A royal Duel

Haktari sat on the Malikostian throne for the first time. As uncomfortable as the ornate stone chair felt, the status that went with his elevated position felt good, as he was about to present himself to his people on the raised platform overlooking the royal audience hall. The election that had allowed him to succeed the late Lord Aburani, who had ruled the Kingdom of Malikostia for over eight decades, had been difficult. Two other prominent sorcerers, men who he knew well from his previous career, had challenged him for the lifelong position of Lord over the Kingdom and the Kingdom’s seers had predicted death and disaster, which the new ruler would have to lead the people through. However, the people had spoken and Haktari the Sorcerer had changed his name to Lord Haktari of Malikostia. His kingdom was one of hundreds of fortified cities that were inhabited by the human population of Aveiron and the position of Lord made him the owner of the palace compound that was the center of the ancient city of Malikostia, supported by the surrounding fields and pastures that lay between the city and the outer wall. All prominent citizens sought the status of living inside the palace wall that separated the royal land from the rest of the city and the rent they were willing to pay for the privilege filled the royal treasury. The position also gave him command of the Malikostian Legion and Cavalry. Over the years of peace, Malikostia’s troops had become mainly for show, a deterrent for lawbreakers within the city, as well as the Kingdom’s neighbors, who might not be above conducting looting raids if they believed the city’s defenses to be weak. The yearly cavalry foray outside the outer wall had become a holiday and the people turned out to watch as the unicorn riders demonstrated their practiced drills, showing off their prowess with steed and weapon to the Elves, whose territory surrounded Malikostia on three sides. The Elves, in response, had taken to gathering within sight of the outer wall. They would make their presence known by hooting and shrieking, showing their bravado by pretending to tempt an attack and casting spells that, although harmless, were impressive. It had become quite an exciting entertainment.

His election secure, Lord Haktari had meditated, placing himself in a trance for five days, until he felt the power flow from the land and course through his body. When ready, he gave the customary gift of a sorcerer-lord to his people. He cast the ancient youth spell, so that all in his realm would be rejuvenated. That was followed by the customary day of rest and seclusion that Haktari had spent feasting and sleeping, in order to recover from the process. That had been the day before he sat on the throne for the first time, practicing the custom of hearing the people. His advisors had not been chosen yet and it fell upon Dumari, Commander of the Cavalry and Sumra, Commander of the Legion, to ceremonially open the door. The two of them stood at attention by the massive, intricately decorated double doors that would open the marble interior of the audience hall to the petitioners, some of whom had been waiting for days. Dumari was a small, agile man who carried a bow, although he had no arrows with him, as well as the curved rider’s saber on his belt. He was covered in silkmail armor dyed red with a painted insignia of rank on his chest. The armor consisted of silk cables twisted into ropes, which had been set and treated only after having been placed on the wearer for the first time. The man-sized arachnids that inhabited underground kennels beneath the palace spun the silk cables used by the military as armor. Sumra also wore red silkmail, fitted to her tall, powerful feminine shape. She wore her longsword over her back, a two handed foot soldier’s weapon that customarily was as long overall as the distance from the wielder’s chin to the ground when standing.

Haktari’s own royal purple silkmail was on display behind him, hanging on the wall to his left, and his ceremonial sword and bow were displayed on the same wall to his right. He wore the purple tunic and cape of his office and held a carved speaker’s staff. The speaker’s staff was used to make discussions orderly and would be handed to anyone wishing to speak in the audience hall. It was customary for all those not holding the staff to be quiet, so as not to interfere with the discussion. He could remember holding the staff and standing before the throne himself, on the numerous occasions that he had petitioned Lord Aburani. Now, Haktari was on that same throne, trying to dispel the nervous feeling he had deep inside. He ran his hand over his freshly shaved head and fiddled with the royal Insignia on his chest. He knew that his every movement and expression would be discussed as political gossip and was relieved that he was not sweating. He gestured with the speaker’s staff and the two red-clad soldiers opened the doors. Sumra gave a formal command and a dozen legion soldiers marched in and took their customary positions surrounding the audience hall. Next came the line of petitioners, who were quiet and orderly as the line coiled into the hall.

