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  The green-clad men fell back, and all eyes turned toward the two wizards as they fought, now circling one another, blasting light and energy.

  Tomlin laid Borrel’s head down gently, and scrambled out from behind the boulder. Darkstone had his back to him now, fully engaged in his battle with Greystone.

  Tomlin walked out onto the road, stepping between the charred flesh of his men and their horses. He picked up a lance. There were no more enemies left, he decided, except the wizard.

  The lance felt heavy. Twenty paces long, it was designed to be carried by a horse. But with a surge of adrenalin, it seemed light as a feather in Tomlin’s arms. He rushed the raggedly dressed wizard who had killed so many of his men.

  Just before the tip of the lance reached Darkstone’s protective globe, Tomlin pointed it downwards. He noticed before that the globe seemed strongest at the wizard’s center, and in the calculated efforts of an experienced lancer he aimed his weapon at what he suspected was the enemy’s weakest point.

  The lance froze abruptly, a pace from Darkstone’s calves. Tomlin fell forward in momentum, his hands skittering along the lance.

  Darkstone turned at the intrusion, startled.

  Greystone pounced, taking advantage of his opponent’s lapse in attention, sending a huge bolt of white energy crackling toward Darkstone. The force of the explosion tossed the ragged wizard off his feet despite the protective globe.

  Darkstone snarled in irritation, twirled his hand and flew up and away in a cloud of smoke before Greystone could press his advantage.

  A tall, handsome, brown-haired man reached a hand down to Tomlin, helping him back on his feet.

  “That took guts, charging a wizard like that. I admire you, even though it was the most foolhardy thing I’ve seen in a while.”

  Tomlin dusted off his leather armor, and glanced in dismay at the charred and smoking bodies on the road.

  “I wasn’t thinking too clearly. I just wanted to strike back.”

  The tall man offered his hand again, this time to shake.

  “I’m Trant. I lead these men.”

  “Tomlin, Captain of Princess Margwen’s travel guard. I’m in debt for your service today to the Coral Throne.”

  Trant waved off the formal offer of thanks.

  “Greystone handled most of it for us, as usual.”

  Greystone popped his head into the carriage opening. The old man’s face featured crow’s feet around his pale blue eyes. The pale yellow visible in his white hair hinted at the glory of its former color. His wrinkles creased as he grinned at the women and the cat.

  “Hello!”

  The cat looked straight at him, almost as if she could see the wizard clearly. He scratched her ears and stroked her back. She purred in delight.

  “And who might you be? Deedles? A most excellent name. I am Greystone.”

  He paused for a moment, stroking the cat. They stared in one another’s eyes.

  “Yes, I’m afraid that was indeed Darkstone. A very bad one, he is.

  “Why thank you, that is kind of you to think so. I must say, the Globe of Expulsion you used against those men was quite astonishing. I do believe it’s the first usage of that spell in two or three centuries. Very complex, and especially difficult to conjure in tense situations.”

  Greystone glanced up. Both of the women looked at him with curious half smiles on their faces.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon. I am Greystone. You two are blessed to be accompanied by such an exceptional wizard’s cat.”

  “I am Princess Margwen, fifth born to King Keel and Queen Kita of the Coral Kingdom. This is my Lady in Waiting, Anabella.”

  Anabella found her voice.

  “Surely you wouldn’t have us believe that Deedles can talk . . . can she?”

  “What? Oh, no. Cats can’t talk, at least not in the usual way.”

  He chuckled, nervously.

  “But, they can communicate quite well if one knows how to listen.”

  Trant and Tomlin walked up behind the wizard. He turned to look at them.

  “Have you disposed of all the remaining ruffians, Trant?”

  Trant nodded.

  “Captain Tomlin,” Margwen asked, “how many men did we lose?”

  “I’m afraid all but three, Your Highness. Including me.”

  She looked with compassion at the captain, covered in dust and blood, despair seeming to seep from his every pore.

  Trant clapped him on the back.

  “This fine captain of yours distracted Darkstone long enough for our wizard here to defeat him.”

  “Hardly a defeat, I fear,” Greystone said. “I merely convinced him to capitulate for the moment.”

  “Regardless, the captain is a hero. Greystone, would you use one of your spells to help him bury his men?”

  “Of course, of course. Follow me, Captain.”

  As they turned to go, Trant addressed the princess again.

  “I would be delighted, Highness, if you accepted an offer of hospitality. The entrance to Greystone’s village is nearby, and we can offer you and your men some rest from your journey.”

  Margwen and Anabella exchanged glances. Anabella nodded, silently offering her advice to the princess.

  “Thank you, Lord Trant. We accept.”

  The wizard quickly dug out graves on the side of the road with magical energy, then floated each of the princess’s dead guards into their respective place. Nearby boulders flew over to the head of each grave at his command, and through some wizardly magic he seemed to know the name for each corpse. He sent bolts of energy to carve their names into the makeshift headstones. Underneath each name, he carved out, “Coral,” and “3157,” the current year of Creation. At a wave of his hand, dirt filled each grave, covering the bodies.

