Chapter 1

There was a saying, in the South Country, that poverty and serfdom were discovered when magic was lost. But most people know that this was borne from the bitterness and carnage following the brutal conquering of over four centuries ago. The natives were almost all gone now. Four hundred years later, the invaders’ job was nearly done.

 

It is almost a relief, Asch reflected sadly, that that ugly piece of history was almost completed. Even after the surrender terms were negotiated, the pillages of Rutbahe villages still continued, the homes still burned and their inhabitants still died.

 

He sat on his gold embroidered chair, his head resting on the palm of his hand. Two attendants hovered nearby, nervously. What did I ever do to set them on edge like that? Or is it because of what I am? With a weary wave, he dismissed the two lads, who scuttled away gratefully. That still left him with the four armed guards stationed at each corner of the room. The nearest one was only a couple of meters away. They wouldn’t be nearly as easily to get rid of. No matter their obligations to him, their first and foremost duty was to their commanding officer.

 

With a sigh, he dismissed them from his attention, and turned back to the window. It had enraptured him a week back with visions of bloodshed and pain. It enraptured him still. He had not been able to spend more than an hour without returning to its horrific visions. Did you ever think, Jory, that I would not want all this? But it was his now. And the only way he could forsake it was to die.

 

He couldn’t do that now even if he tried. Ten years ago, perhaps. But not now. Not while his son depended on him. And his wife. And the kingdom and the realm. The weight on his head felt heavier than ever before.

 

There was a knock at the door. He ignored it. He made a little bet with himself that there would be another knock in less than a minute. He had come to devise a system of knocks by which he could determine how important the knocker’s agenda was. Two knocks within the minute meant it was urgent. Two within five minutes meant it was important but not pressingly so and any that was longer should be directed to the ministers first before approaching him.

 

He gave a little smile when, as he predicted, the second knock came within the minute. He did not get up from his chair but called resignedly, “Come in.”

 

An older man strode into the room, his step having every indication of a man sure of himself. And why shouldn’t he be? He does his job well and he doesn’t stay awake at night haunted by death. He went down on one knee before Asch, who, rather impatiently, motioned him to stand.

 

He took a deep breath before speaking and it was that that told Asch what was to come. No, no, no! Not this. Anything but this. I don’t want to deal with this.

 

“Sire, we’ve found another.”

 

Why, Jory, did you make this part of the surrender terms? But all he said was, “Where?” His face betrayed no emotion. He was, after all, very practiced at this.

 

“In Rasenmore. It’s about a half kilometer south�"”

 

“I know where Rasenmore is.” Asch interrupted. “How do you know?”

 

“A local informant saw it. She was moving the winds, sire.”

 

“Sufficient proof?”

 

“Yes, sire.”

 

Asch sighed, “You know the rules. Carry on, Swordsmaster.”

 

The swordsmaster bowed himself out.

 

Another. That made two in a month. Why can’t people just hide their magic? It would make things so much easier. If only Jory hadn’t insisted that the threat of magickers had to be eliminated or if he hadn’t insisted that the reigning king had to sit in upon the sentencing. How many times had he sat in this very chair cursing his ancestors? Too many, he decided.

 

He turned his attention back to the window but, thankfully, he saw the blue skies, not the dark billowing clouds of smoke and fire. He was so grateful for this temporary relief he almost cried. A single sob escaped his mouth before he regained control. It was enough.

 

The nearest glass started forward. “What’s the problem, Your Majesty?”

 

“Nothing,” he whispered, and repeated louder, “Nothing,” but retreated back into a whisper almost immediately, “Go away. Go away. Go away.” He fell into a black silence. The guard backed away warily.

 

How could I let my life be so ruled by a simple window? He looked at it again and it was just a plain window. I need to stop this. Abruptly, he stood up and stalked out the door. “I’m going to interrogate the magicker. Don’t try to follow me.”

 

“But Your Majesty, surely that would be better conducted by the prison staff.”

 

“I’m going to see the magicker,” he repeated sturdily. He walked away.

 

He encountered the same problem at the prison gates. How can it be that I have so much power and not be able to go where I will? But he got in, finally.

 

He stopped and stood stock still. He wished he hadn’t insisted his way in. He should have listened to advice. He should have turned back. But no, he had to come here. Before him stood a ten-year-old girl. Chained to the wall.

