Hot Then Cold

The cold fog of the great hall drove into my feet like spikes, coming in through the thick leather of my boots. My feet dragged silently as I scuffled toward my grandfather to get a permission he would not grant. Still I moved through the frigid space as the paper-pushers and diplomats floated around the throne like ghosts. Hard-eyed watchmen weighed my intent as I got close enough to King Harl to notice the deep lines that crossed his face like a map of the world.

My voice cracked as I spoke. "Grandfather, have you considered my request to ride to the West, to fight for a unified Prendor?"

His head rose from a carefully folded note and he looked down the considerable length of his nose at me. "I just do not see what could be accomplished by sending you into combat against William the Exile. Maybe after your next birthday." A puff of frost hung in the air in front of his mouth as he gave me a moment to consider my next request.

Words failed me and as a response, I gritted my teeth with so much enthusiasm I was sure they heard it in the stables.

"Walther, continue your training," he said. "Your brothers will be back in Larrae soon." With a quick smile, he went back to studying the next carefully prepared scrap of paper.

"Thank you sir," I said feeling the weight of the room pressing in on me. My face burned as I turned and marched back down the length of the hall. A fire rose in my body as I slowed and turned back to look at the throne and another spurned request. The great space was empty and the throne had vanished behind me. My palms itched and on inspection, burst into flames. Flames lept up all around and even the flagstones burned with low flames that brought no pain.

A man-sized living flame burst up in front of me and spoke in a voice that sounded like two stones grinding on each other. "Where do you think you’re going?"

"I’m not in the mood," I grumbled. On closer inspection, my arms were burning and flames lept up and down my body. "Pheck, not this again." Just yesterday, I had charged into a burning building with little more than royal responsibility driving me. That had gone well except for the painfully red arms and the smoky chest.

The ignored flames disappeared from my clothing in an instant and left behind only a distant whooshing sound. My mother stood in front of me in the exact spot where the giant flame had been. She seemed to be wracked with pain and she spoke deliberately. "Walther, I need your help."

I screamed something and sat bolt upright in bed, a cold sweat running down my back and dampening my forehead. A ragged breath exploded out through clenched teeth. The bandages on my arms and hands were as full and heavy as sea sponges.

A knock came at the door and after a moment, Victor stuck his head into the room. "Are you well?"

I breathed out the words like a sigh of relief. "Well enough. How are you?" A quick shiver wracked my right arm and I realized that I was just being diplomatic with my half-brother Victor. I hardly knew him at all.

He answered with words that were quick and honest. "Restless. I am not fond of funerals."

"Me either. I think I’ll skip mine." I pulled my shoulders back and cracked my neck out of habit.

"You should get some sleep." Victor closed the door and padded away without another word.

I fell back into the covers and shifted to a cool spot. As I drifted back to sleep, I realized that I was just about done asking for permission to do the right thing.

-- by Bill Williams