The first petitioner was Haktari’s old friend and mentor Akrana, wearing her finest dress and with her black hair woven into a complex braid. Upon seeing her, Haktari rose and strode down the three marble steps in front of the throne to embrace her, deliberately showing her royal favoritism that would make her more influential. Holding the speaker’s staff, he spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard by all. “It is always a pleasure to see you, my friend.” He handed her the staff and took a step back. He had expected her, but he had not expected her to be first in line. The presence of a close friend relaxed him.

A proud smile played at the corner of Akrana’s mouth, causing her eyes to twinkle with affection. Her voice was strong and formal. “Firstly, I would like to thank your Lordship on behalf of all present for the gift of food and drink that we received as we awaited the time of hearing.” Any time petitioners waited outside the audience hall, merchants came to sell refreshments, but Haktari had left orders for the cost to be covered by his treasury as a gesture of appreciation. Akrana was slightly drunk, as were many of the others who had waited long enough to be among the first in line. “Secondly,” Akrana continued, “I humbly offer myself as advisor.” She offered the speaker’s staff back to him.

“The position of chief advisor is yours,” Haktari decreed. He walked back up to his throne and added, “I have no doubt that you will serve the Kingdom well”, before sitting back down. Akrana stepped off the purple carpet that led from the door to the stairs, and onto the marble floor, taking the customary position of one who whished to stay and watch. The next forty or so petitioners were all there to formally offer themselves as advisors on various matters, some of whom Haktari knew personally and some by reputation. He showed no more favoritism, remaining seated on the throne and passing the speaker’s staff to each of them in turn, by holding it out with its head, an ivory carving of two-faced person, one face smiling and one sad, pointed to the petitioner. He told each of them the same thing, that they would be considered, although he knew which men and women he would choose. Some stepped off the carpet and stayed to watch, while others exited through the side doors. As the ceremony continued, more of the petitions were about other matters. Most of them were there to seek position or royal funding of some sort, and gave persuasive speeches to that end, and others wanted to appeal a legal settlement or decision. A few more were there to request that spells be cast on behalf of the people.

One petitioner in particular was a prominent officer in the Legion. He listed his accomplishments and offered to replace Sumra as commander, claiming that he would be more loyal to the new Lord. As the soldier handed the speaker’s staff back to his Lord, Haktari noticed that Sumra and reached up to put her hand on the hilt of her longsword. A small portion of the weapon’s slim, polished blade could be seen over her shoulder. Her dark eyes smoldered between the silkmail ropes that hid her face. Haktari ordered her to be at ease with a look before denying the man’s request, stating that he had no desire to replace his most talented Commander of the Legion and rebuking the man for making such a request.

The end of the line neared the door. Haktari had given the position of scribe to a petitioner who had come to offer that service and had him busy taking down royal decisions. Haktari found himself enjoying his new role and took pride in his decisions and pleasure in the privilege of making decrees. After hearing an accusation of theft that had already been denied by a soldier who had been on patrol when it had supposedly occurred, Haktari saw an odd figure step before him. The person was hidden under a hooded brown cloak, unusual on a warm day. Haktari eyed the petitioner with suspicion, but gave a formal welcome and handed over the staff. As the cloaked stranger accepted it, the illusory cloak faded and became a shadow before disappearing entirely. Underneath was an elf. The creature was short by human standards and, although not visibly armed, was dressed in the stiff leather that Elves favored for armor. Only his head was uncovered, showing his long, loose brown hair, monkey-like face and large, tufted ears. The elf’s hair and beard were partially gray, revealing that this was either a very old and powerful elf, or one that had forsaken youth spells to appear so. The way the elf looked him in the eye without deference to his office made Haktari uncomfortable.

“I have come to see this new Lord of Malikostia and I must wonder if he truly is the powerful sorcerer and protector we have been told he is.” The elf’s hoarse, accented voice was humorless, with a jealous undertone that made his audience gasp.

Haktari spoke without bothering to retrieve the speaker’s staff. “What concern should I have over the assessment of my Elvin neighbors?” he asked. He thought that he would dodge the issue by demonstrating that he did not care about the elf’s opinion.

