SciFi and Fantasy Stories: The Sorceress' Daughter: Overture and Prelude

Overture

From the majestic hills in the northeast, to the sweeping plains of the west, from the refulgent tide breaking across the shore, from the teeming cities to the farmer's hamlet, so spreads Cielia, the land of the sky.

The day could not have been more beautiful for a coronation. Not a cloud overhead, not a degree too hot, not a breath of wind too mighty. Cielia City, the jewel in the Heartfire Crown, was bustling with anticipation. It was a day to be proud, a day to be a patriot, a day to remember what made Cielia stand out from any other nation in the world. It was time to celebrate a new King, a fresh start. It was a day to bask in the glory of history.

Some clever soul had sprayed the Main Avenue down with water, so the cobblestones glistened as the parade began. Lines upon lines of the Cielian National Guard, each division proudly bearing the pure-blue flag of their nation. How they marched in such perfect lines, resplendent in their polished shoes and and crisp uniforms. The mighty Nationals, standing ready to fight back the enemies of the Crown! The horns of the band flashed under the sun, and the snares played an elaborate syncopated cadence that made the heart beat in time with the drums.

There was a regiment of the Servian Service, marching in a pompous goosestep with rugged, sparse green uniforms. They kept a straight face, some were scowling, and their bass drums beat a relentless "One, one, one two one." These were soldiers who had been to war so often, swept up in their nation's constant invasion and plunder. Few nations on the Tersian continent had avoided the heavy footsteps of the SeSe. Oh, but such petty foreign politics were so far away on such a glorious day!

Then, with presentation perfect enough to humiliate the first two armies, marched the incomparable Ebolian Grande Guard, the elite mercenary army of Ebolia. The most powerful, relentless, competent warriors in the world, so sublime in their scarlet frocks and gold braids. They smiled to the cheers of the crowd, and at the reviewing stand performed the impressive Ebolian presentation of arms, an ornate five-count hand salute to the Barons of the nation. After all, few was the number of the Cielian nobles who hadn't hired the mercenary EGG for some reason or another.

And, marshaled by the proud Nationals, Prince Endimion Scione rode a white steed to his coronation as the forty-seventh Heartfire King.

The opening address was issued by the Baronet Rachael Quillfire, who at that time was merely sixteen, which was fateful; she was one of the most well-loved members of the Barony, which was also fateful; and would, several years later, be on vacation in Ebolia at a very fateful time. Perhaps if she knew what was going to come to pass, she would have refused to have anything to do with Endimion's coronation.

Her speech was eloquent, rousing, and a fitting overture to what was to come to pass. Some would find it tasteless, some would find it insulting, but the Cielians would treasure every word as truth from the mouth of the precoucious noble babe.

"From the majestic hills in the northeast," Her soprano intoned, "to the sweeping plains of the west, to the refulgent tide breaking across the shore, from the teaming city to the farmer's hamlet, from the tranquil lake to the cascading waterfall, from the windswept prairie to the stoic forest, so spreads Cielia, land of the sky.

"Breathe deep, my countrymen. Join me now, all loyal subjects of King Karol, breathe in the air that wraps around us, breathe the wind the unfurls our standards, breathe in the sky!"

Even the President of Ebolia caught himself tasting the pure springtime air. The Vanguard of Servia went into a fit of hacking from years of the finest cigars.

"Do you taste it?" She asked. "Do you taste the freedom? Show me the dictator who can control the wind. Show me the despot who can mobilize a column of clouds. Show me the duce who can invade the sky!"

The Vanguard suddenly shifted in his seat, and felt countless eyes shift from the Baronet to him.

"It is freedom in the air." The precocious five-foot two decreed. "Something that cannot be bought or rented. Our nation's greatest asset is priceless."

The President of Ebolia kept smiling pleasantly, although several EGG officers whispered darkly.

"Stand up, Cielia." She proclaimed. "Stand up and feel pride. Stand up and point your aspirations skyward! We are Cielians. Eto, veno, daselle!"

The first, the strongest, the vigilent. The motto of the Barony.

"There were the Old Kingdoms, the morass of ethnic warfare and tribal hate. Our fathers voyaged forth from those blood-soaked island and landed here, to forge their own way, a new, free people. And so our fathers and mothers spread, from the fertile plains of the south to the fruited banks in the north. Our fathers spread, from beyond our hollowed shores to Ebolia in the east and Servia in the west."

"Where did they get zis braat?" The Vanguard hissed.

"We have survived the worst storms and the worst enemies. When they were little more than a myth, a sorceress rose to power. M'rdyth."

Her voice dropped, and a murmur ran through the crowd.

"Sorceress." In the mouth of the orator, the word sounded like the hiss of a snake. "Leader of the Hartian Alliance. In her thirst for conquest she built an army of fiendish monsters; mindless, magical brutes to terrorize, to victimize, to slaughter in her name. She unleashes plagues upon our homeland, had her monsters raze our cities and burn our crops; yet we survived!

