by Bleys J. Maynard
Arnaud
Arnaud double-timed his trip home from school. It wasn't because his mother was sick, although Arnaud cherished Marthe Lain as none of the other kids his age did, but it was also because he really, really had to pee.
The snow fell early in the north of Miletos, as Lea Monde had come to be called since the Sealing of Yurius. The adults were careful to say Miletos when there were people listening, but the old name was still passed to and fro amongst the teenagers and children in hushed tones. Arnaud didn't think it mattered. More and more families were moving away from Lea Monde as time went on. Nobody wanted to be reminded of the war that they'd lost, but the snow was an everpresent reminder. Nowhere else in the world had snow this early, not even in the northern parts of Adlehyde. Nobody had explained it to Arnaud, but there were whispers that he had done something to the weather with his magic, and the land had still not recovered. Arnaud didn't ask who he was. There was only one man it could be.
The snow was a reminder of Losstarot, but it was the melted snow that ran along the well-travelled path that was a reminder to Arnaud, a reminder about his bladder. He wasn't going to make it, he decided. He gazed along the path in both directions, and seeing nobody, dashed into the forest alongside the path and urinated against the trunk of a leafbarren maple. He was just shaking out the last couple of drops when he heard a voice behind him.
"Hey! Arnaud!" There was no mistaking the voice. It was Christy Garrick, a classmate of Arnaud's with a reputation for mischief. Hurriedly he laced up his trousers, wondering if the little minx was trying to peek.
"Christy, right?" he asked. He knew who she was, of course; Arnaud never forgot a name. Still, it wouldn't hurt for her to think herself unremarkable in his eyes.
She just nodded. "Yeah. Look, I saw how Roger Delmour pushed you into that puddle so you'd splash Master Almein. I just happen to know that Roger'll be up for Demonstration in Sorcery tomorrow. I was kind of wondering if you'd be interested in a little bit of revenge?"
In spite of himself, Arnaud grinned. Roger had been tormenting him for a long time. It would be good to show the little brat up for a change. "What did you have in mind?" he asked?
"Walk with me," Christy said with an impish grin, "We'll talk."
It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
Arnaud and Christy lie together on their backs, gazing at the stars. It was the fourth anniversary of their meeting on the forest path, when Christy had offered Arnaud revenge. Arnaud always remembered the day with a smile. After that, Roger had gone from adversary to close friend, and Christy had gone from friend to something more. Arnaud never knew when the transition between friend and lover came between him and Christy, and he'd long since given over trying to get her to tell him. They were seventeen, and Arnaud wished the moment could go on forever.
"Did you hear about Cardia?" asked Christy.
Arnaud sighed. "It had to happen some day, I suppose. Still, King Britton couldn't have been more than fifty. It strikes me as fishy that he died so soon."
"And the other King hasn't been heard from in years," mused Christy.
Arnaud nodded. "It probably was foul play, but there's no clear successor, so nobody knows where to look for suspects--or to whom to entrust the investigation."
"I bet King Damien could ferret out the truth,"
Arnaud just laughed. The Cardians would never swallow their pride enough to ask the King of Miletos for any sort of help. Many in Cardia still saw Miletos as the enemy, though Sydney Losstarot was fifteen years in his grave.
"So many strange happenings," sighed Christy. "The King of Adlehyde has been missing since the end of the war, but nobody there seems to care. Each City-State is only concerned with what's going on inside its own walls. There's still no government in Alent, because the people are too afraid. What, do they think the island's going to fall again? Where would it go? There is no Zeal or Eblana anymore, and now the Kings of Cardia are out of the picture. Sometimes I think things would have been better if Sydney had won. At least then it wouldn't be anarchy."
Arnaud winced. "Don't say that so loud. Do you want to be thrown in jail?"
Christy laughed. "When I was in Adlehyde, they talked about Sydney all of the time."
"Adlehyde was an ally of Cardia. There's no Mullencamp in Adlehyde. They take talk of Losstarot more seriously here."
