A steady breeze blew across the countryside, spinning the iconic windmills of Aledid. Dozens of them dotted the plains surrounding the city; each with five white sails twirling through the air. For a millennium, these mills have churned, providing flour for not only Aledid but all the surrounding land. To many, these windmills were just another part of the landscape, but to Gerick, they stood as testaments of the longstanding history of Baelom. For them to survive this long, each new generation of Aledid had to accept the responsibility of maintaining the structures. All it took was one generation to mess the cycle up, and they would quickly fade away into history. Yet still, the windmills continued to spin.
The city sat along the border between Baelom and Madai, serving as a hub for anyone leaving the kingdom. Gerick recalled the first time he traveled through Aledid almost a decade ago. His father, the king, had brought him along on a trip to meet with Queen Selveria of Mildrona. He was only seven at the time, but he remembered the trip vividly.
Deep in the heat of summer, they had left Lasidria just after sunrise. It had taken two days for them to reach Aledid, and another week after that to arrive at Harth. Gerick had felt a strange mix of emotions during their travels and dreaded leaving the familiarity of home behind. The new land differed so much from Baelom leaving him with a list of questions: Who was this Lady Iris everyone spoke of, and why did she have a house in every village? Why did they have to give a man all their money in exchange for new coins? What were these strange gems that contained bonded Airiya?” Looking back now, his naivety was quite amusing. By the time they had reached Dimonk however, his father had dispelled most of those concerns.
They traveled in a simple manner; just the two of them on horseback. Once they left the kingdom, nobody on the journey recognized them until they reached the Rose Palace. Everyone treated them as simple commoners on the road, allowing his father to teach him about the cultural differences.
Some differences were simple to learn. Every village no matter the size always had a Temple and a Bank, usually in a central plaza. Temple services were twice a week, but only a fraction of the population participated. In truth, more people frequented the banks; even with all the warnings about trusting bankers.
Other differences were harder to follow and understand. Card games were popular in inns or taverns, but each town had their own rules, oftentimes leaving Gerick confused. Another difference that baffled Gerick at the time was Airacite. His father had explained the purpose of those gemstones, but he couldn’t fathom why anyone would pay money for them. Even now, with a better understanding of the world outside Baelom, he rejected the idea of using them.
Regardless of these slight differences, Gerick found the people of Mildrona to be very similar to his own. People still farmed, worked, ate, slept, raised families, and complained about taxes. Even the queen reminded him of the ladies of the royal court in Lasidria.
Since then, Gerick had accompanied his father on numerous other trips, visiting the kingdoms of Kyren, Dain, and the Free State of Breckan. During one of their travels, Gerick noticed that other monarchs traveled in large entourages, and one day he asked his father why they traveled alone.
“Nobility has no need to be paraded around, son. I am a Baelon Mage,” his father had said. “If I can’t take care of myself, how am I to be trusted to take care of the kingdom?”
His father’s confidence never faltered. Whether meeting with other rulers or traversing through the Whitewind Forest, Gerick felt no worries when he traveled with his dad.
Gerick looked down at the pommel of his saddle and fidgeted with the reins. He yearned for that assurance on this trip.
“Feeling nervous?”
Gerick looked over at his uncle, Kalos, who rode alongside him. “. . . what if I make things worse?”
Kalos shook his head, “You won’t. I promise you that.”
“But how can you be sure?”
His uncle sniffed. “Well, you’re my brother’s son after all.”
Gerick felt at the signet ring hanging from his neck. “I might be his son, but I’m not him. I’m not sure if I’m ready for this.”
Kalos sighed. “Nobody ever feels fully prepared, but we all must fulfill our roles in life for the sake of the kingdom. Trust me, you are more qualified than myself when I began making these trips.”
“Surely not.”
“It’s true! After dad died unexpectedly, your father and I were thrown into leadership. Arbras accepted the responsibilities of king, but I was merely a jealous boy who wanted so badly to be king. It took years before I fulfilled my position as ambassador wholeheartedly. You, on the other hand, are already thinking not of yourself, but of the entire kingdom. You’re wise beyond your years, Gerick, whether you realize it or not.”