"Far in the west, hundreds of years later, rose an equally evil foe. T'rquin. The self-styled Emperor of Sian. He ran his magically augmented armies across every boarder and across every shore. He put the powers of magic in the hands of his soldiers, and every nation crumbled before his might. Every nation, except Cielia."

A cheer swelled from the crowd, slowly at first, but louder and louder.

"Four waves of invaders dashed themselves against our shores."

Louder and louder still.

"Hoards of mages scoured our continent, trying to drive us out of the hills and valleys of our home, but they tried in vain! He even resorted to monsters, but even the tyrannical tactics of M'rdyth before him would fail before Cielians armed with a love for their nation!"

She had to raise her voice for the microphone to up pick her speech over the cheers of the crowd.  Several of the Barons on the reviewing stand were standing and joining in with the crowd.

"Even the sorcerer himself landed on our shore, defiling our land under the heavy steps of conquest. It was here that Cielia made their last stand. It was here we built our citadel, it was here, Cielia Keep, where we survived their siege.

"It was here! It was this very hill, below our feet, where the general Arwin Scione challenged T'rquin to a duel. A mortal against a sorcerer, the weak against the strong, and Arwin Scione was the victor! It was on this hallowed ground where the champion of freedom prevailed over the champion of tyranny! It was here where Arwin Scione stood and said, "I was fueled by the fire in my heart." It was here that our fathers, in glorious exaltation, elevated him to the Heartfire Crown! Eto, veno, daselle!"

The cameras caught Endimion trying to rise to his feet, but an advisor grabbed his shoulder and reminded it would be prudent to remain calm. The crowd was excited enough.

"We have seen two thousand years since T'rquin! We have seen two thousand years of the Heartfire Crown! We have seen two thousand years of freedom under fair and just rule. For two thousand years we have turned to the Barony, to the Crown, to the Nationals, to keep us safe, to protect us from sorceri, to protect the world from sorceri!"

"We are here to name a new King, an new protector, a new leader. May he always moderate the commons and the Barony. May he never fail his duties as the protector of our freedom!" She drew a gold-plated sword from a scabbard at her side. "May he lead our armies and ensure our safety," the sword was waved in the air, and the crowd erupted. "May he be a fearless advocate of Cielian interests in the world!" The Barony rose to their feet cheering. "On behalf of the Cielian people," She said, with a sweeping gesture over the crowds with the blade.

Endimion was helped to his feet by the Nationals and stood before the Baronet. "I name thee Endimion Scione," She said, tapping his neck with the flat of the blade, "the Lord Protector," tap "the Defender," tap "Soverign" tap "and King of Cielia!"

"And so," the President of Ebolia said, trying to anticipate the coming years of politicing with a new ruler, "the stage is set."

He had no idea.

Prelude

For nineteen years, the history books would proclaim that Cielia collapsed overnight.

In fact, it took thirty-six hours for the Heartfire throne to implode, and Endimion Scione wound up with most of the blame. For nineteen years the history books used him as a scapegoat, but once the whole Cielian Affair was settled, it was clear he was innocent. At the worst, he just had rotten luck.

As the crown prince, he was educated in the manner of the kings: the native language of Cielia became his native tongue, even though that tongue was an extinct one. The tongue of Ebolia was spoken commonly around the world, and was the first language of practically all Cielians.

In a giant coincidence, or a turn of events manipulated by unseen hands, there was a massive scandal when Endimion was twelve years old. An international corporation was found to be hoarding vast amounts of Cielian currency on a scale beyond that of many nation's treasuries. The corporation was found to be little more than a front for that omnipresent branch of Ebolian government, the Ebolian Grande Guard. Should the nation of Ebolia, the reigning superpower, ever see fit, Cielia could be flooded with worthless money, grinding the economy to a halt. In fury, Endimion's father threw the Ebolian emissaries, including the Ebolian-language tutor, out of the country. When Endimion was coronated, he knew only the most trivial Ebolian phrases.

He took it upon himself to reduce the size and inefficiency of the royal government and shift responsibility back to the Barony, infinently more suited to manage the vast, varying lands of the spanning country.  His reign was marked by a violent shift in political power, where  the baronies became responsible for education, police, motor vehicles, arms regulation, and countless other jurisdictions that had been absorbed into the royal government over four hundred years of federalist thinking. There was a motto in the chambers of his councilors; Smaller, cheaper, more.

Eventually and inevitably, he turned his attention to the Cielian National Guard, nine years after he was crowned.

