Heir Conditioning (A 5K long story)

Heir Conditioning, by Richard Polunsky, © 2016
Wax dripped and congealed on the stone floors; the candles guttered and flared throwing evil shadows as the storm outside hurled its force against the castle walls. It was not a good omen, if one believed in such things. Gregor, hereditary Burggraf of Rozbit Kostka, did not believe in omens.
He did, however, believe in witches.
The woman standing before the tarnished throne in what might have been a hunter's garb did not look like a witch. She was young and fair of face, with short brown hair and matching dark brown eyes, and she stood tall staring back into Gregor's glare without the slightest trace of fear or deference. "I am Gizella, and I am here because you requested a teacher for your son. The coven said you would inform me of your needs regarding his instruction."
That request had gone out a full month ago, and the Burggraf gritted his teeth at the deliberate delay in the coven’s response. He disliked and distrusted the witches anyway; they were immune to his Power and therefore a potential threat, even if he himself was likewise protected against their spells. Nonetheless, his son had reached the age where the family power had to be awakened, and only the witches could do that safely.
"You know my family's Power." It was a statement, not a question. "You will awaken it within my son, but you will also put certain restrictions into place. He shall not be able to harm me, nor plot against me, nor disobey any of my commands." His expression made it clear that he doubted the witch's competence, but it had no apparent effect on her demeanor. "Very well, Burggraf,” she responded, “Bring out your boy, and let me meet my new student."
Gregor nodded toward the deaf-mute who was the sole attendant in this room, and that servant flinched then opened the door. The young man who entered was of medium height and bore a strong resemblance to the Burggraf, but where the father's features were strongly etched and rugged, those of the son were soft, his furtive eyes a spooky hazel instead of his father’s piercing brown. Obviously put out by the command appearance, the young man looked at the witch dismissively then addressed Gregor in a bored voice. "Is this the new teacher you told me about?"
His father's response was dry and matter of fact. "It is, and you will follow her instructions as if they were mine. She will reside in your part of the castle until your lessons are complete." And with one sharp flick of his fingers, Gregor declared the audience over.
Rauf, ruler-to-be over the servants and townspeople, looked with bored disinterest at the young woman. She, in turn, looked at him with mild distaste. The tableau held for a few minutes until the Burggraf cleared his throat threateningly, at which Rauf shrugged and led the way out of the meeting room.
The current ruler watched the two leave and drummed his fingers sharply on the right arm of his throne. His son was a disappointment, too ready for the privileges of position and too little interested in the work involved. Perhaps, when the boy learned what his true inheritance was and how to use the power, he would become something worthwhile.
At any rate, Rauf would have time to grow into his responsibilities. It had been eight long frustrating years after Gregor found out about his own Power before his father died. In that time he learned the secrets of managing a small fiefdom. These were the elements of mundane power: the grimy processes of obtaining food and disposing of waste, the sources and destinations of his father's money, the people who got things done, the ones who could be trusted and those whose loyalty was measured only by the size of the bribe.
Gregor should have been comfortably relaxed in middle age by now, but his first wife had wasted several years of his life without producing a suitable heir, only a single worthless girl to be disposed of. His second wife took three more years before dying in childbirth presenting Gregor with proof of his line. The subsequent years of both managing his territory and supervising Rauf's series of wet-nurses and teachers had made him much older than his years.
But once the witch took care of business, Gregor would be free to focus on his duties and leave Rauf to his own … pursuits.
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Gizella, following close behind her guide through the chilly back halls, was as unimpressed by the Burggraf's son as he was with her. His part of the castle was marked by a general air of lackluster attention. The only sparks of energy came when the servants moved to get out of their master's way.
Their journey ended in his living quarters, where Rauf proceeded to tear into a haunch of some unidentifiable meat, ignoring his new teacher as if she were just another insignificant servant. Since he seemed disinterested in conversation, she took the reins herself.
