The Western Star Inn was in a section west of the gates of the Walled City and Orwen walked by, his gaze sliding casually over the guards at the gates. As he neared the shops catering to the occupants of the Walled City, he heard a quiet greeting, and a slight man in unremarkable clothing fell into step with him.
“Ah, Mags,” Orwen greeted him in an undertone. “What strange things are taking place on the docks these days?”
“Soldiers. They have free rein, it seems. Have your buyers shown up?” came the whispered response.
“Not so far, but I am a little ahead of schedule.”
“The soldiers have been setting up tolls on every road the last few days. Traffic has all but stopped.”
“Ah. Do you mean to tell me my buyers will not show up?”
“I would be surprised if they do,” said Mags. He stopped and looked into a tailor’s multi-paned bay window. Orwen halted next to him. “And even if the buyers make it to the docks, you and they will pay double charges just for you to unload your goods and for them to turn around and load it on their wagons.”
“Might I be better just to untie and leave tonight? I do not want to… I have a little business to see to. Gryor’s business.”
“Are you aware our High Priest Woliff took a troop of fighting men and went down the coast to your own country?”
“I heard a rumor… of a marriage proposal,” Orwen admitted. “They were said to be on their way, but not for a few days.”
“Believe it or not, Gryor’s Protector himself went. Let us walk on.”
Orwen emitted a slight whistle as they turned to walk on through the street. “Why would such a powerful man leave the court and travel as the king’s messenger himself?”
“Nosy,” Mags scoffed. “I hear his main objective is darker… he wants the books of magic held by Rellant’s rogue priests. He and his sorcerer Mangus, who pore over odd tomes and play with spells and potions, cultivating stranger habits each day.”
“Oh? Our rogue priests, as you call them, are dead—their house was seized and their books burned.”
“Some magic books do not burn, Orwen. At any rate, let me pass on the rest of this message I have for you. Stop here for a moment.” In a few quiet words, he told Orwen of the boat hidden in the delta—that Rellant’s people had intercepted an attack on the village, had slaughtered Woliff’s men and burned the boat out in the reeds, all while he and his guards sat at dinner with the chancellor and Queen Scylla herself. “The chancellor sent this message by a faster boat along the coast, to warn you that Woliff and his five remaining men left for home, after their strike was foiled. When he returns here tomorrow, you may not be safe.”
“Ah.” Orwen digested the information. Deep lines appeared on his brow. “Do you mean to tell me they planned to invade the castle? If it had been successful, the queen and her court would now be under Woliff’s control!”
“Or slaughtered outright like your late king,” Mags whispered.
“Good Goddess... My wife is at the castle, assisting the queen!” Orwen ran his free hand over his balding head. His fingers shook a little. “Well, Mags, I came here to help spark unrest in Gryor itself.”
“I know that. You are not too late. In fact, the information I have received tells me the citizens are about to rise up against the forces wreaking havoc on the countryside. There is a leader with a network—ready to revolt. They are aware of your inquiries and the advice you have already given. And they appreciate the help… or so I hear.”
“Who is the leader?” asked Orwen, his interest sharpening.
“I am not free to say. Or perhaps… more truthfully… I am not sure who or what this person is. I understand it is someone in a distant village. Well, there is your inn, Orwen. Another contact may be in touch with you tonight. Have a good evening… if you can!” He gestured toward the tall stone rooming house with its painted sign overhanging the street and went on his way. The sun, now low in the west, shone redly along the narrow street and lit up the front of the Western Star Inn.
Orwen, more than a little disturbed by Mags’ news, crossed the cobbled pavement and pushed open the heavy door with its ornate iron hinges. Somewhere within, a bell clanged.
The trellets perched in the ancient willow a few branches away from River’s perch. They peered through the trailing twigs at the kitchen door, which stood open. No one was in sight—not at the door or in the lush and weedless garden.
“Where is the children’s dinner?” Bew screeched. “We can see nothing! No one!”
River lay on her back in her nest, idly playing with strands of her long tangled hair and trying to free the knots. “Too early,” she said. She picked a seed head out of one snarl and tossed it over the edge.
“Maybe there is no dinner!”