The elf’s response had a taunting tone. “Be concerned that this elf would test his skepticism in the arena, before informing his people of his opinion,” he answered with a sneer that showed his sharp fangs, holding the staff close to his armored chest with both hands. “Unless, of course, a person of such magnificence fears to meet a humble elf’s challenge.”

Haktari knew he could not refuse. If he did not meet the elf’s challenge, the result would be the same as if he had made the scandalous admission that he could not defend his kingdom, encouraging the Elves to take advantage.

“So you challenge me to a power duel?” Haktari tried to sound offended and threatening. The elf nodded, with the satisfied expression of a hunter who had wounded his prey.

“We shall meet in Malikostia’s Royal Tournament Arena to the south of my palace wall, at dawn two days from now,” Haktari decreed, nodding to his scribe. “If you truly have the courage your words display, you shall meet me under the eyes of my people.”

“Mine, as well,” The old elf commented, “Unless you fear to have them see you humiliated?”

“It shall be permitted, but they shall be under guard. I trust that the Legion’s alertness will not concern them, as they have no plans for trickery.”

“Very well,” The elf agreed, handing back the speaker’s staff. The creature turned and left, walking through the audience. He vanished before reaching the door.

After the elf had left, Haktari heard the remaining petitioners and tried not to appear distracted. The creature’s behavior was unheard of and he wondered what it meant. Although both Malikostians and the neighboring Elvin tribes put on shows of strength, there had been peace between the two sides for as long as anyone was able to remember. There were also agreements that protected the Elves’ right to collect payment for passage through their territory, in return for the protection of caravans from outright attack, as they traveled to and from the walled kingdom. Both prospered as a result and Haktari had to wonder if the peace and prosperity had come to an end. He had not forgotten the dire predictions of the seers, the majority of whom had predicted disaster in the coming years.

After hearing the people, Haktari had only a few moments alone for reflection before a celebratory royal banquet. The banquet was, of course, a political affair, hosted by Haktari and his four wives, as well as those of their children who had reached adulthood. For a prominent and wealthy sorcerer and professor at Malikostia’s University whose spells were in demand, four wives were few. Akrana had over twenty husbands. However, Haktari’s personal life was exciting enough with four wives. Now that he had the throne, the matter of marriage took on a new meaning. Haktari expected the prominent families of Malikostia to offer him wives for political purposes, although he had made it no secret that he was not interested in a fifth wife. He knew he would have to politely fend off such invitations at the banquet. At the event, Haktari did little more than politely greet his guests, leaving the social maneuvering to his first wife, Kasla. The event was held in the royal dining hall, and each seat at the long, wooden table had been acquired by political means, with courtesans competing for seats next to the Lord’s wives and children. As a result, Haktari’s family was spread evenly around the table.

Next to Haktari’s seat at the head of the table were two guests who did not have to compete for position. Commander Sumra sat to his left, wearing a basic white garment devoid of jewelry with the exception of the insignia of rank that hung on a leather thong around her neck. Even without formality of dress, she was an impressive figure. Like most Malikostians, she was brown and healthy and she was taller than most men, with hard black eyes and a neatly shaved head. Even sitting at the fine table, she had the straight posture of a trained soldier. To his right, Akrana was seated, delicately sipping her soup. She wore her sorceress robe, with the insignia of the University sown onto the front. She had decked herself out in her finest jewelry and braded her long hair. She, too, was brown and smooth, but the robe hid how fat the life of a successful scholar had made her. Her brown eyes surveyed the room, alert but subtle. Haktari assumed the detached manner of a ruler, quietly occupying himself with the topped bread appetizer and soup his servants had set out before the diners were seated.

Akrana looked around to see that nobody was eavesdropping and spoke softly. She abandoning the formal tone she had greeted her Lord with for the familiar voice of a professor addressing her student. Haktari was relieved that his relationship with his mentor had survived his ascent.

“Tell me your thoughts of the Elvin visitor,” she requested.

“Odd,” he answered, deliberately understating the issue. Akrana waited for him to elaborate.

“The Elves, or, I should say, that elf, is executing some plan, that will reveal itself in time. I feel I should focus winning the duel.”

