Heritage - Chapter 1

Heritage

Prologue

Gabriel Gairden's tall frame tensed as he crept through the halls of the Ivory Palace.  The dark marble floors were slick with grime and gore, as were the ornately decorated smooth stone walls.  His Warrior's ears perked into alertness as they took in the cacophony of war that bounced through every corridor, a tint of desperation in every scream and clash of steel.  Bodies of varying shapes and sizes littered his path.  Friend or foe, human or creature, their expressions were the same: shocked, the last instant of life captured in a look of surprise and despair.

The young man kept his emerald eyes focused straight ahead, not allowing them to linger on the still forms below him.  He could not afford to be caught off balance, not now.  His father had taught him to remain focused in times such as these, to not let despair catch him unaware.  He would not disappoint Ambrose within the King's own home, he decided.  He would not....

Gabriel's breath caught in his throat as the sudden cruel shock of reality pierced him like a lance.  He slumped against a wall for support as truth dug its way into his mind, its claws sharp and tearing.

This was no longer his father's palace.

His parents were dead.

It was all his, now.  The palace, the land, the people... the crown.  He squeezed his eyes closed as he thundered a gauntleted fist against the wall.  He was not ready!  He was nineteen years of age, barely even able to call himself a man.  How was he supposed to rule an entire kingdom?  To care for the people that he now called his own?

He swallowed hard.  He needed his parents here with him.  He needed for Anastasia to tell him that everything would be all right, that he would prove capable.  He needed Ambrose here to fight beside him, hunting their prey side by side.  If he only had their guidance, he knew he could....

But he would not see them again.  Not in this world, at least.

Gabriel drew a breath and opened his eyes, tears of rage rather than anguish now responsible for blinding his sight.  The beast that had taken the King and Queen from their people--from him--was close; he could feel her presence.  He inhaled a calming breath before continuing forward, dark thoughts of vengeance swimming through his mind.  His foot caught on something, causing him to pitch forward.  He bit off a startled cry as he looked down to see what had caused him to stumble.

The sightless eyes of Bailor Regiane stared back at him.

Gabriel crumpled to his knees beside the still form of his childhood friend.  A charred blade was still clutched in Bailor's stiff hands.  His own hands trembling, Gabriel tried to unfurl the man's closed fists, but they proved unyielding.  His hands went to Bailor's hair, smoothing it back before kissing his beloved friend's forehead.

"Your bravery will never be forgotten," Gabriel whispered.  He pressed Bailor's eyes closed with shaking fingers.

He used the wall to pull himself to his feet, suddenly feeling as feeble as an old man.  His parents, his dearest friend, countless others.  How many had died defending the land of Ivory?  How many more of his father's--his fists clenched--of his people would fall before this struggle was ended?  All around him he saw other faces; some familiar some not, all dead.  Dead because of the monster that had attacked the Ivory Kingdom.

Heritage gave a satisfying metallic ring as Gabriel ripped it from the scabbard across his back.  He stepped over Bailor, not daring to look down at his friend for fear of losing his resolve.  He stalked forward, tightening his grip on the sword.

The din of war faded to a dull buzz as Gabriel came to rest before the smooth marble doors of the throne room.  One was open just a crack, but it was enough to feel the boiling malevolence wafting from what awaited the King of Ivory.  Waves of hatred flowed from the room and washed over him; the air itself seemed to shimmer, as though a furnace blistered and flared from within.

Gabriel's eyes narrowed.

She was in there.  Waiting for him.

Gabriel tightened his grip on Heritage as he pushed through the entryway.  After he entered, the door slammed closed behind him.  Complete darkness enveloped him for several moments before a multitude of torches burst into flame around him.  Their flames caused colorful reflections to flicker and dance along the walls, painting in different shades of orange and red.

The twin thrones sat empty at the far end of the vacant throne room.  Gabriel walked toward the seats, dragging the sacred blade against the floor as he went, his shoulders slumped in renewed despair.  Without the smiling faces of his parents occupying the thrones of Ivory, was this struggle even worth fighting?  He would see them sooner if he gave up.  Perhaps it was for the best.  He was not ready to rule, after all.

Heritage hummed softly.  The ruby in the center of the guard shone an angry red, as though a storm brewed within the jewel.  In time with the hums from the sword, Gabriel could hear Ambrose's soft, firm voice swimming through his mind, comforting him.

Gabriel's jaw tightened as he squeezed the sword's hilt.  He would join his parents one day, but not today.  Despair was a weapon his enemy manipulated to perfection.  He could not give in to her, not when he had made it this far.  He turned away from the thrones as he raised Heritage before him.  She was here somewhere, he knew.  He must find her before she found....

Gabriel whirled as he felt the air behind him distort.  The fire from the lamps strewn throughout the room shrank for a split instant before flaring high, as if reaching for the highest point of the ceiling.  For a moment, every light in the room went dark.  When the fires returned, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen stood in between the royal chairs.

The torchlight gave Aluria Thalamahn's sweat-laced body an alluring glow.  Beads of perspiration caused her sapphire gown to cling to her, dispelling any need for imagination.  Her blood-red lips pursed in a sensual smile as long strands of silky midnight hair slid down her shoulders down to the small of her back.

The sight of her made Gabriel's blood simmer, though not with anger.  Even knowing what she was, what she had done....

She seemed aware of his thoughts as she began to saunter forward, her bare feet padding softly against the marble floor.  A delicate hand lifted to wipe a moist wisp of hair from her eyes as she spoke.  "Our struggles can end here and now, King Gabriel Gairden."

King?  He shook his head.  There was something familiar about the word, but he couldn't think of what it was.  He didn't want to think about it.

