The Peasant by Scott Michael Decker

senses, have you? Perhaps we should call you 'Crazy Bear.' ” Flying Arrow stood at the base of the dais.
    Lurking Hawk stood between the Emperor and the General. They both took a chalice of wine and watched him like a hawk.
    “Call me anything you want, Lord Nephew.” Remembering his father, Guarding Bear smiled and took the last chalice from the tray.
    “Congratulations, Lord Bear, on your new post.” The Emperor smiled at the General over the rim of crystal chalice.
    Guarding Bear brought the chalice to his mouth and sniffed. The soporific stung his nose. “A fine, pungent vintage, Lord Nephew.” He put the chalice to his lips as if to drink, and then lowered it.
    Their eyes followed it down.
    “Let's get blind drunk, eh Lord Nephew?” He wanted to dump the wine down their throats. “Lord Hawk, I want you to do something.” Drawing a knife, Guarding Bear extended it haft-first toward the Sorcerer. “Take it, Lord Hawk.” Again, he lifted the chalice as if to drink. “No, you're holding it wrong. Point it downward with your thumb over the pommel. Yes, that's it.” Then he turned to face the double doors. “Now stab me to death, Lord Hawk!”
    When the silence had stretched to a full minute, he turned. “Why didn't you kill me? Has the Infinite addled your brains, Lord Hawk?”
    The Sorcerer frowned at the knife in his hand.
    Flying Arrow glared at him. “What's the meaning of this, Lord Bear?”
    The General swirled the wine with his finger. Immediately, it went numb. Potent poison! he thought. “A demonstration, Emperor. Sorcerer, if you're honorable enough and charitable enough not stab me in the back, please extend that honor and charity to helpless infants.” With his empty hand, he grabbed Lurking Hawk by the collar and yanked him close so fast their foreheads collided.
    Metal clattered and crystal shattered, the Sorcerer dropping knife and chalice. Blood seeped from a cut over Lurking Hawk's eye. His feet dangled inches above marble floor.
    The General hadn't spilled a drop. “If you harm my daughter again, Traitor,” he snarled, “I'll tear off your testicles and feed them to the Emperor!” He hurled Lurking Hawk onto the dais steps, then glared at Flying Arrow. “The poison you put in this wine had better not kill me, Emperor.” Smiling, Guarding Bear dumped the wine down his own throat.

Chapter 6
    T he talent of prescience is actually three types of sight: Extant, temporal, and prescient. Extant sight, or viewing the present, is watching of someone's current doings at a specific location. Temporal sight, or viewing the past, is an extension of extant sight, all presents extending from some causal past. Prescient sight, an extension of both these talents, is infinitely more complex, the future always in flux, changing moment by moment.—
The Vortex of the Time Sights
, by the Prescient Wizard Thinking Quick.
    Moments after giving birth, a mother bestows upon her child half her psychic reserve. Thus, she imprints the child to recognize her and imprints the fetal frontal lobes with the capacity for talent. Through this imprinting, a child develops a strong affinity with the mother and a psychic link that slowly fades but never breaks. Rarely does a mother
not
bestow the psychic gift. When this happens, the child grows up crippled, bereft of a full range of senses and unable to participate fully in society.—
Motherhood: Nature and Nurture
.
    * * *
    Guards encircling her, Bubbling Water glanced back at Emparia Castle and frowned. Darkness enfolded them as they left the bright glow at the gate. The wind swirled vigorously around them, scolding these denizens of the day to fear this trespass upon the night.
    “Your outer robe, Lord Captain,” she said, shivering.
    “Of course, Lady Matriarch.” Silent Whisper slipped it off and handed it to her without question.
    Another new Captain to train, she reminded herself, knowing Guarding Bear had too little patience to train a new one. The