"I would like you to consider the state of the world." He addressed his council, out for a walk through the gardens. "To the west is Servia. Dozens of countries, basically ethnic tribes, with the Servian Compact trying to conquer them all. To the east is mighty Ebolia, with their legions of mercenaries, spending every waking moment hoping for Servia to start a war. In the south, there are the Old Kingdoms, sleeping blissfully in their eternal war."

It was a perfect day outside in the gardens, and the King stopped his stroll before a fountain of Arwin Scione, the Great. A warm summer breeze cooled the shadows under the hedges.

"The Servian Compact invades a small tribe, yes? The tribe waits and calls Ebolia to hire mercenaries. The Ebolian Grande Guard comes, chases the Compact out, and the only ones who really care are the poor saps being occupied." The wind grew slightly stronger, blowing the spray over the advisors.

"Servia knows they cannot invade us. Our country has too much land to conquer with such an embattered, weary force. Irregardless, Ebolia would come to our aid.

"Suppose Ebolia invades us." The King proposed, stroking the petals of a rose. "They understand that they are an island. Without us, with our farmers drafted and our fields burning, they cannot feed their own children."

The situation was a slight stretch, but not too far off from reality. Ebolia had become overpopulated, and if Cielia even threatened to embargo or reduce their agricultural export, Ebolia would be severely hurting.

"There is no threat to our country," the King concluded, "and yet we maintain standing armies far beyond what is needed. We can slash the budget, institute a volunteer reserve, divert the funding elsewhereÉ All without sacrificing our security."

The Advisor of the Armies licked his lips. "Sir, perhaps it would be prudent-"

Endimion held up his hand. "We have made our decision."

With that in mind, the royal speech writers drafted the Military Redirection Act.

The Military Redirection Act was the catalyst that caused the destruction of the Heartfire Crown. Not because it weakened the  military, it was actually the announcement of the Act that put things into motion.

As a Cielian king, Endimion only spoke Cielian. Tragically, when Ebolia arrived as the major political, fiscal, and military center of the world, their language supplanted Cielian in Cielia. In fact, Cielian was commonly called Old Cielian, a language that never got a chance to reach New Cielian before it was replaced.

Endimion didn't speak a word of Ebolian, and his advisors were determined to change that.

"Your majestyÐ" The lead advisor said, "Ðno one understands you."

"We are the king of an entire country, they'd better learn."

"SireÐ" This debate had taken place before. The advisor and Endimion went back and forth for several hours, until the advisor found some piece of logic so sound the king couldn't argue against it.

"If you can speak two languages fluently, and make a show if it, your intelligence will endear you to your people."

So began Endimion's studies into Ebolian. It seemed odd that such a bright man would learn so slowly. Finally, the advisors wereÉ Sated with the King's prowess and gave the green light to the announcement. The plan was simple: The speech was to appear on the prompters in Old Cielian. If Endimion felt uncomfortable reading it in Ebolian, he could always switch back to Old Cielian and no one would be none the wiser. He held a television broadcast at eight o'clock on a warm Monday night.

"Age in pondwater, we look at untold miles of military fat. Unlike so many toothpicks who have made their purple saw to us, you see garbage can for dilettante, it means that pocket around sweeps the floor."

"Get him off the stage!" Screamed the advisor in the press booth, but everyone in the room, including the camera operator, was dumbstruck.

Smiling like a young child who brought home an A on a macaroni collage, Endimion continued. "Admittedly, perfect defribulation is the apple and goal of nineteen savants on my Council. After steamy discussion with advisors, you have come to the conclusion that hamburgers mauve shouldn't vigilante in children's learning."

"Old Cielian! Start reading in Old Cielian!" The advisor mouthed, waving his arms frantically. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Want to switch back to a sitcom?" The station director asked, but that would have been rude to the king and not as entertaining. Reruns of this speech would hit all-time high ratings, he could tell.

"So, as soldiers march cattle midnight, we can only sleep of perfect scores in out nation's schools. Our education areas will be healed horrendously by any dumpsters we throw at their salmon."

"Cut the cameras!" The advisor was shrieking, and a burly TV station worker was physically restraining him from leaping, cat-like, onto the switchboard. Several journalists in the press room were staring at their tape recorders, as if they were broken and somehow responsible for the jibberish.

"As a dinette famous once opined, a free wind surges from the seeds of raindrops and children's dreams. With great propensity I announce by tepid decree all moneys devoted melodically to military stuffs will be redirected toÐ" Endimion actually frowned at the prompter. "Moneys redirected to schoolbook coffers andÐ" A sudden smile of realization spread over Endimion's royal visage. "And my harem."

With a shriek and sudden burst of adrenaline, the head advisor powered through any and all obstacles in his way and physically prevented the director from cutting to another program. Another advisor, fighting a compulsion to drag Endimion off by the ears, shoved him aside and read the speech in proper, legible Ebolian.

The journalists, who had until then suppressed their laughter, cracked up. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and the entire team from the Ebolian Mirror thought they were going to need to change their pants in the hotel.

