Prologue
The smoke billowing in through the broken windows from the buildings below were making him choke. The wet rag covering his nose and mouth weren't helping. Tongues of fire were licking the tapestries on the walls of the hallway along which he was hurrying. Invaluable tapestries literally going up in smoke. He'd put the fire out if he could; it continued to amaze him how little use his magic was in these dreams. He hurried on.
A fork in his path and he hesitated for a moment. ~This way,~ the voice whispered to him, and he turned to the right. Another hallway, a flight of stairs winding down into the lower reaches of the palace. He was faced with a set of tall, intimidating door, carvings of mythological creatures staring at him out of the dark wood as he approached.
Crashes and shouts from the hall to his left had him whirling around, for an instant thinking they were coming after him. Of course they weren't, they couldn't see him.
~Through here. Here.~
He obeyed and pushed at the doors, heaving the right one open just enough for him to squeeze through. The creatures' fingers and teeth caught at his robe – wanting him to stop and help? – but he tugged at it, hearing it rip, and hurried on.
It was darker here, and colder. The royal crypt was vast, housing the past generations of kings and queens and their families.
~This way.~
He hurried on past white and sliver marble coffins and statues, past pillars and niches that were still untouched by the fire. Pristine in death. But not for long now.
~Here. Here.~
He slowed to a halt, absently pulling down the rag from his face he stared at the newly carved stone face, the royal sword and circlet of the prince heir. The name and the date of the plaque. His mouth snapped shut and his eyes slowly blurred as he stood there.
"Prince Kell Deasir al E'Tharion, born into Spring in the year of the King, 1121, Death claimed him on the 26th year of his life. May the Gods grant him peace in the next life." He read it again just to be sure, but not even in dreams like these did such a message change. Not even as he stared at it and willed it so with all his might.
The ceiling shuddered above him and a pillar down the hall cracked, white marble and plaster raining to the floor. Time to leave.
Smoke was coming through the doors as he hurried towards them and he could hear shouts on the other side. The ceiling groaned and more plaster and dust fell over him. He coughed and moved his hand to dispel it. No use trying to leave, he thought, he wouldn't get out of the palace anyway. While no human eyes could see him, the material world could still affect him, and the fire could cause him real damage.
He stood there, just inside the doors, as the smoke thickened, telling him the carpets and tapestries in the hall outside were now completely aflame. He wondered how much longer this would go on before he woke up. Another cracking pillar had him sighing and pushing the doors completely closed before he went back to the prince's tomb.
He stood beside it, looking at the stone likeness of a prince he'd yet to see born in this lifetime, a name he'd be sure to remember until the day it was given to a firstborn son of the royal house. As he put all the details of the garbs and the crest to memory the ceiling started to groan and crack, falling to the floor and shattering in little pieces. The stones under his feet shuddered, making the tomb rock on its foundations.
He steadied himself with a hand on the stone prince's arm, the one with the hand grasping the heir's sword. He almost apologized for the transgression before he remembered there was no need.
As he watched a hairline crack ran down the forehead of the pale face, fracturing the right eye and cheek. He gasped as the serene beauty was destroyed, reaching out as if to stop if from destroying more of the marble. Let the dead rest! he wanted to yell.
But the crack went on, reaching the neck, the right shoulder and arm, going faster as the floor shuddered again. Then elbow, the hand, it hesitated for a moment at the long fingers, before the hilt and pommel of the sword splintered and divided the hand from the weapon. The symbolism was so obvious, undisputable; the prince that would fail, the prince that would die. He almost wept.
~The kingdom will die,~ the voice that had guided him here said. ~The Royal line will end with him and the war will go on till there is no more. The King and Prince will die in the battles for the kingdom. The Queen will try to flee with her family, but they will be deceived and killed, their men and maids slaughtered, their graves unmarked. The tremors of the palace are the death throes of a kingdom unwilling to die, but unable to save itself from an invincible foe.~
He shook his head, staring with blurry eyes at the destroyed sword. "What can I do?"
~We will meet again, you and I,~ the voice said.
"And then what?"
~You will take an apprentice and he will do what is needed.~
"Why can't I do it?" he asked, frowning. Surely he had the skills, the experience. Besides, it would take time to find and teach an apprentice, time he might not have.
