The Clan of Outcasts [Season 3]

Part 22: "The Winds of Change"

The White Castle (North)

Three years prior...

King Jaran sat beside the window overlooking the garden, lost in his thoughts.

He'd been king for a few weeks now, but he still wasn't used to having so much power and respect all at once. He listened for the voices of Zayra and Beren loudly discussing something about a new program for the Realm—he was glad they opted to remain at the Castle, because although his older brother claimed to have no desire for kingship, neither could deny that Beren had received all the training and grooming for rulership, while Jaran was only ever expected to be a puppet in the hands of the Royal Council, once they'd gotten rid of the true Crown Prince.

He only hoped Beren would eventually share these ideas he and his wife were devising.

A series of uneven, shuffling steps pulled Jaran from his musings. He turned around and smiled at the wrinkled, but familiar face.

"Hello, Korsan, how are you today?"

Korsan had been elderly and grey-bearded when the Council had convinced Jaran to hide away till they could "cure" his electricity "problem", during which time they sought to have the monarchy replaced with "Interfaces", paragons of wisdom and beauty who would set the standard for the rest of the kingdom.

Now his white beard had thinned almost to translucence, and Jaran could see the way the man's joints trembled as he took the seat indicated by the king.

Yet Korsan smiled. "I am well, good King. And how fares yourself?"

Jaran shrugged, relaxing in his chair. "Well enough; I'm still trying to wrap my head around this long list of kingly duties that has suddenly engulfed my life." He chuckled, and then his mind finally realized what was missing from Korsan's appearance. Leaning forward, he asked, "Korsan, where is your talisman?" 

As long as he'd known him, Jaran had never seen Korsan without the string of glowing blue beads dangling from his belt. Those beads had protected them all at one time or another—so why would he simply give them up?

The old Mage rested his elbows on the armrests of the chair, and propped his fingertips against one another. "Do not concern yourself with the absence of my talisman, my liege. Rest assured I have not lost or mislaid it. I have put it where it will do the most good for The Realm."

Relief swept over Jaran, and his smile returned. "You've always had this kingdom's best interest at heart."

Korsan nodded. "Which is why it pains me every time I think about leaving it behind."

Jaran sighed and ran his long, slender fingers through his short black hair. "So it's true, then," he said slowly. "I had hoped that it was only rumors Azelie heard."

Korsan chuckled. "It is a marvelous thing, to have a Queen at your side who will always distinguish the truth, no matter how men try to hide it! I am leaving, but you will not lack a Mage—I will see that my apprentice completes his training before I depart."

Jaran entertained himself by flicking his finger to switch the glowlamp hanging from the wall on and off. "Ah yes, the apprentice—how is he faring? We were all a bit nervous when his magic seemed to flare a different color."

Korsan shrugged. "His uses shadow much like mine uses light, that is the only difference. It is still the same magic because it has the same source—just a different way of controlling it."

Jaran nodded, lapsing into pensive silence. He watched the old Mage's eyelids droop, but Korsan never looked tired, only serene, as if he were meditating and not sleeping.