They weren't the only ones. Every late-night comedian unceremoniously scrapped their program and had, in some degree, a sketch about the speech. The most artistic came from a southern Cielian syndicate. Someone produced surplus uniforms from the Cielian National Guard and modified them to show the cleavage of the actresses wearing them. The skit revolved around the girls tickling each other with toy swords, licking pistols, and lounging on sofas when a King Endimion impersonator came in and said there wasn't enough money for schoolbooks in the country, so they'd need to sell the uniforms, please take them off right now.

Eventually, it turned into a 'steamy discussion' with 'advisors,' portrayed by several handsome, well-toned men borrowed from a local fire department.

###

"We're getting you a tutor."

"Whatever you say." Endimion conceded, secretly wondering why he didn't have a harem.

Burning the midnight oil, the Royal Advisors agreed to seek professional help. In order to atone for that evening's events, Endimion would need to speak the highest, most beautiful form of Ebolian possible. That would require a native Ebolian, from a particular region of Ebolia. The debate was sparked as to which dialect was the most pure, and once that was decided, they sent an expedition to find an acceptable teacher.

They settled on Rose De Vereaux.

She was assistant director of a youth acting troupe. She had four degrees: Ebolian and History from a prestigious university, and Theatre and Musical Education from a renowned liberal arts college. How she ended up making a scant 17,000 dollars a year as an assistant director of a youth acting troupe when she had four degrees baffle everyone on the Council, but they didn't spend much time thinking about it.

Maybe it would have tipped them off.

As soon as she moved into Cielia Keep, everyone knew that there was something odd about her. For an actress, she was amazingly discreet and introverted, preferring closed doors to any sort of attention. She looked about as fragile as a rose, but had come close to breaking a National's arm when he refused to let her go to dinner unescorted. She hardly ever spoke, but each word was powerful and flawless in meaning. She was hardly beautiful, but every head turned to her when she entered a room.

There was something odd about her.

"Do you think she'sÐ You knowÉ?"

"Don't be silly." The second advisor said. Rose had been living in the Keep for several weeks by then, and was trodding on more than a few nerves. But sneaking up on someone doesn't make anyone a lesbian.

"They say one out of tenÐ"

"There are twelve advisors. Which one of us is gay?"

"Riley." Riley was married to a modestly plump woman and had four kids, but was just a drippy, unpopular sort with a lisp who insisted on referring to colors as nouns: 'Yellow' became 'mustard,' 'red' became 'cherry,' and so on. At the annual holiday party, all the advisors traditionally chipped in to buy him hand creme, or a bottle of astringent, or a weekend at a spa in Servia. Riley was amazed at how much his coworkers wanted his wife to have a nice complexion. The rest of the advisors were amazed at how he failed to catch on that he was a tool.

"Don't be stupid. She's just a character, that's all. You know: une artistŽ. Isn't she entitled to a few quirks?"

"She's a mass of contradictions. Graceful, but constantly dropping books in the hall. Fluent in three languages, but silent. An actress who hates attention."

"Even if sheÉ you know," The advisor made a swinging motion with his arm. "Who cares? One: The King's speaking in Ebolian. Two: He has better pronunciation than me. He actually said the word 'mile' in one syllable. Sure, she'll suddenly appear without you knowing where she came from, but it's all good. I mean, she insists on locking him up in a room with her forÉ What? Four hours a day?"

"Fifty bucks says she likes women." The head advisor insisted.

"You're on."

"I have an announcement everyone: I'm getting married."

"What?!"

The king's advisors exchanged baffled looks. Two exchanged money.

Endimion's mouth floundered like he didn't know what to say, and then shrugged. "Ms. De Vereaux. I love her, and I'm going to marry her."

The lead advisor, who just lost his month's coffee money, looked apoplectic. "She'sÉ A peasant! A foreign peasant!"

"To be honest, I don't care where she's from or where she's going to."

"Dangling preposition, dear." Someone whispered. It was Rose, who suddenly appeared out of Endimion's shadow. Every head snapped to her, not just out of surprise. It was something about her. She could sit down for dinner, eat, and leave without anyone noticing, except for the natural instinct to look at her.

The Advisor to Education, one of the calmer heads, coughed softly. "Ms. Deverro, would you pleaseÐ"

"'De Vereaux." The king corrected.

"Ðexcuse us while we discuss matters of state?"

She nodded and left as silently as she had arrived, and there was silence even in her wake.

"Yes, matters of state. You know, like the preservation of a two-thousand year old bloodline?" The head advisor was slowly turning the color of eggs pickled in beets. "For crying out loud, a peasant! A foreign peasant! Just look at your obligations. What are her interests?" Endimion shifted, knowing a tirade was coming.

