Magician Prince (42 page)

The wolf considered for a moment and then
made an offer.
A compromise, then? What if we agree not to kill
the young one, elf?
The wolf’s demeanor was harsh and
threatening. The idea of compromising did not sit well with a
creature used to getting what it wanted without the need for debate
even if the compromise was its own device.
What if we choose to
make her one of us instead? She could be a wolfen roaming the
forest among us. She could be Pack. In Pack she would find strength
and safety. In Pack she would find a new family to replace the one
lost this day. Would you deny her that?
With that last thought,
the King felt a sense of pride shine from the wolf.

I would,
the King of the Red Trees
answered without a moment’s hesitation. He released an arrow and it
flew at the wolf before the predator could react. The air split
just above the beast’s head and the arrow bit into the wood of a
nearby tree with a loud thwump. A warning shot.

The wolf growled and his pack joined in so
that the forest was alive with the angry sound drowning out the
crying youngling. We are Pack, elf! That may mean little to you,
but to us Pack is all that matters. You can kill me, but my
Pack-brothers and Pack-sisters will hunt you down. You cannot end
us all.

Can’t I?
The King whispered nothing
more. Instead, he let that thought with all of its self-assurance
and calm sink into the wolf’s mind as he made a show of readying
another arrow and took aim once more.

After a long silence the grey wolf relented.
Take the loud one. She grates on my nerves anyway.

The King of the Red Trees stored his bow and
moved from tree to tree until he was above the dead elf-sister and
her baying child. Then he leapt nimbly down from his perch into the
midst of the wolves. He pulled his knife and stood defensively
between their pack leader and his prize as he lifted the mother’s
body to uncover the elf-babe who continued her weeping
unabated.

The wolf snapped at the King and kept him
from grabbing the child. The Pack advanced on the King forcing him
to either ignore the exposed youngling or drop his guard.

Foolish elf, the wolf whispered coldly, You
threaten our Pack and moments later jump into our waiting jaws. You
are brave, elf, but we are many. We are Pack.

Another wolf snapped at the King of the Red
Trees. This time it came from his right, but the animal bit nothing
but air when the elf twisted away from him and delivered a kick to
its body pushing the second wolf away.

The grey wolves inched closer prepared to
pounce in an instant. The King of the Red Trees smiled
knowingly.

Wolf, you mistake me for a human. I
understand what it means to be Pack. I know your strength.
The
King raised his empty hand to the trees and lowered it again in a
swift chop. In response a rain of arrows from unseen hands fell
down all around the wolves causing many to jump back, but none were
harmed.
I am Shatala, King of the Red Tree Clan. We are not so
different. You are Pack and we are a clan. We are an assembly of
warriors sworn to protect the Red Tree Forest, but we are a family
as well. We take strength from one another and defend each other as
brothers and sisters in arms.
Using the pack leader’s own words
against him, the King added,
You can kill me, but my
Clan-brothers and Clan-sisters will hunt you down. You cannot end
us all.

The wolf nodded reluctantly. You are Pack.
After a few moments more of thought, he added, Shatala, King of the
Red Tree Clan, take the elf-babe, but leave the meat for us and
there will be no more bloodshed between our kinds, indicating the
elf woman’s body.

The King gave a short nod in return.
Very
well. I will take the youngling and leave you to your meal.
In
one fluid motion, he grabbed the babe and bounded into the tree
taking his leave of the wolves. He held the child securely against
him as he bounced between trees, but she felt safe in his arms and
stopped her howling turning to coos instead.

After a time the King stopped to regard the
child. He held her up and away from him to get a good look at the
youngling. Her legs kicked with strength that was surprising for
one so small and she swung her arms at her sides enthusiastically.
She would make a strong protector of the forest in thirty or so
years.

“Welcome, daughter of the Red Tree Clan.”

