Two men waited in a small audience chamber as, beyond the windows, the dying day flung its final streamers over the Imperial city, gilding everything in a patina of fading fire. One figure stood still, patiently facing the closed door, while the other wandered restlessly through the light and shadow. The only sound was the scuff of boots over plush carpet and the occasional, impatient sigh.
They were dressed in identical fashion; long-sleeved tunics the deep blue of twilight, matching trousers, and knee high boots of black leather. Each bore the golden eight-point star and shield of Turris Arcana emblazoned over their hearts, the fine thread glimmering against their black tabards. Both were armed, despite the long-standing rule against such things in this inner sanctum, and between the uniforms and the carved wooden staves they carried, no one could mistake them for anything but initiated mages of Egalion’s Tower.
But the similarities ended there.
The older man towered over the other and while his leanly muscled frame gave him the look of a seasoned fencer, the broadsword across his back called to mind the berserkers of old. He was in his middle years, with storm cloud gray eyes and deeply tanned skin. Faint veins of silver were beginning to thread through his raven hair, which he wore cropped close to his skull, and through the short, neat beard softening the stern set of his jaw. His face was long and narrow and his gaze was sharp. He’d assessed his surroundings immediately upon entering and, satisfied with what he found—or perhaps what he didn’t—he now stood easily, hands clasped behind his back, seemingly content to wait until the world ended.
His restive companion, however, appeared less eager to do so. He, too, had swiftly taken in his surroundings and found nothing amiss, and now alternately wandered and stood beside the older man, swaying from foot to foot while picking a loose thread in one tunic sleeve. If the Goddess ever took a consort to patron bored youth, this would be he.
The young mage was handsome, with a fine, lightly-tanned complexion and the sculpted cheekbones of an aristocrat. His black hair was long and pulled into a ponytail high on the back of his head, though several strands hung in his face. He frequently brushed them back to reveal eyes of an emerald so luminous they appeared more feline than human. They sparkled with ready humor tempered by something darker, watchful, and quick.
The door before them suddenly opened and the two men snapped to attention, the younger setting aside an ornate compass he’d been examining.
“Ah, Eryk, at last!”
Tor Brinon Kikori, joint ruler of the kingdom of Egalion, stepped from the ivory paneled throne room in a rustle of purple and black silk. He shut the door behind him firmly, right in the face of a gangly man trailing him with an armload of scrolls, and moved forward to embrace the larger of his guests. The top of his head came just to the other's chest.
Eryk returned the embrace warmly. “It’s good to see you again, my tor.” His voice was a deep rumble, mellow and soft, but anyone listening could not miss the thrum of power behind his speech. Though he addressed his liege with respect, he was clearly someone of authority himself.
The short, balding tor waved a bejeweled hand. “Now, now. No formalities here, you know that isn't necessary. We’re family, for Xochi’s sake!” His attempt at a stern frown was somewhat ruined by the twitching at the corners of his mouth.
When Eryk smiled, it lit his face and unexpected laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. “What would your court think of such familiarity? I am but a sorcerer, after all. Or demon, depending on whose stories you heed. It matters not to them that I’m High Mage or that you’re married to my sister.”
“Damn the court!” Brinon grumbled, his round face screwing up in disdain. “Between you and me, I never much cared for the opinions of those jumped-up, self-important, attention-whoring magpies. Well,” he amended, “the Hendai aren’t so bad, but all the rest of them do is strut around and squawk, filling up my days with their nonsense and pecking each other to death over any treasury coin I’m not sitting on. Let Aelani charm them if she wishes. I haven’t the time for it anymore.”
Eryk shook his head, hiding another smile behind his hand. He’d met the tor when he was still just a plump little Ibirani magistrate, more than a quarter century ago now. Brinon had been as irritable and bristly then, though perhaps a little less…wide. And despite his sour attitude towards the niceties of court politics, Eryk knew him to be a fair and honest ruler, an excellent administrator, and a good man who doted on his family.
