Swordmaster

Era of Mischief

There was one rule when it came to mischief: don't get caught. But it was a rule Leandyr chose to disregard. No, when he'd sewn the seeds of discord, he'd made sure everyone would know it was him.

He was behaving like a child he knew – pitching a fit because he couldn't get his way. The sheet of parchment clutched in his hands shivered in the breeze, and although he couldn't read it, he knew what it said. He'd looked over it so many times that the King's practiced scrawl was engraved on his brain.

Leandyr, I have reviewed your request, and I'm afraid I cannot release you from my service at this time.

Barish

"You dastard," Leandyr scoffed as though he could speak to the King through his written words. The King would free him, even if he had to force the man's hand.

Leandyr exhaled a sigh and squinted. His home kingdom was beautiful at night, and he may have been able to appreciate said beauty had he not doused every single torch and plunged the city into the blackest midnight it had seen.

There was something tangible about absolute darkness. It was like a living breathing miasma. Even though it robbed him of his sight, he knew it meant him no harm. Because it didn't only take, it gave as well.

With all of his other senses heightened, he was able to hear the guards long before their torches came into view.

Took you long enough. Leandyr had been squatting on the edge of the fish market for well over an hour. An irritating burn had settled had settled in his legs, and the stench of rotting seafood was likely infused into his skin.

The King's crown – two sizes too small – sat lopsided on his head and a golden scepter worth a small fortune was tucked under his arm. But the shiny metal and sparkling jewels went well with heavy cloak of blood red on his shoulders.

Why, I'm feeling absolutely regal.

Rhythmic footfalls disturbed the quiet streets as the guards neared. He braced a hand on the edge of the roof, preparing himself for a leap to the adjacent building. His pursuers stopped one building over and formed a tight circle as their heads swiveled every which way. The halo of light from their torches illuminated their red and gold regalia as well as the assortment of capes that adorned their shoulders.

A quiver of excitement tickled its way up Leandyr's spine as the guards moved closer. He couldn't help the grin that broke out on his face. His body was ready for a chase. They were right below him; if they'd only look up...

No such luck. They ran by without so much as a cursory glance in his direction.

His grin melted into a snarl as folded his hands across his chest. The crown fell forward on his head, and it took all his self-control not to fling it into the sea. It didn't help that the fur-lined cloak on his shoulders was itching his neck. He hadn't thought this one through.

But... it was nice to be king. Leandyr rose to his feet and strolled along the edge of the roof, twirling the ornate scepter. The guards moved into the residential area of the city, their torches like little embers weaving in and out of the buildings. There was more looming in the market area, and eventually, another group ran by him.

Good gods, if Leandyr wasn't immortal, he would've died of old age at this rate. The gods didn't craft him a patient man, but they did craft him a stubborn one.

He braced a hand against the edge of the roof and sprang to the next building. He hit the ground running, his long strides taking him across the flat expanse in seconds. Another leap. Another building. Another sprint. Traversing the city in the dark didn't bother him. He knew it better than his own hands, having lived there for nearly two millennia.

Stationary torchlight from the city's heart beckoned Leandyr onward, and he followed it to the central gardens. He landed soundlessly on the flat roof of a pavilion and crept forward to view the park from his perch. Rows and patches of flowers surrounded the gurgling tiered fountain that was the crowned jewel of the park. Benches that were perpetually occupied during the day sat bare, and the air was devoid of the laughter of playing children, and the chatter of adults.

Guards knelt on the cobblestone, surrounded by standing torches, poring over a map of the city. While their captain paced restlessly as though she were awaiting life-threatening news.

Leandyr rolled his eyes. All this for a hat, an itchy old cloak and a stick? He stretched out on his stomach with a hand under his chin to watch them. No need to announce his presence just yet.

A lone guard came running from the east, stopping only for a moment to catch his breath before saluting his Captain. "Ma'am, he's not in or near the castle. We combed the building and the grounds three times."

The Captain's face contorted into a snarl of rage, her dark eyes reflecting the torchlight. "I swear, I'm going to kill him."

"Now, now, Videlia," Leandyr piped up. "Killing the king is high treason."

She whirled and gazed up at him with a fury that would rend a lesser man in two. "Leandyr." Her hand lingered near the weapon at her side, and her cape billowed in the light breeze. "I'm only going to tell you this once. Return the kings belongings and I may consider not killing you."

"Oh my..." Leandyr tossed the scepter lazily between his hands. "How could I refuse such a generous offer?"

"Enough of your games!" She unlatched the whip from her side, letting it unravel and bundle at her feet. The snake like weapon had found its home many times around Leandyr's throat. And not in a good way.

