Heir of Magic and Mischance

There was a story I had grown up knowing, for most of my entire life, without knowing how I knew it. You know how you know a song, or a random item of information, but you don’t remember where you first heard it? It could be a rumor, some sort of folklore passed on from person to person. A cautionary tale, meant to scare you into obedience. This was one of those stories. Years ago, the tale went, a young man had joined the Rothschan army as soon as he was of age. Joining him was his childhood friend and sweetheart—and right before they started their training, she became his betrothed as well. They were to be wed after their training was completed, and before they started their military service in earnest. But the girl guarded a dangerous secret: she could wield magic. Somehow she had been able to suppress it and keep her ability hidden for most of her life. Which, in the rational country of Rothschan, was a necessity. Here, magic is regarded as suspect and practically evil. Did her intended know? If he did, he must have been too in love with her to care. If he had known, but hadn’t turned her into the authorities—or at the very least shunned her and cut off all contact with her—then he would have faced a steep fine, or worse, if his transgression had been discovered. In the final week of their training, it was announced that a person of great importance would be visiting their company. All were expected to be on their best behavior and acquit themselves well. Not just because their behavior would be a reflection on their superiors, but also because the visitor would be looking for the best and brightest talent that could potentially be pulled for special assignment. But their superiors needn’t have worried. The visitor, the Lord High Seneschal, arrived with the royal secretary, and both men were extremely impressed. The Seneschal requested private, one-on-one meetings with each member of the company, for just a few minutes each, in one of the tents in the center of the company’s camp. Nothing seemed amiss as each person went in for their private meeting. Now it was time for the young woman’s interview. Her betrothed patiently waited outside for his turn. The midday heat bore down on him, and he stifled a yawn. Time dripped by. Until a scream from inside the tent pierced the air. Although the Lord High Seneschal had given strict orders that no one was to interrupt his interviews—indeed, even the royal secretary who had traveled with him was not allowed to be present during these meetings—the young man burst into the tent, protocol be damned. What happened inside the tent, no one knows for sure. Men’s voices, raised in the heat of anger, could be heard. The poor young woman, already under duress, may have screamed again. Witnesses later swore that the tent glowed a strange, bright white, brighter even than the noon sun that was shining overhead. Then the world grew unnaturally still. As the white glow faded, the young man emerged from the tent, looking a little dazed. In his hand he held a peculiar silver rod studded with colored jewels that blinked in the sunlight. The man stumbled a few steps away. The Lord High Seneschal threw back the tent flap, ignoring the gasps and cries from the waiting crowd outside. Some murmured about his strange disfigurement, wondering aloud what had happened. Others ran forward, asking, “Sir, are you all right?” The Seneschal waved them all away, leaning heavily on the tent frame as he pointed directly at the retreating young man. The Seneschal screamed, “Arrest that man!” The young man broke into a run. Some of the man’s comrades gave chase, but soon found they couldn’t move, caught in place by fast-growing vines that had snaked up from the ground to wrap around their bodies. Certainly not natural flora, but the other possibility—that these vines were magical constructs—was, obviously, ludicrous and untrue. Others came to cut them free from the plants, but the vines resisted the sharp blades. It would take hours to free them. Anyone else who tried to pursue the man found themselves unable to cross an invisible barrier, as if the air had solidified around their camp and wouldn’t let anyone out. Meanwhile, the young man kept running and running, until he was out of sight and well away from his would-be pursuers. People later speculated that the young man must have possessed illegal magic—the silver rod, perhaps?—and used it against his former friends and the Lord High Seneschal. Although the Seneschal ordered a kingdom-wide search, the man was never captured, and no one ever saw him again. Perhaps he perished in his reckless escape from the camp. But, if by some miracle he lived, I’m sure that no matter how much he ran, or how far he went, he would never truly be safe from himself.