"Sire, realize that, even in this modern day, the function of your heritage has certain restrictionsÐ" A second advisor said, trying to head said tirade off at the pass, but it didn't work.

"Like not marrying aliens living on a diplomatic visa?" Demanded the advisor. "We've been trying for years to get you married, the people are anxious, they want to see a prince! They want to see your heritage! For crying out loud, what if some lunatic assassinates you a year from now? Who will take the throne? A half-Ebolian prince? An Ebolian Queen?! Maybe it hasn't occurred to your loveÐ struckÐbrainÐ" His hand was pounding the table now. "Eight eligible Cielian nobles still single and eager, from reputable Cielian houses, oh, wait, let me list themÑ"

And it came to pass that he did, in great length, reciting their measurements, appearances, birthdays, favorite colors, regular or decaf, et cetera,  from memory. The king stood silent, staring into space throughout all of this. He had seven years of fiscal policy meetings under his belt and had learned to tune out meetings.

"Ðprefers white chocolate. Last but not least, my personal favorite, Baronet Quillfire, Lady of Campbell, wants two children and wears pink every Wednesday, five foot two inchesÐ"

Endimion reached behind him and flicked the light switch. The advisors instantly silenced themselves as the room went dark, an instinct programmed by hundreds of kindergarten teachers around the world.

He waited for a few moments, turned the lights back on, and said, "I have an announcement everyone: I'm getting married."

The lead advisor made a sound like someone stuck a burning candle up his nose.

"Let's try this again: I have an announcement everyone, I'm getting married."

It occurred to the advisors to applaud. A couple cheered, and a few whistled. After a few rounds of such, the Advisor to Commerce said, "Are you sure, sire?"

"There's just something about her." Endimion said. "She has thisÉ This aura."

"AURA?" The lead advisor demanded. He could feel blood vessels bursting like corn kernels, and suddenly realized why Rose kept Endimion locked up for so many hours on end. "An aura is a MASK! Would you take my council is I wore a mask?!"

Endimion, wondering why he had been taking this man's council at all, ignored him. "I'm getting married. I love her. If any of you have the gall or audacity to put any, any, obstacle in our path I willÉ Oh, I don't knowÉ" He was trying to tax his Ebolian to its limit, but certain idioms were beyond him. He pointed a finger at the head advisor and said, "You will personally invite Baronet Quillfire to be the Maid of Honor. If you don't, I try you for insubordinate treason."

The head advisor met the Baronet in a bar, got drunk, and blacked out, never quite remembering what he said that made the Baronet slap him. He didn't attend many more council meetings and "just happened" to contract a rather nasty ingrown toenail the day of the wedding.

But what a wedding! The full majesty of the wedding and back-to-back coronation of Queen Rose Scione and royal matrimony was the most glorious example of the oldest, most regal traditions in the world. The events consumed three days; three days of parades, ceremonies, music, and feasting. It was a three day national holiday in Cielia and Ebolia.

It was a happy day in the world. The throne was secured for years to come. The King had a Queen. The Lord had a lady. The knight had a damsel.

It was Cielia who was in distress.

Queen Rose had a secret. A secret that dictated her life, a secret she kept hidden, like a rock in her shoe. Walking over it day after day, having it slice open her heel. It was a secret that made her fall asleep crying, cursing the day she fell in love with Endimion and loathing the day he fell in love with her. Why did she say 'yes?' Why did she marry a king?

She swore in her passion that Endimion would never know. She would never tell him.

Or so she hoped, until the royal physician told her a bit of news just shy of her second anniversary: She was pregnant. As she told Endimion, she had to bring the secret to light. She had no choice.

Rose was a sorceress.

###

Endimion tried not to rage, he honestly did. He shut himself in his study and threw things around, then came out, grabbed a telephone, and called for help.

The first council he received was from the Cielian University. They didn't offer any help at all, they just wrung hands and cried, "Woe is me!"

The second council he received was from two minds with the Servian University, and they at least had something to say. They marched into the throne room like soldiers, carrying their files like grenades.

"We're looking at the destruction of civilization as we know it, sire."

"I kind of picked up on that." Endimion said, giving a deep massage to his temples.

"We're recommending you abort the child."

Endimion felt sick. "You would kill the Crown Prince?" He was trying to act as if that was far out of the realm of the possible and ethical, but everyone knew it wasn't.

"Frankly, yes. We, on behalf of the University and the Servian Compact, urge you to see the same. You know history. You know what M'rdyth and T'rquin did. Do you want that power vested in the heir to the throne?"

"And my wife?"

The two scientists shot dark looks at each other. "Hire EGG."

When Servia hired EGG, it was almost exclusively related to the disposal of a political prisoner.