  Next, he dug a larger hole on the other side of the road with another bolt of energy, and swept the bodies of the attackers unceremoniously into the pit. He covered up their bodies, twirled his fingers, and wrote “Ruffians” on the boulder that floated into place at the head of the mass grave.

  Trant ordered his men to strip the dead horses of anything of value. They retrieved some tack that was not melted by Darkstone’s fireballs, and a few lances and pikes but little else. Greystone dug a final large hole, and swept the horse carcasses in, then covered them all up with dirt by waving his hand.

  Tomlin heard one of Trant’s men say, “Shame to waste so much meat.”

  Another one nearby said, “I ain’t eating nothin’ scorched by wizardfire, sirrah.”

  One of the more religious-minded men moved toward the graves of the Coral Royal Guard. He doffed his cap and bowed his head. The others followed suit.

  “O Lord Creator, have mercy on these, your children. May they meet you on Judgment Day and give a good account of their lives. We pray You grant them mercy on that day, and with our souls as well. So be it!”

  Everyone murmured, “So be it!”

  A squire stepped out of the trees leading two horses. He handed the reins of one to Trant, the other to the wizard.

  Tomlin climbed up into the driver’s seat on the royal carriage, taking the reins. He motioned for his two remaining lancers to join him.

  Trant ordered two of his men to carry the broken door of the carriage, and some others to pick up the weapons and tack that had been salvaged. Then he stepped into the stirrup, swung a long leg over his roan, and settled in the saddle.

  “Alright, everybody. Let’s go home.”

  Chapter 2

  Oldstone stood on the edge of the ground supporting his floating castle, looking down at the approaching city of Pert far below.

  Wrinkles crisscrossed his face. His long white hair blended with his long white beard. Both waved gently in the wind.

  A cleaning wench facsimile approached him from behind. He ignored her. She waited patiently a few moments before speaking.

  “Won’t you be coming back inside, milord?”

  His brows creased as the castle drew cl
oser to the city below. Then he raised an eyebrow as he came to a realization.

  “No. And you should change to more discreet attire.”

  Instantly, her skirt became longer, dropping from her thighs to her ankles. Her sleeveless blouse turned long-sleeved, and suddenly covered everything up to her neck.

  He twirled his finger over his shoulder in dismissal.

  “Yes, milord.”

  The facsimile walked back into the castle. He wondered for a moment if he should change her face too, making her less attractive. He decided not to, and let her continue unaltered.

  The castle soared majestically on a flattened mountaintop that had been displaced and now floated in the sky. Underneath, the mountain continued downwards in a rough, inverted pyramid. Somewhere in the Fisk Range, a castle-less mountaintop sat with a cone-shaped hole in it, looking somewhat like a dead volcano. Meanwhile, the castle and its corresponding grounds floated wherever Oldstone directed.

  Whether the castle had been physically lifted from the mountaintop, or still maintained its location there in a parallel universe while its current manifestation floated around the world was a mystery, and an occasional topic of conversation in pubs where mystical matters were discussed. Somewhere a wag or a wise man had suggested the latter theory, and to everyone’s surprise it actually garnered several adherents. Or at least enough to spark strong debates in big city pubs where those with decent skills in general magic gathered to drink and discuss such things.

  The flat top supported the castle and its grounds. The coned underground supported the surface. A protective transparent dome surrounded the castle and its above-grounds, barely visible in the sunlight. A stream that bubbled up into the old mountaintop magically flowed to the castle grounds. It flowed back out underneath, the water misting into vapor before hitting the ground far below.

  Oldstone floated his home down to within a few hundred paces above the city. Mentally he steered it forward, toward the middle of Pert and the royal grounds near the city center.

  Below, he could faintly hear the populace screaming, both in fear and delight. People ran after the floating castle, pointing upwards, shouting at their neighbors to come and witness the rare sight. Or they ran away in the opposite direction, depending on their temperament.

  He slowed the castle down as it approached the palace grounds, bringing it to a floating stop some three hundred paces in the air.

  The cook facsimile walked out of his castle’s front doors, approaching him. She stood six paces tall, slender, blonde haired and blue eyed, with a pretty small nose and high cheekbones.

  He said, more to himself than her, “We’ll wait here an hour or so. Give them a chance to prepare a proper reception.”

  “Would milord care for a snack while he waits, dearie?”

  He turned and looked at the facsimile, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “No. But, you should become more like the traditional notion of a cook.”

  She instantly gained ten stone in weight, her white dress expanding and lengthening, covering up legs and arms.

  Her face plumped up as well, diluting its natural attractiveness. Nodding in satisfaction, Oldstone sent her back inside, then turned toward the palace below and resumed his thoughts concerning the upcoming visit.

  King Aldwald looked out a window of the council room, and stared up at the floating castle. A circle of gray hair crowned his bald top, a crease showing where his crown usually sat.

  He brought himself back inside and faced his equally gray-haired wife, Queen Etta, and several members of the Royal Council.

  Everyone in the room shared the same light brown skin tone. Everyone had the same shade of dark brown, almost black hair, save those who were bald or graying.

  “He’s here. Prepare a reception committee in the courtyard. Someone send a message to Mita.”