“Hard to figure, those Elves,” Sumra interjected, speaking through her full mouth. She paused to wash down her appetizer with an energetic gulp of steaming soup. “They cannot count to one hundred, but their sorcery is unsurpassed. We should stage a cavalry raid to strike them down, thus using a way in which we are advantaged to educate them.”

Haktari knew that Sumra would welcome a chance to bring the glory of a victory to the soldiery. She would provoke an unnecessary war, if permitted. “Not without provocation,” Lord Haktari pronounced. “The Elves surround us with the exception of the troll land to the east and those trolls have never permitted passage. Furthermore, we know not if they would stand with the Elves.”

“So, you will permit this impish boldness, entertain your subjects with a duel of power and decide matters only after?” Akrana asked.

“It would seem the more fortunate course,” Haktari observed.

“That being your decision, Lord, I must recommend that you advantage yourself with the hidden research that Professor Lumani has spent his diligence on. I am certain that I could persuade him to share it.”

“The spell that would heat a living person? That would slay my opponent on the spot!” A sorcerer’s duel of power involved two sorcerers facing each other while standing in circles marked on the ground. The duel was decided when one of them was frightened or forced into leaving the circle. To kill the opponent inside his own circle was not against the rules, but was customarily perceived as poor sportsmanship. A sorcerer who did so would often find his opponents more willing to employ deadly tactics against him in the future.

“It would bring less misfortune than defeat,” Akrana pointed out.

“And would deter future opportunism on the part of our neighbors,” Sumra added.

“If the Elves had it in mind to violate us, I perceive that they would have simply done so. In part, I am certain that they test us, but there is something more cunning about. To act wisely, I would unveil that something in its entirety.”

Akrana nodded with a knowing smile. “Understood, Lord,” Sumra answered quietly. The three of them waited while a servant brought the main course, consisting of the meat of a fowl on a bed of boiled wheat grains and covered in sauce. When the servant retreated, Sumra spoke.

“Lord, what are your wishes regarding our Elvin guests on the day of your duel. My subordinates will carry them out.”

“See to it that the Legion is seen in force and is alert for trickery. We have not seen Elves inside the walls of our kingdom for as long as any remember. Escort them from the South gate, down the main avenue to the arena, with few diversions,” Haktari instructed. “I shall also have Commander Dumari and the Cavalry on hand.”

“Expecting subversion?” Akrana asked.

“I expect unforeseen events, I know not which,” Haktari responded. Akrana ate thoughtfully. As the banquet went on, Lord Haktari involved himself in the larger conversation around him and after the main course and a dessert of candied nuts, the guests rose and mixed and the servants brought them mugs of burri, a yellow, foamless beer sweetened with honey. The guests enjoyed it, some to excess. Lady Kasla joined her husband to share with him the gossip she had collected during the evening and a guest offered to play his flute for the Lord, which was taken as an invitation for the guests to dance.

After the most persistent of the partygoers had departed, Haktari and his family returned to their new home in the heart of their palatial manor. Lord Haktari spent the next day immersed in the ceremonies expected of a new Lord, from inspecting the troops to a ceremonial welcome at the University, as well as deciding matters of law in meetings with his advisors. The evening before his duel, he decided against sleep and spent the night meditating, in order to place himself in a trance and collect power.

In the hours before dawn, the Elves arrived, led by the graying sorcerer who had made the challenge. There were a few hundred of them, unarmed, as well as a half-dozen stocky, rugged trolls. They were met at the gate by Dumari and a dozen of his cavalry soldiers and were under the watchful eyes of the Legion, who stood with bows at the ready on the battlements of the outer wall and blocked the streets that connected to the main road. The cavalry soldiers were mounted on well-bread unicorns. The unicorns were smaller and less furry than their wooly rhinoceros cousins in the wild and thin enough to be ridden, but still large enough to loom over a man on foot, with long, sleek bodies, thick legs and curved horns as long as a man’s arm. Each unicorn was covered with a blanket of silkmail between the saddle and the animal’s back, providing protection in addition to the thick hides under their horse-like fur. The riders wore red silkmail and carried curved sabers, as well as thick throwing lances with feathered ends.