The third and final council came from a man named the Sage Armoise, Dean of the Ebolian University. He entered in the most particular manner. For starters, he was dressed rather horridly, in a pale yellow button down shirt, pastel blue necktie, and khaki pants with a black leather belt. His hair was combed in such a way that it stood up an easy inch and a half up from his skull, and was just the right color so you couldn't recall from memory is he was blond, brunet, or gray-haired.

His modus operandi was rather interesting: He strutted. There was a definite feeling that his head and shoulders were reclined several degrees back from the rest of his body, and he tended to roll his feet when he walked. He carried an over-sized brown leather purse that had been missing the shoulder handle for several years, which was tossed casually on the ground when he entered the throne room. Endimion wanted to rest his head in his hands in disgust, but politely nodded when he entered. "What say you, Sage?"

Armoise frowned, ran his tongue over his teeth, and rubbed his chin. He stayed like that for several minutes, deep in thought, before glancing up. "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

"My wife."

"Always put the seat down, that's my advice." There wasn't a leader in the world who could avoid dealing with Armoise, and he knew that. He was determined to have as much fun as he could at their expence before he died.

"She's a sorceress."

"Ah. Aaah!" He exclaimed. "Oh, I see why you're worried. A sorceress, my my. Hum." He rubbed his chin again. "Yes, I think I heard that before. Well, I really don't care." He licked his lips. "Is that all?"

Endimion's fingernails were digging into his throne. "What?"

"I don't care. Honestly, if you kill her then I'd be sad butÐ" His voice trailed off. "Oh, you're married to Rose De Vereaux! Yes that changes things, I know her quite well. My my. UghmÉ" He scratched behind his ear. "Wait, I still don't care."

"Get out."

Armoise raised his hands as if to stop Endimion from charging at him. He sounded wounded when he said, "Now, sire, hear me out. I've actually worked with Queen R'se for many, many years. In fact, her mother taught me everything I know about sorceri."

That was quintessential Ebolia. Somehow, someway, Ebolia always knew one thing more than anyone else.

"I know her, and I know her powers, and I know her circumstances, and by virtue of thatÉ Well, I don't care." He reached inside his robe and pulled out a thick binder. "Ebolia's studies on sorceri. Would you like the short version?"

"Please." Endimion would have preferred shoving the binder up Armoise's nose, but still listened.

"According to theory, and this is just what I've heard," Armoise said, as if he was reciting a schoolyard rumor, "There are always three sorceri in the world, alwaysÉ Somehow related to the continents. One dies, the powers jump to another person, typically a newborn."

"Three."

"The Servian Sorcerer, the Ebolian Sorcerer, and the Cielian Sorcerer. We're not sure about the Old Kingdoms yet. So, hypothetically, there was a nice woman who I shall call the Queen Mother. The Queen Mother was a sorceress. Then, she had a child. Her daughter, in this hypothetical situation her name is Rose, inherited the power. The Queen Mother instantly lost her magic. But, the QM's mother, R'ses grandmother, wasn't a sorceress, just an average lady. It just so happens that being born to a sorcerer makes you more likely to be a sorceri."

"So?"

"Well, there's no guarantee that your child will be a sorceri."

"And my wife?"

"I'd be more worried about the other two witches running about. They don't have the necklace."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I didn't want to brag, butÐ" It was written all over Armoise's face how much he was going to enjoy bragging. "I happened to design a piece of jewelry I'm sure your wife is quite fond of. Did she even take it off when you two were, ah," He winked. "The royal scepter andÐ"

"Stop." Endimion closed his eyes, partly to relax and partly to remember. A simple metal disk on a simple metal chain, both chrome plated. Rose never took it off, and Endimion didn't push the subject with her as to 'why.' "What does that have to doÐ"

"A magnet. A powerful ceramic magnet. I figured out it blocks magical energies. Wear it, she's not a sorceress. Take it off, she is. Sometimes, I astound even myself."

"So you're sayingÐ"

"If R'se wanted to rule the world, she wouldn't have taken her sweet time marrying you. She's harmless. Married to a king, but harmless. Her child will probably be harmless. Besides, do you really want to kill the woman you love?" He shrugged. "Do you want to abort the Crown Prince?" He shrugged again. "If you do, I don't care."

He turned to strut out of the room, but he turned coyly over his shoulder. "You know, maybe it would be useful to have a sorceress at the Royal Court."

R'se announced her pregnancy and her damnable heritage at the same time, at the gala celebrating the royal family's second anniversary. The ballroom in Cielia Keep was decorated beautifully in blues and whites, and a thousand candles flickered against the hand-ground crystal. A table many yards long was outfitted with the most comfortable chairs in the palace, and the undisputed best chef in Cielia catered the food.

All nobles of Cielia attended, as did the President of Ebolia, the Vanguard of Servia, the North Cielian leaders, the Servian leaders, et cetera. Sage Armoise was there, and was in fact the toastmaster. There were some other Ebolian Sages, a few generals from EGG, and some notable civilians.