Gerick felt his cheeks flush. He had never thought about what those early days of his father’s reign looked like. Back then, his father would have been around his age; and already forced to be king. He couldn’t imagine leading the entire nation. Had his father been just as unsure? Looking over at Kalos, it was hard to imagine his uncle as a jealous man. For as long as Gerick could remember, Kalos was sincerely devoted to his role as ambassador; always right there when his father needed him. Together, they kept the kingdom moving forward.
“And besides,” his uncle continued, “this trip should be easy. After all, you are only meeting the new consul.”
“But what if he hates us just like Darius? What do you do with people like that?”
“What do I do?” Kalos laughed. “Well, the same thing I do when meeting anyone. I show them the patience Baelom is known for.”
“But,” continued his uncle, “you have a point, Darius has been more than a thorn in our side. Regrettably, Arbras and I let our emotions get the better of us last time we met the man, and that has led to some unfortunate circumstances.”
“Such as the trade embargo?” Gerick asked. He was well aware of the decision his father had made regarding trade with the Ragnerians. Maduin merchants were smuggling Airacite through Lasidria and down the Ezram to Phaeros. For years after Ragnerians first landed on the Golden Cliffs, the trade lines between Madai and Ragner existed without issue, but in recent years, Airacite merchants attempted to market to the Baelons.
“Exactly, even though we cannot let that foul practice spread amongst our people, we fear our reaction may have been too harsh. The embargo has only divided our two nations further,” Kalos said softly as he gazed out at the horizon.
“You say this meeting will be easy, but it sounds important. So why send me?”
“You and this new consul, Hector, mark a new possibility for us. Over the next thirty years, Hector will serve as one leg of the Triumvirate, and one day Darius will be replaced. Thus, it’s vital that you are the one to meet with him. It will be you two who shape our future, not Arbras, myself, nor Darius.”
Gerick began to protest, but Kalos continued.
“Don’t think of it that way though. This is only an introductory meeting to learn what kind of person he is. There is no pressure to solve all the issues between our countries over one conversation. Think of it like practice. If things go well, you might be able to suggest a compromise to reopen the border, but if not, then you at least have a gauge of Hector’s personality and how to work with him. Plus, if it’s any assurance, my sources say that this Hector is nothing like Darius. In fact, I hear nothing but how relatable he is.”
So, this is merely practice. His uncle had meant to ease his worries, but Gerick couldn’t help but feel more nervous. The world had changed since his father and uncle were learning how to run a kingdom. Interactions between any world leaders could produce drastic consequences these days. Was this really the time for practice? Gerick slouched even further in his saddle. Was there ever a right time?
Kalos noticed and tried again to lift his mood. “And most importantly, your father and I have faith in you. You are Gerick Amahn, son of Arbras, Prince of Baelom, destined to one day sit on the Sapphire Throne. You are the youngest person to ever make the Pilgrimage and return. You are no doubt the greatest Mage of our lifetime, and I have the utmost faith that you will represent the kingdom just fine.”
Gerick looked out as they passed the last windmill before the city wall. “Thank you, Uncle, but those are only fancy titles. Sure, I might be a talented caster, but that doesn’t qualify me as a leader.”
He looked back to see his uncle shaking his head again.
“No one is expecting you to be a great leader yet, Gerick. Everybody has a beginning. It’s not like you were a master the first time you learned to cast. Even you had to dedicate hours practicing your skills.”
That’s true I suppose.
“I know you’ve heard this more than enough, but one day you will be king. We want to prepare you as much as possible before then. Arbras and I didn’t have a chance to learn, but that doesn’t have to be the case for you. Embrace this challenge, Gerick. Think of it like another pilgrimage if you must. For the sake of the kingdom.” Kalos gripped his reins and pushed his horse into a trot. “But enough talk. Let’s hurry to Aledid for lunch. Then I’ll see you off.”
