The Queen and the Mage

by Wilma van Wyngaarden

  In her hand was the forked stick the trellets had given her. The ends had dried overnight. She inspected it as she trotted across the king’s games field beside the castle—a field that had not seen horse games since the sudden death of King Tobin. Before that, it had been the scene of activity every day, part of the king’s routine of riding, training, and exercising. Even when he was away from the castle, his horsemen carried on the practice.

  There was little activity now. The scaffolding stood at the northeast corner, and workmen had begun to repair the stonework. River gave that area a wide berth. She glanced up automatically at the wall as she hurried along, even though she no longer expected to see Queen Scylla there.

  But—she recalled with a quiver of happiness—she had seen the queen yesterday. And Scylla had waved at her… just a little one, but a wave indeed. How strange that the queen had left the castle secretly and returned with no ceremony at all.

  “Food, Gabby! Food!” A distant cry intruded on her thoughts and she flicked a glance over her shoulder. It was Tag again, the older boy who had alerted her to last night’s handout. He was standing near the treeline, facing her. “More food tonight!”

  River broke into a run, ignoring him. Time he understood she would no longer answer to Gabby… and just because he had been right about the food yesterday meant nothing. She ran through the bushes, into the village and past the houses, until she came to the market square. Then she dropped to a walk, as watchful as ever.

  The baker was selling bread and other goodies and chatting cheerfully with her neighbors and customers. River skulked through the market and crawled under a nearby cart to listen.

  Strangely, she heard no mention of the smoke in the delta, or the visitors who had arrived yesterday from another land, or even the dinner at the castle last night. And not so much as a word about Queen Scylla’s return to the castle—which River had seen with her own eyes—when yesterday there had been rampant speculation as to the queen’s whereabouts and why so many soldiers had ridden out.

  But sometimes the voices dropped to whispers too quiet for River to hear. Whispers… and with them, unreadable glances passed silently from one person to another.

  “Oh, did you hear?” Suddenly a customer, buying bread and a pie, spoke up enough for River to hear. “Queen Scylla told the kitchen to feed the feral children again... they started last night.”

  “We did hear that,” the baker replied. “Her mother Queen Clerryn always fed the poor. The second queen… Maris… stopped that.”

  “Yes, out of meanness, do you not recall? So much food, so much feasting and the excess carted away for pig feed.”

  “Well, they’ll find hungry mouths at the kitchen every night, I’m sure… and not just the homeless, either. Maybe less stealing here in the market, if we’re lucky.”

  “Mmmm, maybe so.”

  River squatted in the shadows under the cart, considering what she had heard. So that was why Tag had been shouting across the field at her. Food at the kitchen… every night! She would believe that when she saw it.

  She ducked out from under the cart and ran away, swinging the forked stick. She went down to the docks, where yesterday the strange boat had tied up.

  But the boat was no longer at the dock. She puzzled over that. Usually boats stayed longer because—she had heard it said—the journey from other lands was so difficult. The delta was hazardous with its sandbars, winding waterways, and all the snakes and insects. River lost interest and ran back up to the market, tapping the stick on the cobblestones as she went.

  And there he was!

  “Hey! Hey!” River ran up to the crotchety old man who had given her the stone two days ago. He was hobbling away from the stall that sold weak ale, a flask in his hand. He was as thin as the feral children, his clothes flapping on his bony frame. She wondered if he had food every day.

  “What? Oh, it’s you.” His watery eyes blinked at her. “Where is Theoria’s amulet?”

  She caught the smooth gray stone on its lace around her neck and held it up.

  “Aha!” he said with satisfaction. “You look after that, child!”

  “See, I can water witch!” she told him, showing him the forked stick with her other hand as she skipped along a safe distance from him.

  He stopped, his eyes brightening. “Show me!” he quavered.

  Keeping a wary eye on her surroundings, River held the two ends tightly and took a few steps. Nothing happened. A few people nearby turned to watch.

  “It tugs down!” she said. “Well, yesterday it did.”

  “Keep walking,” he told her. But the stick did nothing.