"Well, maybe we should forget about one man and think as a country again," said Christy stubbornly. Forget Lea Monde and focus on being Miletos. Maybe the Mullencamp are right, in a way. Maybe Miletos can provide stability in this mad world. We can't just sit and expect Cardia to tell us what to do."
"Hush," said Arnaud, "There's no need of this sort of talk. Everything should work out fine."
Arnaud closed his eyes, but sleep was long in coming. Talk of war always stirred something in him; something he didn't like. When he'd been but a child, he, too, had hoped that King Damien would be a strong King, so that Miletosians would not need to hang their heads in shame just for being Miletosians. He'd hoped that someone would finally declare war on Miletos so that Miletos could win, and the people could have some pride. He'd been in a heated argument with some of his playmates, and he'd had this same feeling. Arnaud didn't remember what happened after that, but when he recovered consciousness, the house they'd been in was gone, burned to a crisp, and all of the kids except him were dead. His mother had said the house had burned to the ground in under two minutes. Arnaud didn't have a scratch.
They'd moved away after that, to the other side of Miletos, to get away from prying eyes and prying questions, but Arnaud had never forgotten. That sort of talk made bad things happen. Arnaud didn't want to have to leave again. He'd lose Christy, and he couldn't bear that thought.
Christy set the baby back in his cradle and backed away, motioning for silence.
"He's finally gone to sleep. Our little Rhys," she whispered as she and Arnaud crept back to the kitchen.
"We should get a nanny," said Christy. "You're away working all day, and I have...my friends."
Christy's friends made Arnaud uneasy. They all watched Arnaud out of the corner of their eyes while pretending not to. He wondered what they thought he was. No matter, though; how Christy spent her days was none of his business.
"I've an idea about the nanny," he said. There was a homeless waif around the tannery to whom Arnaud had occasionally donated a coin, when he could afford it. Arnaud was afraid that she had to rely on prostitution to make her way in the world. Unfortunate circumstances notwithstanding, Marya had a motherly look to her. Without understanding how, Arnaud knew that she would be good with a child.
"Have you heard the latest out of Adlehyde?" Christy suddenly asked.
Arnaud winced. He'd come to dread the light that came into Christy's eyes when she spoke politics. He knew what she meant, however. "The dissolutionists are probably right," he muttered. "It's been almost thirty years since the war, and no sign of King Daventhalas. He is probably dead. Still, I don't see why Adlehyde can't appoint a council like the Cardians have."
"It's specifically because of Cardia," Christy said absently, "Britt died ten years ago, and the Provisional Government still hasn't chosen a new king. They don't want to lose power."
"But the other King could still live..." said Arnaud.
"He's been missing almost as long as Daventhalas," countered Christy.
Arnaud wasn't convinced. Nobody could seem to remember the old King's name, nor think it odd that the name eluded their memory. Arnaud wasn't sure why he alone realized it, but it was indicative to him. It smacked of a geis, and if the geis was still in force, that meant the geis-caster was still alive. No mage in history, including Losstarot, had the power to enforce a geis that persisted after his own death."
"Think of the opportunity, Arnaud. If King Damien were to step in in Adlehyde, he could take over in no time."
Arnaud shook his head. "It would be war. People would die, and to what end?"
"To what end? Look around you, Arnaud. Twenty-seven years since the war, and Miletos is still nothing more than a defeated state. At one stroke, Damien could expand Miletos, provide stability and security to Adlehyde, give Miletos something to be proud of, and rise as a power to balance Cardia."
"And if the nations united? They'd see Losstarot in any aggressive action by Miletos."
"What nations? Alent is still mostly unreclaimed. Cardia's in chaos. Zeal and Eblana are gone, and in their place, what has risen? This new nation of Silecia that relies on trade from Adlehyde and Cardia, and those elves planting trees in Thracia. Do you see elves and merchants as threats? The Alent are little better than savages, scraping out a living off of the land."
"But King Damien won't do it. The stakes are too high."
"If he won't do it, Arnaud...perhaps someone else will. Perhaps someone else..."