She laughed softly, like chimes clinking together in a light breeze.  "I cloud your head with my beauty, and for that I apologize."  She didn't sound sorry.  "Let us end this terrible war, Gabriel."  She spread her hands.  "I abhor all the death, the loss, just as much as you do.  If we were to join forces, we could rule together in peace."  She came to rest in front of him, slipping around Heritage rest her damp body against his.  He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own beating heart, making it hard to think.

"You are the cause of all the death I see around me," he said.  He wished his voice was steadier.  He cleared his throat before continuing.  "If you surrender, I am sure that--"

"Do not be a fool!" she hissed, her eyes glittering in a way that was anything but provocative.  She gave a small gasp before her smile returned.  "Forgive me.  I am bothered by all I have seen, all I have been forced to do."  She pressed even closer against him, draping one arm across his broad shoulders as she gently pushed Heritage away with the other.  "Think of all you could have, Gabriel.  Glory, riches, power...."  She slid her hands down his arms as she gazed into his eyes.  Her long silver nails sent shivers coursing through his body.  "Me."

Heritage lowered slowly to his side.  "I don't...."

"You don't... what?"  She laughed again, and he could feel his cheeks warm.  How could he act so simple in front of her?  Peace, she must think him a fool!  He didn't want that.

She ran her fingers along his cheeks.  "You do not want to be a King?"

His father's voice again found its way into his head, dispelling the hold Aluria had over him like wild sea waves crashing against rocks.  The cloud of her beauty began to dispel as he stiffened his back.  "I am already a King."  He raised his free hand to grip her shoulder.  "You have no power over me, Queen of Terror."

She smiled, though the expression held no trace of mirth.  "Do not be a fool, young King.  Do not make the same mistake your parents made."

Gabriel shoved her away and brought Heritage up in front of him.  "Do not speak of them again.  I offer you one last time the chance to surrender, to remove your Chaotics from my land and allow my people to live in peace.  I suggest you take it."

Aluria's smile stretched as she bowed, and her hands folded behind her back. She seemed willing to surrender, to give herself up in the name of Peace.

Gabriel knew better.

He swung Heritage to either side in rapid succession, deflecting the blows from the twin scythes that had appeared in Aluria's hands.  His blade gave an eager hum, provoking Gabriel to allow himself a slight smile.  His parents were as eager for the battle as he was.  "Let us begin, then," he whispered.

Gabriel went on the defensive, seeming to parry in two places at once, his one weapon keeping perfect pace with Aluria's two.  Her scythes worked in a whirlwind of motion, looking for any opening they could find.  None existed.  He matched each cut and thrust she sent at him as he pivoted around her, his blade an impenetrable barrier that nothing could break through.

Aluria hopped backward, her bare feet bracing themselves against the cold floor before she sprang forward once again, swinging each scythe toward his head as her arms crossed.  Gabriel crouched and pushed off his feet, sending his shoulder barreling into her unprotected torso.  She grunted as a whoosh of air escaped her lungs.  He kept his momentum as he continued toward her.  Heritage followed him, crashing into the scythes raised barely in time to prevent the blade from cleaving the vile woman in two.  Their roles were reversed, the former aggressor now retreating as the former prey pressed his newfound advantage.

Gabriel raised a gauntlet to swat away a twisting slash from one scythe as he dipped his sword around the other, hooking the blade to render it useless.  He applied pressure, twisting his wrist so that Aluria lost control of the weapon as he pressed it down.  She relinquished her command, sending the blade scattering to the floor behind her.  Recovering quickly, she sent a backhanded swipe at his throat, forcing him to give back some of the ground he had managed to claim.  She dove toward her fallen weapon, rolling across the floor and retrieving it as she came back to her feet in one smooth motion.

They circled one another, neither now holding the title of hunter nor prey.  Gabriel feigned a side step to his left before darting to the right, turning Heritage to stab at her torso.  In mid-thrust he sent the weapon arcing up to her throat, but her scythes were at each position, meeting every maneuver he made with two of her own.  Their bodies collided before each immediately sprang away.

Aluria snarled, her beautiful features twisting into something dark and ugly.  Pointing her scythes in front of her, the torches surrounding the two combatants began to move forward of their own accord.  The lamps before Gabriel formed an open crescent while those behind did the same.  His eyes flicked over them before settling back onto Aluria. 

"Whatever dark magic you are attempting, it will not--"

The lamps fell forward, their flames hitting the floor and spreading to connect like a strand of beads.  The fires thickened and rose higher as each ball of flame joined with another, and in mere moments the fighters were surrounded by a roaring inferno.

Gabriel raised Heritage in a futile attempt to shield his face from the heat.  He shifted his stance, preparing himself to intercept another attack.  The heat was blistering, the flames blinding, but he couldn't allow those factors to pose an advantage for the Queen of Terror.  He blinked once, just one time, hoping to clear his eyes, and then....

Aluria stood inches away, her hands devoid of weapons, a baleful smile stretched across her face.

"Dream with me, Gabriel."

He had no time to block the forearm she swung at his face.  A sharp crack accompanied the blow, and the brightness of the fire faded into blackness.

Gabriel staggered back, blinking away sparkling lights, desperately swinging Heritage up to guard his face, but a second blow never came.  Cursing under his breath, he opened his eyes to find a quiet throne room staring back at him.  The circle of fire was gone, as was Aluria.  The torches crackled around the room, each back where it had been before Aluria had bid them come to life.

"Where...?"  He turned toward the thrones, where she had first appeared.

Where his mother and father now sat, smiling at him.

