Chapter Three

Julian is congratulated on his birthday in the throne room, a mysterious man has a rendezvous with a woman from the village, and Ndarmna has a chat with Naje.

 

Chapter Three

The throne room of the great Elsian palace was huge. The throne itself dominated the end, golden and tall. A wide staircase carpeted in ankle-deep red velvet carpet led up to it, bordered by regal granite gold-plated lions and the king’s personal bodyguard. Courtiers, nobles, and ministers of state sat in high-backed chairs set along the side of the room.

Julian felt very small, looking up at his stern faced father seated upon his throne. The high vaults holding up the walls led his eyes to the King, and all eyes were fixed on him. His twin Princess Luella, his Royal mother, and his little sister Azul followed him as he walked down the hall.

He remembered all the rules he was to obey. Be confident. Keep your chin high. Show respect to the King of Elsia. Do not look to the right or left. Wait for permission before ascending the Royal Stair. Bow before your king. Do not blush. Do not faint, like you did last time. And definitely do not trip on your cape.

Today was his birthday. It was Luella’s too, but as he was the crown prince he had more gifts and attention – and the more embarrassment. Ndarmna had already given his gift in private, one of those new fangled time-keepers made of gold and silver. He had it in his pocket now, and the steady ticking kept him from panicking.

He reached the stairs. He bowed, and waited until his father spoke the command. “Ascend the Royal Stair, my son the Crown Prince Julian III of the Divine Land of Elsia,” came the booming voice, echoing around the room. Julian very nearly jumped out of his skin.

Forcing himself to not bite his lip or glace backwards at his mother and sisters, his feet carried him up, up, up to his father’s throne. Every second and heartbeat took years.

King Edward looked down on his son. The crown Prince looked up at his father, and dropped to one knee, struggling to keep his balance as he was trembling so much. Hastily, he remembered to take off his crown as well, holding it in one hand. The king placed his hand upon the small blond head. “Happy birthday, little Prince!” he whispered, smiling fondly. Only Julian heard.

Then the king spoke loudly, and again Julian could be seen to visibly jump. “Today, O my son the Crown Prince Julian the III of the Divine Land of Elsia, is your birthday. Today, we celebrate your coming into eleven years. These years have been prosperous and fruitful. My son, you have blessed the mighty Land of Elsia. One day, you shall be the Great King and Ruler over this great land. You shall increase and bless it.

“My son, ever since you were born, you have brought joy you us and your Divine Mother, her majesty the Righteous Queen Celia...”

Only because the old crown prince Richard had died of  fever at five and you wanted to keep your dynasty intact, a little voice snickered in Julian’s head. He shushed it angrily, and tried to listen to the rest of his birthday blessing, but he had lost interest and was afraid he was about to faint. He felt weak from embarrassment and fatigue and the heat from his make-up and flourished princely clothes was unbearable.

The king was still talking. “... thus the kingdom of Elsia congratulates you on your illustrious Birthday, and on behalf of the Royal Family I wish to present to you our gift...

This is gonna go on forever. I feel sick.

“... searched long and hard for an Imperial Gift to suit the most magnificent Crown Prince Julian III of the Land of Elsia...”

My belly is sore... must have been something I ate.

“... into every corner, ever square inch of the distinguished Elsian Land...”

He knows this isn’t necessary. Protocol, I guess. He loves me, I think, and would really like to give me a good day, but this really isn’t helping.

“... finally we came across a Wonder of Wonders, from the far land of Africaoli, this Marvel was generously donated to you...”

I feel faint. Africaoli... where Ndarmna lives. Hmmm.

“... the wonderful Emperor of Zela, His Royal Highness Cae Puyana Sarikitu the IV, out of his large heart...”

Don’t faint... don’t blush... this is hard...

“... and recognized in awe as the true Crown Prince of Elsia my son His Royal Highness the Crown Prince Julian III of the mighty Elsia...”

Don’t keel over from the heat... don’t drop the crown... you can do it, Julian...

The world spun. The King’s beard whirled round and round, and his glittering crown reeled. Stars floated across the strange rainbow sea of blurs. He heard tittering and snickers, most definitely Luella and Naje’s.

The King’s voice took on a more urgent tone, hurrying to finish his planned speech. Julian couldn’t make out the words, all he heard was a deafening reel of memories. I saw that, you know... But what’s your home like?... He erthemmed... Your royal highness...

◊◊◊

A man gingerly felt his way along the walls, his soft lithe hands brushing past the rough sandstone. It was strange, the way such a beautiful shining jewel of a city should become so inhospitable and unwelcoming in the night, especially with the moon hidden behind the dark clouds. Never trust first impressions, he thought, repeating the maxim. It was one of his own, and quite a good one too, so he thought.