  “Let me see that stick, child!”

  She held it up, ready to scoot away if he tried to grab her.

  “Ahhh!” he said in hoarse disgust. “It’s dried up… G’wan and come back with a fresh-cut stick!”

  River ran away. But he was calling after her.

  “Child! Did it truly work, child?”

  River trotted back to him. She cupped her hand around her mouth and hissed, “You said water, but it finds treasure!”

  The watery blue eyes opened wide. “Do tell! What did you find?” he croaked back.

  River hesitated, casting a suspicious glance around her. Was anyone close enough to hear? “A gold coin!” she breathed.

  “Good for you, child,” he whispered. “Don’t tell anyone!” He put his finger to his chapped lips and gave her a wink and a nod. “G’wan now. A fresh-cut willow stick—remember!”

  “I will ask the trellets for another one,” River said, without thinking.

  His eyes widened in a suddenly arrested stare. After a moment, he whispered even more quietly, “Dear child. Trellets…”

  “Little stick men in the tree,” she explained, after making sure again that no one was listening.

  “Trellets… hmmm,” said the old man with a long sigh. His cloudy blue eyes took on a faraway expression. Then he focused on her intensely. “Child… do not tell anyone. No one.”

  River shrank away, suddenly nervous.

  He beckoned her closer with his gnarled fingers. “Trellets… how many?”

  “Two!” she shrilled over her shoulder as she ran away.

  “A very long time…” The old man blinked after the small figure as it disappeared among the stalls. “A very long time since I saw a trellet… although I hear the new queen has one…”

  “What’s that you’re mumbling, old Nick?” called the stout man who sold odds and ends and books. His curly brown hair hung to his shoulders.

  “Did I not hear the other day the new queen has a trellet?”

  “Folk tales!” the vendor exclaimed. “It is all nonsense! That beggar child just now… wasn’t it she you gave your grandmother’s amulet to? Why didn’t you sell it to me? With all this rise of magic and myth, t’would be in high demand.”

  “Pah!” retorted old Nick. “It is not something you can buy, lad! I do not regret to whom I gave it!” He hobbled away with renewed vigor, a bright gleam in his watery eyes.

  “He looks as lifeless as he did on the floor where he collapsed,” Mako said bitterly, staring down at Coltic’s slack body.

  In the queen’s chambers, the usually cheerful captain lay unresponsive on a narrow bed that the soldiers had brought in. It occupied the corner opposite Queen Scylla’s curtained alcove, near one window. Under Minda’s direction, Jay was placing a folding screen of woven reeds beside the bed. Axit had taken Prince Leon, who wanted to cling to Coltic, out to play on the roof garden with Jay’s dogs.

  “I have sent for the healer. I hope she comes quickly.”

  “Is he breathing?” asked Scylla, who had watched the proceedings from her chair near the other window.

  “He is… but look at his hair, Minda. Did he have any gray before?” Mako asked.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “No,” said Sorrell, who stood some distance away.

  “I saw no gray before.” Mako was still st
udying the captain critically. “And yet, look now. He is five or six years younger than I am. I believe he is no more than twenty-four or five.”

  “You came here as an orphaned page, Chancellor,” Minda recalled. “I remember you running errands for Queen Clerryn some twenty years ago. I do not recall seeing Coltic as a youth, but I left the castle thirteen years ago.”

  Mako was shaking his head. “No, Coltic was on the merchant boats before he signed on for the King’s Guard. I believe it was five or six years ago. After a chance encounter, the King took a strong liking to him. We all did. It is no surprise he rose in rank so quickly, despite the two of them—him and Renold—running wild the way they do… or did, I should say, before we lost the king.”

  “He appeared worn out last night at the dinner,” Sorrell said, crossing the floor to inspect the unconscious captain. “More than he should be for only one night’s lack of sleep. I wonder if he is ill.”

  “Mistress Minda,” said Jay earnestly into the silence that had fallen, a silence marred by the dogs’ yapping and Prince Leon’s shrieks out on the roof garden. “Should I not take the pony home now?”