"My name is Gizella. You may call me Teacher. Your father has charged me with making sure your education is complete and that you are indeed prepared to assume his throne when that day comes. If you apply yourself, we can be finished within the week."
Rauf leaned back and stretched his feet out, then gave Gizella a lingering – and insulting - head-to-toe inspection before responding. "A week? That long? Can't you just ask me ten questions and be done with it? I've had enough of teachers, and I'm quite ready to start running things."
Gizella regarded him coolly. "There are certain matters that cannot be handled by your usual teachers. And they cannot be treated with less than your full serious attention."
The future Burggraf sat up, a self-assured grin on his face. "Oh, you definitely have my serious attention. Now tell me, since Father wants you residing with me, does that mean we will have 'lessons' both day and night?" His smile stretched out lewdly as he licked his lips.
The young woman's face voice was as cold as the look on her face. "I am here by your father's request, to see to the completion of your education and your readiness to sit on the Tiger Throne. Anything else" - and at those words, the young man's eyes sparkled - "you might ask only after I am satisfied. But we'll deal with your education starting tomorrow. Tonight I will rest - show me to my sleeping quarters."
Rauf smirked. "Oh, you'll be satisfied." He clapped his hands, and a servant led Gizella away to a space somewhat larger than a monk's cell, furnished with a straw mattress and a couple of rough woolen blankets. The straw had fewer living occupants than she expected; they would not bother her, of course. She did make some gestures toward the open doorway before curling under one of the blankets.
Later, during the night, Rauf appeared in the doorway. His eyes shifted appraisingly, looking for a long time at the sleeping form within, but he left without trying to enter.
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In the morning, Gizella spent a frustrating three hours reviewing the extent of the young man's knowledge of his family's lands as well as his reading, writing and numbers. He wasn't stupid, but there was no particular drive within him. To chase away her annoyance, she had Rauf take her on a tour of the castle and after lunch arrange for a couple of horses so they could survey the nearby forest, the village and the surrounding lands. Outside the oppressive confines of the castle's stone walls, she felt energized and alive. Observing her charge as they rode, Gizella realized he was nowhere near as soft as he looked.
The visit to the town only reinforced her low opinion of her student, as he strutted and preened before the villagers. He showed Gizella the active business center while riding without comment past side streets and alleys where ragged people scuttled away from the sound of their horses. At the town's larger tavern, washing greasy food down with strong ale, Rauf ordered the proprietor and serving girls around with equally rude disdain, and more than once Gizella was given the look that marked her in the other women's eyes as Rauf's current bedmate.
On their return to the castle, Gizella expressed a need to tend to matters of her own, and for his part the young man was well glad to be rid of her. She moved quietly through different parts of the castle, both inside her charge's quarters and in the general areas. Then she left to walk outside, taking samples from the grasses and flowers growing around the walls as well as the plants within the nearby forest. One more excursion, requiring the unknowing assistance of the stablemaster, completed her immediate preparations.
Teacher and family met again at dinner, across a long table of darkly stained wood. The stew was filling, hot and spicy. The conversation was dominated by Rauf until the meal was over, when his father spoke up. "I understand my son has been showing you our lands. I hope you are enjoying your time here." The polite phrasing and quiet voice did not disguise Gregor's annoyance at what he considered a day wasted.
Gizella dabbed at her mouth. "The Tiger Throne is known for its hospitality. Your son has been showing me the land and people he will inherit, and we had a productive day reviewing the scope and depth of his education." For that, she received a curt nod from Gregor before Rauf continued his running monologue. The meal eventually concluded, and witch and student returned to the young man's quarters.
"We begin tonight," she informed him. Rauf's eyes lit up, and he rose easily from his low bed. "Shall I dismiss the servants, milady?" he said in a crude parody of his father's voice, executing a half-bow. Gizella nodded without acknowledging either his attitude toward her or his lack of respect for his father. "Indeed. And bar the door. What we do here is not for their eyes, nor to be interrupted." There was just the briefest of hesitation as Rauf's eyes twitched to the open door. Gizella's voice was even colder as she continued, "Unless of course you worry about what the castle servants will say, or fear to be alone with me."