“Queen Scylla said there is. She said… did you enjoy your dinner? I hope you will come again tonight!”
The trellets screamed with laughter. “Tree baby sounds just like the queen! Just like the queen… I hope you will come again tonight!”
“Oh, hush up! Or go find me a comb. My ma used to comb my hair. Look at it now!”
Bew and Spar turned their beady eyes upon River’s matted locks. “We don’t have combs,” Bew said. “Why don’t you be like us and just have a smooth coat?”
“Or even shaggy like mine,” Spar added. They groomed their greenish fur with their sharp fingertips to show its tidiness.
“I will braid mine like the queen’s hair.” River sat up and tried to run her fingers through her straw-colored hair without success. It was too tangled.
“Shhh! Shhh! Here come the wild boys now!” The trellets swung through the branches to the other side, staring along the riverbank.
“They are early too,” River noted. “Tag and Nard and Trickit—too early. Where are the others?”
“One is creeping across the orchard… no, there are two!”
“The brothers from the village,” said River. “They are more starved than anyone. I think there is no ma or pa at all in their shack.”
“They are all bringing back the baskets,” shrieked one of the trellets suddenly. “Where is your basket, tree baby?… you won’t get any dinner!”
“It is right here. Hush up!” River whispered in exasperation.
“Hush! Hush!” the trellets jeered at each other, sounding like birds. “Here they come!” They quieted, their beady eyes fixed on the three feral boys now collecting in a group near the willow.
Nard and Trickit stared across the distance to the kitchen door. “There’s no one there,” they groaned at each other. “No one, and no food!”
Tag said, “Too early… I told you. Just wait!” He looked around, catching sight of the two boys at the edge of the orchard. “There is Kenner from the village and his little brother… And I see the rat-girl over there. Here comes your friend, Nard. I wonder where the other one is, the spooky one what keeps to himself over by the horse barns.”
“Did you see Gabby today?” Trickit said. “I saw her run through the market.”
Tag said, “No, I didn’t see her. Likely she’s up above us right now.” River, squinting down through a small gap in her nest, saw all three of them look up into the willow. She didn’t move and for once the trellets were quiet. When they kept still even River couldn’t find them among the foliage.
“Hey, tree baby! Tree baby!” taunted Trickit, raising his voice. “Come on down for dinner!”
“Shut up, Trick,” said Tag without irritation. “If she’s up there, she’s waiting like the rest of us.”
“Food, food, food,” chanted Trickit, dancing on the spot like a puppet on strings. “I’m hungry! Where is it?” They all stared at the kitchen door again, and Nard’s friend joined them. “Did you bring your basket? Did you?” The other boy held it up unnecessarily to show him. “Good thing, a good thing, or you wouldn’t get any dinner!” he nagged.
“Shut up, Trick,” said Tag, as if he said it all day long, which he likely did. Tricki
t could never stay still for long and much of what he said made little sense. The time dragged on, with the boys alternately staring across at the kitchen door, shoving each other and moaning that there would be no food tonight.
“Hello, boys!” a voice hailed them from the kitchen door. They all flinched at the sound. River raised her head. There was Chancellor Mako at the kitchen door, just as the previous evening. A kitchen lad in a well-used apron carried out baskets and placed them on the table.
“Oooh!” sighed Nard’s friend. “Well, I brought my basket back!”
“Well, get going then,” Nard chivvied, giving him a shove in the back. “You’re first.”
“Come on,” said Tag suddenly. “We’ll all go together.” He took two steps and looked back fiercely. “Come on!” The boys emitted frightened yelps, but a moment later followed Tag’s lead.
“Good evening, lads!” River heard the chancellor’s friendly greeting. “I see you’ve brought back the baskets… good work!”
The four boys approached the table in a tight huddle. They jostled each other putting their baskets on the table and did not quite dare to reach out for new ones.
“Here are your dinners,” Mako said encouragingly. “What are your names?”
“I’m Tag,” River heard the tight response. “He’s Nard… that’s Trickit… and Nard’s friend.”
“I’m Mal,” chattered Nard’s friend nervously. “Why are you giving us food?”
