So, here's the next chapter of "Fire Sower." If you haven't read the first two chapters, click here to begin.
Chapter Three: The Treasury
The home of King Nikolas was called the Water Palace. It had
been built from marble composed of various shades of blue, and the design made
the building look like an enormous fountain. The spires looked like jets of
water shooting towards the sky, and the walls were textured to look like water
as well.
If the design of the palace itself were not enough to carry
on the theme, the courtyard held several magnificent water features that added
to the ambience. A waterfall tumbled down the center of the stairs to the grand
entrance, several fountains glittered along the walkways, and an artificial
stream flowed through the ground level of the palace.
Idris stared at his surroundings with open wonder on his
face. He could never have imagined such wealth and grandeur.
One of the civic soldiers—wearing the green tunic with the
city sigil—had been assigned to show them to the entrance of the Treasury,
which was also on the ground floor of the Water Palace.
They walked up the stairs to the grand entrance, and through
a large set of double doors that bore the royal crest—a dragon with a starburst
in one of its front claws. The entrance hall was several stories high, with a
glass roof letting in the sunlight. A small golden bridge took them over the
artificial stream flowing through the room, and they walked down a hall to
their left.
The hallway was guarded by palace soldiers—designated by
blue tunics with a silhouette of the Water Palace embroidered on the chest.
They watched the progress of the four farmers as they walked along, as if they
didn’t trust the civic soldier to keep them under control.
At the end of the hall was a simple wooden door, in front of
which stood two more palace soldiers. The civic soldier gestured them forward
and then walked away without further explanation.
“You must submit to a search,” declared one of the palace
soldiers.
Idris looked at his father in confusion, but followed his
lead in allowing the soldier to make sure there was nothing hidden on his
person. Their packs were taken to a small room off to the side, where they
could pick them up after leaving the Treasury.
Idris and Cadell waited while Owen and Meic went through the
same process, and then they were led through the wooden door and down a winding
staircase.
At the bottom of the stairs there was a large room with
several rows of benches where people could sit and wait for their turn in the
Treasury. Next to another wooden door was a desk, where an aged woman with
spectacles sat with a quill before her and a bookcase full of thick ledgers
behind her.
Cadell led the way to the woman at the desk, and she looked
at them shrewdly.
“What is the name of your city or village?”
“Rest Stone Valley,” answered Cadell.
The woman stood up and turned to the bookcase, scanning the
ledgers and muttering to herself.
“Rest Stone Valley, part of the Hills Province, west of the
Fenn Province…”
She selected one of the ledgers and set it on the desk with
an impressive thump. The woman opened
the book to the middle and thumbed her way to the last entry. Then, with a soft
sigh, she sat down and prepared her quill.
“Name and lineage?”
Cadell nudged Idris, who stammered his answer. “Idris, son
of Cadell, son of Garan.”
The woman made a careful entry, and Idris watched her in
fascination. He had never learned how to read or write.
“Very well. Please wait there until you are called.”
Idris followed his father back to the benches where half a
dozen others waited. He half-listened as Meic went through the same process,
but his mind was focused on trying to slow down his racing heart.
The wooden door opened and a haughty looking girl came
sweeping out. She was dressed in an elegant silk robe, and she held an
elaborate tiara in her hands. A palace guard followed her out and handed the
woman at the desk a slip of parchment. The woman nodded as she took it and set
it aside to enter into the ledger when she was able.
“Hildar, daughter of Lord Wythe, Duke of the Hazelwood
Province,” called the soldier at the wooden door.
Idris looked around and spotted a remarkably beautiful girl
making her way toward the soldier. She had wavy chestnut hair and her skin was
fairer than any Idris had ever seen. However, the beauty of her delicate face
was marred by an expression of supreme disdain.
She went through the wooden door, and it closed behind her.
Idris estimated that a half hour passed before she emerged.
The soldier handed a slip of parchment to the woman at the
desk, and the process began all over again.
“Sten, son of Sten, son of Pryor.”
A slightly nauseated-looking boy followed the soldier
through the wooden door. It was only a handful of minutes before he returned
with a leather pouch in his hand.
“Durban, son of Cian, son of Laz.”
Idris found his attention waning. He was tired from the
heightened emotions of the day, and he was impatient to be done.
After another hour, he heard the soldier call out, “Meic,
son of Owen, son of Cybi.”
Idris leaned over to his father and whispered, “I thought I
would be first.”
Cadell shrugged. “They must have mixed up the order. It does
not matter.”
Meic followed the palace soldier through the wooden door and
emerged several minutes later with a sword in his hands. His smug face shone
with triumph as he faced his waiting father.
“Well,” said Owen softly, “I suppose we should head home.”
He turned to Cadell and asked, “Would you like us to wait for you?”
Cadell shook his head. “No, you go on ahead.”
Idris could understand why his father had said that. There
was an expression on Owen’s face that said he wanted to talk to his son alone.
“Idris, son of Cadell, son of Garan.”
Idris felt his heart leap in his chest and he turned around
in a jerky motion.
