First Apprentice

Prologue Part 1

Mitchel paced around the playroom, placing rope on the floor to cordon it off into a map of the worlds. Latches clicked behind him. He turned as a curly-haired girl still dressed in the loose tunic and pants she called a training uniform – play clothes – squatted over an oak case. She reached between her legs and tugged, raised the lid a bit, slid her booted foot under it to hold it in place while she caught her breath, and repeated. Several minutes passed before she got the lid locked open.

He didn't offer to help. At five, Alannah was more independent than he was at fifty. Always wanting to do everything on her own from dealing with her widowed step-mother to knotting her shoes because she couldn't tie the laces tight enough. He hated himself for encouraging that independent streak, but he wouldn't change it. Stubborn independence kept people alive.

Alannah would live even if it killed him and Manfred both ensuring it.

Manfred padded into the room on bare feet, arms laden with books and a stack of index cards pinched between his teeth like a paper mustache that made his crooked nose look more lopsided, if that was possible. Mitchel dropped the last length of rope on the floor, crossed the room, and reached for the books.

Manfred twisted his arms away at the last second and presented his teeth. Scowling, Mitchel snatched the cards from his mouth. "I'm not an invalid," Mitchel said.

"Do you want to see Alannah grow up?" Manfred hissed low enough that Alannah, who was pawing through the box, wouldn't hear.

"You know I do."

"Then obey the healer. Xian said – "

"I know what he said. I was there, remember? It's just a little arthritis."

"–That will cripple you," Manfred said evenly. "Xian's the best, and all he can do is delay the inevitable. If we're lucky, Alannah will be grown then. If we're not," he trailed off.

"She'll lose my protection when she can least afford to," Mitchel whispered. "I know. That's why I'm playing war games with a five-year-old."

"We discussed this. The earlier she learns, the safer she'll be."

"I know. Set the books up on the rope borders, one per clan. Dracon," he pointed to the south-facing window, "Shedu", a rack of child-sized wooden swords, "Pundarikam", the bed, "and Huxian," the doorway. "Border Guard in the middle."

"Minor worlds for each or just the main ones?" Manfred asked.

"Main for now."

"The packs?"

"The packs don't involve themselves in clan politics or clan wars. Stick with the major players. We'll cover the rest once she understands the basics. Come, Alannah."

Dark curls bounced as Alannah skipped over the rope drawn boundaries with a fist full of tin soldiers. "Look, Grandpa! They're just like me."

With a forced smile on his lips, Mitchel bent and studied her treasures. He suppressed a wince. Of all the tin soldiers he and Manfred spent weeks painting in shades of blue, purple, brown, and pink with appropriate clan aura markers: flames for the Dracon, paint spattered jewels for the Marstow, jagged lightening lines for the Pundarikam, swirled eddies for the Shedu, and sharp Ms like mountain crags for the Huxian, Alannah would pick those three. Endellion-dae the Bloody, Saar-dae the Dracon Emperor, and former Border Guard Chief Joel-dae – three of the most powerful beings to ever walk the worlds.

"Look, they even have black!" she tapped the black stripe running down the Endellion figurine's side.

"Not quite," he said, gently extracting the tin figurine from her grip. "See the blue. Midnight blue, but still blue. Remember the darker the color, the greater the magic."

"But I'm black."

"Indeed." Black as a moonless night, might makes right – or so the old tale went. For five thousand years, the clans tried every breeding couple they could throw together in their quest to create a being of Alannah's power. All failed, but the close ones – the legendary ferepris – were known for their prodigious magics, their body counts, and their quirks.

He loved Joel-dae like a brother, fought beside him for centuries, and cleaned up the mess when Joel insulted clan chiefs and councilmen until they issued a challenge. Then they died. Joel called it culling the stupids. Mitchel called it a diplomatic nightmare. He eyed Alannah.

Stronger magics than a ferepris meant more instinctive than a ferepris and no one with the magical might to tell her no. If she didn't learn how to temper her instincts, she'd start a third clan war.

A gentle touch on his elbow pulled him back to the present. Manfred shook his head as if he knew the dark thoughts invading Mitchel's mind. He did.

Dozens of times, they stayed up all hours discussing their fear that they were raising another Endellion-dae the Bloody, how the ferepris started the last two clan wars, how one-hundred-eighty-seven clans entered the first clan war and eight survived it, how the clans were now down to five with the Border Guard acting as a defacto sixth, how a third war could destroy magic itself.

"We must trust her," Manfred whispered.

He glided past Mitchel to the rocking chair wedged in the corner. He perched on the edge and waited.

Mitchel swallowed hard. He held out his hand, palm up. The figurine's mottled blue and black was the closest Manfred could get to Endellion's actual aura. Talons grew out of Mitchell's fingertips as he shifted into his half-state, letting the feathers of his Gryphon form flow over his body like water. Alannah's magic exploded, roiling around him like a firestorm before pulling back into her body. Pearlescent claws tipped each finger. He sucked in a breath as she grinned up at him, thrilled with her achievement.

He fought back a shudder. No scales yet, but this was closer to a full humanoid half-state than any five-year-old had a right to be.

Were they doing the right thing by keeping her hidden from the clans and the Border Guard? Would she be better off with Joel, Terry, or even the new shedu chief Isadora, who was raising a ferepris herself? At least, they might understand her. And expose her. Even if they tried, they couldn't hide her until maturity. Their lives were too public, and no clan would tolerate an Ancient dae raised outside their control. Asking them for help would be Alannah's death sentence.

"A good start," he said, "but you're not finished. Can you tell me what's missing?"

"Scales." She screwed up her face like she was listening to a far off voice. "Fangs."

Across the room, Manfred raised an eyebrow and placed a finger to his lips. Another topic they needed to discuss away from little ears. Although they'd told Alannah about the scales and claws aspect of her Dracon half-state, they hadn't mentioned fangs. No point. At nine, Endellion was the earliest shift on record. Who told her?

How long before her magic levels exceeded his? A year, maybe less. Another three and a half before she reached the ferepris range, according to her healer.

Insanity.