Prior to wedding the tora-in-waiting, Aelani Alycon, Brinon had overseen the entire District of Ibiran in southeast Tesriel. The two had been introduced at a court function Brinon had reluctantly attended his first season at court and Aelani later confided in her younger brother that it had been love at first sight. They announced their plans to wed within a year, shocking everyone except, Eryk suspected, their father, Marin.
There had been a great many objections to the match, but all had been overridden in the end. The objections proved baseless and the kingdom of Egalion flourished under their combined rule. It would seem that having a man native to Ibiran on the throne had eased the ever-simmering tensions between the Tesians and Ibirani.
At least, until recently.
“Ah, but you should care,” the High Mage chided his brother-in-law gently, “Those ‘magpies’ are necessary to keep the kingdom functioning. And besides, I must set a good example for Jex.” He motioned for the young man at his side to step forward.
Jex did as ordered, bowing low to Brinon, the gesture elegant while still managing to look just a little ostentatious. Eryk sighed inwardly, knowing he should have expected this. The lad never could resist the chance to show off, even if it was just his pretty manners.
The tor smiled in welcome. “Well met, youngling! Your Sura has told me great things about you. He says you may yet become High Mage when he steps down.”
Jex grinned impishly in return. “I don't know about that, sire. Perhaps someday, although I think he plans to live forever.” He tilted his head in Eryk’s direction and lowered his voice to a conspirator’s whisper, “The Tower ladies keep him young.”
He received an elbow and a reproving scowl for his cheek, but his smile only widened. Though he was clearly a man grown, he retained an aura of childish mischief that always came out in situations like these. He just couldn’t help himself.
Brinon laughed and threw a wink in Eryk’s direction. “Your apprentice has learned quickly, and he seems well advised of the secret to eternal youth.”
Eryk felt the little knot of uncertainty in his chest loosen. He’d been somewhat hesitant to bring Jex on this particular journey, as he’d always had a way of getting himself into trouble with that tongue of his. Even while he’d been under Eryk’s tutelage, there’d been no stopping his ever-running gob. And speaking of—
Eryk cleared his throat. “Actually, sire, Jex is no longer my apprentice.”
The tor’s eyebrows rose, causing his forehead to wrinkle almost comically. “No? What did he do?”
“Not a thing. Well, nothing wrong at least, in spite of his best and constant attempts to the contrary. Jex passed his trials a fortnight ago and he is now a full-fledged adept. He’s joined the ranks of our Battlemages.”
“Congratulations!” Brinon clapped Jex on the shoulder and the young man had the grace to look humble. “It seems we have something more to celebrate this night, besides your safe arrival.” His expression turned dour. “I heard about the trouble you had, by the way. Your sister was most distressed.”
“We can speak of it another time, Brinon,” Eryk said gently, not wanting to spoil the evening with talk of their little skirmish on the road. The bandits or rebels or whomever they’d been had been dispatched easily enough, and their party had lost not a man in the process. Though their attackers were dressed in Atromorese garb, Eryk had his suspicions as to their true allegiance. One of their own had been left to investigate the matter, and he would deal with it when the report came and not a moment sooner. Other, more pressing matters took precedent.
“And we shall. For now, I know you’ve traveled long and must be famished. I've ordered a special banquet to be held in honor of your safe arrival.” Brinon rubbed his hands together and an eager gleam entered his eye. “You know, that’s really one of the few advantages of being tor these days. The food is excellent even if the company is often less so.”
The men laughed and Brinon continued. “You're to sit with me tonight. now come, it wouldn't do for you to be late to your own party.” He turned to Jex. “This is your first trip to Rowan, isn't it lad? Or wait…were you here with Eryk for the birth of my youngest?” The tor frowned, obviously sifting memories for the answer to his own question.
“Yes, I came with my Sura when Torina Kylan was born, sire.”
“That’s right, I remember now. You were here then, and all knees and elbows if memory serves. Now as then, I intend to make sure that you retain only the fondest memories of your visit. My daughters will be pleased to have such a fine young gentleman join them at table and I think you’ll find my Sarene to be less of a terror this time.”
