A Prince's Errand [PREVIEW] ✔️ | Book One of TALES OF THE AMULET

Chapter 2 - The Storm

"The days after Cheserith's exile were lonely. I can't remember how long I wandered. I longed for my beloved. I'd never see her again, or my Children...

- an excerpt from The Thousand Years War, Part I

The sun set in the east as the acolytes continued drilling with Iltar's guards. Each of the boys had progressed since lunch. Many of the acolytes stopped both Delrin and Jalim before they reached them. Their progress pleased Iltar. He stood watching his acolytes, hands clasped behind his back.

"Master Iltar," one of the boys called, "How long are we going to keep at this?"

"Tired, Bilda?" Iltar asked without looking at the boy. Bilda was one of the youngest acolytes.

"Well... I'm kinda bored, y'know?"

"It takes much discipline to become a powerful mage," Iltar said.

"What if I wanna be an average mage, y'know? A regular ol' necromancer."

Iltar grunted. He knew that's not how Bilda really felt. The boy was tired and trying to make excuses to get out of running the drills again.

"There's more to the magical arts than necromancy."

"But you're a necromancer, Master Iltar," the boy retorted.

That struck Iltar as funny. "I'm more than just a necromancer," he said, looking down at Bilda. The boy sat cross-legged, leaning forward and propping up his chin with his hands. "I started off as an illusionist."

"Really?" Bilda turned toward Iltar with wide eyes. "You didn't have to become a necromancer first?"

Iltar shook his head. "I first wanted to become a grand mage, but my father said I wasn't skilled enough. When I was twelve, he said he'd test me further. But that never happened."

"So, why didn't he?" Bilda asked.

"Something came up," Iltar said calmly, though he choked back the real answer. His father had left after Iltar's grandfather died. His father never told Iltar why. He left him and his mother alone here on their homestead. And the next time he saw him—

No!

Iltar sucked in a deep breath and walked away. He was having another fit. He couldn't let the boys see it. These fits had never occurred this often. What was happening to him?

Iltar hurried around the house, the sounds of the acolytes and guards barely reaching his ears. He continued around the walls of a chimney and tucked himself beside it. Iltar leaned against the house, tears trickling from his eyes.

Tears? The tears turned to soft sobs, and he wept, slumping against the chimney. This had not happened in years. Iltar struggled to bring himself to the present. He was lost, overcome by sorrow. Iltar closed his eyes, trying to think of something else, but he couldn't shake those baleful memories of his parents.