The riders tuned as one as the Elves entered through the gate, forming a half-circle in front, with the ends lining the road. They ambled along with the guests as they paraded past the fields to the outskirts of the City of Malikostia. The Elves walked quietly, examining their surroundings and whispering to each other in their own language. They saw humans as grandiose. In their view, living a life of farming and home building meant cluttering ones days with unnecessary work. They had wondered why someone would take the time to grow plants and keep animals, when they could feed themselves by hunting and picking. They failed to see the advantage of building walls and roofs when it was easy enough to make a cloak to protect oneself from the elements. To them, humans lived their lives in reverse, beating the world out of shape instead of shaping their ways to fit the world around them. They tittered with laughter at the structures that surrounded them and the cavalry soldiers in their finery and snorted at the plush marketplaces.

Upon reaching the arena, the Elves were directed to the western section, followed by legion soldiers in red silkmail, who took positions around them, standing straight as they held their longswords with the tips resting between their feet and their hands clasping sword hilts just under their chins. As the sky grew pink, Haktari strode into the arena, dressed only in a purple robe, and stood in one of the circles outlined by bricks set in the loose sand of the arena floor. He stood with his back to the approaching dawn, meditating, focused on the sparse purple clouds in the sky over the arena wall. The arena had been grown by rock shaping spells into a structure similar to a set of large stairs. The stairs were large enough for a person to sit on and were equipped with cushioned seats. Yawning arches broke up the stairway, leading to tunnels to the outside, and the people of Malikostia streamed in and claimed seats. A wall, twice as tall as a man, separated the seats from the arena floor, with two gaps that lead to arched tunnels large enough for a small army to pass through comfortably. The old elf entered through the west arch, wearing only a loincloth and displaying the graying hair that covered his skeletal, wiry body. He walked carefully, in a trance, to the brick circle about twenty paces in front of Haktari. The two opponents faced each other, waiting for the light of the sun to touch the arena floor, their cue to begin.

As the one challenged, Haktari had positioned himself so that his opponent would have to look into the morning sun, so the elf saw the dawn first. He raised his hands and the sand around him rose and swirled, concealing him. Haktari raised one hand and spoke clearly. “Come, blade,” he commanded, and a longsword appeared in his hand. He swung the weapon in a circle over his head, steering the long blade as best he could. He let go and the sword continued to spin over his head. The spinning weapon raced toward the elf, taking with it a shimmer of mirage that revealed the sorcery that moved it. The longsword plunged into the cloud of sand and the sand gathered around it, revealing the unperturbed elf. The weapon flipped away, end over end, landing tip-down on the arena floor and falling over with a hiss of metal striking sand. The cloud of falling sand came to rest around it.

The elf burst into flame and the thick orange fire spewed black smoke. Concentrating on his art, the elf steered the fire off of his body and into a compact ball that darted over Haktari’s head and burst into a shower of white sparks that left smoky trails as they descended. Haktari stood calmly under the noisy assault, and the sparks bounced off of an invisible dome around him, outlined by smoke. He motioned and the last of the sparks rose and grew, becoming white-hot spheres that hissed like meat in a frying pan. The four spheres shot toward the elf. Three of them impacted the arena floor, leaving black stains, and the fourth dissipated with a pop into a cloud of white smoke just before striking him. The elf stepped sideways, choking on the thick smoke, but did not leave the circle. As Haktari concentrated, a black shadow spread before him on the sand, rising and congealing into the shape of a massive black wolf. The beast galloped forward, bearing down on the elf that appeared tiny in front of the giant animal. The beast stopped suddenly, with one of its forepaws stuck in the sand. A giant yellow serpent had clamped its teeth into the wolf’s heavily clawed paw, wriggling as it attempted to coil around the beast from below. The wolf sank its teeth into the serpent’s writhing back and it let go. The wolf shook the serpent, so that it left rippled imprints in the sand. The serpent’s head struck with blinding quickness, its teeth repeatedly puncturing its attacker. Although the beast did not bleed, it was visibly weakened and flopped as it struggled to stay on its feet before falling and laying still. The serpent turned its golden eyes on Haktari, its forked tongue flicking hungrily.

