by Bleys J. Maynard
Young Rhys
Marya was worried, and Rhys had no difficulty telling. Even at the age of ten, he had no trouble reading his guardian's emotions. Something had happened, and it had to do with the black-caped man who'd just left. There had been others, all showing up in the course of the last months. All asking questions about Rhys. He decided that it was time to do something about the bad men. Most ten-year-olds would have been afraid, but Rhys was special. Nothing bad ever happened to Rhys Lain. Rhys had been chosen by God. Rhys didn't know for what purpose God had chosen him, but he trusted that God would make that clear to him when he was old enough. For now, though, someone was frightening Marya. Surely God wouldn't mind if he used his power to protect Marya.
Marya used to smile at Rhys when he talked about God, but of late, she'd become very grave. There were many Gods, she said, and not all of them were nice. Rhys supposed she'd been talking about Chaos, but Rhys wasn't afraid of Chaos. Men had defeated Chaos before. The God of Cardia hadn't openly moved in that conflict, but surely he must have aided. If it seemed strange, well, God moved in mysterious ways. The God of Cardia was a good god, not a bad one like Chaos. God wouldn't stand for men coming around and scaring Marya, even if she didn't believe in him, becaue Marya was a good woman.
Rhys made himself invisible and trailed the black-caped man. Marya always warned Rhys not to do things the other children couldn't do, but it had to be OK if it was to protect her. Rhys never even considered that he was in danger, because God would protect him. Rhys never let his faith in God flag, because he knew that bad things sometimes happened to people who lacked faith. The people of Adlehyde stopped believing that King Daventhalas would come back, and that had made the country fall apart. Now each city-state on that continent owed allegiance only to itself. Such a mighty nation, fallen to dust from lack of faith. Cardia's King was missing, too, but Rhys knew he'd come back. Rhys had to keep the faith, because nobody else believed King Raistlin would return--If Rhys stopped believing, the King wouldn't come back. The King was a hero, who had beat up Sydney Losstarot and Yurius in the war. If the King was around, the bad men in black capes wouldn't come around. Still, Rhys wondered why nobody ever said the King's name. Could it be that some didn't want him to come back? Well, if that was the case, Rhys would believe twice as hard.
The other children made fun of Rhys for believing, but the other children couldn't do things like Rhys could. Rhys supposed God would forgive them; they'd never had proof of His power like Rhys had. The wonderful fire had never saved them from bandits. Rhys still remembered that, although he pretended he didn't, because it upset Marya. She had been travelling to their present home in the west of Cardia, and some men with swords had stopped the wagon. They said they were going to tear off Marya's clothes and do bad things to them, but then the fire came. All of the men with swords died before they could lay a hand on Marya or Rhys. Rhys had just been a baby when it happened, but he'd never forget the fire that had saved them. The fire that God had sent
The black-caped man walked into a nondescript building in the center of town. Rhys slipped in through the window and followed him. Inside, there was an elderly man with white hair, pacing up and down the length of a table, leaning on a wizard's staff.
"Did you find anything out?" asked the old man without looking up to see who'd entered.
"The Aurelac woman won't say anything," replied the black-caped man, "Yet, I'm certain the boy must be the one. He has the same name as Arnaud."
"It's not enough," said the old man dismissively, "There were lots of Lains in Miletos, and even some still in Cardia."
"My liege, why must we move in secret? There are only three of us left. Only reveal yourself, and we can have the answers in days. Days, where we have hunted for years."
The old man looked regretful. "I still have enemies in this world, Ragnar. If I loosed the geas, there would be eyes watching me all of the time. If we're to accomplish anything, we must accomplish it in secret, lest the world panic. What we did with Yurius....it had its price. If there was enough stability in the world, things would be different, of course...but the allies are fallen. I must be careful."
"Enemies? If you were to resume your power, who would be strong enough to harm you? The boy? He's but a child."
"I don't know who they are, yet," replied the old man, "And they were strong enough to kill Britt. That was not easily accomplished."
"Surely, we can do something besides sit!"
"That's enough, Ragnar!" said the old man, finally showing some ire, "That's--" The old man cut off abruptly and gripped his staff.