  She looked at him, distracted.

  “If you do, take those dogs,” Mako ordered in irritation. “Do they ever stop barking?”

  “No, I want to go to Zara’s village today,” Scylla said, ignoring him. “Can Jay and the pony not take me part way, even if not all the way?”

  “Ahh… Zara’s village. Today, Princess? It is over three hours’ travel to get there.”

  “And three hours back… all in one day,” Minda said. “Should you not rest until at least tomorrow? Recall how exhausted you were last night.”

  “Tomorrow, then,” Scylla amended. “May I borrow Jay and his pony again, Minda?”

  “Of course, if the pony is fit.”

  Jay looked sulky. “I will have to take the pony out. He won’t do well standing in a stall all day.”

  “Take him out then, Jay, and take those dogs with you.”

  “And then come back here,” Minda told him. “The danger from the Gryor visitors is gone—I hope! But you can make yourself useful. The queen’s new ladies will be back tomorrow.”

  There was a knock on the door before Jay had time to collect the dogs and leave.

  “The healer already?” Minda said. She crossed to the door and engaged in a low-voiced conversation with the soldier outside. Then she returned to the others, with pursed lips and a carefully blank expression.

  “Chancellor. There is a lady and her escort waiting in the king’s reception office. I have sent a message to Herron to bring her up to these chambers.”

  “Oh?” Mako gained an air of unease.

  “Who is it?” Scylla asked.

  “I suspect it is my wife,” Mako answered after a moment. Minda nodded. “She demands a divorce. I had intended to ask Morse, our secretary-treasurer, how to proceed but unfortunately…”

  “Really, Chancellor, could you not have fit that in between your foray to Zara’s village, your journey to the hunting lodge to rescue me, and the visit from the wolves of Gryor?”

  He summoned up a wry grin. “No, Princess, I failed to do so.”

  “We will receive her in the reception foyer,” Scylla decided. “After she goes, I want all that excessive grandeur stripped from the walls and ceiling! Sorrell, you stay with the captain.” She stood up and hobbled with the aid of her sword stick to the entry hall near the door. After a moment’s hesitation, Mako followed, as did Minda. They stared at the walls and ceiling with some puzzlement.

  “What is it you plan to do here, Princess?”

  She gestured at the mirror-matched wood paneling, exotic candelabra and velvet ceiling draperies. “All of this… I want it removed! It does not fit with my vow of temperance.”

  “Ah, the vow of temperance.” Mako looked around somewhat distractedly.

  “And these chairs can go, although we will use them now.” She sat on the largest of the carved walnut chairs and wiggled back into it, as her feet did not touch the floor.

  “It was decorated to Queen Maris’s taste, I presume,” said Minda, turning a newly critical gaze on the walls. “Although it is very fine, I look forward to seeing how you plan to redo it, Princess. Perhaps, with the captain unwell, you might tolerate it a few days longer.”

  “Hmmm! Perhaps.”

  They waited. Eventually there was a rap on the door, and Minda opened it.

  “Queen Scylla… Lady Dara and Rosson of Espritt Keep!” announced Herron, the castle steward, as he ushered in a tall, well-built young woman with a harsh expression. Her dark hair was pulled back to fall in ringlets and she wore an elegant travelling cloak, small gold earrings and a thin gold necklace. Behind her came a slightly shorter man with a mild resemblance to Mako, although he was some years older.

  “Queen Scylla…! My wife, Lady Dara,” said Mako. “And my cousin Rosson, who runs the Keep… May I present Lady Minda Miller who has proved herself invaluable to this court.”

  Lady Dara and Rosson both bowed slightly. Behind them in the doorway stood the secretary-treasurer, Morse, who showed no signs of entering.

  “Come in, gentlemen,” said Scylla. “Sit down, Lady Dara.” She gestured at one of the other chairs.

  “Thank you! I will not waste your time, Queen Scylla. Your chancellor… my husband!” she added with biting sarcasm. “He knows why I am here. He promised to arrange our divorce… and has not done so.”

  “I planned to ask the king to make a judgment on that, but he was murdered before I could do so.”