Arnaud shivered inwardly, and wondered what kind of world Rhys had been born into.
Arnaud crumpled the summons in his fist. "Mullencamp," he snarled. All along, Christy had been involved with them.
Marya looked startled, cradling Rhys in her arms.
"They still exist?" she asked, breathlessly
Arnaud nodded. "Christy was arrested on charges of being a Mullencamp member."
"But surely she'll be aquitted..." said Marya hopefully.
She wouldn't be, Arnaud knew. All of her political notions, all along, had been planted there by the Mullencamp. It was too pat. The Christy he'd married was a trickster and a joker, with no care for glory or power. The Mullencamp explained it all.
Marya gasped. "She's guilty, isn't she?"
Arnaud nodded.
"What are you going to do?"
Arnaud's face was grim. It didn't matter if Christy was Mullencamp. He still loved her.
"Marya," he said, "Take Rhys and leave Miletos. Go somewhere safe, where nobody's ever heard of Arnaud or Christy Lain."
"You mean to rescue her." It was not a question.
"She's Mullencamp, sure enough--but I don't care. If they've harmed her..." Arnaud was startled to see a wreath of flame leap to life around his clenched fist. There had been other times, after the fire when he was a child, when his magic had seemed to act on its own, and it was always with fire.
Marya's eyes widened when she saw his burning fist. "You..."
"Just get Rhys clear," growled Arnaud, and he walked off into the night
Arnaud didn't knock. He kicked the door down. This was the clubhouse where Christy had spent her days. A dark-haired man shot to his feet and started to shout angrily, but the blood drained out of his face when he saw Arnaud.
"You're Mullencamp," he said, "And that's why my wife was arrested."
Other Mullencamp members began filing into the foyer, drawn by the sound of the door crashing down.
"What of it?" sneered the dark-haired man, regaining some of his composure.
"You got her into this, and now you're going to help me get her out."
"You think we have the resources to break out any one of us who is foolish enough to get caught?" demanded the dark-haired man.
"I don't care about your resources. You're going to help."
The dark-haired man started to retort, but a quiet voice from the back cut his words off before they were spoken.
"Do you have the key, Arnaud Lain?"
"The key?"
"There is a room in the cellar here, which was sealed off by Master Losstarot. Perhaps it contains things that will help us restore Miletos to glory. Open the door, and our aid is yours."
"A door? That's all? Show me your door, Mullencamp."
The Mullencamp cultists spoke no word as the quiet man lead Arnaud into the cellars. A massive oaken double-door stood on one wall, kept well polished by the Mullencamp over the twenty-seven years since Yurius had been sealed away. There was no visible keyhole.
"This is the door that has defeated the mighty Mullencamp for almost thirty years?" asked Arnaud quietly. Making noise in this place seemed almost a sacrilege. The quiet man simply nodded. Arnaud grinned inwardly. Sacrilege or no, it was time to make some noise.
Arnaud lifted his arm forward and held his hand palm-first towards the door. All of the anger, rage, and hatred that he'd kept bottled up inside him throughout his life came bubbling forth. Instead of trying to push it back, he drew it forth. More anger. More still. All of it. Flames leaped to life in Arnaud's hand and shot towards the wooden doors. The flames themselves were different from normal fire. All of the colours of the rainbow flashed through the flames. To Arnaud it was...beautiful, even more so than normal fire. The door vanished as though it had never been there, not even leaving ash behind.
"That's the door you couldn't open, eh?" said Arnaud, feeling smug. He wanted to call the fire forth again. It had felt wonderful. He wanted to see the flames surge in their multicolored wonder. The wood of the door hadn't burned at all. Maybe it hadn't had enough vitality. Arnaud wondered if a living thing might burn better, but he shook his head to dispel the thought. He couldn't do that. Never something living.
The quiet man smiled brightly. "Many of us have tried to blast the door down with magic before. Always, the door has resisted it. It was keyed to open at the touch of only one sort of magic. Your magic, Arnaud Lain. Or perhaps I should say, Arnaud Losstarot."
