Firstprince Delric sat in his study, a customary mess of scrolls and tomes and notes spread out before him. As fond as he was of the messy-yet-productive workspace that so many mages adopted early in their careers, he couldn’t help but keep things organized, even as his mind buzzed.
He had a few projects here that pulled at his attention. One of his personal endeavors was a mechanically controlled flying contraption. He had drawn a few potential designs, along with several glyphspells that would be required, but he hadn’t yet commissioned the mechanical parts themselves. He wanted to be doubly sure of his designs before he commissioned any of these unique parts, and so for now it remained only a theoretical design.
He glanced up at the clock by the window. He had time—he knew he had time—but he kept checking regardless. A Lindiran design, it was a rectangular device made with carefully arranged mirrors that projected sunlight through a glass clock face.
He had twenty-two minutes left. Plenty of time.
He switched to a different pile of notes with a different set of glyphspells drawn. Here, he was attempting to construct a spell that could repair a crumbling wall near the base of the palace towers. Similar glyphspells had been created before, but the angle was relatively unique to the tower, and it was close to the kitchen gardens that the royal chef desperately requested remain untouched. A specifically crafted glyphspell would be necessary.
In the back of his mind, Delric was fully aware that this task was beneath his attention. The cobblers would likely have it fixed before he had finished designing the spell. There would be no way to test its effectiveness without risking the foundation of the tower. And of course, even if he did develop the perfect spell, he would have to find someone else to cast it.
Since he couldn’t.
But his spell could be added to the libraries, and that was something. A feat of research and ingenuity that might be appreciated in the coming generations.
At least he was contributing something.
He glanced at the clock again. Thirteen minutes left.
Good enough.
Delric stood with a sigh and marched from his chambers.
He strode through the halls of the Lindiran palace, keeping a brisk pace. He had timed this walk before, and so he knew empirically that he would arrive on time.
The halls were busy with the general bustle of the palace, maids and messengers and kitchen staff hurrying to their assignments. They parted quickly from before him, bowing and murmuring pleasantries before scurrying off to their duties. He found the practice strangely aggravating. Having to bow every time one passed a royal seemed like a wildly inefficient use of time. But he nodded to each, struggling to remain polite when today’s task dominated his mind.
He did not technically have to do this, he reminded himself. Only the king could truly give him orders. But Highmage Muraan had asked, and Delric was loathed to deny his old tutor such a simple request.
Just next to a stairwell was an opening to a platform, where a uniformed man stood at attention. Delric was surprised to see the lift not in use at the moment, as it was the easiest way to traverse the twelve stories of the palace, but it seemed that palace staff didn’t typically use it unless necessary.
Delric considered using the stairs. They were certainly more efficient—his destination was only two flights down—but he decided on the lift.
The operator bowed. “Good morning, Lord First.”
“Good morning. Ground floor, please.”
“Yes, Lord First.” The operator touched the glowing brightstone in the center and turned it gently.
The platform slowly descended. Delric watched the other floors pass him, standing with his hands behind his back. He was mildly tempted to start conversation with the operator, if only out of a vague sense of politeness. He preferred the quiet of his thoughts.
As soon as the platform stopped, he strode from the lift and headed for the north wing. More staff paused to greet him, but he barely noticed them now. He was nearly there.
Too soon, he came to a set of double doors and paused. How ridiculous that he would be nervous for this of all things, but he found himself checking his cuffs, straightening his coat, and readjusting his glasses. If he had timed this correctly, no one would see him enter.
He took a deep breath and pushed the doors open.
Fire exploded in front of him.
He blinked as the light quickly faded, but was followed by two more in rapid succession. The faint wave of heat reached him a moment later.
Ah good, he thought. I’m right on time.
The practice grounds were bright with mid-morning sunshine. Surrounded by large gardens and walkways were several marked areas of dirt, partitioned for squires and knights to hone their swordsmanship.