King Ambrose and Queen Anastasia sat stiffly, watching him with shining eyes.  Their regal crimson robes were unfolded and spread out at their feet like rich pools of blood.  Ambrose raised a hand to scratch at his full gray beard, the other hand motioning his son to come forward.

Gabriel continued to stare.  "How... how can this be?"

"Will you not come forward to greet us, dear son?" his mother asked, the light in her green eyes beginning to grow dim.

Father always said I have her eyes.  The thought sounded far away.

Anastasia's bright smile dipped into a frown as she cast a concerned glance at her husband.

Ambrose's peaceful look had faded as well, replaced with an uneasy frown.  "Why do you seek to disappoint your mother, Gabriel?"

"Will you fail us now, just as you failed us before?" Anastasia added.

"I didn't mean to fail you," Gabriel stammered, dipping his head.  The sword loosened in his grip.  "I tried to save you, but I could not--"

"Bah!"  Ambrose turned to spit before he continued.  "You didn't try hard enough.  What kind of a son have I been given, who could so easily watch his father die at the hands of his enemy?"

--She will fill your mind with doubt, especially here.  Do not surrender to her, my son.

The voice again.  His father.

Gabriel looked up and began to stride toward the throne.

"Now you come forward," his mother screeched, her eyes glowing with hatred.  Her teeth rotted as they fell out of her mouth, bouncing and rolling across the floor as they dropped.  Her skin tightened against her face until a great tear appeared in the center of her forehead.  The skin fell away, revealing a bloody skull with a fixed macabre grin.  Blood poured from her eye sockets as she continued to scream at him.  "Look at what she did to me!  Why would you let your mother die, Gabriel?"

Gabriel ignored her, ignored the lump rising in his throat.  I didn't, I wouldn't....  Oh, mother!

He climbed the stairs in between the twin thrones, holding Heritage as he would to thrust a dagger.  A pale outline of a female form crouched behind the chairs, and it was at that form that he stabbed.  A shrill cry pierced the darkness, and at once Gabriel's vision began to swim.  His mother's carcass reached for him with emaciated hands.  He gritted his teeth as he steeled himself against her slimy touch, forcing his blade down further, feeling it sink deeper into barely viewable flesh.  Darkness consumed him as his mother reached with clawing, bloody stumps at his throat.

Gabriel blinked.  He was once again surrounded by the glowing ring of fire, though the flames were fading into the marble floor.  Their shadows shrank into their corporeal counterparts until at last nothing was left of the ring except twirling wisps of smoke.  Gabriel looked down at his blade.  Grasping at it, cutting herself on its sharp edges, was Aluria, blood bubbling in her throat as she tried to remove it from her chest.

Gabriel complied.  He tore the sword away, letting her body fall back against the floor.  Her hands immediately slid to her ruined middle, pressing firmly to keep in what she could.  He rested Heritage on her gasping throat as he looked into her eyes, knowing that those eyes should send unimaginable terror coursing through his veins, yet feeling only satisfaction.

"It's over, grandmother."

"You're a damn fool, Gabriel," Aluria sneered.  Her words were gargled with blood, and her face grew pained for a moment before she forced herself to continue.  "Chaos is eternal.  Do you really believe you've won here today?"  She managed a short burst of laughter before Gabriel pushed down on Heritage, drawing a thin line of corrosive blood from her throat.  "Yours is a never-ending battle, boy.  You may defeat me, and whatever others may plague your kingdom.  But there will always be another to take our place, Gabriel.  Can you truly spend the rest of your life fighting?"  She leered at him, her body shivering with malevolence despite being so close to death.  "You will die one day.  You are mortal.  It is inevitability.  One day... you will lose."

Gabriel said nothing as he stared at her.  Her breath came in sharp pants, but her eyes never left his.

"What's wrong, boy?  Following in your father's footsteps, I see.  He couldn't do it either.  He was weak, just as you--"

Gabriel raised Heritage quickly then brought it slicing down, tearing through tenuous flesh to remove head from body.  He rose to his feet, Heritage in one hand, the head of his fallen adversary in the other.  "You are avenged," he whispered to the sword.

--It is not vengeance that you must seek, his mother's voice whispered in his mind.

--Justice is your pursuit, his father finished.

Gabriel stared at the doors to the throne room.  "Aluria was right," he said.  "Evil cannot be vanquished.  There will always be something, someone...."

--You do not fight alone, Gabriel his mother said.  And you will never have to.  Now, go to the top of the palace, to the highest tower, and raise your enemy's head high.  Show your people that for now, Peace has returned to their kingdom.

Gabriel looked at the ruby embedded within the sword.  "I am not alone," he said.  Heritage hummed in return.  He began to make his way out of the throne room, casting one last look at the thrones before he closed the door behind him.  He stared at the sword he held as he walked.

"I am not alone."

The old man peered out from among the rows of benches lining the balconies where he had hid during Gabriel and Aluria's struggle.  His eyes darted about, looking for any sign of the terrible creatures he had battled for days on end.  Even in his dreams they pursued him, and when they caught him....  He shivered.  Detecting no other movement or breathing besides his own, the Mage scrambled to the spiral staircase that led from balcony to balcony and ran down, taking the steps two or three at a time in his haste.  He crashed to the floor, ignoring the sprain in his ankle as he bolted toward the closed doors.  He spared one look back, just in case anything had gone unnoticed during his hurried flight.

The headless corpse caught his eye.  He turned, curious, wanting to see the fallen leader of the demons up close.  He crept over and knelt to examine it.  He had seen her a few days ago, across the battlefield where his fellow Mages had rallied what they had hoped to be a surprise attack against her hordes.  Their attack had been anticipated, and their numbers had been decimated in the hours that followed.  He had fled, though he was too ashamed to admit it to anyone but himself.  He hated that he had been forced to run, but his Store had been about to give out!  If he would have collapsed from exhaustion....  He shivered, glad he had made it to safety in time.