“Good luck, son,” Cadell said quietly.
Idris nodded his thanks and walked over to the soldier,
feeling that his feet were somehow not attached to his body.
He passed through the wooden door and found himself standing
in another room, smaller than the last. There were two more palace soldiers
standing by a table that held scales and other measuring instruments, and
beyond them was a tall and ornate door.
The door was overlaid with gold and the royal crest was
depicted with thousands of glittering jewels. The dragon appeared to be made of
rubies, with eyes of emerald, and the starburst was made up of diamonds.
“Idris, son of Cadell, son of Garan?”
Idris nodded to confirm his identity, his eyes still glued
to the display of wealth before him.
“You may return with a single item or, if you wish for coins
or jewels, you may use one of the pouches provided within and fill it to
capacity. Return here with your choice and it will be documented.”
He nodded again and one of the guards grasped the golden
handle to the door and pulled it open.
Idris forced himself to walk through the opening, once again
feeling as though he were not connected to his own body. He came to an abrupt
stop as soon as he crossed the threshold, and he barely heard the door close
behind him.
The Treasury was easily half the size of the palace itself,
and Idris marveled that such a large space could exist underground. More
amazing than that was the fact that every reasonable space was filled with
valuables.
There were mountains of coins—gold, silver, and copper—and
there were veritable rivers of loose jewels. There were several display cases
with jewelry and armor, and there were stands holding a variety of weapons.
There were bolts of cloth and a stack of rare fur pelts, and there were ornate
vases and statues and other works of fine art. There were gilded mirrors and
jeweled platters, and sets of fine china in protective cases.
Idris could barely process all of what he was seeing. How
could he possibly choose a single item among all of the riches?
On a table to his right there were three stacks of leather
pouches in different sizes. The smallest was as large as his fist and the
largest was the size of his head. Idris suddenly understood his father’s advice
about choosing carefully. It was indeed a great temptation to use the biggest
pouch and fill it with gold and jewels, but how would he ever pay such wealth
back?
Having become more accustomed to the sight of the glittering
abundance before him, Idris took a deep breath and began his search.
To his left there was a curious stand filled with tokens
hanging on small silver hooks. The tokens depicted pictures of different
livestock, along with a number. Idris didn’t know how to read, but he had been
taught to recognize numbers. Farmers used numbers far more than any other
written symbol.
He could see that there were many options in regard to
animals that could be claimed from the royal stables. One horse or one cow; two
pigs or three goats. There were tokens representing sheep, chickens, rabbits,
turkeys, dogs, cats, pigeons, and numerous others. There were also a number of
exotic animals, such as peacocks or leopards. Idris grinned at the idea of
taking home a leopard.
Even though it made the most sense for Idris to take one of
the tokens back to the palace guards and go to the stable to claim his prize,
it still did not feel right. He slowly walked away from the stand, wondering if
he was making a mistake.
He wandered among the piles of valuables, occasionally
picking up something to inspect it closer.
There was a filigreed spyglass sitting next to several
instruments that Idris did not recognize. There was a vase made of pure
crystal. There was a statuette of a man riding a horse.
Nothing stood apart in Idris’s mind.
He stopped in frustration, rubbing his eyes, which were
tired from the glare of the gold around him.
How was he to choose?
Suddenly, he felt something.
It was almost like a physical tug on his body. He took a few
uncertain steps forward, following the pull but almost wanting to resist.
He didn’t understand what was happening, and that frightened
him.
He continued moving forward slowly, his mind searching for a
reason for this strange pull. He wove through the Treasury as if he had always
known the path he was taking. At the far end he slowed to a stop, staring at a
small doorway hidden to the side of a large display of helmets.
Even if Idris had walked right in front of the doorway, he
doubted that he would have noticed it. Yet, somehow, he had known it was there.
With a sense of trepidation, Idris walked through the
opening into a darkened room. The only light in the room came in from the
Treasury, which was not much to see by. Dimly, he could see the outlines of a
number of weapons—swords, bows, spears, axes, and other things Idris didn’t
recognize.
His eyes fixed on a single silhouette and his hand reached
out to grasp the item that had drawn him there.
Almost expecting some sort of trap to suddenly snap around him,
Idris hurried out of the dark room and back to the light of the Treasury. Then
he stared at the doorway for several heart-pounding moments, waiting for
something to happen.
When nothing did happen, Idris began to breathe more
normally. He looked down to examine the weapon in his hand.
It was a polearm, almost like a spear but with a larger
head. The shaft was about six feet long, and the wood gleamed with a black
lacquer finish. The end opposite of the blade had a pointed cap made of steel
with designs etched into it. The metal piece that held the head to the shaft
was formed in the image of a dragon, and the blade itself looked like a tongue
of flame issuing from the dragon’s mouth.
The dragon was overlaid with gold, and dozens of tiny rubies
were set to look like sections of its scales. The details etched into the
figure were exquisite, and the fierce expression on its face made it seem
alive. Two glittering sapphires made up the eyes, and the teeth were tiny
diamonds.