Haktari took a deep breath and blew. The shapes of the serpent and the wolf dissolved into dust and were picked up by the wind. The elf was covered in a blizzard of soft, gray ash. Under Haktari’s intense gaze, the ash rolled inward, piling onto his opponent. A dark ball appeared in the sky high above and heavy clouds rolled out of it, shading the arena. Lightning flashed and thunder echoed through the stone structure. A torrent of rain fell, dissolving the ash and causing the audience to murmur in soggy dismay. The wet ash mixed with the sand of the arena floor, forming coarse gray mess. The elf danced and wind gusted, howling through the arena as it obeyed his movements. A fork of blue-white lightning struck the ground near Haktari and he felt a shock slam into him, knocking him aside and causing the audience to groan. He examined the muck around him with his foot and was relieved to find that he was still in his circle. As he concentrated, the hot pain throughout his body faded away. While he was distracted, the elf made a vomiting noise and a fine brown powder spewed from his mouth. It was spread on the wind and fell, mixing with the mess that the arena floor had become and giving it a brown tinge. Haktari focused his mind and allowed his view of his surroundings to change. With his trained sorcerer’s eye, he could almost see the power that the elf was using to steer the wind around him. He worked with it, not unlike the way a sailor would use the flow of a river, working with it rather than fighting it. A funnel of wind formed overhead and touched down on top of the elf, scooping him up and spinning him before he could defend himself. The elf gave a frustrated shriek and the wind died suddenly, dropping him.

In the stuffy wet stillness that followed, the elf sat up in the spot where the whirlwind had unceremoniously dumped him on his back. Seeing that he was outside the allotted brick circle, he rolled into a kneeling position, bowing to concede defeat. He then rose wearily and departed quietly, leaving through the gap in the arena wall behind him, to join his fellow Elves in the stands. Haktari turned to face his family and advisors in the front row behind him. He raised his hands and tilted his head back and the crowd cheered. The Elves shrieked as they expressed their dismay and one rugged troll made a show of pulling at his own long hair. Haktari gave a hand signal before exiting through the gap in the wall behind him. Servants moved through the audience, distributing black bread, dried meat and burri. Haktari made his way to the arena seats and his construction advisor, a hard-handed builder wearing a plain silk tunic, handed him a portion of the food the servants were providing. Lady Kasla embraced him, making him drop his snack on the seat next to him, and Akrana handed him a towel. She ran her hand along the arm of his muck-spattered robe and came away with brownish filth on her palm, which she sniffed suspiciously.

Haktari spent some time in the stands, trading jokes and stories. Performers moved through the crowd, playing instruments, reciting poems or doing tricks. The people stayed and celebrated, enjoying the refreshments. The Elves accepted the food and drink, sharing a meal with each other and the soldiers around them. The morning sun rose and dried the arena and the floor hardened into stony clay that cracked as it solidified. The seats of the arena emptied slowly as the people went home in their own time. Elves left in small knots, walking back out the south gate and into the wilderness. Eventually, Haktari slipped away and commandeered a unicorn from a cavalry soldier, riding it back to his home before instructing a servant to return the beast to its master. He spent the day resting and studying, recuperating from his morning exercise.

Over the following months, Lord Haktari spent most of his time attending the ceremonies that went with his office, crafting sorcery for his people and debating with his advisors in order to decide important maters. He often relied on Akrana’s advice to assist him. Malikostia’s farmers brought in the harvest and the people prepared for the cool weather. Overall, the city prospered, but was not without its problems. The local merchants were involved in a constant tug of war with the traveling caravan traders over prices. The Brotherhood of Sorcerers was in conflict with a new rival organization, founded by a rock shaper who was talented enough to be in demand for construction. The Brotherhood sought to suppress him, and was not above using royal influence to that end, but the Kingdom’s builders believed him to be indispensable. The entertainment advisor and his subordinates struggled with the condition of the Royal Tournament Arena. Since the duel, the floor had been petrified with uneven, brownish-gray clay that no one had been successful in removing. Many of the events that the large arena had normally offered had to be canceled or held in smaller, privately run arenas. To make matters worse, the arena had sprouted a crop of slimy brown fungus.