~You will be needed elsewhere. Teach him.~ Indisputable words, adamant voice.
"Yes. I will." No use arguing with dreams like these.
The smoke had found a way through the doors, or maybe the ceiling, and was coming towards him now. The floor suddenly heaved and he cried out as he was toppled sideways and fell. Dust and smoke obscured his vision and he coughed as he struggled back up. He glanced at the stone prince and saw the face and shoulders were now no more than rubble. It saddened him.
~It's time.~
He jerked around at the voice, so much closer now, clearer. Slack-jawed, amazed, shocked, humbled, he stared as a tall, immeasurably beautiful woman walked towards him, her bare feet leaving prints of large paws in the dust behind her. Her naked arms and thighs were striped in black, yellow and white, as was her wild hair. And her eyes shone a brilliant gold at him, piercing even the dust and smoke.
"Gods of mercy!" he whispered. "Who are you?"
~You will know me when we meet. But I will not be yours.~
He was saddened by this also. Resigned.
The crypts shuddered like a large hand was shaking it, he stumbled against the ruined tomb but she was unaffected. He wondered if this was even a dream anymore. Should he feel honored or frightened for his life for this meeting?
~It's time. Wake now.~
He shook himself. "I can't." He had no control over these dreams, couldn't end them; they ended when they would.
She smiled and reached out a long-fingered, slender hand towards him. ~Wake now. You have work to do.~
********
Sharican gasped and jerked upright, coughing to clear his lunges of smoke that wasn't real. He groaned and rubbed at his temple when a headache started to form behind his eyes; the price to pay for dreams like these.
~Rough night?~ his guardian asked, sounding both worried and curious. That was another thing that continued to amaze him, his guardian could never follow him in them, and so he never knew what Sharican experienced.
"Yes. Quite." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and slowly got to his feet. He felt like an old man, wrung out and worn. He laughed bitterly; he was old, measured by mortal years at least. And he had more to do in this life, no rest yet.
Water, something light to eat, and then wait until the headache receded and he could meditate on these new developments. He glanced at the calendar lying on his desk, dated two years ago he knew. Which meant it would be 21 years until the prince was born.
In those years he would travel to the capital and make himself known to the royal family, make them trust and depend on his advice so that when the time came the King wouldn't hesitate to place his own son's life in Sharican's hands.
And he had to find an apprentice. He sighed and took another sip of water. That would be harder still.
No rest for him. He had work to do.
********
The screaming and cheerful laughter by far preceded the group of children that ran up the dusty, cobbled stoned street towards family De'Noa's house. A dog scampered out of the way as not to get trampled by dirty, bare feet. The shrill screaming broke young Will De'Noa's concentration and he raised his eyes from the plank he held down for his father who was sawing it in two. His lack of focus earned him a disapproving grunt from the broad shouldered man and he quickly pressed down on it again. The sawing resumed with steady, firm strokes.
The discarded end of the plank rattled to the ground just as the fastest runners among the children appeared down the street. People looked after them with curiosity, arched eyebrows and even scowls when they didn't show ample respect for their elders.
"Will! Will!" came a loud, shrill cry and the young boy looked up again.
Nila came rushing towards him on bare feet, the patched skirt flapping around her legs unceremoniously, and a wide-eyed and shining smile on her face. She was in the lead of the group of children as usual, outrunning even the long legged boy that was ten feet behind her when they reached the cramped, small yard in front of father De'Noa's house and carpentry. With a laugh that seemed to bubble up from the girl's very stomach, she hurled herself into Will's arms and hugged him fiercely.
"What is it, Nila?" Will asked his little sister and her grey eyes turned up to meet his brown.
"He's here!" she bubbled breathlessly. Her slim body wriggled with pure, uncontrolled excitement in his grip and he had to let go. She jumped up and down then. "He's here! He's finally come back!"
Their father sighed and put a large, callused hand on the girl's shoulder to calm her enough to get coherent sentences out of her. "Who, Nila?" his patient and deep voice demanded and the girl settled enough to explain.
