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Sorin hit the ground with a jarring thud. A massive knight shouted at him from across the training yard. “Come on! You’ve got more than that. You gonna let that runt best you in front of your men?” Bron was getting way too much enjoyment out of this. Sorin rolled onto his side and saw his friend’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners in laughter.
“It was a lucky shot!” Sorin shouted back, dusting himself off and preparing for another round with the knight standing across from him.
They had been at it for hours and Sorin was exhausted. A light spring breeze drifted in the air providing the only form of comfort. The training yard was alive with the sounds of steel clashing and men shouting good-natured insults at one another.
Anik rushed him, too boldly, and Sorin knocked the sword from his hand, tossing him into the dirt of the training grounds. Bron joined them, towering over Sorin and Anik. He was laughing at the look of defeat on Anik’s face. Sorin helped his stout friend from the ground. “Are you hurt?”
“Only my pride,” Anik joked, as he dusted himself off, wiping the dirt from his dark skin. The men around them joined in on their laughter. They had all stopped their training so they could watch their new king square up against one of their most decorated knights. Though he was small, Anik was a fierce fighter and one of the most respected Mortal Knights in the Kingdom.
Sorin shouted to another one of their friends, “Hey Elijah! Let’s eat!” The freckled boy stopped what he was doing in the armory and came running. He was the youngest of their little band and had joined them a few years ago as a squire. The fiery redhead had proven himself quickly and Sorin had been impressed, inviting him into their fold.
Bron and Anik, on the other hand, had been with him since childhood. They had grown up together, and their fathers had fought side by side. They had all three trained under General Tyrell in the first army order. During that time, every one of them had excelled, especially Bron, who had been sent for special training, earning the title of Mortal Knight quickly. He lived for a good fight.
And a fight he’ll get, Sorin thought. Tonight, he would ask the impossible of them. Better get them drunk first.
They ate in the mess hall attached to the barracks. None of them lived there with the other soldiers, but they liked to spend time there, away from the trappings and etiquette of the court.
The men were laughing at Sorin and the idea of him being crowned King. The other soldiers around them would chime in from time to time; but, by now, everyone was deep in their drink. Talk of the blight swarmed the hall. Some men dismissed it as rumor, others were making claims as to which magical creature they would beat in a fight. Sorin did his best to ignore the talk. It was time to make his proposition.
“Remember the time we were stranded in Skag, surrounded by those idiot mountain men?” His friends smiled at the memory.
“I thought we’d die in that Mother-forsaken country.” Bron scratched at his closely shaved head and threw back the rest of his drink.
“But we made it out. Together.” Sorin leaned in quietly, growing more serious. “Asterion is in trouble, and I’m in over my head. The only way I’m going to set things right is with the three of you there with me. I know it’s a fool’s mission and we’re going in blind, so I want your honest answers as my friends, not as my knights.”
“We’d follow you to The Beyond if you asked us to, brother.” Anik saluted with his glass and the others followed suit. It warmed Sorin’s heart that they were so willing to ride with him. It was hard for him to believe he deserved their loyalty, but he gladly accepted it.
“Then put your affairs in order.” He finished his drink, noticing a scantily clad woman in a red dress trying to get Bron’s attention. “We leave as soon as the council approves.” He elbowed Bron and nodded toward the woman; Bron smirked and held up a finger, signaling her to wait a moment for him.
The men finished their drinks and went their separate ways. Bron and the others had found companions to warm their beds for the night. They had no idea how quickly they would need to leave or how long they would be gone after all. Best to make the most of their time left here.
Sorin went back to the palace, intent on going straight to bed. He could not shake the feeling that he had already failed before he had begun. Doubt had been rearing its ugly head more and more these days. “Damn him,” he mumbled under his breath, rounding the corner in the east wing of the Summer Palace.
“Who is it that you’re damning exactly, Your Highness?” Duchess Adella was leaning against his door. She twirled her pale blonde hair and batted her light lashes at him.
“Nobody.” He shook his head. “Don’t forget, it’ll soon be ‘Your Majesty.’” He rolled his eyes at the thought. The alcohol was finally catching up to him. He regretted that last drink as he fumbled trying to find the key to his chambers. The hall was empty, the rest of the court had gone to bed hours ago.
“It’s your father, isn’t it? He’s the one who you’re angry at.” Adella had grown up in the comfort of palace life. Her father had been a duke in the old king’s court but had quickly flipped sides when he realized that Allerick had the upper hand. Sorin had always been disgusted by the courtiers who had betrayed their king only to keep their position. Now they lingered in his father’s court, eager to win favor and praise from their new king.
