In honor of the three year anniversary of "Tyrants, Tormentors and the Tiara" being published, I thought I would post one of the first short stories I ever wrote. It was originally written at the idea of an editor, who said the background history of the novel's characters was interesting enough that I should write prequels for them (a view later echoed in one of the reviews). While I have never gotten to whole prequels, I have written a few stories and this is one of the first. It has been through more revisions and edits than I can count since it was first written and I'd be delighted for any additional feedback to make it better. I hope everyone enjoys it!
The Headmaster’s Lesson
The
Rhorian Academy of Magic needed a new Headmaster.
Lillian
reflected upon this fact as she drifted through the open iron gates leading to
her home. The house was a vibrant
mansion in the wealthy northern section of the continent’s largest city. The
expansive brick building was both incredibly opulent and outstandingly gaudy, decorated
with hand carved oak doors and stained glass windows situated within gold
encrusted frames.
Yet its
beauty paled in comparison to Lillian. Long pale blonde hair reached down her back
blending with the white silk dress covering her slender body. A light lace
cloak with a lowered hood clung to her shoulders, glittering in the silvery
moonlight washing over the sleeping city. Her flawless pale skin was soft as
the lace and she possessed enchanting green eyes which seemed to glow like a
cat’s. Attractive and wealthy, Lillian was the desire of many young men seeking
the affections of the delicate looking nineteen-year-old.
The fragile
appearance was a mirage, however. Lillian wasn’t just another enchanting beauty.
She was a gifted magical prodigy. She graduated at the top of her class at the
academy, winning almost every award for scholastic achievement bestowed by the
school. Many people credited her success
to favoritism resulting from the high political status and wealth of her
family. She didn’t care. She was content to let her enemies doubt her skills.
Lillian
passed through the entryway to her home, cradling a small package in her hands.
She was greeted by a stout middle aged man with graying red hair. He wore a fancy tailor-made suit, so clean and
neat one might think the outfit was brand new. He was the butler. Like everyone
living under her father’s roof, he understood the importance of maintaining a
perfect image at all times.
“Welcome
home, Lady Lillian,” he said, removing her cloak.
“Good
Afternoon, Arthur,” Lillian responded.
“You’re
home late tonight.”
The
hour was well past midnight. Such late outings were normal for her. She was a
new teacher at the magical academy and spent many evenings performing
experiments or training apprentices. Further, she was a noblewoman and spent most
other nights socializing with fellow aristocrats at the palace.
“Urgent
matters required my attention,” she said. “Is my father home?”
“Yes,
my Lady. He is upstairs in his study. Would you like me to send a messenger for
you?”
“No. I shall
go speak with him. We have important business to discuss.”
“Very
well. Shall I take your package for you?”
“No,
thank you,” Lillian said, pulling the box close to her body. “It’s a special
present for my father. I’d like to deliver it myself.”
“Very
well, my Lady.”
Arthur
bowed but Lillian was already past him. She hurried across the spotless tile floor
and up the elegant marble staircase. Reaching the landing, she turned left down a
short wooden hallway ending at a polished wooden door. The stone staircase
inside ascended to the top of the circular tower housing her father’s study.
Lillian
had expected her father to be there. He was a powerful wizard and influential
figure within the kingdom. He spent most nights working in his study, answering
various requests and correspondence from important regents both local and
abroad. His efforts were well rewarded in the form of favors and allies.
She
sighed. Politics were at the heart of all life inside the Academy of Magic and corruption
ran rampant throughout the school. Every teacher and sorcerer found themselves
somehow involved in the scheming, sometimes out of simple necessity to survive.
No one was more corrupt than Headmaster Sorin.
Like a puppet master pulling the
strings of his marionettes, the ambitious sorcerer was the ultimate schemer, beguiling
the kingdom’s nobility, exploiting the school’s students, and twisting everyone
around him to suit his ends. Now his time was up. The Academy was about to get
a new headmaster.
Lillian worked hard to bring this
day to pass. She was a clever and intelligent diplomat. She understood the
intricacies of the political world and knew how to play the bureaucratic games.
