
The prince hurried to feel the girl’s pulse. He lowered his head to her mouth and nose, and was reassured to find that she was breathing normally. He turned to Larzac: “She seems to be doing fine. What did you do to her?”
The druid was carefully rearranging his masex and did not even look at his student, who stared at him without a word, accustomed to his master’s silences.
“Nothing. She is sleeping, that’s all,” he finally answered. “She is exhausted, but safe.”
The prince let out a sigh of relief. He knew he could trust Larzac’s judgment. He was the best druid in the region, even the state. In fact, he was, as he said himself, known and respected in all realms.
“So are you going to tell me why the both of you are soaked to the skin?” his master ventured after a long silence.
“I found her on the banks of the river.”
“The Sacred River?”
The prince nodded.
“That does not explain why you are also soaking wet,” replied the Mini-As.
The prince suddenly realized how he must look. He could not go see his father in dripping-wet clothes. The king was not likely to be very understanding when he learned about his son’s little escapade. Luckily, Kenton and Neilarus were the only ones informed of his diving into the river, and neither of them would say a word. His friendship with the captain went back years, for as long as he could remember, and his lieutenant would keep quiet. He did not have to worry.
Without any further explanation, he removed his wet belt and dropped it on the floor. Noticing that his master still had not said a word, he spoke, his tone purposefully pleading: “Fine! Yes, I dove in the river to save her, but Father doesn’t have to know about it. You know what would happen if he found out. Can you help me now?”
The druid retained his habitual calm as he rummaged through the dresser to find an appropriate white tunic. He had learned long ago to always have a change of clothes on hand for the student’s escapades. He handed him brown boots, white cotton pants and a towel. The prince hastened to dry himself, then dressed in the new clothes. He thanked his master:
“Thank you, Larzac. I know I ask a lot of you and it’s late, but I have to go see Father. Would you please bring her to my chambers as discreetly as you can and ask Irma to change her clothes?”
“To your chambers?” the druid burst out. He had finally lost his temper. “But this is a woman! I thought you had finished with your. . .”
“I have finished with all that! But where would you have me keep her? I’m guessing you don’t wish to harbor a stranger here and I can’t put her in anywhere else without someone finding out.”
“What about Irma? She’s kind and she thinks of you as a son since . . . well, since your mother passed away. Even if it could get her in trouble, she would help you.”
“No. I couldn’t ask that of her. Her quarters were already so crowded with two daughters, and now with her youngest as well. . . It’s out of the question.”
“I won’t even suggest Kenton. . .”
“Don’t even think about it. There is no way I’m going to have the captain of the guard harboring a stranger. No, don’t worry: she’ll stay in my apartment and I’ll sleep elsewhere. Anyway, mine is the only place my father would not think of if he suspected something.”
“You really have thought of everything,” Larzac said thoughtfully. “Very well, I will help you.”
“I owe you for this.”
With that, the prince left. Larzac looked at the girl and let out a sigh of exasperation, promising himself this was the last time he would give in to his student’s whims.
∾
The Sachs family carriage raced at full speed over the dunes leading to the ruins of Arabica. The city, once valued for its bustling commercial activity, had been abandoned by its citizens just months after the start of the last war. After that, weakly guarded, it had been attacked and nearly completely destroyed by Crystallian soldiers, forcing any lingering survivors to flee and take refuge in the only two cities under high royal protection: Minabis and Basroc. The carriage driver still remembered all the times he had brought Ms. Rosa to her friend’s house in Arabica. The streets had been so lively then, with vendors shouting from their carts on every corner, trying to sell you everything under the sun. Those were wonderful times, he thought with a heavy heart. These days, emptiness and silence reigned over the desert. The driver looked up and believed he saw a flame tear the sky in two. Shocked, he pulled on his horse’s bridle.
“Riggs?” Rosa called out. “What is it? Why are we stopping?”
“Oh . . . excuse me,” the driver apologized, realizing he had imagined what he had seen.
He immediately started the carriage up again.
Aluna’s mother watched out the window, praying they would arrive in time. She hated herself for not realizing sooner that her daughter was suffering. The dunes were still visible, but Arabica could not be more than a few minutes away now. She could even make out from a distance the stones littering the ground at the entrance of the old city. Rosa turned to gaze at her two sleeping daughters and could not help but smile at how peaceful they looked. If only her other child could have the same chance. . . With a pang in her heart, she ordered Riggs to speed up.
It was not long before the carriage entered the ruins of the city and turned down a paved alleyway. The sound of the horse’s hoofs pounding the pavement woke Beth. She could see that her mother was anxious and wanted to know why, but before she could ask, the carriage came to a halt. Rosa got out quickly, forbidding her daughter to follow her. She went to the driver and spoke to him in a low voice, then turned back to her daughter with a forced smile on her face: “I’ll be back soon.”
Beth watched her mother hurry away and disappear into the druid’s house. She was inexplicably worried. She tried to make Riggs talk, but all she got was stony silence. She had never liked it when he and her mother shared secrets; it never seemed to bode well. She asked him again what was going on and still he refused to answer, so she gave up. She would have to wait for her mother’s return for an explanation.
Suddenly, Beth saw one of the house’s windows light up. She would have given anything to know what was happening inside.