Rauf strode with purpose to the door, slamming it so the stone walls shook, and putting the crossbar in place before turning to glare at her. "I have no fear of you, nor of the rabble underfoot in this castle. Now be about your business, before my patience and that of my father run short."
Gizella stepped out of her sandals and walked around the snarling young man, her arms outstretched and fingers curled as if feeling the air about them. It seemed to Rauf that she was taller barefoot, though of course that was impossible. Close up, the ragged fabric of her garment did not completely hide the curves beneath, and his anger faded to be replaced with more entertaining contemplations.
The witch could feel the raw Power pulsing like a second heartbeat. It had been evident in their earlier visit to the town – even unaware and untrained he was surrounded by a charisma that brooked little opposition to any of his requests or demands. Gizella had seen the way other women changed their behavior around Rauf, and it was utterly clear that he had taken full advantage. Likely the boy had left a string of bastard children in his wake, but such would never be brought to the notice of his father, nor were they any concern of hers.
Three circles within his quarters she walked, then three in the opposite direction. When she came to her starting point, she stopped in place but Rauf's eyes continued to move, following a phantom of his own imagining. From the bodice of her garment, she pulled out a handful of herbs and breathed deeply, then raised her hands high and tossed the herbs into Rauf's hair. The spell she cast next was expressed in no human language, but its effects were visible and immediate. Rauf's body stiffened from head to toe, straining unconscious against the forces collapsing around him. Gizella's fingers flexed as if molding a lump of stubborn clay, and from her throat issued a series of guttural noises while she threaded an unseen web around Rauf and his nascent Power.
Her tutors in the coven had assured her that Gregor's family Power could not be used directly against the witches, but its raw force uncontrolled was a danger to all nearby regardless. The net she wove around Rauf this night would protect both of them until her work was complete.
Finally, she allowed her arms to drop. The working had left her weary, and Rauf still had to be released. He stood wide-eyed and open-mouthed, swaying slightly, until she put one hand gently on his arm to turn him toward his bed. "Sleep well," she told him, "wake rested, take your teacher’s words to heart, and do not disturb me in my room tonight."
Even without Rauf’s presence, Gizella's slumber was anything but restful.
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The next morning would dawn bright and clear, but Gizella rose before the sun and made certain that her reluctant charge did likewise. They shared a small repast, and then went to the stable to outfit horses for the day. She insisted that Rauf prepare and saddle the horses himself, rather than leaving that task to the stable hands. Preparations made, they rode out into the raw forest well away from either the castle or the township. The setting moon hung low and fat in the sky, illuminating trees and buildings alike with a sickly yellow-grey light, as the first hint of morning limned the horizon.
They set up a small camp, well inside the forest, where the only evidence of civilization was the spoor left by occasional hunters. Once the horses were watered and tied securely in place, Rauf came back and stood facing Gizella, lips twisted in a frown.
"You're a witch," he declared. "Father says the witches are dangerous, but he has you teaching me." She looked into his eyes, their hazel hue the one jarring difference between the son and the father. "Does that surprise you? Are you disappointed? Confused? Angry? Anyone can be a teacher - a landholder, a goatherd, even a witch. Your father knows what I am, and he chose to put you into my charge."
His retort was quiet, suiting their surroundings, but still surly. "Is that my first lesson?" Gizella shrugged. "That is merely the truth. If you choose to learn from it, then it becomes a lesson." She rose, and took several items from her traveling bag. "Now sit, as I have preparations to make." Rauf's eyes narrowed, but he squatted on the grass and watched.