  “Before you attended to it, you mean! You were to make the arrangements months ago, Mako. You left me almost two years past to return to the King’s Guard!”

  “I signed my interests at the Keep over to you and Rosson some months ago,” Mako countered defensively.

  “Really, Chancellor… are you Lord of Espritt Keep?” Scylla enquired with interest.

  “I was. My parents died in a plague when I was a child and I came to the castle as a page. My father’s sister and her husband managed my lands until I was older, but… as I said, I have given up all claim to Espritt Keep.”

  “He has no claim on me either!” snapped Dara. “As it was he who left! I am now with child… and it is not his. He was a very poor husband. I and Rosson—who should be Lord of Espritt as he has run it for years—we wish to marry. Soon!” She glared at Mako without apology. Standing next to her chair, Rosson gave a firm but silent nod of agreement.

  “Allow me to speak, Lady Dara,” said Scylla coldly. “As my father the king is no longer with us, I shall make the divorce judgment. I accept that Lady Dara and Chancellor Mako will not reconcile.” She looked at the secretary, Morse, with her eyebrows raised. “Prepare a writ of divorce that will suffice. I shall sign it.”

  From the doorway, Morse nodded. “It will take a few minutes, Queen Scylla.” He left immediately.

  “Then there is the question of your marriage to Rosson. How does one marry? I am sorry. I have paid no attention to these things in the past.”

  “Marry?” Dara repeated on a rising note one step away from hysteria. “Marriage is performed by the priests. However, as I can find no one who will admit to being a priest, I do not know how one marries anymore!”

  Minda said calmly, “Queen Scylla, usually on celebration days the priests would marry all couples asking for the blessing. Or in special cases, others wishing to marry might ask for a blessing and provide their own celebrations, which is what Orwen and I did. How were you and Mako married, Lady Dara?”

  “At a solstice feast here at the castle, along with several others. I do not, however, wish to wait for weeks until the next celebration, only to find there are no priests!”

  “I see the problem,” said Scylla. “The remaining priests are locked up in our… where are they, Chancellor?”

  “They are still in the cellars, Princess, although...”

  “Never mind, Chancellor. The priests’ dism
al religion has been banned, and we must find another means of marrying. I am sure there will be others soon wanting a marriage blessing. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

  Lady Dara stared at her. “The priests’ religion is banned?”

  “You are among the first to know, Lady Dara. Rellant returns to the old ways, tending the springs of the Goddess.” She gave Mako’s waspish wife a regal nod and held up her hand as the woman opened her lips to speak.

  Jay, who had been watching the scene unfold from a short distance away, suddenly said, “Princess, if you can sign for her divorce, can you not also marry them?”

  There was a short silence. “I do not know,” said Scylla. “Herron, do you know?”

  The castle steward considered the question as if it were a weighty matter. “I do not recall that King Tobin ever married any couple. Only the priests did so. During the time I served under his father King Corbin, it was the same. This is not to say the king could not marry a couple. I will ask Morse to study the castle records to see if there has been a precedent.”

  Lady Dara gave Herron a tortured stare. Scylla again held up her hand.

  “Yes, Lady Dara… that could take hours, if not days! I have a more immediate answer,” she said. “Behold! Before you is our new high priest… as I said before, there is no one more devout. Come here, Jay.”

  The boy gave her a startled glance.

  “I do not jest!” Scylla warned him and the others. “This is a true priest of our Goddess, and she did not object when he tended the ancient spring in the forest. Or, perhaps, should I say a priest of our true Goddess!… pure in heart, as the Goddess herself recognized.”

  “He is too young to be a high priest,” said Mako. “How old is he?”

  Minda said, “Ten, perhaps eleven. I don’t know for sure.”

  “Why not?”

  “He was left as a young child at our farm.”

  “I see,” said Mako. After a moment, he continued, “About eleven… is that not too young to be a high priest, Herron?”

  Herron contemplated this new question in heavy silence. After a moment he said, “Again, I shall ask Morse to study the castle records for a precedent.”