 

***

She stared at him, her head bent with the heavy chain around her neck. He could see the strain she felt trying to life her head up. There was a long drawn out silence as he continued to stare at her, uncomprehendingly.

 

Finally, after what seemed an infinite amount of time, she whispered, “What did I do wrong?”

 

She does not know. Nobody’s told her. She probably hasn’t even heard of magickers. “Girl,” he whispered stricken, “you broke a law. The strictest law.”

 

“What did I do?” she whispered. Her face turned towards him and the light shone upon the paths the tears had carved on her face. But she wasn’t crying now. She just looked scared.

 

He tried to make his voice as soft as possible though he felt like screaming, “Do you remember moving the winds?”

 

She screwed up her face in memory, “I was making them dance. They told me to.”

 

“They told you to?”

 

“They said they were bored and they wanted some fun. I thought it would be fun too. But then the big men came and took me away and I ended up here.”

 

You’re about to kill a ten-year-old girl. Do something. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t without plunging the entire kingdom into disaster.

 

“Do you know what’s going to happen to you?” he asked cautiously.

 

She tried to shake her head but the chains stopped her. She added, “Mama said it would be okay.”

 

Should I tell her? Or should I leave her in blissful ignorance? He decided to tell her. Nobody should have to go through this unknowingly. “You’re going to be hanged tomorrow. For using magic,” he added impulsively.

 

“Hanged?” She cocked in question, “What’s that?”

 

He stared at her, eyes wide, mouth slack. Then he turned and strode out of the room. He did not let the guards see the tears in his eyes.

 

Can you ever forgive me, girl? I don’t even know your name and I’m controlling your fate.

 

Another thought drifted through his mind. There’s a mother out there who’s about to lose a daughter.

 

He passed the Swordsmaster in the corridor, who had stopped to bow to him. Asch caught his arm in a vice-like grip. The Swordsmaster’s eyes widened but he did not flinch away nor did he shy away from the touch.

 

In a deathly quiet tone he whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me she was a child?”

 

The Swordsmaster faltered but only for a second, “I did not think it was worth mentioning, sire. The law clearly states�"”

 

“I know what the law states,” Asch snarled and then lowered his tone when he caught the guards’ startled stares. “I’m merely asking if you had desired for me to learn this at dawn tomorrow.”

 

When the Swordsmaster did not reply, he continued, “She doesn’t even know what�"what’s going to happen to her. I want her to know, a task for which I will hold you personally responsible. Is that understood, Swordsmaster?”

 

“Yes, sire.”

 

He started to walk away but then paused and added, “And I want to know her name.”

 

“Sire?”

 

“I want to know her name,” he repeated simply, “before the day is out, Swordsmaster.”

 

“Yes, sire.

 

 He turned to walk away. Only then did he pause to wonder if the Swordsmaster had seen the glistening tears in his eyes. He wiped them away furiously and walked on.

 

***

Ersha. His Swordsmaster had told him the name bare minutes ago and it echoed in his mind. Ersha. He had gone back to the prison twice already. Each time, the girl seemed more and more subdued. He wasn’t sure what the Swordsmaster had told her but it seemed to need time to sink in. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how she was faring now. Ersha. Another voice in his mind echoed more sinisterly, the late Ersha. He shook his head to clear these thoughts.

 

Evening had found him staring at the window again. The brief respite in the afternoon from the visions of death and mayhem had eased his spirit temporarily but when he looked at the window, all the despair and torment came flooding back.

 

“What do you want me to do?” he whispered, “What can I do?”

Save her. Release her. His conscience begged him to do it but his mind overrode it. I can’t. You know I can’t. His conscience subsided but not before remarking, you can. You just don’t want to.

 

“Would you have me sacrifice ten thousand lives for that of one girl?”

 

“Sire?”

 

Asch had not realized he was speaking aloud and jerked up. “What?”

 

“Were you saying something, sire?”

 

He stared at the soldier a moment, as if wondering whether he could answer his question, but then shook his head remarking, “Nothing of consequence, Guardsman.”

 

He glanced back out the window but this time he saw not the murder and pillage of villages but the hanging of that one little girl. There was no more black smoke, no red skies, no blood or bloodshed �" just one little girl, head in a black cloth bag, with the rope hanging loosely around her neck.

