At one time or another, during Michael’s relentless obsession with the gheallie Sidhe, Aedan had played elven warriors from each of those distant kingdoms, dying countless times-and never quite dramatically enough-from the spells of Michael’s priestly magic.” Sometimes Michael took the part of elven mages for variety, but that was even worse.
He would hide behind the tapestries hanging in the halls and leap out at an unsuspecting Aedan, slaying him with elvish spells.
“Boola-boola-ka-boola!”
“What was that, Your Highness?”
“Boola-boola-ka-boola!” Michael would yell out again, flinging out his arms and waggling his fingers. “It’s an elvish melting spell. You’re dead!”
“Elven mages do not cast melting spells, Your Highness. At least, I am fairly sure they don’t. Besides, that did not sound anything at all like elvish.”
“If I say it’s elvish, then it’s elvish! Now melt!”
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but exactly how am I supposed to do that?”
Michael would stamp his foot and roll his eyes impatiently, as if any moron would know how to melt on cue. “You’re supposed to grab your throat and make horrible, gurgling noises as you sink down to the ground into a puddle of stinking ooze!”
‘Very well, Your Highness, as you wish.” And Aedan would grab his throat and choke, gurgling as hideously as he knew how, meanwhile sinking to his knees and collapsing to the floor, trying his best to look as much like a puddle of stinking ooze as possible. His performance was never quite satisfying enough.
“Aedan, that was terrible!”
“Forgive me, Your Highness, I tried my very best.
But I’ve never melted before. Perhaps if you could show me how?”
Whereupon Michael would demonstrate the proper way to melt, and as Aedan watched his histrionics, he would be forced to admit that Michael did it better.
“Now do it again, and this time, do it right!”
Often, Aedan would have to die at least half a dozen times before the prince was satisfied. It wasn’t long, however, before Michael’s nonsense syllables and outflung fingers were replaced by the lethal force of wooden sword and shield, and Aedan found miseries anew as he was repeatedly battered into submission by his young prince in the role of Haelyn, champion of Anduiras at the Battle of Mount Deismaar.
The third part of “The Legacy of Kings,” and the source of Aedan’s current woes, was “The Twilight of the Gods,” which told the story of how Azrai, the lord of darkness, had pursued the Six Tribes into Cerilia, determined to subjugate the people and wrest them from their gods.
Azrai first enlisted in his cause the goblins and the gnous of Vosgaard in the northern regions of Cerilia, and gave their leaders priestly powers. Through cunning and deception, he then corrupted the Vos tribe, who had fallen from their worship of the moon god, and left the path of magic for the way of sword and mace. Next, Azrai sought to seduce the demihumans, the elves and dwarves, by tempting them through dreams and omens. The stoic dwarves did not fall prey to the blandishments of Azrai, but the elves had burned with the desire for revenge ever since the humans took their lands and pushed them back into the forests.
Swayed by Azrai’s promises of the destruction of their human enemies and the restoration of their lands, once more, the elves prepared for war.
The kings of the Cerilian tribes were quick to realize the danger and joined forces, setting aside their differences to unite against the common foe. But
even as the two armies met in combat, the warriors from the Adurian lands arrived to join the fray on Azrai’s side. Realizing that Azrai’s victory was within his grasp, the old gods appeared to their besieged followers at the land bridge between the continents of Aduria and Ceriha, where the mortals were trapped between their enemies’ forces.
Each god had chosen a champion from among his or her followers to lead in the final battle. Anduiras, the god of the Anuireans, chose Haelyn, who best exemplified all the virtues of a noble knight. Together with Roele, his younger brother, and their standardbearer, Aedan’s ancestor, Traederic Dosiere, Haelyn led the tribes in one last, desperate assault against their enemies. Arrayed against them were the armies of the southern lands, in addition to the humanoids, the treacherous Vos, and the warriors of the elven kingdoms, all led by Azrai and his champion, the traitor, Prince Raesene, halfbrother to Haelyn and Roele, whose ambition led him to betray his people and sell himself to the dark god.
Michael, indisputably, was always Haelyn when they played the game, but no one ever wanted to be Prince Raesene. The casting of the role of the Black Prince would always be the occasion of an argument among the young nobles of the Imperial Court, and depending on his mood, Michael would either settle things by force of royal prerogative or else stand back and watch his playmates settle it themselves.
At such times, Aedan would be forced to step in and break it up while Michael watched with glee, delighting in the bruises that his future chamberlain received as he tried to separate two homicidal eightyear-olds armed with wooden swords.
This time, the matter had been settled peaceably, thanks to Aedan’s diplomatic skills, but it still left Michael in a surly mood. He had been denied his halflings and had revealed his lack of knowledge, due to his indifference in his studies. Now his choice for the Black Prince had been successfully disputed, though Aedan had tried to smooth things over as best as he knew how. Still, the future chamberlain had seen that stubborn set to Michael’s jaw before and knew exactly what it meant.
Someone was going to catch it when the “battle” started.