Leandyr tutted. "Is that any way to speak to your king?"

"King?" Videlia spat. "You couldn't rule over a bucket of your own piss!"

That got a laugh out of him. "Sharp-tongued as always, my darling." He pushed himself to his feet. "I always enjoy our little talks, but I must be off. An idle king is his people's demise."

"Leandyr wait..."

Her words faded into the distance as he charged across the rooftops. A stampede of footfalls sounded in his wake along with a chorus of laments. By this time, they would've started hurling spells his way, but doing so ran the risk of damaging his Highness' precious adornments.

And so, they would play a traditional game of cat and mouse, just as he wanted it. He made the mischief, and he made the rules. Though, a weapon would've been nice – his sword. Or perhaps the Queen's sword.

Leandyr ducked away from the city to the woods at its north – where fireflies danced and night-blooming jasmine sweetened the salty air. His legs burned as he made the uphill climb through the loosely spersed trees. A salty gale blew in from the sea and threatened to rip the cloak from his neck.

He fought against the wind all the way to the peak of the hill, where it transformed into a cliff. The roaring seas of the Serpent's Strait hammered against its face, sending vibrations up the soles of Leandyr's boots.

At the very edge he stood, staring at the black waters below. So much power, sheering away at the cliff bit by bit, year by year. The process was agonizingly slow, and the earth was surely laughing at the water.

But the water was immortal. The water had time.

He silently wondered if the punch of the waves would be enough to kill him. If they would crush him against the cliff like a runtling insect beneath a mighty boot. It was and exhilarating thought, being at the mercy of something so much stronger and grander than he was. A thought made him ease closer to the edge, enough that the salty spray tickled his face, beckoning him to jump.

Leandyr was pulled from his idle pondering by a light whistle on the breeze. He sidestepped and Videlia's whip cracked the space his head had occupied. The loud snap sent a low hum through his body and made his ears ring.

He turned to meet his attacker's wrath. "That was reckless."

Like a viper, the whip emerged from the darkness once more. He intercepted it with the scepter, the leather wrapping around the thick gold shaft. He dug his heels into the ground as Videlia pulled hard.

"I'll show you reckless," she growled. A cadence of ancient words spilled from her lips, and Leandyr's hairs stood on edge as sparks of electricity crackled around him.

He did nothing to avoid the spell. The lightning coalesced around him, creating an insufferable ache in his bones and heating his blood. Pinpricks of pain radiated across his skin as though a thousand insects were chewing on it. He grit his teeth and bore the brunt of the onslaught.

Videlia yanked hard on the whip, but this time, Leandyr didn't resist. He relaxed his muscles and his body jerked forward. In less than a second, he was face-to-face with a wide-eyed Videlia – close enough for a kiss. She'd surely skin him if he tried.

So instead, he undid the clasp at her throat and snatched the deep purple fabric of her cape before she could. Panic clouded her features as he danced around her frantic attempts to take her cape back.

Leandyr smiled and backpedaled towards the cliff's edge, stopping when only the balls of his feet kept him from the dangerous fall. Videlia's cape flapped in the breeze as he held it in a loose fist. The wind would whisk it to the north should he let go.

Videlia's face went pale as she froze, one hand outstretched as though she could will her cape back. That was one way to cripple a magician. Take away the source of their magic, and they were nothing. The opposite was probably true for a cape – not that Leandyr would know.

"Give him back," she pleaded. All the malice and scorn was gone from her voice, snatched away by fear. Brows drawn, her eyes were doe-like and pleading, like a lost child. "Please."

Leandyr balled up the fabric and tossed it back at her. He was a dastard – an insufferable one at that. He could be a nuisance, a thorn in the side of the Castle Guard, but he could not be cruel. And cruelty was a very real possibility when mischief was taken too far.

Besides, it was the King he wanted to provoke, not anyone else. This time.

Videlia hugged the fabric close to her chest like she was comforting a youngling. The cape took on a bright glow before lighting up the night with a flash and transforming into a man.

Ayolus took a step behind his magician, who shielded him with an arm. "That was low, even for you," he said, glowering with eyes that glowed silver even in the dark.

Leandyr couldn't help the amusement that seeped into his face. While he agreed, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of his ascent. "Such is the fate of those who choose to be an accessory."

Ayolus lunged at him, all arms and fury.

Leandyr lazily loosed the King's cloak from his neck as he took a backwards step off the cliff. In one fluid motion, he bundled up the ratty old thing with the crown and scepter and threw it back over the edge.

T'was enough mischief for one night.

Videlia's horrified expression appeared over the edge of the cliff, and Leandyr gave her a wink as gravity took him, pulling him towards the raging waters of the Serpent's Strait.