 

He saw himself, speaking for formal words. He saw the Ersha’s head jerk up at the sound of a familiar voice. He saw the rows of archers spread thin across the castle wall, as if this girl could summon the power to kill them all. He saw the black-masked executioner, ready, with a simple twitch of his arm, to kill this girl.

 

But mostly, he just saw Ersha, her tiny body standing upright, a fearful, he was sure, expression hidden behind the black cloth bag. He saw her reach up to finger the rope around her neck. He heard her scream out once, as she fell through the trap door. He heard the silence, louder than anything he’d heard before. He saw the limp body dangling from the rope, a rebuke stitched into its tiny body. You did this to me, it seemed to say.

 

And he had. He knew he had. Thirty-seven bodies now lay upon his shoulders but he swore they never lay this heavy before. He’d made another wraith to linger behind his back, ready to strike if only he allowed them the chance. He could almost feel their cold fingers caressing his shoulder, a distinctly sexual motion. He shuddered.

 

He jerked up from a slight tapping on his shoulder. “Go away,” he whispered and then repeated himself, shouting, “Go away!”

 

He jumped up from his chair and spun around as if to confront the wraiths but he only saw the startled face of a guard.

 

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, sire.”

 

Asch glanced back at the window but it only showed the blue skies now. He took a deep breath. “No, no, not your fault. What do you want?”

 

“Uh, your son �" His Highness �" he’s sick, sire. The lady queen thought you would want to see him.”

 

He shook his head, as if to clear it of the remaining visions. “Yes, yes, of course.” He turned away, muttering to himself under his breath.

 

He found his wife and son in a room just down the corridor. His son was lying in bed, his face deathly pale. His mother sat beside him, pressing a cool cloth on his forehead.

 

They both looked up as he entered. He just stared at them both, his heart sinking.

 

“Where’s Kaye?” was his first thought.

 

His wife looked pained. “I sent her with Gihos when we heard�"” she spread her arms wide and her voice cracked slightly, “about this.”

 

He looked the question to his wife. Is it the pestilence? His wife shrugged. I don’t know. Asch grimaced but he strode to his son’s side. His son, a ten-year old boy, the same age as Ersha.

 

“Father?” His croak only barely reached Asch’s ears.

 

“I’m here, son.” He took his son’s hand in both his own.

 

“Am I going to die?”

 

Asch considered lying but then shook his head. His son deserved it better than that. “I don’t know, son.”

 

His son nodded weakly, as if this was expected. “Stay away, Father. If I’m to die, I don’t want you to come with me. The kingdom needs you.”

 

This brought tears to his eyes. “Oh, my son. My poor son.” He ignored his son warning and caressed his face with two fingers.

 

His son tried to jerk away but he was too tired and too sick. Even that limited motion had made his head dizzy again.

 

“Father,” he struggled to make his voice heard, “Please. I beg you. My last wish, Father.”

 

Asch gripped his son’s hands tighter. “I can’t,” he whispered.

 

What’s the difference between him and Ersha, mocked a quiet voice in his head, Why are you so willing to give up one life but not the other.

 

You don’t understand. He’s my son.

 

And she’s someone’s daughter.

 

It’s not the same.

 

Why not?

 

His mind fell silent at this simple question. Why not? He didn’t seem to have a very good answer.

 

In response, he gripped his son’s hands tighter until he tried to pull away.

 

“Father, you’re hurting me.”

 

Asch instantly let go. “Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

At the two similar looks of puzzlement, he knew he was acting oddly. He didn’t know how to tell them, especially his son, about what had been happening to him so instead he said, “Has the doctor come by yet?”

 

“Yes,” his wife replied, “he left several minutes before you arrived, actually.”

 

“And what did he say?”

 

“That he should rest and if the fever doesn’t pass before dawn tomorrow, then�"then we won’t be able to do much anyway.”

 

“Right,” he fell silent. He had never once thought that his son would be taken away from him, never thought that he would lose a child even though he had caused so many others to lose theirs.

 

The pull of the window was drawing him again. He knew he couldn’t resist it. He had tried once before and all that had done was leave him at the window in much worse shape than before, after having tried everything to resist the temptation. He should go now, before the pull got stronger, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off his son, still trying desperately to look brave.

 

Fortunately, his wife, sensing his distraction, rose at that point and strode over to him. “You need to get back to work. We’ll still be here tonight. Come back then.”

 

She gently pushed him out the door and closed it behind him.

 

Asch sighed. He had this dark feeling that he’d be seeing them much sooner.