"What is it, Majesty?" asked Ragnar.
"There's something here...something familiar..." The old man continued to scan the room, and then his gaze settled on Rhys. Rhys tensed, but he knew the old man couldn't see him.
"Careless," muttered the old man, "So careless I couldn't sense it until it was right on top of me. You can come out now, Rhys Lain."
Rhys was shocked. Who was this old man, to pierce the veil of invisibility given to him by God himself? He had only a moment to think, however, before Ragnar launched himself at Rhys. The black-caped man was a little too slow, however, and could only trace the old man's eyes to get an idea of Rhys's location. Rhys dropped the invisibility and leaped aside. If Ragnar drew his sword...
"Enough, Ragnar," said the old man, "There is no call for violence. Not unless there must be."
"You're the one. You've been sending the men who scare Marya."
"I am," said the old man, "but my actions are guided by necessity. Do you know who you are, Rhys Lain? Do you know who I am?"
"I am the one chosen by God," snarled Rhys, "And you're the one who has been troubling good people in their homes."
"A simplistic view, and quite mistaken," said the old man. "Yet I can see where you would see me as a bad person. It doesn't have to be that way, though, if you would co-operate with me."
"And who are you to make demands of me? Who are you, to dare to threaten Marya?"
"My name," replied the old man, "Is Raistlin."
For a time, there was no sound in the building. Finally, Rhys spoke. "You're lying," he whispered, "That can't be. The King is a good man. A Hero. He would never trouble innocent people."
"Innocent people?" replied Raistlin, "Perhaps you are, at that, and for that, I offer you a chance, when others in my employ would see you slain as an act of simple necessity."
Rhys glared back. The King wouldn't make threats like this. It was a lie. It had to be.
"You're still not convinced," observed Raistlin, "It seems it will be necessary to tell you things it would be kinder to keep hidden. Do you remember your father, Rhys Lain? Do you know who your granfather was?"
Rhys shook his head. From his earliest memory, there had only been him and Marya.
"Your grandfather," said Raistlin, "Was a man named Sydney Losstarot."
"Liar!"
Raistlin shook his head. "When I was sealing Yurius, he gave a prophecy. He said he'd marked a son of Sydney Losstarot, and one day, the boy's descendant would rise again and help Yurius rain havoc on the world. Those of us in the sealing agreed that if the world were to learn of it, it would be disaster. With our chosen few assistants, we sought the son of Sydney Losstarot. Britt sat on the Throne of Cardia, and diverted the resources of the nation to assist the search, as much as he could. I searched from the shadows, allowing the world to believe me simply gone, as Daventhalas was. I finally found your father, Arnaud, shortly after you were born. We'd had to track some old stories of unexplained fires, and mysterious disappearances. Arnaud was actually a good man through most of his life, until he came into his power and it twisted him. If I'd found him younger, I could have salvaged him. Perhaps he could have been of benefit to the world...but I did not. We were too slow, and by the time I laid eyes on Arnaud Losstarot, he had already chosen to walk his father's road. We had to capture Arnaud and execute him, or he would have brought war to the world again. Come with me, Rhys, to Miletos. There are no people there anymore. If you will agree to be sealed into Miletos, away from people you could hurt, I will protect you. You can live out your life in peace. If not, however...I will do what I must do to ensure you do not reproduce. I will not have a Losstarot trouble the world again."
Rhys snarled, "Father Resnik warned me about people like you. He said that evil would appear in the guise of good, that it would try to make us believe that it was working for the benefit of mankind. But evil is evil, and I have been chosen by God!"
"That," said Raistlin grimly, "Is unfortunate. I don't want to do this to a child...God help me, I don't...but I will not allow another war."
Pain flared in Rhys's body. The old man was trying to kill him. He'd lied, and said that Rhys was the grandson of Evil itself, and now he was trying to kill the one chosen by God. It was unforgivable. Magic coursed through his young body and he hurled all of it at the feeble old man. The old man was strong, almost inhumanly so, but Rhys had God on his side. He could not fail. No matter how much it hurt, he could...not...fail...