  Several people scrambled into motion, running out the door to fulfill his wishes.

  In a moment, only Aldwald, Etta, and Duke Breen, their High Councilor remained in the room.

  Aldwald looked at Breen, who though younger than the royal couple had provided them sound advice for decades. Breen stood two fingers under six paces, black hair graying at the temples, brown face now beginning to crease with age and the worry those with much responsibility often show.

  “This will work out well, Your Majesty.”

  His tone sounded encouraging, as if to dissuade any doubts the couple had about inviting the wizard.

  “I’m sure it will, Breen. I can think of no better destiny for my daughter than to serve under Oldstone.”

  Etta made a sound similar to a harrumph, but otherwise said nothing.

  Every dignitary who was anybody, and several who were not, managed to find their way to the palace courtyard for the wizard’s reception.

  The more distinguished lords and ladies of the realm stood up front, the lesser ones toward the back. Those of no influence at all looked on at the peripheries, from windows of the castle and nearby buildings.

  Even a few vagabonds and beggars had managed to climb high places for a glimpse at the historic proceedings, despite all efforts by the Palace Guard to dissuade them.

  The Royal Band struck up the national anthem as King Aldwald and Queen Etta arrived, striding toward the open space reserved for the wizard. Their heads flashed occasional notes of white fire as the sun caught large crystals set in the centers of their golden crowns.

  Fourteen-year-old Princess Mita trailed dutifully behind them, her rail-thin and wiry five and half paces frame magnificently attired in a pearl-white dress worth several dozen gold coins. Tiny crystals sewed throughout the fabric caught the light and flashed it back with every step.

  Those who recalled the scene years later often claimed they were blinded by her dress, although in truth they were likely exaggerating. However, it indeed appeared very bright in the sunlight.

  Behind her trailed Crown Prince Aldwald II, twelve years old. Behind him followed Princess Atta, the youngest of the siblings at ten years of age. Both were similarly dressed in their finest outfits, replete with shiny crystals flashing in the sunlight.

  A retinue of two dozen councilors and high ranking courtiers followed behind the royal children.

  As the sound of the band’s music drifted upward, Oldstone straightened from his perch on the castle ground’s edge.

  “Well,” he said to no one in particular, “time to make a grand entrance.”

  He walked over to an outcrop on the mountaintop’s surface and stood on a piece of rock jutting out into the air. It broke off from the surface and floated down toward the courtyard below, his white robes fluttering in the wind.

  The crowd gasped as the flat rock descended gently toward the clearing in the courtyard. Levitation and flight were beyond all but the most powerful manipulators of magic, and most present had never witnessed it before.

  When the slab reached the ground, three steps appeared in its side and the wizard gracefully walked down them and approached the king.

  Oldstone placed a hand on his stomach, and made a polite half bow, rather than the full kneel a king might expect from a subject. The greeting was a formality, and they both knew it. No wizard subjugates himself to a king.

  “Aldwald, it’s good to see you.”

  “Oldstone, my old friend! Thank you for responding to my invitation.”

  Aldwald introduced the wizard to his wife and three children, then a short list of highly ranked nobles, starting with Duke Breen. Oldstone politely nodded to each in turn.

  The introductions concluded, Aldwald turned back to the wizard.

  “Come along, we have a feast prepared for you.”

  The Crystal Kingdom went all out for the feast. The Court Historian dubbed it The Wizard’s Feast, and so it was known throughout the realm, a festivity unmatched for three dozen years.

  The finest musicians, dancers, actors, and other entertainers offered their best performances to the court and the guest of honor.
Lesser performers spread out through the city, offering free shows to the public in honor of the occasion.

  The great dining hall was open to all courtiers, who feasted on the finest beef, lamb, duck, and other delicacies of the land. As custom dictated the feast extended to all subjects of the realm, or at least those in the capitol city.

  Outside the palace walls, prominent merchants and their families dined on lamb. Lesser merchants along with other respectable subjects further from the palace dined on pork.

  The lower rungs of society were invited to large open pavilions throughout the city, and fed horseflesh at the king’s expense.

  The quality of alcohol descended accordingly too, with the finest wines and ports served in the palace, down to cheap ale in the pavilions.

  Regardless of their station, everyone in the city dined and drank well that night, and all lifted a toast to their benevolent king and his guest, Wizard Oldstone.

  As the final fruity desserts were taken away by servants, Aldwald cleared his throat loudly. Conversation in the dining hall died down, as nobles from the many tables turned toward their king.

  Aldwald faced Oldstone, in the seat to his right, and began speaking.

  “As you know, the Creator blessed my wife and me with six daughters and one son. One might think so many daughters more of a curse . . .”

  He paused and smiled out at the tables of courtiers. They responded with respectful chuckles.

  “However, we have managed to arrange marriages for my first four daughters, and these bonds have strengthened our alliances with other kingdoms. So, in fact, the Creator has blessed us and this realm with His gift of so many daughters.”

  The sycophants in the crowd immediately nodded conspicuously, to let the king and others know they wholeheartedly agreed with this assessment. A few called out, “Hear, hear!” and smiled at their table companions. The king ignored them.