He turned away from the body, preparing to rise, when the soft glint of torchlight reflecting from a pair of scythes near her still warm hands caught his eye.  They were beautiful objects, he had to admit, though he much preferred his spell books and intelligence to crude weapons and brute force.  The handle of each scythe was blood red in color, and jewels of varying shades and sizes twisted up the hilts to the point where each blade was inserted.

These riches, great and vast though they were, would normally have meant nothing to him.  He would have turned them aside without a second thought, content to live his life surrounded by his books of knowledge and numerous esoteric magical spells and abilities.

But these were no ordinary riches.  And they were not encrusted into any ordinary scythes.

As the man stared into the many jewels adorning the vicious weapons, thoughts of even greater power and magical prowess pervaded his thoughts.  He was powerful, yes; the best Mage in the entire Ivory Kingdom by far.  But was it enough?  No!  He could have more!  He could have it all!  With these weapons, all his wishes would be fulfilled.  Never again would he feel limited by his own mortality.  Never again would he be forced to bow down before any mere man, King or otherwise.  Never again would his abilities exhaust themselves near the end of a pivotal battle--a battle he could have won single-handedly!--and force him to cower alone in a dark room, like a child still frightened of the dark.

The old man reached down slowly for the scythes, his hands shaking, the eagerness of acquiring so much phenomenal power almost causing him to weep with joy.  One of his trembling hands slipped near the point of one of the twin blades, opening a slight cut in a fingertip.

Slight or not, that small cut was all that Aluria needed.

The dark magic of the weapons, cursed by the foul Priestess of Chaos that used them, rapidly coursed its way through the man's bloodstream.  He felt bile rising in his throat and leaned over to retch, the filthy liquid spewing over the body of the creature at his feet.  He gasped for air, for air that would not come.  Pain screamed through every fiber of his body, eating away at him, maiming him, raping, tearing, grinding....

And then the pain was gone.

The old man straightened, gripping a scythe in each hand before striding from the room.  His eyes were bright once again, as if the pain had never been.

If one would have been able to look into the man's eyes for that briefest of moments, one would have seen one life end, and another begin anew.

Heritage, Chapter 1

Sunlight pouring through tightly shut windows lit a golden pathway across the beautiful marble floors of the Ivory Palace, and despite the biting cold, its light provided warmth of mood if not of skin to everyone that walked through its rays.

Everyone, that is, except for the tall figure stomping through the corridor on his way to the throne room.

Everyone... except for Prince Aidan Gairden.

The entire Ivory Palace was in a state of cheerful preparation for the grand feast that would take place that afternoon in honor of the Prince's twentieth Birth-Day, though even the promise of delicious food and drink was unable to make a chink in Aidan's curmudgeonly armor.

After reaching the great doors of the throne room, Aidan opened one just wide enough to peer in.  Palace servants scurried this way and that, hard at work placing long rectangular tables perpendicular to the room's entrance, with other servants waiting nearby until they were properly set to lay down their own burdens atop them.  These burdens consisted of baskets filled to the brim with fluffy steaming rolls, their surfaces slick with melted butter.  Next to the baskets were porcelain platters holding sliced layers of succulent pork and ham.  Two deep pots of creamy mashed potatoes accompanied by gravy bowls adorned empty spaces that were not already occupied by clear glass fruit bowls over-flowing with plump grapes, juicy oranges and shiny red apples.  At each place setting sat a golden chalice, filled to capacity with thick purple ale.

Common folk from around the kingdom darted about the room, unable to mask their enthusiasm concerning the delicious proceedings.  Often a husband would find himself unable to resist the temptation of a slippery roll or juicy slice of meat, only to find his cravings harshly quelled by his goodwife's sharp tongue and even sharper hand.  The humbled man would shamble away, oblivious to his wife's sampling that took place soon after his back was turned.

Aidan raised his eyes to the many rows of balconies that wrapped around the room's perimeter.  Nobles climbed the spiraling staircases to take a seat near friends, family, or perhaps political rivals, judging from the rolling of eyes brought on by the arrival of newcomers.  Servants scurried betweens seats, waiting for their charges to make requests from the food laid out below before jotting them down and dashing off to place the order.  Those too impatient to wait were placated with a goblet of drink, which seemed to soothe their grumpy disposition until they realized that the drinks were being served to all.  Platters of food were set on stands at the end of each row of seats and were guarded by stiff-backed servants to ensure plates would be filled only after the Prince's ceremony was complete.

Aidan sighed as he eased the door closed.  The people within the throne room seemed more excited about the food than what today meant, and in truth, he too wished a fabulous dinner was all that the day held in store.  After today, they would all go back to squabbling over land, and taxes, and whatever else it was that people felt the need to bicker about.  Whereas he....  Another sigh escaped his throat as he pushed away from the door.  A palace guard called out a "Happy Birth-Day" greeting, which Aidan returned with a small nod of his head as he shambled along.

Happy Birth-Day, indeed, he thought, almost grumbling aloud.  This year, instead of any gifts you might actually desire, we've decided to give you a lifetime of duty and obligation.

"Oh yes," he whispered.  "Happy damn Birth-Day indeed!"

He looked up at the gasp that came from a startled maid beside him.  The older woman was carrying a basket filled with cakes of soap, and the expression on her face made Aidan feel certain that she meant to clean his mouth out with each and every one of them.

"My apologies," he mumbled.