Shock flashed across the old man's face. "Impossible," he rasped around fits of coughing, "You cannot be so strong, so soon. I cannot be too old...I cannot--!" Blood dribbled out of the corners of his mouth, and his face showed signs of strain.
Ragnar drew his sword and leaped to the old man's defense, but Rhys diverted a small flow of power, and the black-caped man was reduced to ash. He hardly even noticed the death of the warrior
Rhys hurled magic with all the force his ten-year-old body could produce. Maybe Sydney Losstarot hadn't died. Surely this man was Sydney Losstarot--he was the right age. This had to be what God had chosen Rhys to do. More power. He needed more. He walked forward, still pushing with all of his magic. The old man's magic was a match for this, but his body was feeble. Rhys tore the staff from the old man's fingers and brought it down on his white-capped skull with all of the force he could muster. The old man crumpled to the ground, his magical assault ceasing.
It wasn't enough. Rhys had to be sure. He couldn't fail God in this. Again and again, he brought the crystal-tipped staff down on the old man's head until his clothes were covered with blood and gray matter. Only when he couldn't see any remnants of the old man's face in the battered remains of his skull did Rhys walk away. As he stepped out of the building, it burst into flames, the same multicolored flame that had saved him from bandits when he was just a baby. That fire would consume even stone. People came rushing towards the building, drawn by the flames, so Rhys made himself invisible again, and hobbled home, leaning on the old man's crystal-tipped staff.
The old man had been lying. He must have been.
Rhys heard footsteps crunch on the gravel behind him.
It is time, he thought, his grip tightening on his sword hilt. The familiar feel of the criscrossing strips of cotton wrapped around the hilt comforted Rhys. The blade was Ryuugumi-made, and those little people in eastern Cardia made only the highest quality weapons. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he drew the blade in one swift motion. They were both here, both of the men who'd hunted him for the past eight years.
"So you're finally ready to face me." he said quietly.
Angrily, one of the men answered, "It's time for you to answer for your sins, Rhys Losstarot."
"Such bluster," said Rhys, "Sins, you say? I've fought to protect myself and my guardian. Nothing more." Rhys had wanted to hunt these men as they had hunted him, but aggression was not God's way, and as the chosen of God, Rhys had to respect that. Now, however, it would be ended. At long last, it would be ended.
"For the murder of King Raistlin, I sentence you to death!" shouted the black caped men at once, and they rushed him. Rhys calmly sidestepped, using his sword to block the attack of the nearer man, and then launched a counterattack of his own. Steel sheered through flesh and bone, and the first man collapsed. The second wasted no time, attacking before Rhys was able to pull his blade clear. Rhys shied back, not quite fast enough, and felt the steel of his enemy's blade bite into his cheek. He brought his sword up in time to block the followup attack, and kicked his opponent square in the kidneys while their blades were locked. The man doubled over, and Rhys's next attack took his head off. There'd been no need to exercise his power at all. That was important. To rely on another, even God, was weakness, and Rhys felt in his marrow that he could not afford weakness. He wiped his blade clean on the black cape of one of the men and continued towards home.
Marya made a fuss over the cut on his cheek when he got home, of course. Marya sometimes seemed to think Rhys was still a child, even though she scarcely looked any older than he did. In fact, Rhys thought, she was extremely attractive--No. He mustn't think like that. Marya had been like a mother to him, ever since the very beginning. She'd been the one constant in his life. Even when men hounded his blood, Marya never changed. The others had noticed the hunted look in Rhys's eyes; they'd recognized that he was much harder than any other child his age. They were afraid of him, even the teachers. Oh, he was widely praised--after all, he protected the weaker children from bullies, and whenever the church organized a charitable event, Rhys was the first to volunteer--But even when he was tending the sick or feeding the poor, people were as wary of him as of a lion. When he started wearing a sword, nobody commented on it--A sword looked right on him, as though it belonged there, and no matter how much anybody feared, Rhys had never shed blood with it until this day. He'd never had to. The toughest strongarm or bandit in Cardia was dissuaded by the slightest hint of bare steel combined with the look in Rhys's eyes.
"You killed them, didn't you?" asked Marya
For the first time in years, Rhys allowed another human being to see emotion on his face. He made no effort to conceal the shock he felt.