After an excellent feast Armoise rose to the podium behind the head of the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have so far focused on a turkey stuffed with sage, so please now focus on a sage stuffed with turkey." And things went downhill from there.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Endimion began, in perfect Ebolian, "Thank you all for showing up tonight. This little get-together is in honor of my wife, Queen Rose De Vereaux Scione, and our completion of two years of marriage." Applause. "My wife has honestly done more for the people of Cielia then any other Queen since the dawn of our Empire. Thanks to her, over four thousand families moved into a clean, modern house last year. Thanks to her, soup kitchens are fully stocked and have begun teaching their patrons skills invaluable to their advancement in society. Thanks to her, thousands of needy students will have grants to pursue higher education. If all this can be accomplished in two years, the future of Cielia is bright indeed.

"Beyond that, Queen Rose has launched several diplomatic corps designed to teach young people of different nations and cultures about tolerance and understanding. It is my wife's dream that this will be a turning point in world relations, and we hope that all people will learn that their cousins, the Cielians, Ebolians, Servians, and all other nationalities, are still of the same flesh, same blood, and same hopes for a united mankind!"

This was worthy of a standing ovation.

"However, there is another undertone to this evening's festivities. Another focus on the future of the world, and I call upon my lovely wife to speak."

Rose glided to the podium. She was dressed in a scarlet dress which contrasted the rest of the room, and her face was the perfect picture of inner tranquility.

"Well, for starters, I'm pregnant." The Baronet Quillfire let out a squeal of surprise, and the rest of the room applauded.

"And, to finish, I am the youngest in the Kinderflame line, and I have been a sorceressÐ"

No one heard the rest of her sentence. The speech was being broadcast around the world, and the world froze.

After a judicious pause fathers snarled at the television, and mothers drew their children in close: All knee-jerk reactions to the word 'sorceress.'

It took only a few moments for the sharp ones to analyze the situation: Every vital leader in world politics was locked in one room with a sorceress. Never before had such a perfect opportunity presented itself to a sorcerer. M'rdyth? Born under an age of anarchy. T'rquin? Blazed his own path with armies and wars to domination. R'se? One wave of her hand, and the kings, presidents, dictators, emperors, viceroys and generals of the world would be smitten dead, face down in their potato au gratin.

Inside the Keep, the hundreds of candles became pillars of hellfire. The reflection in the crystal became the refractions of gehana. The sky-blue decor seemed as cold as ice.

Rose, or Sorceress Queen R'se to be respectful, stood, unmoving, at the podium. She looked, plainly, as if she was going to be sick. The guilt she had felt all her life swallowed her, chewing off larger and larger chunks of her soul. It created a psychological need to be loved, and there was no love in the world for her. There had never been love in the world for a witch. She turned and faced her husband, who was as unmoving as the rest of the room.

Staring into his eyes.

She knew the expression on his face. Regret.

The first person to move was the President of Ebolia, and his action was carefully hidden. It was to spin the crown of his watch in a special movement. The watch began broadcasting a radio signal that screamed alerts and commands to every Ebolian Grande Guardian in the world.

The Vanguard of Servia was next, and his gadget was disguised as the screws in his eyeglasses. They armed Servia's secret long-range missiles, but no one outside of Servia knew about those.

Sage Armoise, who was giddily awaiting the damage control he would be doing, stood up, chimed his fork on his champagne flute, and sang, "All but the waiters: Dis-missed!" and opened up the rest of the feast to a press conference. He knew not a single journalist in the world would touch Cielia Keep with a ten-foot pole, and used the chance to have a second helping of pheasant. Housekeeping found several silver spoons to be missing after that dinner, and suspected they slipped into a particular leather manbag, but they had no way of proving anything.

###

The damage control was accomplished over time, a special blend of propaganda, bribes to certain newspapers, a few declassified studies from the Ebolian University, and many, many public appearances by Sage Armoise. Even still, the world waited on edge for months. Would the child be a sorcerer? The Ebolian Grande Guard stayed on "defcon four" for a record six months without firing a shot. Even Servia stopped their conquests, bracing for a sudden invasion by a magical Cielian army.

Then, the appointed day came, and the sky opened. It was the day R'se gave birth.

Rumor had it that the pain and agony of childbirth created a magical swell in R'se so powerful the magnet was ineffective. Rumor had it that the baby pushing through the birth canal allowed some flood of magic to breech the physical world. Rumor had it that it was her loss of control over magic that created the monsters.

It occurred first over a tiny village named Gramercy. A swirling, chaotic mass of magical energy suddenly appeared over the village and crashed into the tangible plane with force enough to leave a fifty-foot crater in lieu of the hamlet.