Gerick followed and they soon arrived at the city walls. They passed through a wide gateway and followed a straight boulevard. The citizens of Aledid crowded the street but paid no attention to the two of them. Even the few that recognized them in their plain cloaks simply nodded and went on with their day. Everyone in Baelom knew to leave royalty alone in public; a fact Gerick would forever be grateful for.
At the center of the city, a large palace stood high above the surrounding buildings. The boulevard diverged around the palace grounds forming a large ring, and rows of tents lined the inner perimeter of this ring where locals brought produce to sell.
Kalos directed them around the palace and began to turn down a side street. “Follow me, Soren’s inn is this way.”
Gerick, however, pulled his mare to a stop and dismounted. “Actually, Uncle, I think I’ll just grab something quick from these stalls.”
His uncle turned around. “Are you sure? Soren has become quite the chef these days.”
“I’m sure. I’d love to see him, but I should be on the road soon. I need to face this challenge. I might not be ready, but I need to fulfill my duty, for all of Baelom.”
Kalos got off his horse as well and embraced Gerick. “You will do great.”
“Thank you for accompanying me this far.”
Kalos stepped back but left a hand on Gerick’s shoulders. “Are you sure you are comfortable traveling alone? Lord Lasolis would be more than willing to provide a vanguard.” He gestured towards the palace.
Gerick grinned and raised his left hand. Two flame marks were branded into the back of his hand; the same marks that flew on the banner above the palace. “I’m fine by myself. After all, I am a Mage. If I can’t take care of myself, how am I to be trusted to take care of the kingdom?”
“Hah! You’re Arbras’ son no doubt,” Kalos laughed. “Well, safe travels. I look forward to your return.”
“Until we meet again, Uncle,” Gerick said with a deep bow.
They parted ways, and Gerick strode over to the tent vendors. He bought some fruit for the road, and soon found himself riding west through the city gates; out of Aledid, out of Baelom, out of his homeland. With a straight back and newly forged determination, he entered Madai.
* * *
A sign hung on the entrance to the Greenspring Inn. “Closed till evening.”
Ignoring it, Kalos pushed open the door, and was instantly hit by the scent of freshly baked bread. He stepped into the dimly lit inn. Empty tables filled the large room; chairs neatly placed in preparation for the night. The only lit lamps hung above the well-worn bar that stretched along the back of the room, casting a warm glow on the glossy bar top. A clattering of pots and pans sounded from behind a closed door that led to the kitchen. The door burst open, and a tall old man with a neatly trimmed beard stormed through.
“We’re closed! Can’t you read? Or are you too good for—” he trailed off as soon as he saw Kalos. “Oh, it’s you Kal . . . You’re a couple hours early. Lithren’s letter said you weren’t going to be here till the fourteenth.”
“Sorry about that. We made better time on the road than I expected,” Kalos replied as he sat down at the bar. “Bread smells delicious as always. Have anything else cooking?”
“Well of course. I have to eat too,” the man scoffed. He pulled out two glasses from beneath the bar and filled them under the tap of a large keg.
“It’s been too long, Soren. How’s retirement treating you?” Kalos asked, taking a glass.
“Same as always,” the innkeeper said, pulling up a stool on the other side of the bar. “Usually, you only stop by on one of your trips. What’s this meeting about? And why here of all places?”
Kalos rubbed the side of the glass with his thumb. “I figured there was no need to drag him all the way to Lasidria.”
The old man gave him a level stare. “But why drag me into it. Is Lasolis not to know about this meeting? I’m not a fan of the games Lithren plays.”
“I’m not sure I’m a fan of those games either,” Kalos chuckled. “But you have nothing to fear. This fellow is simply a man from Breckan.”
“Breckan?” The old man slammed his glass down. “He’s not from the bank, is he? Oh, to the void with you if you brought that kind in here!”