The witch took a handful of green sprigs, and planted one at each of the four corners of a diamond-shaped area surrounding them. She then began singing, if you could call the low atonal sounds from her throat a song. Rauf put hands to his ears and complained, "stop that wretched noise", but she merely flicked a hand back toward him saying "Silence!" and he found his voice mute. Gizella addressed herself toward the northern sprig, then crossed to the southern plant, the east, and the west, finally returning to her starting point. Her non-words hung in the air and made the young man’s head hurt as they refused to resolve into something with meaning, the caterwauling sending shivers scraping up and down his spine. She raised her palms over her head and spread them like a rainbow opening out and down, and when her fingers finally clapped against her hips the very trees above them shook and let loose a cloud of leaves that settled cleanly outside the boundaries of their space.
Rauf's eyes were wide as Gizella turned to face him. "Up," she said, and he rose to his feet, unsure whether the volition was his or hers. She paced around him, first left, then right, sometimes close to him, sometimes several paces away. It seemed that the air about them grew close and harsh with each grating syllable, until finally she stilled her voice and stood facing Rauf, eyes dark, bobbing up and down on her toes.
"Repeat after me," she ordered, raising her hands, and her pupil responded in a husky echo:
"I am Rauf.
Son of Gregor, son of Victor, flesh of the Tiger Throne.
As he lives, my Father's word is my bond.
As he lives, I may take no action against him.
As he lives, I may not conspire or collude against him.
As I honor He who gave me life, I obey those who speak with His voice.
As my Father commands, so will it be.
Now the Power awakes, my heritage revealed.
Not meant for a boy but a man's to wield.
But bereft of all should I break my oath.
As my Father commands, so must it be."
Gizella dropped her hands at the closure of the last word, and the horses whinnied and strained against their ropes. A violent shiver shook Rauf from head to feet as a sensation of movement within shook him. The first full rays of the sun chose that moment to pierce the canopy of trees, bathing him in light but without the warmth that might still his trembling limbs.
For her part, Gizella nearly crumpled as the air around Rauf prickled with energy. She grasped his arm, as much for her own support as for his, and helped him down to sit on the ground. "Rest," she told him, "you need food and drink." She went to their bags and brought back dried meat, fruit and raw wine, then calmed the horses while Rauf tore into the provisions.
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While the young man ate, the witch removed the northernmost sprig, breaking the diamond. She then came to settle at his side, observing him and the surrounding forest alike.
"What now," he asked.
"Now we wait."
They sat together quietly for several hours. More than once Rauf started to complain, only to be silenced with a fierce glare. Shortly after noontime, a fine stag wandered into view.
"Your lesson is here," Gizella murmured to Rauf. "Have the animal come to you."
"What? How am I supposed to do that?"
"The Power is within you, not me. Only you can feel it, and form it.”
Rauf opened his arms theatrically, and fluttered his fingers outward. A half dozen small birds exploded from hiding in a nearby bush, and the stag vanished. He looked in pointed annoyance at the witch, who merely shrugged.
Four more times a stag appeared in the clearing, and just as many times the princeling frightened it off. Finally, out of disgust, Gizella muttered "You might just pretend it's one of your barmaids and you want her to bring you something." To the surprise of both of them, the next time a stag appeared, Rauf merely crinkled his brow thoughtfully and the animal stepped slowly up to him, placing its muzzle into his hand to chew on the nuts and leaves there.
When the stag finally left, Rauf looked after it for a long time. When he returned his attention to his teacher, Gizella continued speaking as if nothing unusual had happened.
"The Power manifests in only one form within a person. In your father, it provides control over the elements, up to the ability to use it as a weapon. In your case it appears to be an ability to influence others to do your will. I am sure you will find that useful," as Rauf's lips curled upward, "when you become the new Burggraf.”
The look in his eyes did not escape her notice.
"Before you waste your time, know that your father's warning is well taken. Your family's Power and the talents of the witches in this area offset each other. My spells would be as so much air against your father, or against you after he dies; and even at full strength your efforts against the coven would be scattered like dust."