Anything swept up by the energy was contorted, morphed, and deformed. A simple beetle exploded, becoming the size of a car before scurrying off to mow down houses. Men grew extra limbs, lost their minds, and gained a thirst for blood. Some were completely engulfed in fire and still livedÉ In their own, monstrous definition of 'life.' Plants were morphed into their own aggressive entities, granted unearthly freedoms of movement. The natural ferocity of bears, badgers, cougars, and other beasts was magnified with the addition of tusks, spiked tails, and other fantastic horrors.

Worst of all, the existence of magical creatures on the tangible plane changed physics as it was known. Electricity in all manners failed outright: No spark plugs, televisions, or plumbing. Guns worked fine, nothing electrical there, but oft the bullets wouldn't so much as draw blood from the monsters.

The wave of energy seeped through the tangible plane just slower then the horseback riders. Women who knew how to ride spread the alarm. The men stayed back to fight. All others were warped or killed.

The two major pieces of news that day mingled together in the process of transmission: "The monsters are coming! The Queen's child is coming! The monsters are here! The Queen's child is born!"

By the time the news hit Cielia City, refugees were pouring into the ancient stone embattlements. A mob formed outside Cielia Keep and quickly overcame the National's standing guard. Some Nationals were killed after opening fire, and some turned on their King.

The mob stormed through the Keep, burning and gouging, tearing down tapestries and anything that bore resemblance to Endimion. The horde was unstoppable. They were one body, acting in fear and hate, spreading through the Keep until they reached the infirmary. They should have lynched that witch when they had their chance!

The room was abandoned, unlike most of the others. The nurses had gathered all the medicines and supplies they could and left.

The King and Queen, however, didn't leave. Their hands were clasped together as they laid on the recovery bed, side by side. R'se was still dressed in a hospital gown, and Endimion was wearing a sweater with the Scione crest, but their bodies were totally and unmistakably lifeless.

Perhaps they poisoned themselves, perhaps the Queen killed her husband unwittingly with magic, perhaps they murdered each other, perhaps they simply had heart attacks at the same time. No one cared. No one noticed that the magnetic necklace wore was snapped half and was on the floor. The only thing anyone noticed was the lack of an infant in the room. The sorceress' son, or sorceress' daughter, was alive.

The mob burned the corpses in a gruesome pyre which gutted most of Cielia Keep, just as monsters gutted and burned the country.

Everything was impossibly bleak. One by one, the armies of the Barons fall. Within days, the Cielian nobles, and most of their subjects, were slaughtered. In a twist of fate, the young Baronet Quillfire watched her province collapse from Ebolia, on a vacation when the monsters fell, unable to return home. Every day she watched the flag lowered at the embassy, wondering if it would be hoisted in the morning.

Just when Ebolia planned to recognize the Baronet as Heartfire Queen, Cielia found a savior. 

###

His name was Vistian Delamore. He hailed from the Old Kingdoms, and was somehow inspired to exile himself in the tradition of the first Cielians. As soon as he found someone who spoke Old Cielian, fatefully a close cousin of his native tongue, he announced he knew how to stop the onslaught. He retold the story of his tribe's greatest hero, who defeated a horde of monsters centuries before. According to him, the way to defeat monsters was common knowledge among the men in his country, carefully maintained, guarded, and passed on from son to son in the event the demons ever return.

He gathered all the able bodies he could and made his do-or-die stand outside of Cielia City's walls, and his army diverted the tide. The city was saved after a horrific battle, but hundreds of men died before the monsters lost interest. Cielia City stood, but it was one of few.

Vistian was appointed Commanding General of the Nationals, and was hastily crowned Regent. He taught his men the tactics he knew to defeat the monsters, and his popularity soared.

He gravely told the world that the monsters would not be eliminated for too many years. He asked for (and received) Cielia's full support and he vowed not to rest until Cielia was free from the scourge. He outlined a plan of hunting, protection, and expanding into new settlements. It was push or be pushed, and the human spirit was not meant to be broken.

Once he was fully installed as Regent he found the ranks of the National's swelling: Men had no homes, no jobs, no families, nothing but a country, a leader, and a lust for revenge.

Vistian set about hand-picking the best of the best: the most elite Cielian Life-Guards that survived the attack on the Keep, the smartest, strongest NCOs, the most vicious and relentless enlisted men. He placed them in their own division: A division of bodyguards and enforcers who rallied to their leader closer and more passionately than any other. They were marked as the elite by their uniform, which employed black leather gloves instead of white cotton gloves.

The first action of the Black Glove was a secret one, and slightly objectionable: Find the progeny of the witch. None did object, and the resulting scouring of Cielia City was one of the most zealous ever carried out.

Once all was said and done, Vistian the body of an infant boy was delivered to Vistian for inspection. The presumed heir to the Heartfire throne, and the presumed end of the Kinderflame line of sorceri, was safely and soundly dead.