“Relax Soren. He’s not from the bank. I assure you, there is nothing to worry about,” Kalos said. He thumbed the side of the glass. “This isn’t one of Lithren’s schemes. I just asked her to help arrange the meeting. He’s a friend I met on one of my journeys. And I daresay a private bar sounds more pleasant than a palace with that stuck-up lord Lasolis.”
The innkeeper relaxed on his stool. “Sorry for that. It’s just that I’m getting too old for politics, you know. Left that life behind me years ago.”
“I know, and I would never drag you back into it.” Kalos took another sip, and for a moment the inn was silent. The drink quenched a thirst he didn’t realize he had. He held the glass up to examine the beer. What would life be like if I could just retire and start up an inn myself . . .
“Where’s the rest of your party?”
The question broke Kalos out of his daydream. “Huh?”
“Earlier you said, ‘we’ made good time. Who’s the we?”
“Oh right . . .” Kalos thumbed his glass again. “This trip serves two purposes. On top of today’s meeting, I was also accompanying our young prince as he makes his way to Madeen. You have probably heard by now, the Maduins have selected a new consul?”
“Yes, some Hector, was it?”
“Correct. The prince is meeting with him shortly before the inauguration ceremony. First time going by himself. I was hoping he could stop in for a taste of your fine cooking, but he already left.”
“Nervous?”
“Him or me?” Kalos laughed softly.
Soren grinned and stood up. Finished with his beer, he filled his glass again. “I’m sure he’ll be just fine. He’s a fine lad, and he has only the best to learn from.”
Kalos looked down at his drink and once again found himself rubbing the side of the glass. He’ll be fine . . . nothing will happen.
“Give me a minute Kal and I’ll have lunch served up.” Soren strode back into the kitchen and returned with a large pot of stew and a round loaf of bread. While they ate, they relived past stories, and as much as the old man denied wanting anything to do with court politics, he kept inquiring about certain families and their recent escapades. They kept this up for another two hours until finally a knock came on the door.
Soren looked up at the timepiece hanging behind the bar; the fourteenth hour. “Come in, it’s unlocked!” the innkeeper shouted.
Slowly the door creaked open, and a hooded man stepped inside. The light from outside obscured most of the man’s features, but he was tall and slender. Even after the door was closed, the hood kept the man’s face in shadow. Kalos could only make out the glint of glasses and a few strands of silver hair. That’s him all right.
“Welcome to the Greenspring. Care for a drink?”
The man brushed dust off his cloak before walking over to the bar. “Ah yes. Could you heat a cup of tea?”
“Sure thing. Black or green?”
“Black please, and do you have any milk?”
Soren raised his eyebrows and shot a glance at Kalos who shrugged his shoulders. The old man stepped back into the kitchen and quickly returned with a steaming mug and small bottle of milk, setting both on the bar.
“My thanks, innkeeper,” the man said as he grabbed the mug with gloved hands.
Soren looked at the face within the hood and tensed for the briefest of moments, but Kalos noticed. He saw the hair. The hooded man poured more than a splash of milk into the mug before taking a quick sip.
“Mmm. What a lovely brew,” the man said as he sat down next to Kalos. “Now if you wouldn’t mind leaving us be, innkeeper?”
The words felt more like a dismissive command rather than a question. Soren looked taken aback, and glanced over to Kalos, who nodded slightly.
“Er . . . yes, as you wish, sir.” The old innkeeper gathered his things and walked to a staircase on the far side of the room. “Call for me if you need anything.”
After Soren had ample time to climb the stairs, Kalos turned back to the person at the bar. The man pulled back the hood, and exposed bright silver hair, tied back by a black ribbon. A short matching beard covered his sharp jawline, and black framed glasses sat on a long flat nose.
“It’s good to see you again, Kalos,” he said with a cold smile.
Kalos looked at the man’s eyes and felt his stomach tighten but forced himself to nod in acknowledgment. “The same for you.”
Something about those pale blue eyes made him uneasy. The man spoke politely, but that gaze made it seem like he was talking to someone insignificant; someone so far beneath him, like an infant.
“I assume the boy is off to Madeen like we agreed?”