That was a simplification, of course, but enough to postpone any more detailed explanation.
"Your first task is to learn how to handle your Power. Leave the horses and we will see what you can do with the denizens of the forest." For the rest of the afternoon, Rauf learned that he could call or chase small animals like hares and raccoons easily. Larger animals were an effort, but birds unfailingly scattered when he focused on them. Rauf complained repeatedly about that, and Gizella explained the problem. "Many of the animals are sensitive to the tenor of your thoughts. Indeed, there are some people who will know something is happening when you exercise your Power. You will want to find a way to mask that to be successful, but the evening approaches."
They returned to their camp, and from there retraced their route back to the castle. Rauf, after being silent for much of the ride, commented “People are not animals, of course.” Gizella nodded, “Indeed so – but test and prove yourself with animals before you take chances with people.” Dinner that evening was a quiet affair, with both absorbed in their own thoughts.
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The next morning was one of early rising, of frustration and experience, thrust and parry, as Gizella put the young man through his paces and by so doing helped him achieve some degree of mastery. He learned that his power had no effect on inanimate objects, but that he could both call and dispel animals. The falcon Gizella summoned sheered off fully twenty feet from the boy’s face; a hyena far from its normal hunting grounds came running, then whined in confusion as Rauf waved an open palm at it.
But the highlight of the late morning, at least from Rauf’s viewpoint, was his success at getting a full half dozen small game birds to come out of hiding and settle on his shoulders. One by one, with the faint low murmur of his voice barely audible, he plucked each of the birds from its resting place, calmly snapped its neck and tossed the carcass to the ground.
Gizella’s only response, at least her only verbal one, was to remind the young man that people were more than animals, and the things that worked in the forest would be inadequate in the castle or the town. Rauf smiled at that. “Then by all means, let us have some practice in the town as well.”
That became the topic of their conversation at lunch.
“It is one thing to have Power, something completely different to wield it.” Gizella was lecturing, but the subject called for it. “As ruler, you will have the power of life and death over your people. It is incumbent upon you to be ready so you don’t show either weakness or incompetence. Yes, that means practice – especially in making sure that your people never realize how they have been manipulated. Remember, in their eyes, power and magic are one and the same, and enough of them together can still kill you. I would think you should go to town disguised as a traveling hunter, so you know that anything you accomplish came only from you, not from your position."
Jokingly, Rauf leaned forward and inquired, “And what would happen if I slipped up, gave myself away, and was injured or killed?”
“Well,” Gizella replied dryly, “Then you would have proved yourself unqualified to mount the Tiger Throne. I suggest you don’t make any such errors.”
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The proud pupil set out shortly after lunch, unrecognizable in his ragged hunter’s garb. And, since a failure on his part would have even worse consequences for his teacher, Gizella tracked him at a good distance, only moving closer when he was actually in the town.
Rauf walked the broken streets, flushed with excitement, alive in a way that the previous sullen heir could never have known. He was by turns polite, insulting, crude, and seductive. As he grew in the knowledge of his Power, his demands and behavior both grew more outlandish but somehow did not provoke the kinds of angry responses one would expect.
And without his awareness, in the umbra of his presence, his own whims were echoed and reflected in the behavior of the townspeople. Thievery, fights, and openly lewd behavior became the rule of the day, although nobody accosted the quiet stranger moving in Rauf’s wake and studying his every posturing move.
On their return, Rauf was in an almost jovial mood, while Gizella (who arrived not far behind him) was in contrast reserved and silent. Rauf dismissed the servants, announcing that he and his teacher were leaving to celebrate his coming of age. The celebration was dinner in what passed for the best of the village restaurants. There was fresh venison, dressed with tubers and greasy vegetables, and plenty of the warm strong dark beer that was a staple there. Rauf toasted his teacher, his fortune, his village. He turned the full force of his charm and magnetism on Gizella, and while his Power had no effect, his native charisma could not be fully denied.
