🌹Short Stories 📖 (ᴀɴᴛʜᴏʟᴏɢʏ)

Savion

Holding himself tight against the rock wall, Savion peered into the gloom, watching for the telltale glimmer of the tether on the next ledge. As soon as he saw it, he released, and in a flash of time he was on that ledge. He was getting used to the relocation now—his stomach barely rolled.

As he searched for his next position, once more the question arose—what the hell was he doing in this mess? And once more his mind answered—he was the only hope she had. His Empress was alone in Criostall and under siege. Conventional means could never breach the enemy's defenses in time. That left him, the almost outlawed, mistrusted emissary from Ishmikar, derisively referred to as the 'court trickster.'

He had been sent to the court of the Emperor of Fioreh at the age of sixteen. Despite his relatively young age, he had impressed Emperor Velard with his demeanor and sound advice. Of course, Savion had been raised from infancy to be the representative at court when Iram retired. The fate of his entire home province rested on his being useful and accepted.

The citizens of Fioreh didn't trust magic. They looked askance at their neighbors, fearing a repeat of the ill advised incursions that had once led to war between the Empire and Ismikar hundreds of years ago. The Empire had won, in large part because a portion of the land's mages had defied their power hungry ruler to aid the beleaguered Emperor. Even so, the suspicion remained.

Ishmikar had become a 'protectorate' of Fioreh—bound to yet not technically part of the Empire. Held under the same laws and closely watched, they paid tribute to the Emperors and sent a carefully prepared emissary to the court to ensure their continued favor. This was Savion's duty.

The Emperor's twins—Celeste & Dashiell—had just turned twelve when he arrived. Celeste was the eldest, by a few minutes, and would take the crystal throne at her father's passing. Both were intelligent and capable. He had found them to be engaging and personable as well and the three swiftly became friends. Looking back, it had been an idyllic time of peace and calm.

The unexpected death of Velard when the twins were but eighteen had come as a shock to all. Only after the fact had Savion recognized the warning signs. They had moved swiftly to identify the perpetrators and stem the impending coup, and had succeeded to a point. The knowledge that he had missed the true movers in the matter had irritated him for the past six years. Now they had struck again—while he was not by her side—and Celeste was in mortal danger.

Muttering curses under his breath, Savion examined the enemy patrol that impeded his progress. Two stood a rather slack watch on the road, one ate by the fire with another sitting near, staring into the flames. A fifth was wandering off into the bushes, probably to relieve his bladder.

Focusing his attention, Savion anchored the tether to a point just behind the pissing guard. A passing whisper of moving air was all the warning that came before Savion's arm was around the guard's neck, choking off the blood to his brain. The guard slumped, and was lowered quietly to the ground.

Now for the ones by the fire. Savion gestured, using a spirit truss to bind the two together. Then, taking a dart from it's sheath, he whispered the necessary words for proper impetus and set it free. It landed in the neck of the staring guard. Both men slumped forward, the eating man's bowl sliding to the ground with a soft thump.

Three down, two to go. As Savion crept forward, the two men began a conversation, moving closer to each other for convenience and comfort's sake. Creeping forward, he came up behind the closest one. Just as the second man's eyes widened at the shadow of the encroaching mage, Savion flicked his hand, sending his magic to pull the second man sharply into the first. Both went down, and a solid kick to the head made sure they stayed down. He dragged them into the bushes and slipped off down the road toward the castle.