Arnaud opened his mouth to protest, but something in his soul said that this was right. Arnaud Losstarot. It had a nice ring to it.
Arnaud and his Mullencamp stormed through the guardhouse. Kingsmen leaped to do battle with them, but the Mullencamp scarcely had to lift a finger. Wherever one of Damien's men touched a sword, Arnaud's fire burned them to ash. Even stone would burn, it seemed, if Arnaud willed it. He laughed unselfconsciously as he delved deeper and deeper into the King's dungeons. He'd never felt so alive.
There. He saw Christy's cell. There were two other women in it, but when he looked them in the eye, they gazed at the floor. They were Mullencamp, of course, and knew Arnaud for who he was.
Fire wouldn't do for the cell doors, unfortunately. The flames would pass between the bars and hurt Christy. That, he didn't want. Never Christy. Never any of his faithful Mullencamp. Arnaud seized the doors and pulled. Magic roared through his arms, enhancing his strength, and the bars were shorn out of their moorings. Christy got up and ran to him.
"Arnaud," she wept, "You've finally accepted who you are."
Arnaud nodded.
"Master Losstarot?" asked one of the other prisoners who'd been in Christy's cell.
Arnaud raised one burning fist. "You doubt?"
The Mullencamper grinned widely. "Glory be yours, Master Losstarot!"
"Will it be?" asked Christy, "I mean, you've always..."
Arnaud cut her off. "Damien will never do what must be done. I must do it for him. Adlehyde shall fall."
Tears of joy welled up in Christy's eyes. "Oh, Arnaud. Think of the glory. We will restore sanity to this broken world. We will make everything right again...we will..."
Christy cut off with a shocked expression. The smile faded from Arnaud's face as he looked down and saw the arrow sticking out of Christy's belly. Saw the King's archer fitting another arrow.
The King's archer exploded in a flare of multihued flame. "Destroy everything," he ordered his Mullencampers. "Leave no-one alive. No-one."
"And the King, Master Losstarot?" asked the quiet man from the clubhouse.
"Damien is mine and mine alone. He will die when I am ready for him to die."
"Is that so, Arnaud Losstarot?" asked a voice raging with fury.
Arnaud looked up to see darts of fire streaking towards him. Absentmindedly, he knocked them out of the air. This had to be Damien. The man was a fool to try to harm a Losstarot with fire.
"I wasn't aware you had any magic, Majesty, snarled Arnaud. I thought you nothing more than a weak fool who sits on his thumbs when he could restore order to the world."
"I have no magic, Arnaud Losstarot, but my mages do."
Well, thought Arnaud, the mages would just have to die. He readied his fire, and was shocked when he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Dozens of mages stepped into the light behind the king. More rushed in from the other side of the corridor.
"It was a trap all along," said the quiet man, horrified.
"A trap for you, Sedwin Marrick," replied the King. "We never expected to catch a Losstarot, though. For that, we had to call upon reinforcements, otherwise we'd have caught you sooner."
Reinforcements. Arnaud's mind raced. What kind of reinforcements could match his power? He scanned through the mages behind Damien, and his eyes settled upon a white-haired man whose face was lined with age. The mage leaned upon a very distinctive staff. "Impossible," Arnaud whispered, "You're suppoded to be dead." Of course, Arnaud knew the man wasn't dead, but he never expected to meet him face-to-face.
"You know better," rasped the King of Cardia. "I've been hunting you for a long time. It would have saved much had I known your name when you were younger. I could have saved so many lives...but it's over now. I've only become stronger since I fought your father. It's all over, Arnaud Losstarot.
Arnaud screamed as soldiers seized his arms roughly and dragged him away. Arnaud reached for his power, but the King of Cardia's eyes pursued him, until the soldiers bound his hand and stood him upon a makeshift platform. Arnaud fought wildly as the noose was set around his neck, and then there was nothing underneath him. Air...he needed air. Christy...she had to help him. She'd helped him when they were children. Help...
The world went dark, and Arnaud Losstarot struggled no more.