Michael Sullivan - The emerald storm

After admitting the wizard, Orrin had left the doors open. With a glance from Esrahaddon, they swung shut.

"I see you're getting along better without hands these days," Arista said.

"One adapts to one's needs," he replied, sitting opposite her.

"I didn't extend an invitation for you to sit."

"I didn't ask for one."

Arista's own chair slammed into the back of her legs causing her to fall into it.

"How are you doing that with no hands or sound?" she asked, disarmed by her own curiosity.

"The lessons are over, or don't you remember declaring that at our last meeting?"

Arista hardened her composure once more. "I remember. I also thought I made it clear I never wanted to see you again."

"Yes, yes, that's all well and good, but I need your help to locate the heir."

"Lost him again have you?"

Esrahaddon ignored her. "We can find him with the basic location spell I taught you."

"I'm not interested in your games. I have a city to run."

"We need to perform the spell immediately. We can do it right here. Right now. I have a good idea where he is, but time is short and I can't afford to run off in the wrong direction. So, clear your desk and we can get started."

"I have no intention of doing anything of the sort."

"Arista, you know I can't do this alone. I need your help."

The princess glared at him. "You should have thought of that before you arranged my father's murder. What I should do is order your execution."

"You don't understand. This is important. Thousands of lives are at stake. You can't allow childish notions of personal feelings to stand in the way. This is larger than your loss. It is larger than the loss of a hundred kings and a thousand fathers. Do you think I enjoyed it? Any of it? You forget-I lost my life as well. I had parents of my own, friends, and-" he caught himself and continued. "All of them are gone now. Do you think I enjoyed rotting in a prison for a thousand years? Yes, I used you and your father escape. I did so out of necessity-because what I protect is more important than any single person. It's why I haven't sought revenge for the destruction of the Old Empire, for the murder of my emperor, or even the loss of my hands.

"Arista, as a wizard, you must understand personal vengeance and gain are barred to you. We are obligated to seek no recognition, fame, nor fortune. A wizard must work for the betterment of all-and sacrifices are always necessary. Now stop this foolishness…we are running out of time."

"I am so happy not to be of service to you," she smirked. "I can't bring back my father, and I know I could never kill you, nor would you allow yourself to be imprisoned again, so this is truly a gift-the opportunity to repay you for what you took from me. Your thousand year imprisonment and the loss of your hands will be for nothing, because you made the mistake of callously arranging my father's death."

Esrahaddon sighed and shook his head. "You know the church was behind everything. They orchestrated the events so I would escape. They needed me to lead them to the heir. They enticed you to Gutaria knowing I would use you. Even if I hadn't taken that advantage-even if I chose to remain locked up-your father would still be dead. Look at what happened right here in Rhenydd and in Alburn. King Urith and King Reinhold were both murdered so imperial usurpers could take their places. Your father was doomed the moment Braga married your mother's sister."

"Get out! Orrin! Guards!"

The scribe struggled with the door and it opened a crack, but a slight glance from Esrahaddon slammed it shut again. Orrin beat on the wood and pulled at the latch. "Your Highness, I'll get help."

"You don't really hate me, Arista. It's guilt that's eating you. It's knowing you had as much to do with your father's death as Saldur, Braga, or even myself. Your father wanted to make you a prisoner of your station, but your hunger for the power of the Art drove you to me. Amrath was going to sentence you to life in a forced marriage, but instead he died and you got what you wanted."

"GET OUT!" she screamed. With a wave of her hand, the office door burst open, nearly coming free from the hinges.

"You need to forgive yourself, Arista," Esrahaddon continued, even as Orrin and two armed men entered. "You didn't kill Amrath any more than I did. The Patriarch is responsible. He used both of us in his search for the heir."

"Remove him!" Arista ordered, and the guards grabbed Esrahaddon.

"You have to help me, Arista, or all is lost," he urged as they pulled him from the room.

Arista slammed the door, and kicked it for good measure.

She wanted to scream, It wasn't my fault! Even though she knew that was a lie. In all the years since her father's death, she never faced the reality. Arista blamed Braga, Saldur, and Esrahaddon, but the real pain came from realizing her own part. Too horrible to face, she hid from the truth. Her father, who returned with hairbrushes from every trip just to see the smile on his daughter's face died, because she wanted more.

Esrahaddon exited City Hall into the darkness of Ratibor's Central Square. The clouded thin moon left just enough light to see the outlines of buildings. He looked back and sighed. He genuinely liked Arista. He wished he could tell her everything, but the risk was too great. In her present state, she might do something foolish with that knowledge. And while he was free of Gutaria Prison, he feared the church still listened to his conversations-not every word as when he was incarcerated, but Mawyndule had the power to hear from vast distances and Esrahaddon could never be certain when he might use that particular skill. This forced the wizard to assume all conversations were suspect. A single slip-the casual mention of a name-and he could ruin everything.

Short on time, he had hoped she would cooperate. Now he realized she would not help unless he told her the truth-and that, he could not do. At least he could console himself with the fact he safely planted the seed and the soil appeared fertile. When they last met he had doubts, but now he was certain-Arista had become a cenzar.

He began to suspect the morning of the Battle of Ratibor when Hadrian mentioned the rain was not supposed to stop. He knew Arista cast the spell instrumental to the Nationalists' victory. Since then he listened to any rumor around Ratibor concerning the new mayor possessing unnatural powers. No one dared use the term witch or sorceress. She was so beloved that using her name in such a derogatory fashion was unthinkable. Still, he only knew for certain when she broke his locking charm with a simple wave of her hand. Arista finally understood the Art, even if she did not yet know what that meant.

He worried about the burden he placed on her. Inevitable pain, regret, and loss-a terrible road to walk and he put her feet upon that path. Still, he could not help but feel at least a small amount of hope, and pride, in continuing the legacy of the cenzar.

Aside from Arcadius and himself no human wizards remained, and the two of them were pitiful representatives of the craft. Arcadius was nothing but an old hack, what they used to refer to as a faquin, an elven term for the most inept magical practitioner-knowledge without talent. They never managed to transition from materials based alchemy to the kinetic true version of The Art.

Esrahaddon did not consider himself any better. Without his hands he was as much a magical cripple as a physical invalid. Now however, with Arista's birth into the world of wizardry, mankind once again possessed a true artist. She was still a novice, a mere infant, but given time her talent would grow. One day she would become more powerful than any king, emperor, warrior, or priest.

Knowing she could hold sway over all mankind was more than a little disturbing. During the Old Empire, safeguards existed. The Cenzar Council oversaw wielders of the Art and ensured its proper use, but that was gone now. All the other wizards-his brethren and even the lesser mages-were dead. With him effectively castrated, the church thought they eliminated the cenzar threat from the world. Now they were back, and he was certain no one understood the danger this simple princess posed.