"I've known from the very beginning, Rhys. You're a very special boy. A special man, I should say. It's time, I think, for you to learn the truth that I've kept from you all these years."
It was impossible. Marya would never lie to him.
"Eighteen years ago, just after you were born, I didn't have the wealth I do today. I was a prostitute, working the streets of Miletos. Your father came to me and offered me a job, taking care of you. I recognized him--He's one of the few men who offered me coin other than in return for my...services. Your father was a good man, a caring man..." She broke off.
"His name was Arnaud, wasn't it?" Rhys asked quietly. Marya nodded.
"Your mother was the problem. After the war, the Mullencamp didn't go away. As long as Miletos existed as a nation, they worked in the shadows, waiting for a chance to return to power. Your mother was a member of the Mullencamp. A police raid broke up a secret meeting of the cultists, and your mother was captured. When your father found out, he decided to go and rescue her. His love was so strong that he didn't care that she was a cultist...and your father was a remarkable man, just like you are. He inherited some power...I don't know how to tell you this..."
"My grandfather was Sydney Losstarot, wasn't he," said Rhys, feeling sick. Marya's expression was answer enough. The old man really had been Raistlin. Dear God...Rhys had murdered the King of Cardia. It couldn't be true, yet it was.
"Your father told me to escape from Miletos with you. I came to Cardia, because that's the last place I thought Raistlin would look. Arnaud died trying to save his wife."
"You knew he was the son of Sydney Losstarot, and yet you helped anyways? God, you knew you were saving the grandson of Sydney Losstarot? You should have gone to Raistlin. You should have smothered me in my sleep before I had a chance to grow up!"
Now Marya looked angry. "Why? Because Sydney lost?"
"The man was a monster! He slaughtered, burned, and raped his way across Zeal!"
"A lesson you need to learn, Rhys, is that victors write history. I lived in Lea Monde throughout the war, and things were better there when Sydney was in charge. Yes, he did some evil things, but he wasn't as bad as the history books would have you believe. For all of his sins, he did provide stability. Besides, even if Sydney was a megalomaniac, that doesn't mean his descendents have to be. No matter what Sydney did, you deserve a chance to grow up, and to set your own course."
"Set my own course? I've become a monster, Marya! All this time, because I didn't know...I killed King Raistlin with my own hands!"
Marya nodded. "I recognized the staff you came home with. I hid it away in a safe place, where nobody who might recognize it would see it."
"Why? Why didn't you turn me in?"
"I, of all people, can understand you. You're not a bad person, Rhys. You've made some bad choices through ignorance, but you're not a bad person. I knew another person, once. Everybody thought he was the most evil creature alive, but he truly wanted what was best for everybody. God, mortal, and Andain alike..."
"Andain? What's an Andain?"
Marya smiled. "It's a name that has not touched a mortal tongue for many, many years."
Many years...suddenly, things all snapped together. Marya had lived in Lea Monde during the war. The war ended forty-five years ago. To top it all off, Marya didn't look a day older now than she ever had.
"Marya...How old are you?"
A sad look crossed her face. "I stopped counting after two thousand years."
"Two...thousand...years..."
Rhys looked deep into Marya's eyes, searching with all of his power. Not God's gift--Sydney Losstarot's. There was not a trace of deception there.
"My husband gave me the gift of immortality, although it was forbidden by all the laws of his people to exercise his power in that fashion. His last command to me was to live. Men hunted me through these very lands, lands which were once part of Maar Sul, for years because I was associated with Kagetsu and his perceived evil. Rhys...You and your father both remind me of Lord Kagetsu. You have the same inner strength, and both of you care deeply for your loved ones. Don't ever believe it's your destiny to be a creature of evil. You chart your own course. Go out into the world, and make something good of it.
Rhys's hand tightened on his sword. He'd killed two men today, and one other eight years before, and as it turned out, they'd been good men. To believe that he could right that...
"Promise me, Rhys. Promise that you'll live. Not just for me--for Lord Kagetsu and the memory of Maar Sul."
Rhys looked into Marya's eyes once more, and saw the gentle woman who'd always been there for him. He couldn't fail her in this.
"I promise," he said, and left his home for the last time.