The Royals

'Grandpa Maarcs?' A child squeezed the royal physi cian's arm. 'Grandpa Maarcs!' Ceeley's insistent prodding dragged Sir Maarcus back from the place his mind always wandered when ever he remembered Zera's body beneath the mob of elves. 'What happened after that?" she asked. Sir Maarcus the Sixth shook himself and gave the young dwarf a stern look. Celia Sailclan, you know the story as well as I do. You were there. " The girl put on her best smile, but not even she could warm the physician on this cold morning. 'It was very smoky,' she said. 'I couldn't see much.' 'None of us could, Ceeley. It's why the elfwitch could get away so easily. Here now, why don't we turn to more pleasant tales?' The dwarf child bit her lip and considered. 'You look a little tired, Grandpa Maarcs. Are you sure you wouldn't rather rest? My da always said old folks need as much sleep as babies.' She's slowly healing, Maarcus thought. She can act ually talk about her dead family without the words catching in her throat. He sighed and wished he could say the same for himself. 'No, no,' he said aloud. 'You know we all like doing our duty and taking turns watch ing you.' Maarcus winced inwardly. That wasn't what he'd meant exactly - though sometimes the child could exhaust him in a way that his own grandson never had. Of course, the younger Maarcus had had nannies and tutors and protectors. Celia Sailclan only had a makeshift family of orphaned humans and dwarves. Celia paid his gaffe no mind. She simply settled back into her oversized seat and reminded him to begin. 'Tell me about the Great King!' Maarcus still missed the boyhood friend who had become king. The effects of his premature death rattled around the bleak castle now more than ever, though two generations had gone by. But for all that, the memory had never held the sharp pain of seeing Zera stoned at the hands of her own people. The royal physician nodded. 'All right,' he said, 'a tale of the Great King. Which one?' 'Oh, you know,' she said. 'True enough, I do.' She nearly always wanted the same one. ' Well,' he began, 'not so very long ago before you were born but when I was already a full-grown man, there lived a magnificent king. His name was Tomar and he forged the greatest truce the Ash Kingdom had known since the days before any of the magicians took to recording their spells and chronologies. 'But Tomar...' His voice cracked. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to tell this story after all. He paused and glanced around the cavernous room Ceeley had claimed as her play area. The child deserved better than this. They all did. He cleared his throat and continued. "Tomar had an unfortunate tendency to spoil his children. You won't spoil your children, will you Ceeley?" 'No, Grandpa Maarcs. I promise.' She shook her head impatiently. So what about the twins?' "Ah yes, the twins. I'm getting to them. When Tomar was something of an old man-' 'As old as you are today?' she asked, as if she had not already questioned their ages countless times. 'No, not by some years. You see I was younger then and that was many years ago.' She c****d her head and stared at him as she always did, apparently trying to imagine him twenty or twenty five years younger. He waited until her brow unfurrowed before going on. Now Tomar was the father of the twins. Their mother was an elf he hoped would raise them well, but she was evil.' 'Evil, evil,' Ceeley echoed. 'Because she was Alvaria the elfwitch!" 'Right you are. And even though Alvaria had a very good mommy "That was your poor friend Zera,' Ceeley put in sadly. 'She was nice to me, you know." 'Right again,' Maarcus said, swallowing hard. "Well sometimes there's only so much one person can do. Zera couldn't make Alvaria be good because Alvaria was a grown-up who had to choose to be good herself.' 'So the elfwitch ran away and the king died. . .' Ceeley prompted, rushing him to her favorite part. 'But there were still the twins, Princess Kate and Prince Henry.' 'Aunt Kately and Uncle Hen! I get to call 'em that because we're practically family.' 'Agreed again.' Maarcus was losing his patience for telling this story. He should have been able to get through the entire tale in minutes but the girl couldn't keep from interrupting. 'Kate and Henry were sent to live with some wonderful foster-parents. Then the border wars started and no one could find them for a long time.' 'But one question, Grandpa Maarcs?" He smothered his impatience under a stiff grin. The child had no one else. Her entire village lay beneath ash covered in winter's deepsnows. "What's that?" 'Why didn’t anyone think Uncle Hen was strange when he looked like a dragon?' 