"Needn't apologize to me, Prince Aidan."  She sniffed, turning her nose up.  "Young man such as yourself can use whatever language he pleases."  Though she was much shorter than he, she seemed to tower over him, whittling away at his height with her shameful glare.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend--"

"Peace be with you," she said, lifting her nose far too high in the air before beginning to make her way down the hall.

"Harmony take me, I didn't ask for any of this," he growled.  He turned and began to make his way down a different corridor.

"Destiny is never asked for, Aidan Gairden."

The hand fell to his side as he stood straight, looking about the empty hallway for the source of the voice.  There didn't seem to be anyone about.  He began to jog back the way he had come, searching for the old woman he had just spoken with.  It sounded like her, he thought.  Palace guards and attendants milled about, immersed in their respective duties.  Cheery smiles and Birth-Day wishes were offered as they noticed his presence, but Aidan barely heard them.

"Did any of you see an older woman carrying a basket of soap walk this way?" Aidan asked distractedly as he continued to look around.

"Yes, your Highness," a guard answered.  The man gestured behind him with a thumb.  "She went that way just a few moments ago."

"Thank you, Matthew."  The man nodded at him, smiling.  Matthew Pockett was only a few years his elder, and Aidan had spent many fine summer days with Matthew and a group of mutual friends roaming the surrounding countryside.  "Did she, ah, say anything?"

Matthew cocked his head.  Many of his fellows were listening now.  "Say anything, Aidan?"  A few of the younger workers gaped at the guard, not used to hearing any of the royal family's formal titles omitted.

"Yes, um...."  Aidan felt his cheeks burning.  "I thought I heard something, and... well, I did hear something, but I don't know who...."

Everyone had stopped their work to stare at him.

Matthew's smile broadened.  "Milda seems a bit old for you, Aidan, but if you'd like, I can put in a good word."  Some of the serving girls began to giggle.

The Prince smiled.  "Never mind," he said, and turned back the way he had come.  He peeked over his shoulder and, after noting that they were still staring, quickened his pace.  "Only twenty years old and starting to hear voices," he grumbled.  "Peace, but I wish today would just end."

Sweat had plastered his silk shirt against his chest.  Picking at it, he changed his course toward his chambers.  He hadn't known where he was going, anyway.  He had known only that he wanted to get as far away from the throne room as possible.  It couldn't be avoided for long, though.

Aidan halted as he rounded the last corner leading to his bedchamber, which was at the end of a long hallway.  The last room one would pass on the way to Aidan's was what had his attention.  A large, thick stone door marked the entrance.  Carved in broad letters across the door's face was the word 'Heritage'.  Aidan raised his hand to caress each letter, and as he moved along the length of the word, a thin line appeared in the stone's center, revealing that the massive block was comprised of two separate slabs.  At last his hand finished tracing, and at that each piece of stone slid away, tucking into its respective left or right piece of wall to admit him entrance.  He absently waved a hand after he stepped through, and the slabs began to slide closed, forming a single piece once again.

The Sword Chamber was wide and circular.  Stained-glass windows adorned the walls, each set a bit higher than its predecessor and spiraling upward toward the ceiling, where a beam of sunlight blazed through a diamond-shaped skylight to illuminate the raised floor in the room's center.  Etched into each window was a depiction of every Gairden that had come before him, with his mother's window beaming down from on high.  Raised above and to the side of her window was another, though it was blank.  Not for long, he thought.  His own eyes would look back at him after today.

Aidan climbed the handful of marble stairs that led to the room's center.  In the midst of the diamond-stamped light was Heritage, the ancestral blade of the royal Gairden bloodline.  The sword stood on its point, parallel to the Prince, rotating slowly, held upright by intangible forces.  The sunlight surrounding the sacred blade highlighted dust particles floating around it, many of which got caught up in the sword's lazy twirl, making the object look as though it was wrapped in a light chain of snowy wisps.

The blade itself was long and of moderate thickness, void of any defects that should have been there from the many battles it had seen.  It had been forged by the Goddess Harmony herself, and was impervious to any form of damage.  The hilt of the sword was decorated with tiny sapphires that spiraled up its length.  The guard was shaped like a crescent moon lying on its back, and in its center was an egg-shaped ruby.  A thin letter 'H' was scribed on the jewel's surface.

Aidan lifted Heritage carefully, letting his eyes trail from the sword's sharp tip down to the ruby.  He spread his legs as he wrapped both hands around the hilt.  He may feel like a brave hero from one of his adventure tales, but....  He slashed at the air and almost tumbled backward down the set of stairs.  After stifling a yelp, he narrowed his eyes at the ruby.  It appeared darker, as if a storm cloud brewed inside it.

Aidan sighed as he set the tip of the blade on the floor.  "Can't even hold the damn thing right."

"Nor can I," replied a voice behind him.  "Nor will we ever be able to."

Aidan turned to face his mother as she spoke.  Queen Jaiden Gairden was of average height, but the confidence with which she carried herself dwarfed any who stood before her.  She had long, streaked red hair, as though the sun had melted and dripped down to splash through the waves of auburn flowing down her shoulders.  Deep pools of teal rested where others had ordinary eyes by comparison, their softness rivaled by the intelligent, no-nonsense look that shot like pointed daggers into anyone unfortunate enough to incur the beautiful Queen's wrath.

Aidan cleared his throat as he descended the stairs to stand before her.  "Hello, mother," he said, extending the sword hilt-first toward her.  "I was just, ah, looking at Heritage.  Trying to get a feel for it before the ceremony and all."

Jaiden took the weapon from him, and as it touched her skin the sword began to hum softly.  She smiled as she gazed at the weapon, as if sharing a secret that no one besides the Queen and Heritage would understand.  "Getting a feel for it, hm?"