Back at the castle, with the usual occupants nowhere in evidence, Rauf clapped his arm around Gizella’s shoulder and led her into his rooms, kicking the door closed with one booted foot. “Now, the teacher shall become the student,” he announced, clawing at her dress. Gizella slapped his hand away, saying, "I'm not one of your servants, who have to take your word like a royal command!"
“Ah,” Rauf said as he ignored the refusal and started tearing her garments away, “but you said you had to be completely satisfied before reporting to my father. And that’s a challenge I cannot turn down!” He lifted the witch by her upper arms and tossed her down on his mattress, then leaned over to stare directly into her eyes. "I have the Power now. I shall have you, and tomorrow I shall have the throne." They locked grips for several minutes, and then her voice came out, deeper, raw and resonant. "Then have me, boy, and let the Throne receive its rightful occupant."
A gust of wind from the open window blew out the candles. The struggle that ensued was brief and violent, punctuated by a hoarse cry of victory. The sounds that followed were just as intense but more primal, and extended long and deep into the night.
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The young man who stepped into the ruling chamber bore little resemblance to the pampered, soft youth who had entered only a week previously. The lines of his face had sharpened, and the similarity to the paintings lining the sanctum walls was now unmistakable.
"Good day, Father. The job is complete; your tool has done her work and can be dismissed. I now have the family gift, and I stand ready to take over against the day you depart this life." The formality of his announcement was spoiled only slightly by Rauf's ever-present smirk. Gregor, unimpressed, tested his offspring: "And what if I tell you to go out and spend the next six months surveying our lands down to the meanest farmer?" Rauf bowed, spreading his hands wide. "Am I not my father's son? Your word binds me, so I obey."
The witch, who had been leaning against the wall glaring at both father and son, now practically quivered as if offended by the overt display of familial affection. Gregor turned and angrily demanded of her, “What is it?”
In that moment, with Gregor’s attention diverted, Rauf brought a hidden dagger out from his clothing and struck true from behind into Gregor's chest. Off balance, feeling the shock and pain of the mortal attack, the Burggraf nevertheless summoned his power to cast Rauf bodily into the wall, then aimed his full fury against the witch. "What treachery is this? Whatever he promised you, witch or no, you will not live to see it!" Even knowing his threat to be futile, Gregor summoned his ebbing strength and sent a killing blast, searing the very air on its way.
The witch was at first surrounded by a shimmering nimbus, then the air cleared and her body was crushed back against the wall. As the Burggraf’s curse landed in full, that young face curdled, started to melt… and revealed beneath it the features of the Burggraf's own son, a strip of tape covering his mouth, hazel eyes wide and pleading. Then that face too sagged and dissolved, the body collapsing into itself to become a grotesque pile of darkened bones and flesh on the floor.
"Such a waste, Father," Gizella said, her head aching from having been slammed back against the stone wall. The Burggraf, panting for breath on his knees as his life dripped from the knife wound, snapped his head around to see his son’s body speaking in the witch’s voice. "How? Why?" The eyes, he now realized, were brown, not hazel. Gregor’s face contorted in horror. "You are - not - my son!"
His not-son’s face nodded. "But you are most assuredly my father. Your retainers were careless about one inconvenient girl child - they merely dumped me in the forest and assumed the animals would deal with me.” Gizella squatted in front of the dying man, and the venom in her voice was sharper than the dagger she had struck with. “I am your blood, your firstborn. You cannot escape me, and I will have my true position!”
Gregor had no response to that, as the last glimmer of strength within him failed and his body slumped lifeless in the spreading sticky pool on the floor. Gizella verified it was the true death, then stood and stretched, becoming familiar with the form and face she would have to wear now. Taking on Rauf's face felt like a further insult to her mother, but it was the blood price of sitting on the Tiger Throne.
And the new Burggraf of Rozbit Kostka prepared to hold her first audience.