Prologue: Prelude

He should have listened when his ma told him he shouldn’t poke his nose into things when he didn’t have to.

Sam shook, holding both hands over his mouth to smother his whimpers. His small frame was huddled on the ground behind an armchair in the far corner of the study. He sent prayers up to the Goddess with promises that he’d be good and listen to his ma from now on. His heart felt as if it would beat itself out of his small chest. He tried to make himself smaller as the arguing voices grew louder from the other side.

“—foolish to wait any longer,” the crown prince was saying, deep bass voice quivering with anger. “Why do we wait?”

“And do you think that war will solve anything?” The king said impatiently. “Do you know nothing? Delos, war when our land is facing famine goes beyond idiocy.”

“We can plunder and pillage, and enslave those Belaran dogs to farm the lands we take to feed our army. We could—”

He heard a loud thud. “I said no Delos,” the king roared. He had hit the table, Sam guessed. “I am king, not you, and I say there shall be no war. You are dismissed, son.”

Delos took a deep breath. His voice was suddenly dangerously flat. “Father, I was only—”

“Dismissed.”

There was a long silence. Sam could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the anteroom as each second went by. He didn’t even dare to breathe.

Finally, the prince only said stiffly, “As you wish.”

A moment later, the door to the bedchambers slammed shut hard.

“That foolish boy,” the king muttered. Sam heard the sound of silver clanking, and liquid being poured. The king had probably picked up the silver flagon of wine and poured himself a cup. “Young, reckless, and too ambitious for his own good. War? Bah! Pointless massacre on both sides is what it’ll be. Or a one way massacre of us, especially with the way the famine.” He snorted. “The boy is blinded by pride and greed.”

Sam was still frozen, still huddled on the ground. Should he come out now that the king had finished talking? If he came out and it was discovered that he had sneaked in to the king’s study to stare at the shelves of books there rather than do his job directly, he was probably going to be birched. But if the king finds him first then it’ll be even worse… I want my ma. Sam barely managed to hold back a whimper.

The decision was taken from him by the faint sound of stone scraping on stone. “Who’s there?” the king yelled in alarm. There was the sound of the clatter of silver as his cup fell onto the table. “Guards!”

“They can’t hear you,” a smooth, tenor voice said dryly.  “Your Majesty Zerain.” He added the title almost as if it were an afterthought.

“Who are you?” Sam could her the king’s heavy footsteps as he backed towards his corner. “How did you get here?”

The stranger laughed. “Fortunately, the castle is riddled with secret passageways. They’re quite useful if you take the chance to learn them.” There was a brief silence. “Now, don’t try that, Your Majesty. I don’t need you to be trying to poke holes in me with your sword.”

The king’s footsteps had stopped. “Damn you,” the king cursed. “You’re a mage!” Sam’s eyes widened.  Mages were rare, so rare that there were probably only less than ten in the world. His fear grew, but Sam dropped his hands from his mouth and sunk even lower to the ground, peering out from the small gap between the bottom of the chair and the floor.

The king had his back facing him and was floating stiffly in midair; only his head was moving around wildly, eyes wide and glaring. Across the room, a man wearing a black hooded cloak had crossed his arms, a small amused smile on his lips, eyes hidden in the shadows of the cowl. Sam couldn’t see his face, but from  voice he seemed young.

“A mage?” the stranger mused. “I suppose I am. Though I would consider myself more a student of history.” He picked up the silver cup that had spilled on the table, and poured another cup of wine from the flagon.

“What do you want with me?” Zerain Malzareth, king of Shaerone, demanded. “I’ve not heard that mages have degraded themselves into assassins.”

Smiling, the mage took a sip of the wine. “Tell me, Your Majesty, what do you know of the age of magic?”

The king looked at him suspiciously, but the other man only smiled and waited. “I don’t have time to play your cursed games,” the king roared finally. “What do you want? If you’re going to kill me, just kill me and be done with it”

“That would be far too boring,” he smiled. “And disappointing. After all, this is going to be the beginning of everything. I’ve been waiting for this moment for far too long.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “Are you looking for war?”

“So you finally get it. I was beginning to think your brain had become addled with age.”

“Are you insane?” Zerain growled. “Or daft? What is there to gain from this?

“Plenty. For me that is,” the mage smiled. “And of course, that’s what’s most important. Isn’t that what you’ve always said?

The king fell silent. “Who are you?” he asked suspiciously.

“You still haven’t recognized me?” he said with amusement. “I’m hurt.”

The king frowned, furrowing his brows in thought.

 The mage chuckled and turned to face the row of portraits that hung on the wall. “Five generation of kings since the first. The blood truly has thinned,” he shook his head. “It has always been dictated as law in the kingdom that no one more related than cousins be allowed to marry. The consequence of violation was always the culling of the children from the union. The thinning of blood is important,” he turned and walked until he stopped within arms reach in front of the king. He gave a crooked grin. “Do you know why?”

 “What are you trying to say?” the king said quietly, his tone dangerous. “I’m tired of your sidestepping and insinuations.”

The mage snorted. “You really have become senile.” He reached up and roughly pulled the king’s head back by the hair, and his hand that held the cup forcefully poured the wine into his mouth. The king’s eyes bulged, and he spluttered and choked until most of the wine had either gone in or fallen onto his silk tunic in a vivid stain of red before the mage threw the cup down onto the carpet carelessly. While the king coughed, he took a seat in an armchair nearby, watching the king with that same calm smile on his face.

“You bastard—” the king wheezed. “What—”

“Incest is a nasty thing, is it not?” the mage interrupted quietly.

The king froze, staring at him with bulging eyes and a mouth that opened and closed in a way that reminded Sam of a fish.

Sam realized his own mouth was open in a gape. What was he hearing? What was incest? Ma had never told him anything about… “incet”? Or “inses”…Or maybe it was “insects”? His mind was a mess. He didn’t understand what was happening. He was so afraid. He knew his king was in danger, but he felt frozen in place and couldn’t move. What could he do? He was only seven. A mage! A mage could kill him in seconds. He’d heard the stories of how a single mage could destroy an army in minutes alone, if he were powerful enough. Not whimpering this time was even harder than before.

“How did you—” the king started then stopped, shocked recognition appearing on his usually stony face. “You can’t be—”

“Finally you figure it out,” the mage laughed.

The king was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke, voice tight. His face was beet red, and he was sweating hard. “What exactly are you planning?”

The mage cocked his head ever so slightly and laughed. “Something entertaining,” he promised. “So you won’t be bored watching from hell. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your children while you’re gone.”

“You—” Suddenly the king jerked. His face turned dark purple. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he began to kick in midair. Whatever had held him in the air before dissipated, and he fell, twitching in convulsions on the carpet.

The mage simply stood besides him and watched with that same small smile of his.

It took only minutes, Sam was sure, but to him it felt like it took a lifetime for the king to die. When the kicking and twitching had finally stopped, the king’s face—the corpse’s face—was a dark purple, and a black swollen tongue fell from black lips surrounded by froth.

Goddess, Sam thought numbly in horror. The King was murdered!

 “Seems like the dosage was too high. He died more quickly than I would have liked.” The mage sighed. “Well, no matter. I’ve wasted enough time here.” He laughed. “It’s time for the fun to start.” He turned towards the window, and the copper light of the fading sun illuminated his features for just the briefest of moments.

Despite himself, Sam jerked, eyes widening. Impossible.

His head hit the chair with a thump.

The mage stopped.

Then slowly, ever so slowly, he turned.

“It seems that we’ve had an audience,” he said quietly, that deadly smile spreading on his lips.