She was the true master: better than any king, better than any noble and better
than even Sorin.
She shook her head. She wasn’t
always so manipulative. Once upon a time, she rejected the notion of corruption,
believing the country’s leaders to be guided by their sense of right and wrong.
She was naïve, ignorant of the evil filling the world around her. She even
possessed the audacity to confront Sorin when she discovered his true nature. The encounter still haunted her.
She was only a child, barely older
than ten. At the time, Lillian possessed a close relationship with the
headmaster, who also taught at the academy. She learned Sorin was abusing one
of his students. An orphan with no wealth or influence, the boy was beaten,
ridiculed and forced to flee the school. Lillian was appalled.
She arranged a private meeting
where she lashed out against Sorin, calling him a fickle and unfeeling tyrant,
among other less savory accusations. She suspected her childish rant was
pathetic to observe. The headmaster wasn’t amused. Rising from his desk, he
towered over her, rigid with anger. Despite the close bond they’d shared, Lillian
believed he was going to kill her.
Then, his body relaxed and a compassionate
smile crossed his lips. He held out his hand to her. His voice was gentle and
soft when he spoke.
“Come with me,” he said.
“Where are we going?” she asked, fidgeting
uncomfortably.
“I want to take you somewhere,” he
replied. “Don’t worry, I’m not punishing you and I’m not going to hurt you. I
want to show you something. Perhaps when I’m done you’ll be wiser.”
His easy demeanor dismissed her
misgivings. Lillian rose from her seat and accepted his hand. With a simple
spell he rendered them invisible. He led her from his office and beyond the
school grounds into the city.
They walked for several miles.
Lillian gazed around, uncertain where they were going. To her horror, she discovered
they were approaching the far southern section of city. She was forbidden to
enter this area and felt apprehensive about continuing. Her discomfort grew as they
left behind the familiar streets and entered a foreign landscape.
Buildings were crowded close
together. Laundry water ran down the streets mingling with the rotting garbage
lining the avenues. Swarms of flies
buzzed everywhere and cockroaches carpeted the alleys. Mosquitoes thrived in
pools of stagnant water, forming curtains of disease and pestilence. Mange-covered
animals fought with hungry beggars as they pilfered piles of standing garbage
seeking sustenance amid the trash.
Lillian gave a squeal as rats raced
past her feet. Disease covered faces of homeless vagabonds turned toward the
open street seeking the source of the cry. She gripped Sorin’s hand and squeezed
herself against him.
Sorin gave a reassuring smile. With
a wave of his hand, he whispered “Proch”.
The mosquitoes dispersed and transient animals of the street veered off
their intended paths to avoid them.
They continued down the grimy avenues
fighting to withstand the horrid stench. Lillian’s eyes fastened on the boys
and girls lining the streets. She gazed at their distorted, prematurely aged
faces and disfigured bodies. Though many were her age, they were different from
her classmates. They lacked hope. They lacked joy. They lacked the dream of a
better future she saw in the faces of her fellow students. She shivered.
“What are we doing here?” she asked.
“Tell me,” Sorin said. “Do you want
to live here?”
“No,” Lillian answered, shaking her
head as she looked at the poverty stricken ghetto.
“Me either,” he said. “These people
have no money, no power, and will be trapped in this dark existence until the
day they die.”
He steered her around and they hurried
from the blighted area. Lillian hoped the trip was over but they didn’t retrace
their steps toward the academy. Instead he led her toward the busy northwestern
marketplace. As they moved through the cleaner urban streets, he often stopped
beside large dusty windows instructing her to gaze inside.
In one building, Lillian saw line
after line of women sitting in chairs, sewing clothes, quilts and other various
items. Like mindless automatons, thy raised and lowered their arms in endless
repetition. With one stitch, then another stitch, followed by another, they
plugged away at their task. The overwhelming monotony of the endless cycle was
broken occasionally when one woman would strike up a brief conversation with
her co-workers. The conversation was quickly stymied, however, when a manager
would appear and squelch the noise.