Jex blushed furiously at the reminder and ducked his head.
“Have we time to clean up first?” Eryk asked, glancing pointedly at his travel-stained clothing.
“Ah, I suppose you should. It wouldn’t do to bring you in smelling of sweat and horse. You’d offend far too many delicate nostrils, and I’d have to spend hours in council tomorrow morning fielding the complaints, I’m sure. How long do you need?”
“An hour would be adequate,” Eryk said after a moment spent in consideration. He was accounting for the time it took Jex to dress rather than his own needs.
“I’ll see you in half,” Brinon shot back.
“Impatient as ever, sire, but done.”
“Not so much impatient, brother, as hungry.” Weariness pulled at his features. “I have few pleasures left to me that compare to a finely set table and my tora’s company. In half an hour, then. Be quick, we shouldn't keep your lovely sister and nieces waiting. The toadies, though, they can linger until the sky falls for all I care.” The little man bustled from the room, leaving them alone again for only a brief moment.
Jex opened his mouth to ask why they were still standing there when a purple liveried page appeared seemingly from thin air and bowed low to them, his mop of straw-colored hair falling into his eyes.
“If you'll follow me, sirs, I will show you to your quarters,” the man said, keeping his head inclined politely. He looked a bit old for a page, Eryk decided, and he seemed familiar.
He took a moment to study the man, then smiled broadly in recognition. “Gaylan, isn't it?”
The page blinked in surprise. “Yes, High Mage Alycon, I am Gaylan. How did you—” Remembering his place, he swallowed his question and his ruddy face flushed even darker.
The High Mage laughed. “How did I know your name?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“You were tending table the last time I was at court, about five years ago, I believe, as a punishment for something or other. You made quite the impression.”
“I did? A favorable one, I hope,” he ventured hopefully.
“Indeed. You spilled an entire pitcher of mulled wine on my tablemate.”
Gaylan's uncertain expression turned quickly to one of mortification. “By Plamen’s anvil, you're right. I swear before the Goddess Herself that I've improved my serving technique since then, High Mage Alycon!”
Eryk waved his hand dismissively, the light catching his signet ring and casting off brilliant blue sparks. “It was no great tragedy. I found myself quite bored with the man well before you came along and provided me with such a splendid reprieve. His expression was most gratifying.”
“Your current companion will fare better, by my honor! Unless you wish it otherwise?” He looked closely at Jex before adding, “This one is a little, ah, young for the wine in any case, isn't he?”
Jex, silent until this point, bristled visibly. “I'll have you know I've already seen twenty-five summers.” He returned Gaylan's scrutiny, eyes narrowed. “A few more than you, I'll wager.”
“Nay,” Gaylan said amiably, “I’ll have twenty-seven before the month is out.”
“I’d believe the seven, at most,” Jex scoffed, “I’m surprised they let you leave the kitchen with manners like that. Doesn’t the cook wash your mouth out with soap for speaking to people that way? I would if I were her.”
“Well, you’re certainly cheeky enough for court. Oh, an’ Cook’s a ‘he’, by the way. Best not let him catch you saying otherwise. Though come to think of it, he has tits enough to make you question, and if you were really drunk and it were dark—”
Eryk coughed and stepped forward slightly, laying a restraining hand on Jex’s shoulder to stem the retort he knew was readying itself to fly out of his mouth. “I'm sure your technique is impeccable. Now, lead on if you please. The tor has set us a rather tight deadline.”
Gaylan and Jex stared hard at each other for a breath before Gaylan smiled.
“As you command, High Mage. If you'll come this way.” Bowing again, he ushered the two from the room.
The High Mage caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye and Gaylan stumbled against the wall with a quiet grunt. He quickly righted himself and Eryk shot a warning frown at Jex, who had his hands tucked into his pockets and an all-too-innocent look on his face. They followed after the page in silence and Eryk allowed his thoughts to turn to the more pleasant prospects of dinner and seeing the rest of his sister’s family.