“Yes, sir. Arbras was skeptical at first, but after a little persuasion with the queen’s help, he came around to the idea.”
He knew he was a mere pawn in their eyes; just a tool for some other means, but what else could he do?
“Excellent. And the king still doesn’t know about our arrangement?”
“. . . Correct.” Kalos thumbed his now empty glass again.
“And you’re sure he can’t be persuaded in this manner too?” The man took another long sip from his mug.
“My brother can be rather close-minded in these regards.”
“But the time will come when he finds out. What do you intend to do then?” he asked with a thin smile.
He’s messing with me!
“I will convince him before then. It’ll just take some time for him to see the truth.” Kalos noticed that both his hands were now fidgeting with the glass. Stop that, he told himself. “May I ask why the prince must go to Madeen alone? It is a strange request.”
The man gave a quiet laugh that chilled Kalos to his bones; so soft yet cold. “You will find out soon enough, but I assure you, it is all for the sake of unity.”
Kalos narrowed his eyes. “You said something similar when we first met in Reyna. This unity, what does it mean and how exactly does Baelom fit within it?”
The man finished his tea and smirked. Again, those blue eyes seemed to look down at him. There can’t be much of an age difference between us, so why do I feel like such a naïve boy?
“The world is quickly changing around us, Kalos. Everyone across Thera will soon feel the gears of time begin to turn. Some have already felt the pressures of these gears, but they have only glimpsed the beginning. A new world is on the horizon. One that you will want to be on the right side of in the end.”
His fingers stopped fidgeting the glass. In fact, his entire body was still. What pressures was he talking about? The war? To the void, what is this man planning?
The man stood up and put a hand on Kalos’ shoulder. “However, don’t fear. If you stand by me, you and your people will find glory and peace in the new era.”
He raised the hood back over his hair and turned to leave. When he reached the door, he turned back towards Kalos. “I fear it may be some time before we see each other again. Take care and remember, my friend, everything you do is for your kingdom . . . and for the sake of unity.”
After the man closed the door behind him, Kalos sat alone staring at the empty glass. He remained motionless for minutes, maybe even a half hour. His body physically ached. He hadn’t realized how tensed the conversation left him.
“From Breckan my ass!”
Kalos turned to see Soren striding across the empty common room. He hadn’t even heard the man come down the stairs.
“No one on this side of the mountains drinks their tea with milk! And don’t lie to me again, Kalos, I saw his hair!”
Without thinking, Kalos began to fidget with the glass again. “Sorry . . . he was indeed from the North. Trapped here since the ferries left.”
The old man ripped the glass from his hands. “I don’t know what you and Lithren are playing at, but I want no part of it.”
“I know . . . I really am sorry, Soren. I knew you’d refuse if we told you the truth. We have no intention of dragging you into anything. Besides, there isn’t reason to worry.”
Soren smacked the back of his head. “I said don’t lie to me!”
Kalos glared at the man.
“I don’t care if you are brother to the king. I’ve known you since you were a babe, and the least I expect is a little respect in my own damn inn.”
Here I am again, a grown adult, being treated like a fool child. Maybe he really was foolish.
The old man walked around the bar and filled the glass back up and slid it over to him. “Here, I can tell you’re shaken up. I know you have your reasons, but who was that man? He gives me the creeps.”
“You really want to know?”
The innkeeper looked down at the empty mug for a moment. “No . . . No, I suppose I don’t.”
He grabbed the mug and bottle of milk and walked back to the kitchen. “I need to start preparing dinner. If you want a room tonight, do me a favor and start cleaning tables.”
Again, Kalos sat alone in the empty common room, staring into his glass. He couldn’t even bring himself to drink. To the void with that man. Trusting him was obviously stupid, yet what could he do? That man knew things. Something was coming, and his gut told him to heed the man’s warnings. It might happen in Madeen, something that could shape the world. He looked down at his hand at the brands that marked him as a Mage. Ishum forgive me, did I just doom my nephew . . . oh Lithren, what have we done?