Almost three months after the duel, a conflict was brought to Lord Haktari’s attention. An unknown man had collapsed in the streets, in a poor section of the city. Local residents had taken the man to the nearest Temple of the Gods and the medicine-priests had kept him alive, but were unable to awaken him. A seer led each Temple of the Gods in Malikostia and, since seer was the highest rank a priest could ascend to, seers often saw themselves as the final authority. The seer in charge had sent his subordinates into the community, warning of a plague that threatened the entire city and instructing the people to stay in their homes. The local people had come to the conclusion that the medicine-priests were spreading the plague by going door to door and sought to drive them back to their temple. Some even said that there was no plague, only cunning on the part of the priesthood. The matter was dealt with by the Legion. They brought the accused on both sides before royal scribes, agents of the Lord whose duty it was to make a quick, temporary decision and draw a report for Haktari’s review and final decision. As his scribes were well versed in common law, Haktari only read the reports when something important or controversial came up. However, the conflict resulted in enough reports to be delivered that Commander Sumra decided to interrupt the evening that Haktari had set aside to spend with his family.

Haktari sent Sumra to assemble his advisors and spent the evening discussing the threat of plague. It was decided that the inner wall that separated the royal land from the rest of the city should be sealed. Akrana suggested that the outer wall be sealed as well, and that no one should be allowed in, for safety reasons, or out, for fear that the plague would spread beyond Malikostia. Haktari sent messengers to have it done and have a banner made that would warn travelers. He then ordered quiet and meditated, slipping into a sorcerer’s trance. He composed his thoughts and mumbled. “By order of Lord Haktari of Malikostia, be it known that a plague threatens the Kingdom. The gates shall remain closed and all citizens are advised to stay home and avoid contact with others, for fear of spreading sickness.” His voice was heard throughout the Kingdom.

Although the plague never did reach the palace, more people succumbed in spite of taking precautions. The medicine-priests were able to prevent the death of their patients, but were unable to awaken them. Outside the palace wall, the streets and marketplaces were empty, with the exception of the priests who moved to help the growing number of sleeping victims. Starvation threatened the Kingdom as well, as food stores were being exhausted.

One evening, a soldier came to Haktari with the message that there was a man at the gate, who said he had important news. The Legion had not allowed him inside, as per their orders, but had chosen to report his presence, as he was a professor from the University. Haktari went to meet him, wondering what a professor was doing outside the palace wall, as the University was inside. Haktari arrived at one of the archways set in the inner wall, with a gatehouse above it. The stone gate had been lowered to the ground, occupying the position it had typically been in when the royal land was open to all. The arch was blocked by a simple wooden barrier, which Lord Haktari walked up to.

“Greetings”, he called, assuming the professor was on the other side.

“I bring news, Lord,” the voice on the other side responded. “My research has proven a worthwhile pursuit, as I have discovered a cure for the plague. The fungus that grows on the arena floor, when boiled, can be made into a salve that can overcome the mighty sickness that is loose in our city and awaken the fallen. I shall leave a jug of the stuff here and then, in accordance with your wise proclamation, I shall depart.”

Haktari waited a moment and then sent a soldier to retrieve the jug. News of the cure spread through the city and the medicine-priests harvested the fungus from the arena floor. Soon the palace was open once again and the Kingdom sprang back to life. The people spent the days at their occupations, making up for lost time, and their nights celebrating their salvation. As recent events were reported to Haktari, he found out how dangerous the plague had truly been. Nearly half of the population had fallen and as the medicine-priests cared for the sick, many of them also became ill. As their efforts slowed and food became scarce, Malikostia had been threatened with extinction. Haktari ordered lavish state funerals for those who had died, before having the bodies carefully cremated.

Life in Malikostia returned to normal. Haktari commissioned a new Royal Tournament Arena. No one had managed to clear the floor of the old one and he was grateful for that failure. He had the old arena demolished, leaving only the floor itself, and had a monument erected around it. Also, dipping into his treasury, he offered incentives for caravans carrying food and personally greeted the traveling merchants with ceremonial gratitude. Before long, the customary day for the cavalry foray into Elvin territory was about to arrive. Martial theater and lavish tournaments were held in anticipation. When the day came, the people turned out, filling the battlements. Sorcerers constructed pools in the marketplaces, carefully blending mysterious ingredients with water and using their art, so that those who gathered around could witness the event as a reflection on the surface. Elves gathered, stealthily unseen, in the forest outside the western wall.

