Prelude to Fire: Parts 1 and 2 (2 page)

A
t Ilton’s chamber
, a shaper blocked Lacertin’s access, sneering as the warrior attempted to pass. “The king is resting.”

Lacertin didn’t recognize the man, but that meant nothing. This last assignment wasn’t particularly unique; he often was out of the city for extended stretches, and it had been years since he’d bothered returning to the university to teach. Many shapers felt it their duty to repay those who had come before them and offer the guidance in those early years when the transition from senser to shaper was most acute, but Lacertin had not been one. Teaching wasn’t a particular skill of his, and not something that he enjoyed. He would much rather be traveling, making his way through the kingdoms on whatever the next assignment that Ilton had for him.

“The king
will
see me. Now stand aside.” He didn’t want to use his position to convince the man to do what he wanted, but he would if needed.

The man’s sneer spread. “I don’t know how you managed to make it past the servants, but you won’t get past me—or to the king.”

How worn did his clothing appear? Maybe he
shouldn’t
have come straight from his travels, or maybe he should have considered shaving off the thick shock of beard that had grown over the last few months. Most warriors kept their faces clean-shaven, thinking it gave them a more highborn appearance.

“You would do well to stand down, shaper.”

Lacertin turned and saw a dark-haired man with a clean-shaven face approaching. His deep blue eyes sparkled with intensity and the quirk of a smile on his face masked the intelligence Lacertin knew hid behind his eyes.

“Theondar,” he said with a nod. He had never been close to Theondar, but then again, he had never had the opportunity to be close to anyone in Ethea. Serving Ilton had placed certain demands upon him that made connecting to others difficult. “You have taken to staying within the palace?”

For the barest moment, a troubled expression crossed his eyes, but then it was gone and the smile returned. “Althem asked that I remain nearby. You know that he feels,” Theondar glanced at the shaper standing guard and then lowered his voice, “somewhat self-conscious about his inability to shape.”

Lacertin shook his head slightly. If there was one thing he had learned from studying the list of men and women who had ruled in Ethea over the years, it was that shaping skill had very little to do with ability to rule. Oftentimes, the more gifted shapers made the worst rulers. Althea had been known as a skilled shaper, but few would claim that she was a wise or skilled ruler.

Theondar glanced over at the shaper and waved his hand. “You would do well to be more observant, Nast. Do you not see the sword? Can you not recognize Lacertin when he stands before you seeking audience with his king?”

Lacertin didn’t miss the sly dig at him, or the way that Theondar implied that Ilton was only Lacertin’s king, and not his own. Of course, once Ilton was gone, Theondar would assume the role of First Warrior, a role that Lacertin had filled ever since coming to the kingdoms and demonstrating his usefulness to Ilton.

Nast’s eyes widened and he looked from Lacertin’s face to the sword, the change in attention much like Bren’s when Lacertin had first appeared. Perhaps he
had
changed more than he realized.

“This
is Lacertin?” Nast asked.

Theondar nodded to Lacertin. “This is the greatest warrior the kingdoms has produced in generations. You would do well to recognize him.”

With so few others recognizing him, Lacertin wondered how Theondar had managed… unless Bren had warned him. Perhaps that was where he’d slunk off to after leaving Lacertin in the hall, staring after the wall of portraits and wondering why the delay, or why he had led him away from the main stair rather than simply leading him to Ilton himself.

But had Bren come, Lacertin still might not have been allowed access. Or he would have had to force his way through, something he was not interested in doing. Perhaps finding Theondar had been the safest solution. A warrior to show another warrior in to the king.

Nast gave Lacertin another lingering stare and then stepped to the side, but did so reluctantly. Theondar pushed past and opened the door, guiding Lacertin into Ilton’s rooms.

Lacertin had been into King Ilton’s private chambers before, but it had been some time ago. Much had changed. Gone was the long dresser and the tall wardrobe made of ornate aldenwood. In their places were chairs and a narrow table set with vials of medicines and dried herbs. A vase of fresh-cut flowers attempted to fill the air with their fragrant aroma but still didn’t completely mask the thick stench of illness.

