01.
It was too cold. Persine wished she had brought with her the small cloak Miss Sorcha sewed for her.
"Why would the king ask for us, gramama?" she asked, pressing her face against the foggy glass window.
Her grandmother answered in that long-suffering voice of hers. "He probably wants an innocent spell for his aching bones, nothing more."
"But why do we have to go to him? Shouldn't he be the one approaching us, since he's the one who needs something? And why you, and not some other mage?"
"The king is an important man." her grandmother said. Persine thought she heard the slightest irritation in her voice. "He can't just go out without fearing a knife in his back."
"Why not some other mage?" Persine repeated. She hated it when her grandmother refused to answer her additional questions. Already, the old woman was asking her to think -- how did gramama put it? -- abstractly for her other questions. It made her head hurt.
"Why, the king knows and trusts only a number of people." her grandmother said, her voice shriller. "And I am one of them."
"But why would the king let Rodric and Mikerra -- the kids who bully me -- in his home there, up there?" she pointed at the gleaming walls atop the great hill at the center of the city. Her hand jolted up and down as the carriage's wheels bounced over the cobblestone streets. "I for sure wouldn't trust those mean, imp-looking, smelly -- "
"Have you forgotten? Their fathers are also council members and are, well, trusted." Her grandmother sounded uncertain. But she was wearing a don't-talk-to-me-or-I'll-slap-you face. That, coupled with the ominous silence which came after, was a clear message that the conversation was over and the Archmage was not to be bothered.
As for Persine, she hadn't known those brats' parents were councillors. She didn't reason that out, of course, lest the old woman punish her for being not aware of something as important as political positions. Well, she would just study more tonight.
With no one else to bother, Persine settled on the leather cushion, wondering what her grandmother was worried about. Maybe it was the council meeting. Normally, councillors received summons a week before the meeting; this time, however, a carriage driver had been sent instead of a courier and a council meeting was already taking place. It hurt her head to think why that happened.
The carriage turned, facing the palace up ahead, so the city circle could now be viewed from the sides. Persine resumed her place at the carriage's windowsill and tried to capture the sight in her mind. Market stalls lined the edges of the circle, with potential customers flocking at whatever they found interesting. Mothers sat on the benches, gossiping the divines-know-what. Their children scampered here and there, playing catch-the-fox or knock-the-prisoner-out. She had read about such games in a strange book in the library. They were fun and simple, really, so unlike the spell patterns or arcane theorems her grandmother wanted her to memorize.
At the center of it all was the great statue of Indar, the warrior-king who became the first god, his hands spraying jets of water to the fountain below. In the sunlight, the marble statue shone painfully white. The statement could not be any more obvious to Persine: beauty and prosperity were the gifts of Indar, and must exist only in the presence of the god.
The carriage lurched upward. Persine hadn't noticed that they had reached the base of the hill. As the carriage negotiated the slope, the circle grew smaller and more distant. She comforted herself, reasoning she would see it later again.
If only gramama let me play...
It wasn't long until they were inside the palace walls. Since the carriage had been sent by the king himself, and the driver bore the royal crest to prove it, the guards had already raised the portcullis and let them in.
The carriage skidded to a halt.
"Persine," her grandmother suddenly said, staring at the empty courtyard. The way she said it had Persine worrying, too. "Cast any defensive spell at the first sign of trouble."
She nodded, pushed open the door, and jumped off the carriage.
No escort came. Surely there would be more, as the king and the Central Council were convening. That was disturbing.
Before she could even think abstractly, Persine noticed her grandmother racing up the marble steps. Her graying hair was not in its usual bun, nor was her shoes a pair. The old woman looked scared. Persine knew no person who was as prepared, as composed, as unemotional, as her grandmother. That was alarming.
Persine ran after her, even though she wasn't allowed in the deeper halls of the palace and the council chamber. Not that there was any guard or servant to kick her out. Even her grandmother was not scolding her. They seemed to be taking a shortcut -- and a dizzying shortcut it was -- for they turned every now and then.
As they rounded a corner, Persine heard murmurs from beyond the double doors at the end of the corridor. They were still several feet away when her grandmother lifted a fist. The doors burst open with a clap, as if announcing their arrival. The speakers went silent. Persine felt her heart pounding.
When she emerged on the other side of the door, she could not help but stare up at the dome capping the enormous room. The spherical expanse of marble was a grand painting, a canvas of rich yellows, bright purples, and sanguine reds rendered into one epic battle scene. Stained-glass windows depicting the twenty-four gods ringed the dome, casting a delicate splash of colors on the council chamber.
A small, shrill scream from her grandmother brought her feet back to the ground. Persine blinked at the squat form of her grandmother, standing still in front of her, and then swept her gaze over the room.
From the looks of it, they had entered from the side doors, for there were even bigger double doors on the left side. Colossal pillars thrust up around the council room, and at the center of them was a large, resplendent, curved desk embossed with the golden eight-pointed star of Indar. Nine gilded chairs lined the desk, and the tallest one -- obviously the Grand Chair of the First Councillor -- sat on the center with its back to the main entrance. On the opposite side of the Grand Chair was, of course, the dais that held the king's throne.
Every chair was occupied, except for the one next to the Grand Chair, which probably was the Archmage's. All the councillors sat straight and wore calm faces.
What on Thais was wrong?
And then she saw it. A big wonder, it was, that nobody else was reacting. Despite all the lessons and practices, Persine simply could not bring forth any magic and weave it into a viable spell. Everything -- her focus and power -- just collapsed.
For on the throne sat the king, with his head on its golden arm and his hand weakly clutching his chest, dead.
END