At the appointed time, the Cavalry lined up in orderly rows, in the open area where a main road met the outer wall’s western gate. The riders wore red silkmail armor and carried polished curved sabers, black composite bows and torches. The unicorns were also covered in silkmail, leaving only their muscular legs and horned heads exposed. The horn of each animal was decorated with drawn symbols according to the rider’s identity. Commander Dumari arrived and inspected the troops. He had quiet words with each squad leader, as his unicorn ambled through the lines. He rode forward, gave a hand signal and the stone barrier that blocked the gate lowered slowly to the ground. Dumari rode forward, followed by the Cavalry, who rode out of the gate, three abreast, and lined up in the meadow that stretched from the wall to the edge of the forest.

Lord Haktari, who stood on the battlements over the west gate with his family and advisors, focused his vision and meditated. As he used his art to change his vision, he could focus on the riders and the Elves, as if they were much closer. As he observed, each rider drew an arrow, wrapped it in cloth and lit it. On Dumari’s signal, they dropped the torches, raised their bows and shot the arrows, acting as one. The burning arrows streaked through the air over the meadow, leaving smoke trails and striking the soft ground.

The wind picked up, blowing both the torches and the arrows out, as the Elves emerged from the forest. They gathered at the edge of the meadow, laughing and shrieking. Haktari could see the old elf that had faced him in the arena. He was in a trance and Haktari could see that the graying elf was using sorcery to watch him, too. The elf gestured and one of the battered, dying fires that clung to an arrow blazed and rose into the air. The fireball streaked toward the battlements and exploded with a thunderclap, throwing sparks just short of the wall, close enough to make the audience duck. As the Elves gestured and danced, shaped shadows flitted over the ground in the meadow and as more of them joined in, fierce illusions filled the air above. Commander Dumari drew his saber and the air filled with the sound of metallic scraping as all of the riders unsheathed their sabers and swung them over their heads and down at their sides, moving as one. Dumari signaled and the line of riders surged forward. The heavy, flat feet of the unicorns thumped the ground as they ran, gaining speed. Short of the Elves, the unicorns’ horns dipped and slashed the air, moving as one as they obeyed the practiced hands of the riders. The riders turned in unison. A few of the Elves ran forward, brandishing spears or swords in a show of bravado before darting back to the edge of the forest. The speeding Cavalry turned again, in formation. The lines of riders weaved inward. The Cavalry delivered a double attack of horn and blade to an imaginary enemy that would have been positioned where they passed each other.

On the battlements, Haktari stirred the air with his finger. A whirlwind formed in front of him. He made a pushing gesture and the funnel dropped off the battlements and grew. As the whirlwind howled, Haktari crossed his arms with the palms of his hands out and his fingers spread. He moved his hands apart and the whirlwind widened, forming three howling funnels. The whirlwinds danced forward, avoiding the Cavalry that speed through the meadow, staging mock attacks. The Cavalry spread out, slashing at the empty shadows that danced over the ground with their sabers. The graying elf walked forward. He stepped carefully, unlike his fellows who occasionally demonstrated their bravery by darting forward to taunt the Cavalry before racing back. Haktari moved the three whirlwinds in front of the old elf, causing him to pause. As the Cavalry completed their rehearsed maneuvers and withdrew, Haktari concentrated on a surprise. The whirlwinds rose into the air, losing their funnel shape and forming a blustery mass over the Elves. Haktari concentrated, focusing his mind’s eye on the pile of metal flakes stored in his treasury room. The metal was of the sort that Malikostian swords and arrowheads were made of. When the Elves collected payment from the caravans for passage through their territory, they always asked for this metal for their forges. Haktari had purchased the flakes and spent the previous evening enchanting them, carefully blending power with the material. As he used the enchantment, the metal flakes disappeared from the treasury room and materialized in the writhing mass of wind. Haktari blinked as he ended his trance and the wind died, showering the Elves with the precious metal. The Elves shrieked in celebration and rushed to gather the flakes as they drifted to the ground. The graying elf grinned at Haktari across the meadow, in a way that made him almost hear the old fellow chuckle.

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