And if some nobles did defect, would there be enough to make the eventual outcome certain?
Too many questions, Aedan thought, and not a single answer. Yet. It was a difficult way for Michael to begin his reign, and for him to begin his duties as lord high chamberlain. They were both too young, and far from ready. But fate did not wait on the convenience of individuals, as Aedan recalled his tutor saying often. As they took their leave of Fhileraene and once more made their way outside, escorted by Gylvain, Aedan said a silent prayer to Haelyn. He thanked the god for their deliverance, and he prayed for guidance in the days to come. They had been saved. Now it would be up to them, two boys, to try to save the empire.
Baladore Trevane was out of breath. He was no longer a young man and was unaccustomed to running. He was a short man, about five-and-a-half feet tall, and his considerable girth did not permit him to move very quickly, but nevertheless, he had trotted all the way to the docks from the College of Sorcery, panting with each labored step. His hair was white, merely a fringe that went around his head like a laurel wreath, and he carried a red kerchief as he ran, using it to mop the perspiration off his bald pate, so that the sweat wouldn’t run into his eyes. As he huffed and puffed his way onto the docks, he wished he could have used a spell to transform himself into a bird and flown to the Imperial Cairn. However, at his age, he had to be careful of his spells.
For one thing, he would have made an exceedingly stout bird. A pelican, no doubt, a great, big fat one. And as a pelican, he would still have expended considerable energy in flapping his wings to fly.
Assuming he could even get off the ground. It was easier to run, all things considered. At least that way, he didn’t have to worry about whether or not he got the spell exactly right.
His memory just wasn’t what it used to be. He no longer trusted his recall. He had to look everything up. Some things he remembered with no difficulty.
He could, for example, still recite the history of the empire without getting a single date wrong, but when it came to spells, sometimes he simply wasn’t sure anymore. There was nothing more ludicrous or pathetic than an absentminded sorcerer, he thought.
But then again, he was almost seventy years old. All in all, he was in remarkably good health for his age, even if he did get a trifle vague from time to time.
On this occasion, however, there was nothing vague about his state of mind at all. A halfling messenger had arrived at the college, carrying a dispatch all the way from Tuarhievel from Prince Fhileraene himself.
Of course, the fact that the messenger had been a halfling meant that he had almost certainly not traveled all the way from Tuarhievel the way normal people would. Doubtless, he had shadowwalked, creating a portal into the Shadow World and passing through it, emerging in Anuire. A handy little skill to have, thought Baladore, going from Point A to Point B without passing through the distance in between.
Too bad humans couldn’t learn to do it. Still, he understood that passage through the Shadow World, even for a halfling, could be very dangerous, so the message that this halfling brought had to be important. When he learned it was from Prince Fhileraene, he knew it was. But when he saw whose hand had written the message, his heart leapt, and he ran straightaway for the Imperial Cairn.
Young Lord Aedan was alive! And Prince Michael was alive, as well! It was wonderful news, and he rushed to bring it to the palace. He hailed a boat captain and had the man take him out to the island where the palace stood. With the sail up and the rowers assisting the boat’s passage through the bay, it was much faster than traveling along the causeways, and even though boat travel made him seasick, this news simply couldn’t wait.
Baladore had not gone to Seaharrow with the Imperial Court. He had remained in the city of Anuire, as he always did, because his duties as librarian of the College of Sorcery required his presence there at all times. The college was the repository of all the magical knowledge of the empire, and it was one of the few places in Ceriha where students could come-if they were fortunate enough to be accepted-to study the mystic arts. The college numbered some of the finest adepts in the empire among its teaching faculty, and many wizards from realms as far off as Zikala or Kiergard made annual journeys to the capital to study and do arcane research in the library of the college in exchange for teaching some of its students.
Consequently, Baladore could not afford to be absent from his post and so he always remained in Anuire throughout the summer season while the Imperial Court repaired to the cool ocean breezes of Seasedge in the province of
Boeruine.
Baladore’s first inkling that something had gone drastically wrong at Summer Court came only when he heard that Lord Tieran had arrived at a gallop back at the palace with the empress and the house guard. Rumors had flown wildly all over the city and, what with his duties, it was a few days before Baladore was able to make his way to the palace to ascertain what had really happened.
That was when he had discovered that the emperor had died at Seaharrow, which was tragic news, of course, but not nearly