“It’s this whole damned mess, Adella.” He moved to unlock his door, but she blocked his way. She made a pout with her thin, pinched face. He had never thought much of her and the way she held her own court with the ladies around the palace. She acted as if she were entitled to special treatment due to her father’s title.
She batted her lashes at him. “You need to let it go. The court talks. We’ve all heard the whispers that the two of you fought before he passed.” She sidled up to him, pressing her thin body against his. “You wanted him to reinstate magic. You’re out of your mind if you think the court will allow that to happen.”
Anger surged through him. Through gritted teeth he warned her, “Things are different now. Do not mistake me for a fool, Adella. I will not make the same mistakes as the kings before me, and I most certainly will not be swayed away from what is right.”
He found his key, unlocking the door to his chambers. He pushed past her, quickly shutting the door behind him and locking it. The room suddenly felt foreign to him. He looked around, grumbling at the pile of papers sitting on the large wooden desk. A reminder of his old princely duties that he had been putting off when his father was still alive.
Sorin felt like a fraud, here in this room and inside of the Summer Palace. He thought about how deeply he cared for the people of Asterion and how they deserved better than him. He was not ready for this responsibility.
“You’re going to have to stop thinking like that if you’re to succeed, you know.” A man’s voice came from the balcony. Sorin was not entirely surprised; he did not know if anything would surprise him anymore. Now he really wished he had not drunk so much. He poured himself a glass of water and carried it to the balcony.
“Anselem, it’s a little late for a council meeting, isn’t it?” Sorin joined him out on the terrace. Little lights could be seen flickering in the city but mostly it was dark. He hoped his people were sleeping peacefully.
Things were going to get worse before they got better, and he prayed they would be able to enjoy themselves a little while longer before that happened. He looked at the old man beside him, who was thoughtfully watching the city as well. “What made you think I wasn’t going to return with a woman tonight?” Sorin joked, taking a drink of his water, relishing in the coolness of it.
“Pah, you’ve got your father’s way with women. I knew the chances would be slim.” Both men laughed.
“Wanna tell me how you knew what I was thinking in there?” Sorin took another drink of water. The laughter died down then as Sorin allowed Anselem to contemplate how to respond. Sorin took it upon himself to say what the old man was trying to find the words for. His voice was a mere whisper on the night wind, “You’re Magi.”
Anselem nodded and started to cough. Sorin led him back into his chambers and poured him a glass of water. “We’re going to need something stronger than that, boy.” Sorin obeyed and poured them both a glass of mulled wine. Why stop now? Sorin told himself. This was going to be an uncomfortable conversation.
“Did my father know?”
“Yes, he did. Young man, I think it is important for you to know that your father never hated us magic users. He only wanted to stop the abuse of our power. We had no idea that the relic would be so effective in stopping the use of magic. The intention had only been to stop the more advanced wielders in the Winter Palace from getting in our way.”
“Yet twelve years later, those men are dead, and the Magi are left to be treated like pariahs.”
“I know you harbor feelings of hate for what we did that night. I can feel the anger inside of you, toward your father, but also toward yourself. You need to believe you can do better, Sorin. That you will do better.”
Sorin nodded and rubbed his eyes. He was tired. Tired of the responsibility and the expectations. “I don’t suppose you can just tell me exactly what I need to do to set this right?”
“If only it were that easy, my boy. I can, however, tell you that your mother was correct in her research: the Druid will be your biggest hope. Druids were once the most powerful Magi in the land. Their magic is of the purest form, connected to nature and all living things. But as Sorcerers emerged, learning how to manipulate magic, how to grow it beyond its natural capabilities... it left the Druids powerless against any Magi who allowed greed to overtake them. And believe me, the hunger for power and wealth is not an easy thing to resist.” Sorin understood what his father’s friend was telling him, but he was not sure why it was so important.
Anselem continued, “When you do the research you will find that there is only one Druid left in the official records. I have felt her presence like the first hint of a spring breeze. The girl will no doubt appear powerless. It has been a long time since my kind have felt any hint of magic in these parts. I am only now beginning to feel the faint whisper of the power I used to possess. She is no doubt untrained and will need your help as much as you will need hers. Trust each other and you both just might make it back here in one piece.”
Anselem finished his drink and went to the door. It looked as if he would say something else but instead gave a curt nod to Sorin, opening the door to take his leave.
Sorin watched the limp in his gait, and it occurred to him that he had always thought there was a strangeness to the councilman. How he had seemed older than he looked, weary even. He asked him before he could go, “How old are you, Anselem?” An unimportant question, but one that he wanted to ask anyway out of boyhood curiosity.
The old man chuckled, “Too old my boy, too old.”