"Yes."  He bobbed his head.

"I do suppose that would help."

"That's what I thought, too."

Checked laughter danced across her eyes.  "You know that's futile, dear.  You are a Cast Gairden, just as I am.  I'd wager there are infants in the kingdom who could wield a sword more effectively than either of us."  Her grin broadened.  "Even Daniel could."

"True," Aidan said.  "But Daniel can't juggle fireballs and lightning, now can he?"

Jaiden snorted.  "He manages to juggle all sorts of mischief just fine without adding magic to the mix.  If he were one of the Touched, the entire Ivory Kingdom would have burned to the ground years ago."

Aidan laughed.  "I fully agree, mother.  Listen to this!  Yesterday, while he was stationed outside the throne room, father caught him...."

Jaiden was staring at Heritage and didn't appear to have heard him.  She was frowning, but a moment later a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"What were you smiling at, just now?" Aidan asked.

"Your grandfather mentioned a spell he wanted me to learn."  She arched an eyebrow at him as she continued.  "He said it would help me to discern why young men who did not yet have claim to Heritage would be in the Sword Chamber carrying on with it."

"Grandfather knows as well as I do that there is no need for you to 'learn' that spell from him," Aidan drawled.

"And why is that?" she asked, tapping the sword against a booted foot.

He groaned.  "Do you think I sleep through all of your lectures?"

"Not all of them, no."

Aidan gave her a level stare before rolling his eyes in defeat.  "The Gairden charged with Heritage," he intoned in a deep, booming voice, "known as the Sword-Bearer, has access to any spell or ability known to Gairden ancestors born with the same half of the Legacy Gift."

She continued tapping the sword against her foot.

"So that means," he drawled on, "that because you and grandfather were both born with Legacy Cast, he may grant you instantaneous knowledge of any spell he or other Cast Gairdens knew, so long as you hold Heritage in your hand."

"Very good, young man," Jaiden cooed.

It was Aidan's turn to raise an eyebrow.  "I've never understood why you and Tyrnen force me to pore over those countless spell books he keeps in his tower.  It's not like I'll need them after today."

"It makes you smarter, dear."

"How so?"

"And it encourages discipline."

His eyebrow drooped, knowing that he fought a losing battle.  "And I was not 'carrying on', " he said with a coy grin, folding his arms across his chest.

"But you were," Jaiden countered, tapping her finger against the ruby.  "Your grandfather saw you."

"It is possible that dear grandfather Charles was lying to you, mother."

"Aidan!" she gasped, a feigned expression of shock painted across her face.  "That you could even think such a thing speaks volumes--"

"--about how well I know my grandfather?  Why yes, I believe it does."

The sword thrummed loudly.  Jaiden stared at the ruby.  "That was not kind."

"What did he say?" Aidan demanded.

"He... wishes you a Happy Birth-Day."

"I don't know that I believe you, but tell him I said thank you."

Jaiden schooled her face into mock sobriety.  "Your grandfather insists you be more respectful toward Heritage, Aidan."

"Of course."

Jaiden nodded.  "After all," she continued, "it has been in our family for countless generations--"

"Seven hundred and seventy years.  Seems it is countable."

"--and because of this, it dictates unprecedented respect--"  Jaiden cut off suddenly, narrowing her eyes at Heritage, then gasped.  "Oh dear."

Aidan pursed his lips.  "What did he say?"

She shook her head sadly.  "He recommends that today, in honor of your Birth-Day, I give you the worst thumping your thick head has ever known."

Aidan grimaced.  "You can try, but I doubt it.  Neither you nor grandfather have been caught staring off during one of Tyrnen's Shifting lectures."

Jaiden grinned at the sword as it hummed yet again.  "I know, father."  She sighed.  "He is incorrigible."  She walked past her son to ascend the room's handful of stairs and placed the tip of Heritage in the center of the light about an inch or so off the ground.  After she removed her hand the sword began to spin, as slowly as before.  She descended the stairs and came to stand in front of the Prince.

"Happy Birth-Day, Aidan."  She pulled him to her.

 "Thank you, mother," he said, returning the embrace.

Jaiden rubbed his shoulders as she released him.  "Are you ready for your Rite of Heritage?"

He scowled as he turned to face the door, his arms again crossing over his chest.  "I suppose so, yes."

She moved to stand in front of him.  "You will do fine, my dear," she promised, running a delicate hand across his cheek.  "I love you, Aidan."

"And I love you," he mumbled.  He reached up and patted her hand as he removed it from his cheek.  "I just....  Maybe I'm not ready."

"I will be here to guide you, Aidan."  She jutted her chin out toward the rotating sword behind them.  "I will always be here."

"Don't talk about that," he hissed.  "Please."  He knew from his history lessons that when a Gairden passed away, the spirit was still linked in some way to Heritage, and that the Sword-Bearer was able to communicate with Gairden ancestors for as long as the sword was theirs.  But the implications of what it meant to have his mother with his ancestors instead of here with him....

"It's quite a far time off, I assure you," she said.  "But you will learn of Lineage soon enough, I'm afraid.  It is a part of the Rite of Heritage."

He lowered his eyes, giving the floor absent scuffs with his boots.

"I just want you to know that I will always be here for you in some way or another."

He nodded, unable to meet her gaze.  "I know."

"Oh!"

He looked up to find his mother beaming up at him, her hands clasped at her chest.  "I almost forgot!  I have a present for you.  Wait just a moment!"  She exited the room in a rush.

Aidan grinned.  Perhaps today would not be so bad after all.  He was certain he could better face the unyielding responsibility the Rite of Heritage would thrust upon him if he had a few gifts in hand.

