Dreams Take Flight

Selorac watched the countryside roll past through the coach window. His mother, Queen Akeeba sat opposite him, gazing out the other window. Their brief holiday at the beach had been cut short by word Zander the Mage had returned from several years abroad on assignment with the Mage’s Council. The messenger had been quite explicit about the need to return with haste and secrecy. The message warned of a plot on the lives of the entire royal family. Selorac sighed.

Wizards were always seeing Thralls around every corner.

The noise of the galloping horses drowned out the sounds of chirping birds. Five hours after the message arrived they were approaching the boundary of the kingdom. There were no walls or guards or even a sign to declare this the edge of their domain. Just a transition from prairie to forest. Yet there was comfort in being back in a land where every man woman and child obeyed his voice.

There was no reason to linger here, yet the coach slowed. They quickly came to a halt and Selorac jumped out. The cause of the delay became obvious as soon as he’d set his foot to the ground. The meadow ahead had been set ablaze. A lone man stood on the road, sword drawn.

Although he did not recognize the stranger, he knew the fighting stance. As sweat began dripping down the Prince’s face, he realized the stranger showed no effects from the heat. He just glared into Selorac’s eyes.

The royal guard came running forward, taking positions in front of the prince. “Get back in the coach, Your Highness,” Grenya called out. “We can handle this.”

“Maybe he just wants to talk. Let me try.”

Grenya squinted in a face Selorac knew to mean he didn’t agree, but didn’t want to argue.

Selorac stepped carefully through the line of guards. Resting one hand on his sword, he addressed the challenger. “I am Prince Selorac. You are impeding the…”

The stranger ignored the Prince’s attempts at diplomacy. His attack was swift and deadly.

Selorac’s sword barely cleared the scabbard in time to parry the blow. He could feel the enormous strength behind the attacker’s blade.

Another stroke knocked the Prince’s blade aside. Selorac was able to put his weapon between himself and the attacker before the next strike hammered into him, knocking him off his feet. The royal guard swarmed in, engaging the threat while others pulled the Prince out of immediate harm.

The first guard went down, but to their credit, none of the others flinched or backed away.

Selorac heard the well-known cues of finger snapping and shouts coming from the captain of the guard, guiding their timing in a well practiced, synchronized attack. Four guards thrust with their blades simultaneously, only to have the enemy parry them all with a speed beyond mortal ability.

Four others swung their weapons at different heights and from different directions, which should have left no place for the stranger to retreat. The enemy’s sword moved so quickly, his blade cut through the arm of one guard, the neck of another, stopping halfway through the chest of the third while he sidestepped the fourth.

Selorac leapt to his feet as two of his best friends fell. He shouted to the driver, “Get everyone out of here! Abandon the coaches! Save the Queen!” He then ran forward to join the battle. But the Captain held him back.

“No, Sire, you must let us protect you!”

The coachman took out his blade and hacked the harness from the horses of the lead carriage.

“You need my help! This is no mortal we face! He’s too fast, and too well trained for your men. With my help we can give my family time to escape.”