He hoped the moon wouldn’t come out again as it had the hour before. It cast shadows, long and eerie, over his path. Though a friend of the shadows, he preferred absolute darkness, with no light to penetrate it.

Hands still probing the walls, his fingers came across splintery wood instead of the stone fortifications. Good, he had reached the little north-west gate. He felt all around it, gauging the size. Then, still in total pitch dark, he picked the lock. Simple, he thought, letting the well-oiled hinges swing open.

He slipped in, the cool night air biting his cheek. Now the easy part. Waiting.

Soon she came along, blundering, her lantern casting its beams over the walls and the gloomy orchard trees. The man’s eyes adjusted instantly as he winced. “You fool!” he hissed. “A blind drunkard could see that beacon you’re lighting for the city!”

“Sawry, mister. I dassn’t come without it at nighttime, sir! Then I wouldn’t be’s able to see! It’s so dark when the moon goes in... I’ve nevers been out of the little house at nighttime ‘fore...”

“Cease that babbling, housewife,” said the man again, grabbing the light and snuffing it out swiftly. “Darkness is what we need now. Come with me, outside the city’s walls. We shall sit in the pools of darkness and be safe.”

“But mister! I can’t sees nothing now! And I fergot me matches too. I’ll never get that thing lit agin.” Her voice was anxious.

“Ha.” The man hesitated a split-second, almost offering his hand to her. But he didn’t. Sighing under his breath as he heard the woman’s bumbling, he snapped, “See the wall with your fingers. See the path with your feet. See your surroundings with your ears and nose. Use your head, woman.”

“My name’s Rita,” she said softly, a hint of stubbornness creeping into her words.

“Ha,” he said again, and crept outside the gate. He shut it and locked it again, without aid of the key he had unnecessarily stolen or his burdensome purse of lock-picks.

“How’d you be doing that, mister?” whispered Rita in awe. “My boy kin pick locks too. A clever lad he is. He’s only twelve, sir, an’ he kin...” She stopped, a cold yet soft hand locked over her mouth.

The man removed his hand. “I’ll do the talking for now. Listen. Oh, and when you go... don’t speak of this to your idling gossips you call ‘friends’.”

Rita’s eyes widened, a smile creeping into her face. “Ah! A secrit, sir?”

“Yes. Our own, private, secret.” He smiled, unseen in the dark.

◊◊◊

Dusty motes of dawn sunlight filtered into the room through the glass window. Ndarmna sighed, leaning back in his rickety wooden chair, his white beard unkempt and straggling over his chest. His mind was working at a furious pace, even as he took this brief respite from his reading.

Naje walked in, rings under his eyes. The old mage looked up. “My apprentice.”

“I’ve done the exercise, master. Though what staying up all night has to do with magic is beyond me...” He rubbed his eyes and yawned, as though making a point.

“A magician must never tire of his work. He must always be alert, even as he rests and the troubles are over. My – my master, he taught me to stay awake for weeks on end, and up to thirteen days and nights invisible at a time. Patience is the key.”

The apprentice nodded, though out of attention or weariness Ndarmna didn’t know. “I stayed up too, you know.”

Naje raised an eyebrow at the man. “Oh, master, whatever for? Once you graduate you don’t need those sorts of things anymore.” He plopped down on the old armchair, dust puffing up into the air.

“Never say that once one’s apprenticeship term is over the skills which one has learned are no longer useful, Naje. I did not stay up for pleasure. I have been thinking.” Naje turned away from the penetrating gaze of Ndarmna.

“What about? Nothing happens anymore, not like, say, a hundred years ago when King Maurice had trouble with that dragon.”

The old man smiled, though with his eyes only. “A magician always is thinking, young one.”

“You didn’t answer my question, master, not directly.”

“No, I did not, did I? Nothing of importance, though. Come, show me your illusion exercises.”

“But master! We haven’t broken fast yet, have we?” With exaggerated yawns, the teenager heaved himself from the chair, closing his eyes, and reaching forth with his right hand. A head appeared, young and feminine, with dark hair and fair of face. Then the shoulders, the arms, all the way down to the legs; a beautiful woman clothed in a ball gown.

“Too rushed,” said Ndarmna brusquely. “Try a fat old cook next. And make them still as a statue. You are not yet ready to have them move; also remember to make the next one sitting on my chair there.”

Author's Note

Do I describe too much of the setting? What about my dialogue?