"The old man. He's come back." She grabbed one of Will's hands between both of her small ones and laughed in delight. "Oh, Will! Now you can finally become a true sorcerer!"
********
That was how it had all begun eleven years ago, with the return of the sorcerer that inhabited the small, stuffed stone house by the outer wall of the city of Diamban. Why he had returned or why he had left to begin with, no one knew. But that was the way of the sorcerers' kind; they were all a bit mysterious to the townsfolk, though respected and accepted in their oddity.
And Will was to become one, as the sorcerer himself had said seven years ago on Will's third birthday. Will's father, Ion De'Noa, was proud of his son, but also wary of the future and the path he would walk. Though the large man let nothing of it show on his face, it was his son's choice and the bright smile the child gave him now outshone every fear.
Will's father smiled proudly at him, ruffled his short, dark brown hair with a large hand that caused his ragged bangs to yet again fall into his eyes, and sent Nila off to go and fetch their mother.
Soon enough the whole family gathered around Will to wish him luck, even grumpy old grandfather and cousin Ina, though she for one was pouting and sulking. It wasn't like Will would have to leave Diamban to never return once he began his apprenticeship with the sorcerer, he would still be in the same city and even be able to visit as often as he could manage, but Ina still sulked. Though she stayed to see him off after his mother and aunt – Ina's mother – had fussed enough and packed him a knapsack with everything and what not he could come to need.
The first ten steps were the heaviest and hardest in his life to take. Will smiled somewhat sadly when he waved to the only family he had ever known for his ten years long life and Nila ran up to him for one last encouraging and breathtaking hug.
"You can do it, Will," she whispered with belief in his ear. "You can do anything."
Will loved his little sister more than anything in the world and realized as he let her go, that he would miss her the most.
The road to the sorcerer's house seemed longer than anyone he had ever walked and still he was at the worn door sooner than he had thought. He was suddenly frightened then. To fail, to make some terrible mistake and loose his apprenticeship. But he drew courage from his sister's belief in him and from a place deep within, and knocked on the door all the same.
"Will De'Noa. Come in, I've been waiting for you." Those were the first words he ever heard Sorcerer Sharican speak and just like that, he was swept into the one large room that dominated the sturdy stone house.
Will never did remember much of what happened during the next hours, he was in too much of a daze to really put anything to memory, but the feelings of that first meeting would always remain. Respect and admiration for one of the most renowned sorcerers of the time; bafflement that he had been expected and actually invited to stay; sadness for the innocent life he had left behind and at the same time joy and anticipation for what lay ahead.
********
The first two years he spent solely on studying the human body and learning the art of healing, both with and without the aid of herbs. For as Sharican always said, almost like a mantra, those who couldn't learn how to heal weren't worthy to become sorcerers, the power to heal and give life was the greatest power and without it you were nothing.
Will learned eagerly and even surpassed Sharican's expectations. His reward was his first meeting with his own spirit guardian.
Sharican prepared Will for three days and three nights before he was allowed out into the forest on his own, to find a secluded place of his liking. There he would fall into the deep meditating calm he had learned and meet his guardian.
Time lost its meaning in meditation and Will didn't return to Diamban until four days later, tired, weak and starved. But triumphant and very proud. After sleeping for a day and a night Sharican woke him with poorly concealed curiosity and demanded to know who his guardian was.
That was when Will's brown eyes turned golden for the first time, startling even such an experienced man and sorcerer as Sharican. And then the old man shouted out in excitement and triumph.
The golden eyes belonged to Ashiná, the tiger that for many was just a story to be told around the night fires. But Sharican knew better and so did Will, now.
Sharican introduced himself respectfully and politely to Ashiná and then the sorcerer and the spirit guardian began a long, exhaustive conversation inside Will's head as if he hadn't even been there. He knew not what they spoke of, but he felt the power that flowed through him and that kept him awake despite exhaustion.
All that power would be his one day, Sharican told him. But only if he worked hard and let Sharican and Ashiná aid him and guide him in his efforts. He let them gladly.
********
The strong bond that formed between Will and his spirit guardian during the next nine years would prove to endure every hardship life would toss at them. Sharican saw this and so he was not afraid when the day came for him to send his much beloved apprentice away.
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