This particular section, a large, slightly raised platform of stone, was reserved for practicing mages. A statue of King Borric Lindir stood on the far side, overlooking the display. As always, Delric’s eyes locked on the three words that were inscribed on the statue’s bronze pedestal: Mind Over Might.
Several students were gathered on this side of the platform, watching the conflict with mild interest. Luckily, their backs were to Delric at the moment. He scanned the line of observers until he spotted Highmage Muraan, seated on the end of a bench, his staff in hand.
Delric turned his focus to the duel.
Two boys, perhaps around thirteen, faced off against each other. They had both discarded their robes, and both wore gauntleted casters. A curious choice; typically the younger casters preferred the showier option of wands and staves.
One boy, the shorter of the two in a blue shirt, ran around the field as the other, wearing green, shot more fire at him. Blue Shirt kept throwing up his hands to cast the Warding spells, a common habit but an unnecessary one; glyphcasting was solely an enterprise of the mind and didn’t require any extra physical motions. It did, however, require energy from the caster.
Delric made a study of the process even now, though this was more out of habit than anything else. Markings of pure, white light began to appear in front of Blue Shirt, as if several invisible pens were drawing shapes in the air. It began with a circle, this one about four feet in diameter, and quickly filled with glyphs: symbols that represented the four elements and the four fundamental forces. More circles and lines connected the proper glyphs, filling in the circle, until the glyphspell was complete.
A sudden shimmer appeared in front of the spell, which diverted most of the fire away from Blue Shirt.
Green Shirt was using a basic combination of Accruement and Repulsion—collect heat from his surroundings into a fireball, and then send it towards his opponent—but the combined spells were taking long enough to cast that Blue Shirt had time to cast a Warding spell or simply get out of the way. It gave the conflict a rather slow rhythm, one that seemed quite exploitable. More skilled mages would cast a single, more complicated glyphspell to achieve the same effect, though these students were too new to the craft for such complexities.
Green Shirt began another fire spell. Blue Shirt raised his hand up to cast a spell above himself, the glyphspell horizontal. This time, a glyphspell of Accruement, but one that didn’t prioritize any element, and so worked on everything.
Delric rolled his eyes as the class cheered. A common favorite among younger mages, as it simulated a gravitational pull. Indeed, Blue Shirt jumped straight up and tucked just in time to land on his feet on the glyphspell. Now he was standing upside down, his head about ten feet from the ground.
Delric was impressed. If the glyph was too small, it wouldn’t have the power necessary to overcome natural gravity. Too big, and Blue Shirt might have broken a bone when he landed. It took training and practice to get a sense for how big to make the spell.
Green Shirt’s fireball shot where Blue Shirt had been, which was now several feet below him. “Now you’re just showing off!” Green Shirt yelled as he began another spell.
Delric felt cool air brush past him. All the heat being accumulated was kicking up a steady breeze around the practice circle. The watching students held their robes against it, but the two duelists didn’t seem to notice.
A sudden glyphspell appeared between the two of them—a Warding spell, not cast by either duelist. Blue Shirt’s Accruement spell flickered as his focus slipped, and he started to fall face-first toward the ground.
A quick spell appeared underneath him to slow his fall—a small Warding spell—which gave him just enough time twist around so he landed on his feet.
Muraan was on his feet, staff in hand. “Our time is up, I’m afraid,” he announced. “We’ll have to declare it a draw.”
Both of the duelists immediately straightened and bowed to each other, and then to Muraan. They froze as they spotted Delric standing behind the crowd of students.
“Well met, mages,” Delric said.
The whole class whirled, startled by the sudden appearance of the heir. Those who were sitting hastily got to their feet, including Muraan.
“Class,” the highmage said, “I am pleased to announce that we have a special visitor today. Firstprince Delric has agreed to provide insight in your combat magic practice.”
“Why?” someone muttered.
Delric’s eyes snapped to a tall, lanky student in the back, with curly hair and a large nose. The girl next to him whacked him with her wand, her eyes wide with horror.
“Please greet the firstprince, class,” Muraan said sternly.