In other windows, she watched copyists,
bookkeepers and lawyers work diligently to record notes, maintain ledgers and
otherwise perform the menial tasks necessary for the operation of their small
businesses. Though dressed in nicer attire than the spinsters, they
nevertheless carried on their hum-drum tasks in the same mind-numbing and
endless continuity. Like the spinsters, they found themselves trapped in an
eternal cycle of awaiting the day’s end only to come back and do it again the
next.
As they approached the central
market, the crowd grew thicker. Sorin levitated Lillian and himself off the
ground to avoid getting jostled. After
the sickening stagnation of the slums and imprisoning solitude of quiet offices,
the den of activity was a welcome break. A cacophony of voices rose from the
myriad of merchants, shoppers, children and animals littering the central
square. After a few minutes though, the chaotic scene started bothering her.
There were too many voices.
Everyone was jostling everyone else in an attempt to get helped or served
before their fellow shoppers. She could see a shopkeeper, perspiring in the
noon day heat as he rushed back and forth between customers vying for his
attention. Haggling with buyers, shouting at shoplifters, answering questions,
and defending the quality of his product, the trader endured endless minutes of
turmoil just to squeeze a miniscule profit from his wares. He was the lucky
one.
At other booths, merchants stood
pleading for attention. They assaulted pedestrians with a litany of shouts and
cries imploring their business. Disinterested shoppers struggled to get away as
these merchants transformed into beggars seeking sales sufficient to feed their
families for another night.
“Every day is the same,” Sorin
said. “Every single day, these people perform endless hours of non-stop labor.
Day in and day out, they break their backs in an eternal quest just to make
enough money to survive. Today, tomorrow, the next day, until the end of their
lives, these people will slave away. All with the thin hope that maybe someday
far in the future, when their bodies are too broken to be of any use to
society, they’ll while away their final years in front of their fireplaces. They have money but no power to better their
lives. Is that how you want to live?”
“No,” Lillian answered.
“Me either,” Sorin said.
He guided Lillian beyond the busy
thoroughfare and dismissed the levitation spell. Their new road was a residential
street Lillian knew well. They were moving northeast, back toward the academy. Lillian
believed the trip was over. She was mistaken.
Sorin led her past the academy
without stopping. At last they reached a series of mighty bulwarks. It was the
outer wall of the Royal Palace, home for regents of the continent’s largest
fortified city. They passed through the portcullis and into the courtyard.
Stepping onto the palace grounds
was like stepping into a new world. Everything was beautiful, peaceful and
tranquil. Gardens grew on both sides of the stone path they walked on,
encircled with gates of finest gold. The smell of honeysuckle rose from the
garden walls tickling Lillian’s nose with its enticing aroma. Royal children
played hide-and-seek among the citrus trees, surrounded by butterfly bushes and
jasmine growing throughout the lush paradise.
They left the gardens and passed
through the open front doors into the entry hall. A large domed ceiling lined
with crystalline chandeliers cast colorful rainbows around the lavish chamber. This was Lillian’s first time inside the
palace. She gawked at the beauty and magnificence around her.
Sorin led her past luxurious pools
of magically heated water where aristocrats soaked in pleasant leisure while
servants accommodated their every whim. She strolled through vast libraries
where timeless tomes of knowledge unavailable to the masses lay at the beck and
call of any noble reclining in the plush armchairs. She watched as massive banquets of rare and
savory delicacies lay before princes and diplomats alike to appease their
hungry palates.
Lillian gaped at the gaudy
lifestyle of the rich and powerful. Decadence and extravagance were a part of life
in the king’s court. The poverty and humdrum existence of the working classes,
she observed earlier, seemed like torture compared to the free and easy
lifestyle of the rich and powerful. Sorin seemed to sense her thoughts. He looked
down at her with a self-satisfied smirk.
“These people have wealth and
power,” he said. “They can live in whatever manner they want, above the law,
above poverty, enjoying the finest things in life while others bow to their
every desire. Nothing they want is outside their reach.”
