Shadow of the Prince

Meeting the Grand Magistrar

Damp. Mildewed. Musty. Molded.

These were not the words that Dal thought would be associated with the great keep of the royal family. In fact, based on the outer castle's elegant architecture, Dal had expected each corner of the inner workings of the bastion to be equally courtly and tasteful.

Dal wandered down the dimly lit hall, in what seemed like the most forgotten section of the royal fortress. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a large, grey rat scampering behind aged, ornate, curtains. 

She came upon a heavy wooden door several feet taller than she was. There was nothing special about the door, and Dal wondered if that foreshadowed what was hidden behind it. 

Surely she could not be in the right place? The butter who answered the door hastily ushered her along to the cook's quarters, who passed her off to a servant named Silvia, who walked with her for a time, before awkwardly abandoning her at the head of this dreary, long, and quite forgotten hallway. There was no real double checking if she was being set up or not.

Dal shrugged. She didn't exactly have the liberty to be picky at the moment. She had to sneak into employment at the royal palace so that she could ultimately win the heart of the Prince of Darkness. 

She raised her hand and knocked upon the heavy wooden door, the sound echoing throughout the stone hallway. Dal waited a moment, and then another. Finally, when she gathered her courage together once more, she raised her hand and banged harder upon the door.

"ARGH!" A muffled cry came from the other side of the door.

A moment later the mahogany door flung open. An older man answered the door, his white hair wild about his face and his nose long and crooked. He peered down at her through half clouded blue eyes, his thin lips set into some semblance of a grimace.

"What on the blood of Errjka could you possibly want? I was in the middle of an incredibly difficult and time-consuming spell, which you very inconveniently interrupted," The man said angrily, "I'm going to have to recast and lie the spell all over again. So, pray tell, what is so damned important that you decided to traipse along to disturb the Grand Magistrar of Magic?"

Dal's heart sank in her chest. She had already ruined her first impression. Could it be salvaged?

"I-I'm here to put forth my application to become your apprentice," she said.

The old man looked her up and down, and snorted. "Just what makes you think that you have what it takes to become my apprentice? You're much too old, by the looks of it, not to mention that you're a woman, of all ghastly things."

"What's wrong with being a woman?" Dal asked angrily.

"They always come about at the most inopportune times and ruin wonderfully good things just by their mere presence. Sound familiar, girl?"

He wished to insult her. This Magistrar thought her some silly, insolent girl, just as sure as she was that this hall was infested with rats. Anger rose in her throat, the heat of it warming her nerves and melting them away all at once.

She had enough of all of these so-called 'elders' poking and prodding her over the past several days, hiding their secrets and knowledge in the belief that she could do no better with it than they, and looking down their noses at her. They were all so sure of who she was, and Dal was tired of it. 

To the figs what her mother believed of her visions, which before she never thought to share. The birds could feast on the cares that she no longer held, for gaining the love of a father that would never love her. And this old man could drown in his wrinkles and spitefulness, for all Dal was concerned.

"I sincerely apologize for interrupting your spell, Sir. But frankly, it has just occurred to me that becoming your apprentice would incur a massive degradation to my own skills and reputation as a penniless, bastard daughter of the worst Seer in Eatrahan. Perhaps I will seek fairer employment as a prostitute, or perhaps a beggar in the streets, for it seems I have a proclivity towards either over the thought of remaining here a moment longer."

Dal turned on her heel and marched back down the hall, both a little proud and ashamed of her sudden outburst. How long could everyone conduct tiny little tortures upon her psyche, before she fell apart? It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. 

Actually, it felt good to finally get some of this anger off of her chest. To let her feelings finally come up for air.

"Wait!" The old man commanded behind her.

Dal ignored it, set in her anger. She heard shuffling and quickened footsteps behind her. A tug at her elbow turned her around to face the towering man. Dal's anger stalled as she took in the difference in height and build. 

Perhaps she shouldn't have insulted the man in such a way. He was the Grand Magistrar for a reason, after all. 

"What is your name?" The old man asked, a mysterious emotion in his eyes.

"What does it matter the name of a woman?" Dal replied.

The old man's lips twitched, before pulling itself up into a full smile, to Dal's immediate surprise. 

"By the golden eyes above, you're Aragda's daughter, aren't you?"

Dal blinked. How did he know who she was? She glanced behind her, eyeing the entrance of the hall at least ten yards away. If he turned her into a pile of ash, there would be no one to witness her death. She had behaved irrationally and stupidly, she realized.

She could run and potentially make it out of here before he turned her into a pile of ash or a toad. 

Something in the old man's expression held her back. She didn't read the anger and annoyance there that she had seen earlier. Where she expected spitefulness, there was none. Instead, she wondered if he didn't look much softer now.

"My name is Dalia Peppercorn," she began cautiously, "I know not who Aragda Leary is."

The old, white-headed man nodded thoughtfully, and his lips returned to a pressed line. He searched deep within her eyes, and up close Dal could see the milkiness of them. With a start, she realized that he was very nearly blind, if not entirely. 

"Well, come along then, Dal. Let's see what magics you are made of."

The Grand Magistrar left a stunned Dal as he turned back and meandered down the hall towards his workshop. She watched his receding back for a moment, before hurrying to catch up behind him.

She wondered at the connection her downtrodden mother had to the Grand Magistrar, one of the richest and well-known mages in Eatrahan.