The boy’s days were spent at his father’s
feet in a very literal sense fore he was the son of a cordwainer
and now that his eldest sister had run off with some hooligan
leaving him the only child and heir to the family business it was
the boy’s lot in life to learn all he could about crafting the
fanciful shoes of the wealthy and their repair. It was a terribly
dull profession, but the boy put his heart into learning it. After
all, he did not want to disappoint his parents.

His father would become dispirited like when
his sister left and take to the bottle again. He had only recently
begun to sober up though it was more than a year since she
left.

The boy’s mother was in some ways far worse.
Ever since his sister left she would sit huddled in a chair with
her knees up to her chin and whimper or cry openly. In the winter,
she was covered with a blanket and in the summer, she was not. This
was at the best of times. At the worst she would begin sobbing
uncontrollably usually triggered by the boy walking in the room and
he learned to avoid the poor woman and the unexplained guilt this
caused him.

So he studied his father’s work for hours on
end and learned his craft and at the ripe age of thirteen the boy
decided that he knew all he could about making fine shoes and was
ready to set out on his own, but he did not. He could not abandon
his parents. Despite the difficulties at home, they needed him and
loved him.

Every night he stared out of his window as he
drifted off to sleep thinking of his sister and wondering where she
might be. Was she happy with the lout who stole her away? Were they
married now? He hoped so. His eyelids would grow heavy and sleep
would take him to a land of dreams that could be blindingly bright
at times. He would see his sister there sometimes. She would be
sitting or cooking and the hoodlum would come up behind her and hug
her lovingly. Then, he would kiss her neck or her lips. They would
laugh often- much more often than the boy ever saw her laugh
before.

At other times the dreams were darker than
any moonless night. Men cloaked in shadows would come for him and
bang at his window. The boy would hide under his blanket hoping
that they would go away, but they never did. They would break
through the latched window with a sword radiating a soft blue shine
that illuminated their faces revealing contorted features and eyes
that hungered after the boy. The house would then explode with
noise as the house became overran with the cloaked men. They would
pull his covers, his only form of protection, away leaving him
completely vulnerable. Then one of the men would reach for him…

He was always startled awake at that point.
His body would be covered in sweat and his breathing would be
weighty and loud.

It was following one of these dreams that he
caught his first glimpse of one of these men. He had gone out to
fetch some lunch for his father and himself after they had spent
most of the morning cobbling old, but well crafted shoes or cutting
strips of leather for some new creations. The boy had worked up
quite a hunger and was quick to return with their cut of beef and
bread. As he rounded a corner, he saw a hooded man dressed in drab
browns leaving his father’s shop. The hooded one was startled a
little as he almost ran into the boy turning the corner. His cloak
whipped up as he shifted his weight to avoid the boy, revealing a
sword belted at his waste.

The boy hurried into the shop and found his
father glowering at the wall.

“What is wrong, father?”

“Nothing, Sane,” he paused as if he had
something else say, but only repeated, “It’s nothing.” He
absent-mindedly clunk some coins together under his palm. He would
lift them up and let them fall again producing the light clink
sound. Eventually, he asked, “Do you know why Avelice ran away?”
His eyes were bloodshot.

The boy thought back to the dreams he had
about the man who whisked his sister away and how happy she seemed.
He guessed that Avelice ran away with the man, because she loved
him, but somehow that did not feel like the answer his father was
searching for. Sane shook his head. “Why did she run away?”

“Your mother and I hid the truth from you and
now I think maybe we were wrong to do that.” Sane’s father
swallowed deeply and his voice was nearly caught in his throat as
he forced the words out, “Avelice was a magician and so was the
young man she left with- Xander was his name. He said that he could
feel her drawing on magic power subconsciously and offered to take
her away before the Kenzai discovered her.

“You can imagine what I thought of his offer.
I threw him out of this very shop, but he seemed to take it all in
stride as if he knew that he would win out eventually.