Lillian nodded. Sorin knelt down
until he was at her eye level. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders,
twisting her to look at him.
“I’ve shown you three different
lifestyles today,” he said. “I’ve shown you those with no money or power. I’ve
shown you those with money but no power, and I’ve shown you those with money
and power. Which would you rather be?”
The answer was obvious but Lillian didn’t
answer. She stared at him with stubborn defiance.
“What does this have to do with
what I told you earlier?” she asked. “How does this justify you treating others
with cruel contempt?”
“Because others don’t matter,” Sorin
explained. “If you want to live this kind of life, you need to know what’s
necessary to reach the top and do what’s necessary to stay there. There are
three types of people in the world: those who can help you attain power, those who
can’t help you attain power, and those who stand in your way! The first must be
manipulated to your ends. The second are garbage to be discarded. The third
must be destroyed!”
“Look around,” he continued. “Don’t
you think the people in the slums and the market would do anything to be here
right now? Isn’t power worth any price?”
Lillian thought about her answer to
the question. Eight years had passed since the fateful confrontation. She was
no longer a child but a graduate of the academy and a fiercely courted
debutante. Still, she doubted any class or piece of instruction from all her
years at the school made as much of an impact upon her as the headmaster’s
lesson.
She’d learned the country’s leaders
weren’t in their positions because of skill but cunning. She recognized being
headmaster of the Rhorian Academy wasn’t based upon tenure, age, or even
talent. It was based upon connections. Anyone could be headmaster, noble or
even king if they knew how to pull the right strings at the right time.
Sorin knew this too. His corruption
grew with his political might until the whole school was permeated by his
schemes. Like a spider in his web, the shyster carefully positioned his tangled
threads until he stood in line for the throne. Meanwhile, beneath his gaze,
Lillian was constructing her own plan.
She reached the top of the stairs
and entered her father’s study. The chamber was furnished with plush arm chairs
and side tables covered with papers. The walls were lined with ancient tomes
detailing subjects too numerous to name. A large fire roared in the hearth,
illuminating the room. Asleep in an armchair beside the fireplace, her father dozed
with his head tilted back. His hand, still clutching a number of letters, rested
on the side table.
Lillian expected this. The hour was
late and he was getting old. He often dozed off in his study following long
days. She crossed the room to stand in front of him. She placed the box on the
side table and gently untied the long ribbon enclosing it. Inside rested a
beautiful golden medallion decorated with a variety of priceless stones. A platinum
chain formed the top of the necklace, which rested on a soft raised stand.
Lillian ignored it.
She lifted the false bottom to the
box and placed the medallion on the table beside the armchair. Beneath it lay a
long dagger made entirely of smooth clear glass. She picked it up and looked at
her father. Without a word, she raised the blade and plunged it through his
throat. His eyes flew open in alarm. His hands darted to his punctured neck as
Lillian yanked the dagger back out and hurled it into the fireplace. The glass
shattered into a thousand pieces as it struck the hot brick behind and the
shards vanished among the burning embers.
Lillian looked back at her father. He
was writhing, gripping his neck, choking as he attempted to breathe through the
blood filling his pierced throat. Gargling sounds issued from his mouth as he
tried in vain to utter a spell.
“Sorry, father,” she said. “But, as
you say: There are three types of people in the world, those who can get you
power, those who can’t get you power, and those who stand in your way. The
latter must be destroyed. Lesson learned.”
The light faded from Sorin’s eyes
as life left his body. His head fell backwards and his eyes gazed unseeing at
the ceiling. Lillian returned the necklace to the box, retying the string. In a
few minutes, she would go down and alert the guards that she had discovered her
father’s murdered body. Next, she’d signal her agents. In the morning, she
would be nominated as the new headmaster and following a fixed vote, would
assume the post. All this was prearranged.
Lillian looked back at her father. She
took no joy in his death. She was neither happy nor sad. She’d learned power
was everything and you must do whatever is necessary to get it.
Thus the Rhorian Academy of Magic
got a new headmaster.