Delric nodded as they all bowed and curtsied in turn. “Apologies for being so late,” he said. “I was held up, but I’m glad to have caught the last match.”
Muraan gave him a knowing smirk but didn’t comment. Yes, Delric was exceptionally late for the beginning of class, but he was right on time for the end.
No one believed that he was here to offer guidance on casting; the suggestion was embarrassingly laughable, though Delric kept his expression stoic. This was more ceremonial than anything, a reminder that, should Lindiran require its mages to appear in battle someday, they might be taking orders from Delric. A potential future, but one that was founded on several unlikely assumptions. Still, it deserved preparation.
If anything, this was a test for Delric himself, a way to prove to his force of mages that he would make a capable commander, despite his…lack of abilities.
He turned to the student in the blue shirt. “That was an impressive showing.”
“Thank you, Lord First.”
“What do you think you did wrong?”
Blue Shirt straightened. “I had a decent defense, but my offense was lacking.”
“In what way?”
“Um, well I didn’t hit him, Lord First.”
The other students giggled, but Delric kept his expression neutral. He turned to Green Shirt. “And you?”
“I wasn’t quick enough to attack,” he said immediately. “I wanted to set him off-balance before he was ready, but I took too long. And frankly, Lord First, I didn’t expect him to run around like that.”
Blue Shirt grinned. “No one ever does.”
Another round of giggles. Delric forced a smile. “It’s unconventional, I’ll give you that. What are some of the drawbacks of such a strategy?”
Hands appeared in the air. Delric called on the first.
“Visualization is more difficult when your frame of reference is in a constant state of change,” a shorter female student replied.
Delric raised an eyebrow. “You’ve read the writings of Highmage Arden Yolen.”
The student ducked her head, looking embarrassed. “Yes, Lord Prince.”
“Show off,” her friend murmured. The girl blushed.
“Another reason, please,” Delric said.
A beat of silence, until a girl in the back muttered, “He looks ridiculous.”
More giggles from the class. Delric said, “Energy expenditure. Casting draws from your own metabolic energy, so running around too much can tire you out more quickly.”
“I’m in good shape,” Blue Shirt said, grinning.
More laughter.
Delric felt their attention slipping from him again. “Regardless, what are some considerations these two did not incorporate into their strategies?”
The class grew still, clearly intimidated.
“Pardon me, Lord Prince.” The tall student raised his hand. It was the one who had muttered why earlier. “But what does that mean?”
Delric paused, catching the use of Lord Prince instead of Lord First. Both were technically acceptable, but the more general honorific ignored his status as the heir.
He kept his voice neutral as he replied, “One of the most common oversights of young mages is the lack of awareness of one’s environment.” Delric turned to Blue Shirt. “You saw that your opponent was using fire as a primary attack. What was that doing to your environment?”
“Um, it was making it hotter?”
A girl with bushy hair raised her hand. Delric nodded for her to respond. “Actually, the amount of heat in any given area is finite, so he was actually just Accruing the fire in a more concentrated area.”
“Correct,” Delric said. “Which means what?”
“It was colder around them,” another student chimed in, then hastily added, “Lord First.”
“And what could you do with that? Any ideas?”
“Create ice?” she added, looking thoughtful. “With all the displaced heat, it would be easier. Plus, there was a wind, so maybe Innervation?”
Delric smiled. “Very good. You could attempt to stun your opponent.”
The tall, curly haired student frowned. “That seems like a lot of extra steps for a simple Innveration effect.”
“But it would take less energy,” Delric said, “and it would be far less expected.”
Tall Student frowned. “Isn’t that letting your opponent dictate the terms of the engagement?”
“Is it? Or is it using what opportunity your opponent has created for you?”
“Pardon me, Lord First,” Blue Shirt said, “but I never would’ve thought of that.”
“What you lack in creativity should be made up for in preparation. See if you can come up with ten or so alternate strategies for such a situation.”