'That is an excellent question," he said with nearly as much sincerity as he had when she'd first asked it on their journey back from the elven lands weeks ago. She beamed at the compliment. 'I guess they were a little bit afraid of him. Not too many people have got close to dragons and lived.' Maarcus stifled a yawn. No longer able to sit, Celia jumped up and circled her chair. She stopped suddenly and stared at the family crest engraved on the chair-back. 'It's a dragon! King Tomar knew his son would be a dragon!' 'I doubt that,' Maarcus said softly. "When he chose the crest, he could not have foreseen what would happen to Henry. He merely picked an emblem he felt would be strong and unifying.' Her brow wrinkled again in thought. Maarcus sup posed he'd spoken over the child's head yet he couldn't bear another explanation. He was simply too utterly worn down. 'I bet he was a nice dragon,' Ceeley offered. 'He was very protective of Kate even before either of them realized he was her brother,' the physician said, not quite agreeing with the dwarf. 'The elfwitch did one good thing,' Celia said. 'What's that?' Maarcus asked, only half listening. 'She turned Prince Henry from a dragon back into a man. That was a good thing.' 'Well, yes, I guess it was.' At least he hoped so. It was a difficult thing to know. Was Henry bitter over having been a misshapen beast for all but the past few months of his life? Did he mind losing the carefree lifestyle of a four-footed creature? Did he resent the host of duties thrust into his arms with so few companions to help him carry the load? 'It's okay if you go take a nap, Grandpa Maarcs. I'll be fine.' 'Thank you, my dear.' He gave her a hug and left the room without stopping to worry over who would watch her once he left. In a daze, he roamed the halls toward his own chambers. Celia Sailclan anchored Sir Maarcus the Sixth in the present only sporadically. The scene that lingered in his mind always was of Zera's funeral - his darkest moment, a moment from which he no longer expected he would recover. Sir Maarcus had lit the flame and stepped back from the funeral pyre to stand between his grandson and Abadan the magician. Kate, Henry, Walther and the others had fanned out to either side. 'Grandfather, come away from here,' the younger Maarcus said. Then more quietly, he added, "Don't t*****e yourself. Zera chose loyalty to the elven people above the Ash Kingdom.' The royal physician didn't answer right away. What mother had the strength to destroy her own child - even one as barbarous as Alvaria? It would have been unnatural for Zera to do differently from what she had. She had been a good woman. His grandson would learn the truth of this soon enough. No,' Maarcus told his namesake at last. 'She deserved a better end and a heroine's funeral.' 'She will be remembered for Tomar's,' the magician added. sacrifices as great as King 'Greater,' Kate amended. Maarcus the Seventh wiped tears from his eyes but remained silent. Peace of the Seven Sisters,' the physician whispered. 'Peace, echoed the group one by one. Next to Zera's smoking ashes, a second pyre burned. It was a small fire even though nearly every troll had died in the battle. The poor creatures had steamed and fallen in on themselves before the first scrap of kindling caught, the elfwitch's magic consuming them before the flames did. As always, the physician's stomach tightened at just the thought of those unseen powers. The smell was overpowering. This had been the same dreadful scent which washed through Abadan's magic chamber not so long ago. Maarcus turned away and coughed into his handkerchief. 'Grandfather, please come,' the younger Maarcus repeated. The senior nodded. He couldn't manage to utter good bye. 'Peace,' he said again, and moved away. There were no prisoners. The elves had all fled into the night. Maarcus and his companions had been simply too few and too spent to give chase. With so little to pack, they were ready to begin the journey as soon as the fires burned down. Still Maarcus lingered, reluctant to leave. A child's high-pitched voice cut through his grief. 'Are you sure you're a dragon, Prince Henry?' Her companions laughed. 'It's a long story, Ceeley,' answered one. 'It is? Did you hear that, Uncle Maarcs? You know, Prince, I really love long stories.' 'Well, I'm not sure . . . That is .' The prince had fumbled for words. Perhaps your uncle knows more than I do.' Maarcus the younger had smiled and wrapped an arm around his grieving grandfather. 'I do indeed, but here's just the man who can tell you everything.' The old physician had sighed, secretly grateful for the task. This would keep them all occupied on the way home. In his best storytelling voice, he began, 'It started many years ago, before any of us was born………