The door opened and Jaiden reappeared with a slender package wrapped in light blue paper.

"For you."

She nudged the box toward him, and he needed no further prompting.  He tore through the paper and cast the lid aside.  As he stared into the box, he turned away, not wanting his mother to see his fading smile.  He swallowed as he removed the midnight-black scabbard, letting the box fall to the floor.  Golden lines trailed in sporadic paths along the beautiful case, as though it was wrapped in sunset lightning.

A scabbard.  For Heritage.

"Thank you, mother," he said.  He turned back to her, forcing a smile to nudge the corners of his mouth.

She gave him a small nod.  "You're welcome, Aidan.  Do you think it will fit?"

He chuckled.  "I'm sure it will, unless the dimensions of our family's sword have changed over the years."

"One can never be too sure."

"I suppose not."  He climbed the stairs and knelt to lay the scabbard at the base of Heritage.  He turned back to look at his mother.  She nodded, seeming pleased with the reverent gesture.

"Now then," Jaiden said, running her eyes over his damp shirt and wrinkled trousers as Aidan came back to stand before her.  "Is that what you're wearing to the ceremony?"

"No, mother."

"Well then, get yourself changed."

"Yes, mother."

"And be quick about it, dear.  There's not much time left, now."

He bowed.  "As Her Majesty commands, so her loyal servant obeys."

She tsked before giving him another squeezing hug.  "I'm proud of you.  You'll make a fine Sword-Bearer."

"Thank you."

She kissed his cheek before turning and leaving the room, the doors once again sliding open and closed.

Aidan shook his head, casting one last glance at the sword before exiting the Chamber himself and crossing the short distance to his quarters.  He knew being the Sword-Bearer was important to his family line, and to the entire kingdom besides.  There had been terrible wars and other tragedies that had befallen Ivory, and more than once the Sword-Bearer had been all that stood against the complete immolation of the land and its people.  But still....

"Why does it have to be me?" he growled as he shoved his door open.  It slammed into the wall once before he kicked it closed, removing his shirt and tossing it onto his bed as he moved.  He reached into the closet and retrieved another silk shirt, this one as blue as the paper his scabbard had been wrapped in.  He pulled it over his head, not bothering to fix his hair.  "Don't have to do everything they tell me," he mumbled as he smoothed his trousers.  "There are still some things I have a say in."

--Destiny is never a choice, Aidan Gairden.  You must accept it; there is no alternative.

Aidan pulled open his door and stormed into the hallway.  "I heard it that time," he whispered.  "An old woman's voice.  I'm sure of it."  He looked all about, but found no one in the empty corridor.  Bracketed torches hanging along the walls flickered on despite his abrupt appearance, keeping any secrets they might have held to themselves.

He felt his fists trembling at his sides.  Between his mother's inadvertent pressuring, the impending shackles of duty that were to be latched onto him, and this mystery voice....

"Enough with this foolishness!  If there's someone there with something to say, then come out and say it!"

Quick footsteps began to approach from around the corner, the dull crunches of boots becoming louder as the wearer drew closer.  Aidan unclenched his hands, determined not to let his mystery speaker see his anxiety.  A tall shadow began to form against the far wall, lengthening as its owner drew closer.

"Prince Aidan, is there something wrong?" the approaching guard wheezed as he huffed to a stop and fumbled his way through a bow.

Aidan chuckled and placed a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder.  "Not at all, Daniel," he said.  He peered over the man's shoulder.  A silent corridor stared back.  "Guess I'm just hearing things."

Daniel Shirey grinned as he leaned on his spear.  "They say the mind's the first thing to fail, Aidan.  You're twenty today, after all, approaching the glory years of life.  Old age is a frightening thing, but after a while, I've heard you get used to--"  Daniel grunted as Aidan's elbow found its way into his friend's scrawny stomach.

"Now, now, Daniel," Aidan said, "you must learn to be more respectful.  After all, in less than an hour I'll be your King, and unless you want to find yourself on highway duty taxing poor old women...."  He spread his arms out wide, a helpless expression painted on his face.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Daniel admitted.

Aidan's eyebrows rose.

"It's not so bad, really.  You get used to the sting of their purses."  Daniel frowned as he rubbed the back of his head in memory.  "They pack those things with stones, you know."

Aidan laughed as he beckoned his friend to follow him.  "I'll walk with you back to your post."  Daniel nodded and fell in beside him, and for a few moments, things felt somewhat normal again.

"Are you ready for today, Aidan?"

Aidan almost missed a step.  He hurried to keep pace with his lanky friend.  With his drooping red hair and scrawny legs, Daniel had always looked a bit like a rooster, albeit a rooster that took rather large strides.  Even though he was a few inches taller, Aidan always had to quicken his pace to match Daniel's.  "I suppose so, yes.  Though to be honest, I don't exactly crave the position.  Too much... work, I suppose."

"Yeah, that's you all right."  Daniel chuckled and shook his head.  "Ever since we were children, you've done your best to get out of duty and responsibility.  But you know, me and the rest of the boys, we've got a lot of confidence in you."  He stopped and turned to face the Prince.  "It won't be that bad, Aidan.  After all, you've got your father to guide you."  Daniel's eyes gleamed.  "He's the most brilliant General Ivory has ever seen!"

Aidan couldn't help beaming with pride at the compliment.  Edmund Greyson's military prestige was renowned throughout the Ivory Kingdom he had served for most of his adult life.  He had risen through the ranks, serving King Charles Gairden before his daughter had taken the throne, as well as the position of Sword-Bearer--and Edmund's heart.