“An excellent assignment,” Muraan said, stepping forward. “You all are expected to do exactly that tonight, as well as finish the last two essays in Koritem’s Glyphcasting Basics, Volume 1. Write a report on each to turn in next week. Class dismissed.”
The class quickly dispersed, barely hiding their frustration that their prince had just earned them extra homework. Delric stood with his hands behind his back, nodding at the ones who risked a glance at him and quickly bowed their heads.
The tall student lingered for a moment, staring at him with what Delric thought was a challenge. Delric met his gaze, unflinching, until the younger man turned and hurried after his peers.
As soon as the north wing doors to the palace closed behind the last student, Delric let out a sigh.
“That was well said, Lord First,” Muraan said. “Your instruction is always excellent.”
Delric nodded numbly. Theory had never been the issue for him. “Your students aren’t doing their reading,” he muttered. “I was merely quoting the writings of Secondmage Azari Tenn.”
Muraan chuckled. “You would curse them with yet more assignments, would you?”
“I think curse is a strong word for it.” Delric wandered over to a small rack of practice staves. Students were usually gifted their own casters when they began their training. Even Delric, when he had first started. But he had quickly discarded it after…things had changed.
Delric heard Muraan’s arrhythmic steps approach him from behind. “You let them rattle you, Lord First.”
“A man cannot choose what wounds him, only whether the pain overtakes him.”
“Hmm,” Muraan said appreciatively. “You’ve not neglected the philosophers either, I see.”
Delric took one of the practice staves from the rack and held it. It was weighted perfectly, his grip balancing at the two-thirds mark. The top was simple enough, with the brightstone caster wedged securely in its casing. A single glyphspell of Resonance was barely visible inside the matrix: eight glyphs, one for each of the four elements and four forces. And in the very center, a small spot of darkness, barely the size of a fingernail.
Glyphcasting. He had read every book in the palace on the topic. He had studied every glyphspell he could get his hands on, and even developed a few that were used today. He had spent hours watching the greatest mages in the kingdom duel and practice. He knew everything one could possibly know about magic.
There was no special bloodline requirement for glyphcasting. Only a keen mind, a strong sense of focus, and the knowledge. He had all of those in spades, and yet…
He held his hand out, clutching the rod tightly as he had seen so many do before, and imagined a glyphspell of Warding. A simple means of protection, one of the first spells every young mage was required to master.
Nothing appeared. Not so much as a flicker of light.
Delric lowered his hand. “What is wrong with me?”
“Ah, Lord Prince,” Muraan said gently. “I disagree with the premise of the question.”
“On what grounds?”
“Perhaps there is nothing wrong with you at all. Perhaps, in this time of peace, you are exactly what Lindiran needs.”
Delric looked up again at the statue of King Borric. There were many such statues throughout Borric City—throughout Lindiran, really—but the palace was positively rife with them.
He had many monikers: the Red Sun, the father of Glyphmagic, the Dragon King. And he had many personas: Borric, the warrior; Borric, the scholar; Borric, the king.
This statue showed him in his most famous form: the mage. The most powerful practitioner in Lindiran’s history, and the first to wield glyphmagic. He wore a long, intricately embroidered robe that waved in a non-existent wind as he held up a staff. A caster, no doubt, likely the very first of its kind.
This was what every mage aspired to be. What every king of Lindiran hoped to achieve.
This was not Delric.
In the grand scheme of things, Delric’s inability to cast wasn’t technically devastating. Sure, he could afford to be inept at magic. He would spend his life protected and revered simply because of whom he was born to.
But a king needed to be a symbol, the prime example of what others should seek to become. If a king lacked power, what did that say of his kingdom?
What use could he be to anyone else?
Quick footsteps approached them from behind. Delric turned to see a young woman in a runner’s uniform rushing towards them, her brow sweaty. She must have spent quite a bit of time looking for him.
“Pardon me, Lord First,” she said with a quick curtsy, “but the king wishes to see you in his study.”
Jennifer San Filippo 