Idris stared at the weapon in wonder, amazed at the skill
and care that had been put into making it.
Who are you?
Idris almost dropped the polearm in surprise. He looked
around, trying to find the source of the voice that had spoken to him. It was a
woman’s voice, musical and filled with confidence.
Who are you?
The voice had become more insistent, but Idris hardly took
notice of the tone. His mind was whirling with the realization that the voice
had slipped directly into his head.
“I…I am Idris…” he stammered.
How dare you take hold of me
without the permission of my master!
Idris’s eyes widened as he stared down at the weapon in his
hand.
“Are you the spear?”
The voice was filled with contempt. I am not a spear. I am a partisan.
“I am sorry,” apologized Idris. “I am a farmer, and I am not
very familiar with different types of weapons.”
A farmer? scoffed the partisan. Then you have no business touching one of
the most famed weapons in the world. Return me to my master at once.
“Who is your master?” Idris asked.
He is called Marlais.
“Marlais Dragonspear?”
If Idris had not already been shocked by having a
conversation with a weapon, this information would have floored him.
Marlais Dragonspear was a legendary hero, not just in
Calaris but around the world. It was said that he defeated the last of the
bloodthirsty giants that had terrorized the land. Stories told of his many
battles and his glorious victories. There was even a tale that he had fought
with Death for the soul of his beloved wife. Such elaborate tales may have been
invented by storytellers, but history did say definitively that Marlais
Dragonspear helped King Lyndham to found the kingdom of Calaris.
I suppose he is called that by
some.
Idris had so many questions rushing through his head he
didn’t know where to begin. “What was he like? Were you his magical spear? Were
you with him when he battled the giant?”
The voice became rather testy. I told you, I am not a spear. And why do speak of him in the past
tense?
“Marlais Dragonspear lived hundreds of years ago. He is long
dead,” Idris said carelessly, eager to ask more questions.
You lie, said the voice quietly.
Idris was taken aback. “What?”
You lie!
“Why would I lie about something like that?” he asked the
partisan.
There was no response.
“Hello?”
The silence seemed almost deafening, and Idris wasn’t sure
what to do next. He briefly considered putting the magical weapon back in the
hidden room, but something deep within him rejected the idea.
He may not understand why, but he was meant to take the
partisan with him.
Not knowing what else to do, Idris walked back to the
entrance of the Treasury and pushed the door open. The palace soldiers were
waiting for him, and they waved him over to the table.
“A spear?” asked one of the soldiers, his quill ready to
make a note on a slip of parchment.
“She said she was a partisan,” Idris answered.
“What?”
The soldier looked up sharply and took the partisan from
Idris’s hands. He only had to glance at it and his eyes widened in disbelief.
“Where did you get this?” he asked harshly.
Idris felt his heart beating faster, and he wondered if he
was in trouble. “I found it in a room near the back.”
“How did you find that room?”
“I do not know. I was led there…” Idris tried to explain.
“Led there?”
He made a helpless gesture. “Something inside me took me there.”
Idris didn’t have any other explanation, and he wasn’t sure
if the soldiers believed him. They were all staring at him so intensely that he
felt uncomfortable.
After several moments, the palace guards began conferring
with one another in low voices. Idris could only hear a murmur, and so he had
no idea what they were saying. Before too long they seemed to come to some sort
of agreement, and the soldier who had been questioning Idris turned back to the
boy.
“It is rare that one is drawn to that room. Only the one who
is meant to wield a magical weapon can find the room and remove an item from
it. If you have brought out this partisan, then it is meant to be yours.”
Idris felt a twinge of doubt. The voice of the partisan
certainly didn’t want anything to do with him.
The soldier went on. “However, there is a condition to go
along with such a choice. You will be offered the opportunity to train as a
member of the Royal Guard—an elite group of soldiers dedicated to the personal
service of the royal family. If you wish to keep the weapon, you must go
through the training and serve the king for the rest of your life.”
Idris’s chest constricted and he had difficulty taking a
breath to speak. “What if I do not want to be a soldier?”
The palace guard shrugged. “Then this weapon goes back to
the Treasury and you go on your way.”
“Do I get to pick something else from the Treasury?” asked
Idris.
“No.”
The soldier turned and began writing on the slip of
parchment. He spouted more instructions as he did so. “The partisan will be
kept here for safekeeping. If you choose to train as a member of the Royal
Guard, you can reclaim it. You will first go through the same basic training as
the army recruits, and then you will begin your specialized training with other
members of the Royal Guard. The next training cycle begins in twenty days, and
the following cycle begins exactly a half year after that. If you choose to
reclaim the partisan, return to the palace by then.”
The soldier walked over to the wooden door that led to the
waiting room. He held it open for Idris to pass through.
Idris was so stunned by the events of the past hour that he
could barely believe that they had actually happened. He walked back to the
waiting room mechanically, feeling dazed and overwhelmed.
His father appeared before him with a smile on his face.
“Well, what did you pick?”
Idris was speechless. How could he explain to
his father what had happened?
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