“Avelice heard us arguing and wished to seek
out the man, but I forbid it. I declared him a crook and a
charlatan.” Sane remembered those fights between his parents and
his sister. His father continued, “Eventually Avelice gave in and
for a time it seemed like the whole thing was behind us.

“Then came the day the hunters arrived. They
knocked on our door like any good, decent folk would, but they were
far from decent. Avelice and I were the only ones home at the time.
When I opened the door, a pair of them identified themselves as
Kenzai hunters and forced their way in asking to see your sister.
They had Constable Ragnit with them, so I knew they were telling
the truth about who they were. I did not know what to do. I did not
want them to take my little girl.” Sane’s father suppressed his
feelings of sorrow and resentment for fear that he might not be
able to continue. After a long moment, he did, “I yelled for her!
‘Avelice, the hunters have come for you!’ I shouted. ‘Run, girl!’
They ran past me and kicked in the door to her room. They knew
exactly which room it was too. It did not occur to me before then
that they had been watching her.”

“They took her?” the boy asked
breathlessly.

“No, she was gone. I didn’t know it then, but
the hunters had surrounded the house in case she tried to escape
and they knew she was there. Near as I can tell that magician,
Xander, had come for her and they vanished into thin air. We lied
to you then, because we thought the truth would be too
painful.”

The boy thought about what his father told
him letting the information slowly sink in. After a long silence he
finally asked, “Then why are you telling me this now? It has
something to do with that man that just left, doesn’t it? He is one
of them.”

Sane’s father nodded. “Since your sister is a
magician, he said that there would be a chance that you would be
one too. They have been watching you for signs of magic ever since
Avelice vanished.”

Beef and bread fell from the dropped sack the
boy had been carrying, but he did not care despite his rumbling
hunger. “How could you let them spy on me and say nothing?” the boy
accused.

“Easy, son,” Sane’s father put his arms
around the boy, “I did not know until just now. That man that came
in here- the hunter wanted to buy you. He said it was to compensate
me for the loss of my apprentice and to encourage me to turn you
over without difficulty.” The boy’s father placed five gold coins
in his still too small hands. It was enough for him to start a new
life. “This is the money that the hunter gave me. He said he would
pay half now and half tonight when they retrieved you, but I am
leaving it up to you. You can take the money and run or you can go
with them peacefully to one of the magician cities, but no matter
what you decide your old life will be closed off to you.”

The boy looked out the shop’s front door and
saw the flutter of a brown cloak disappear into the shadows about a
half block away on the opposite side of the street. The hunters
already had him. He was in their net. It was just a matter of time
until they reeled him in.

“They are watching even now,” the boy
whispered. He placed the coins back on the counter.

Night came too quickly as the boy waited for
the inevitable to come. It wasn’t fair. Why would they think he
knew magic? He never cast a spell or sacrificed the neighbor’s
yappy dog in a dark ritual. He didn’t know the first thing about
magic.

His mother was sitting in her chair sobbing
again as she watched her son and for the first time Sane understood
why. She feared this day would come ever since Avelice disappeared.
She would lose both of her children to the Kenzai.

His father stared helplessly at a bottle of
ale. He had not yet given in to putting the bottle to his mouth,
but he did not look far off.

Maybe Avelice will save me, Sane thought
hopefully, or her husband, Xander.

He finished packing his meager possessions:
some clothes and an old slingshot he got as a gift on his last
birthday. It seemed wrong that that was all his life had boiled
down to. A few possessions that fit snugly into a backpack and any
trace of the boy would be gone from this place after tonight.

The family ate dinner listlessly. No one
wanted to say their final goodbyes and they could think of nothing
else to talk about. The moment they finished there was a knock at
the door. The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. If there
was any doubt that the Kenzai were watching them, then that doubt
was now gone. The three of them stared at it intently, but did not
move. A second knock followed. This one was a bit louder and
sounded somehow more insistent than the one that came before.
Sane’s father finally rose from his seat and opened the door.