Lacertin pinched his nose at the smell. Theondar glanced over and a glimmer of amusement crossed his face. “You could simply pass on whatever message you have for him,” Theondar said. “I’m sure the archivists could ensure he gets it in between their ministering to him.”

“No. He will hear it from me.”

Theondar only shrugged. “Your choice. Only, from your face, you would rather be anywhere but here.”

Lacertin took a small, shallow breath. “The smell. It reminds me of home.”

Theondar arched his brow. “Then Nara is even worse than most say.”

“Not Nara. There are small lizards within Nara, gilander lizards, and they would sun themselves atop rocks. Occasionally they remain in place for longer than what is healthy, and the sun would dry them too much to make it to water. The sun would burn them, and their flesh stinks as it rots. It draws scavengers to it and they would pick at the flesh, tearing it from the bones.”

“A good thing we are not in Nara, then. We would have to fight off both Ilton’s illness as well as whatever scavengers would set upon him.”

“That’s not what I was—”

Theondar stopped at Ilton’s bed and looked down at the king. An unreadable expression marred his face. “I know that isn’t what you were saying, Lacertin. Come. Speak to your king while he can still hear you.”

Lacertin looked up and fixed Theondar with a hard expression. Theondar might become the First Warrior once Ilton passed, but for now, it remained Lacertin. Having Ilton’s favor had to account for something, even though it might not always feel like it. With Ilton sending him off out of the city for weeks—months, this most recent time—there were few who felt any sort of jealousy toward Lacertin.

Theondar’s smile faded and he raised his hands. “Fine. You speak to the king. I will leave you. Remember, Lacertin, that once Ilton passes, there will be changes in the kingdoms. It remains to be seen how many will benefit you.”

Theondar closed his eyes and a soft shaping built. Lacertin noted it as pressure in his ears, the distinct sense that all water shapers had when another shaped around them, and wondered what Theondar shaped. Then he took a deep breath, letting it out. The shaping washed away from Theondar and toward Ilton. He sighed once, and his breathing eased.

Theondar nodded and then started back toward the door, leaving Lacertin standing by the king, alone.

When he was convinced that Lacertin was gone, he attempted a shaping of his own. Water didn’t come as easily to Lacertin as the other elements, but he was able to use what little he could and sent a shaping through the king, trying to understand how far along the illness raging within Ilton had progressed.

As before, the illness rebuffed his ability to do anything with it. None of the dedicated water healers had managed to do anything to help him, so Lacertin didn’t really think that he could either, but he could learn how far along Ilton’s illness had progressed.

He pulled on the shaping, pressing through a faint resistance. It had been months since he’d attempted to shape the king, months since he’d done anything to try and heal him, and in that time, Lacertin had little practice with this shaping. Shaping was much like any other skill. Without practice, any skill with it would be lost. The trials he’d gone through on behalf of the king had ensured that.

He considered adding fire to his shaping. Like most from Nara, fire came easiest to him, and he could mix it into other shapings. But fire could burn too brightly and he didn’t want to risk it, not on Ilton. Instead, he used a fire sensing and recognized the heat of the illness raging within his king, burning through him. The illness pushed against his shaping, threatening to overwhelm him.

He knew enough of water shaping to buy Ilton a moment with him, but that would be all that he would get. Pushing a surge of water through the king, he overwhelmed the heat within his veins.

The king’s eyes opened.

“Lacertin,” he said. His voice was thready and weaker than when Lacertin had seen him last, but carried with it much of the authority the king had once possessed so easily. “You have returned.”

“I’m sorry that I needed to wake you, my king.”

Ilton pushed against the bed and managed to sit. He looked around his room as if seeing it for the first time, and closed his eyes. “I’ve asked you not to be so formal with me,” he said. The king sighed. “How… how long has it been, Lacertin?”

“Long enough,” he answered.

The king took a rattling breath and let out a long exhale. Even his breath was stale, as if whatever remained lingered within his lungs, growing increasingly stale the longer that it did. “Tell me, Lacertin, have you acquired what I asked of you?”