Charles had died of a terrible illness before Edmund could request his daughter's hand.  When Jaiden had spoken with her father through Heritage, she had been pleasantly surprised to receive his blessing.  "Edmund was my most trusted confidant," he had told her.  "You two should have come to me sooner.  Perhaps I would have lived to see the wedding."  A moot point, but a valid one nonetheless, and befitting the former King's renowned sense of humor, present even in death.

"And besides," Daniel said, "it'll be a good bit of fun to have you around more, instead of locked in that tower with Tyrnen all the time."

The sound of his friend's voice knocked Aidan out of his reverie.  "Arch-Mage Tyrnen," Aidan chided, then moved to continue their walk, noting that time was quickly slipping by him.

"Ah yes, of course, Arch-Mage Tyrnen," Daniel mocked, shaking his head as he caught up.  "Don't misunderstand; I've got nothing but respect for the old man's abilities.  Besides your mother, you couldn't have a better teacher in the ways of the Touched."

"Tyrnen is the best," Aidan said.

"I said I gave him that much," Daniel grumbled.  He snapped his fingers.  "That reminds me, did you hear about Jim Hawkins?"

Aidan's brow crinkled with concern.  "What about him?"

A few months back, their friend had discovered his innate abilities when he had accidentally set his father's barn on fire.  Jim often joked that the cows insisted he begin his training immediately so as to avoid any 'udder' unfortunate accidents.  Jim's father didn't find the joke as amusing as Aidan and Daniel did.

"His father sent him away," Daniel said quietly.

"What do you mean, 'away'?"

Daniel gave an uncomfortable shrug.  "Banished."

Aidan turned to him, his mouth drooping open.  "What for?"

"Said he couldn't handle his son being one of the Cursed."  Daniel gave a slight shiver, which the Prince echoed.   The Cursed was another name for the Touched, used by those who thought of magic as the work of Chaos, god of Destruction.  They believed Harmony's perfect spirit had no part of something that could be used to inflict harm upon others.

"Where is he now?" Aidan asked.

"Some of the others told me he went to Sharem to train.  The instructors at the Lion's Den Guildhall should be able to teach him a few things even Arch-Mage Tyrnen doesn't know about."

"I doubt that."

Daniel grunted.  "So do I, actually."

They walked on, each man lost in his own thoughts.

"It's just that...." Daniel began, and Aidan turned to regard him, his head cocked as he waited for his friend to finish.  "I don't know how to describe it.  To be blunt, I find him eerie."

"Jim?"

"No, Tyrnen."

"Delicately put."

"Well, I don't know how else to--"

"It's perfectly all right," Aidan said, waving his hand to show he had retorted only in jest.  "You're not the first to make that kind of observation about Tyrnen.

"Arch-Mage Tyrnen, O Prince."

Aidan ignored him.  "I suppose when you've been through all that he has, seen the kinds of sights he has seen, grizzled and unkempt is just a natural progression."

Daniel grinned and shook his head.  They had reached his post near the palace's north entrance, and it was time for him to resume his duties.  "All right then, Aidan.  Thomas will be relieving me here shortly so I can take a position within the throne room.  Wouldn't want to miss seeing you get worshiped and such.  But until then, fear not!"  He straightened and smacked his spear on the ground.  "I won't let anyone get through this gate that's not supposed to get through.  Make my father proud, I will."

Aidan barked a laugh at his friend's wink.  Rakian Shirey had been a loyal soldier before settling into retirement on the family farm a few miles west of the palace, and his father before him had served the kingdom in the same capacity.  Daniel seemed to be happy enough carrying on what Aidan assumed had become a family tradition.  "Good enough, my friend."

"Unless, of course, a person trying to get through is a she, and she is blessed with an ample set of--"

"Yes, Daniel.  I trust your judgment.  I'll see you later on, then."

Daniel gave a mock salute before turning to snap his fingers at his fellow guardsmen, jerking his thumb in Aidan's direction.  Each man clamored over the others to give him deep bows, and Aidan found it hard to keep from laughing as they threw themselves at his feet.

"Bless me, O Prince! I live but to serve!"

"Heal my baby, O mighty Prince!  For in your presence, he shall thrive once again!"

"And after you save his baby, O Blessed Prince, I shall have your baby!"

Aidan groaned as he waved the men to their feet, all of them sharing a hearty laugh before he finally said his farewells.  A leader he may become, but Aidan was glad to have such a good relationship with the men he would be commanding.  The threat of war seemed like a mere history book lesson to him, but the friendship of his people was palpable, something he could count on.  Something he would have to count on, for he believed lonely times to be on the horizon.

He paused again before the entrance to the throne room, watching a couple enter before guards closed the doors behind them.  The massive room filled with guests, coupled with the dull buzz of conversation he could hear outside the palace's northern entrance, further depressed him, the fun he'd had with his friends becoming overshadowed like the sun in a flurry of storm clouds.

Aidan turned and started off toward the Arch-Mage's tower.  Though Tyrnen would be in attendance to witness Aidan's inauguration--more like execution, Aidan thought to himself with a wry chuckle--he thought a short visit with his wise friend and mentor might help to prepare him for what seemed to be inevitable.

The steady thuds of his footfalls echoed around him as he walked.  He stopped and turned, scanning the hallway behind him for any sign of someone following.  There was nothing, nor had there been any each time he had heard someone speaking to him.  Did I really hear anything at all?  Peace, maybe I am getting old.  He shivered.  Or going mad.  He resumed his journey after one final scan down the long corridor.  At the opposite end were the throne room doors.

They stood tall and ominous.  Waiting for him.

© David Craddock

Author: David Craddock