Lacertin reached beneath his cloak and pulled out the plates that he’d spent the last three months chasing. It had been one of the most difficult tasks that Ilton had ever asked of him, and the first time he had failed.

The plates were made of heavy gold, and the sides were adorned with runes written in the style of the ancient shapers. What little Lacertin recognized of that language—and given how few knew
anything
of
Ishthin
these days, that wasn’t much—told him that these were the parts that Ilton had asked him to find. Not that there had been any doubt. The Great Mother knew how difficult it had been to reach in the first place. Little else would have been that difficult. Beyond that, he had the pages of diagrams that Ilton had given him, a map of sorts that had brought him his prize.

Ilton let out another soft breath of air. “You found them,” he said. He stared at them with eyes that were far more sunken than they should be, and a face that was gaunter than it had been even a few months ago, when the illness had already begun to ravage him beyond what the healers would be able to delay. “Now we only need to assemble it…”

Lacertin had tried, and failed. He suspected the pieces went together, but couldn’t determine how. More than that, there seemed to be one missing, only he didn’t know what, and the pages Ilton provided didn’t explain what he should find. “I couldn’t find all of them, my lord.”

Ilton patted his hand weakly. “Doesn’t matter. What you’ve found will be enough.”

“What do they do?”

The king ran his bony fingers along the sides of the top plate. “The archivists claim that it will bring us strength. Perhaps enough to…”

That had been the hope. That they would have enough strength to heal Ilton, but how could this help heal him?

Lacertin wasn’t sure that anything would have enough strength, not anymore, but the archivists were some of the brightest minds within the kingdoms, men who had trained in the histories, who chose learning and knowledge over chasing the ability to shape. Understandably, Ilton trusted them.

The tenuous strength that had filled Ilton failed all at once and he sagged, falling back onto the bed. His head hit the pillow and rolled to the side, his eyes taking on something of a glazed look. His breathing became erratic, and Lacertin wondered if he had pushed the dying king’s body too far and too hard with the shaping that he’d used. It had given him more time, or so he thought, but then again, Lacertin had used a shaping, and like with all shapings, there was a cost.

The king’s breathing steadied and he opened his eyes once more. “Lacertin,” he breathed when he saw him. “You have returned.”

Lacertin’s heart fluttered. Had the king declined so much that his memory failed him now, too? If so, then perhaps Althem ruled truly. And if so, then maybe Lacertin should bring the device to the prince, especially if there was anything that could be used to help heal the king.

“I have returned,” Lacertin said softly.

The king reached for his hand and took Lacertin’s in a bony grip. Some strength remained, though it was brief. “You have stopped Incendin?” he asked.

“My lord?” Was there more to the Incendin attack? But of course, there
must
be more to the attack, especially if two of the kingdoms’ most accomplished shapers had been lost. Now that he was back, Lacertin needed to understand what.

“They think to claim Nara, Lacertin. You will stop them?”

Lacertin held his breath. The claim on Nara was the reason for the decades-old war, one in which Incendin thought to reunite ancient Rens. But Nara had been a part of the kingdoms for a thousand years, and the kingdoms were unwilling to cede even a strip of land to Incendin.

“I will do all that you need, my king.”

Ilton nodded. “I know that you will.” He sighed. “You are the First. You command the warriors. You will tell Althem that you speak with my voice.”

Lacertin swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat. He had once served as the king’s Athan, a title bestowed upon him so that he could speak on his behalf, and so that he could forge necessary alliances, but it had been years since Lacertin had exercised that right. Not since Althem had come of age.

But nothing had changed him serving as First Warrior. Nothing but Ilton’s death would change that.

Did Ilton speak lucidly, or was this the illness speaking?

He didn’t know, and that made it all the more difficult to know what he should do.

“You will secure the border. That will keep us safe,” the king whispered. “That will give us peace.”

Ilton closed his eyes and said nothing more. His breathing became slow and regular. Occasionally, he would cough, and he muttered softly, as if trying to say something more, but then he would fall back into a deep slumber.