“Queen Scylla has decided to feed hungry children like you, as her mother did some years ago.” River saw Mako approach the table calmly, pick up a basket and hand it to Tag. Next he handed one each to the others, who reached out stiffly for them. “In fact, here is Queen Scylla now.” He pointed at the kitchen door, where a slight figure was visible, leaning on her sword stick with the decorative metal vine winding along its length.
“Queen Scylla!” gasped River out loud. The queen had a gray cloak wrapped around her, and her black hair was rolled tightly in a knot at the back of her neck. She looked as youthful as the boys.
The sight of her riveted the boys in place. Then they began to back away.
“Enjoy your dinner, boys!” River heard Queen Scylla’s voice float across the distance.
“Eeee!” the trellets shrieked behind her like birds. “There is the queen, tree baby! We did not see her come back to the castle! How did we miss her return… how?”
The boys kept backing in a tight group until they felt it was safe enough to turn and scurry off.
“Thank you!” Tag shouted back over his shoulder, and the others echoed him. “Thank you… thank you!”
“Bring back the baskets tomorrow!” Mako returned to the open kitchen door and spoke to the queen. A moment later, the kitchen lad brought out a chair and Queen Scylla sat down.
Within moments, the rat-girl came strolling by with her rats clinging to her shoulders. “Good evening!” said Mako genially, without leaving the doorway. “Thank you for bringing back the basket.”
The rat-girl nodded politely, put her basket on the table and reached out for a new one. “Enjoy your dinner,” Queen Scylla said. “What’s your name?” Without answering, the girl left, her tension hidden but for her stiff walk and her shifting eyes.
The village boy and his small brother finally left the edge of the orchard. They endured Mako’s few words of conversation and shrank away with their two baskets. “Thank you,” the older one said. “Tell him thank you!” he whispered to the skinny big-eyed child with him, who muttered something that no one could hear as they rushed away.
“Here comes the other one,” said Mako after a longer wait. He turned his back to the table. “Do you see him?”
Scylla nodded. “I saw him hiding in the bushes over there. Here he comes… Enjoy your dinner!” she called out. The boy raced in and dodged away without making eye contact.
In the willow, the trellets chittered in agitation. “Your turn, tree baby! Your turn!”
“Blah, blah,” said River disdainfully. “Hush up!” She stared down at the chancellor and the queen, still framed in the doorway, as if they planned to wait all day and all night. She wished she had a comb to untangle her hair. She heaved a sigh, looking down at her dirty, ragged leggings and tunic, and at her skinny wrists and ankles. She had grown, and her clothes hadn’t. “My ma wouldn’t have liked this,” she told the trellets. “But she would have told me to get the food!”
River climbed down the willow. She jumped the last foot or two into the tall grass, clutching her amulet to remind herself of its protection and ensuring she had her knife with her. Then she came out from behind the tree and started toward the kitchen door.
The screams from the trellets alerted her. “Tree baby… the basket! The basket!” Again, as they had the day before, they threw down the basket and it bounced to the ground and rolled across the grass. River picked it up.
“I heard your trellets in the tree!” Queen Scylla said as she approached. “Did you forget the basket?”
She reached the table and shoved the empty basket onto it, nodding. “I am plagued with trellets,” she exclaimed, repeating the words she had heard Mako say earlier. “Here is the basket!”
Queen Scylla nodded. “Thank you. What is your name?”
“River!” she answered promptly. “Do you have a comb, Queen Scylla? I want to comb my hair.”
“River! I like that name! Chancellor, can you procure a comb for River?”
“Ah… right this moment, Princess? Well, I will see what I can do.” He hesitated a moment, eyeing River sternly, then disappeared through the kitchen door.
“Are any others coming for food tonight?” asked the queen. “I want to be sure no children are hungry.”
“I don’t know. But those two boys from the village… I think there are more children in their shack, but no ma or pa. Can I take this basket?”
“Please do. I hope you enjoy your dinner!”
River tugged it off the table. “Thank you!” she said, hearing the echo of her ma’s reminder in her head again. Say thank you! “Do you think he will bring a comb?”
“I expect so,” said Scylla, turning in the chair to peer inside. River saw a large soldier standing a few strides back from the door and, beyond him, the kitchen staff hard at work.
“Look at all the food!” she exclaimed, her eyes popping at the heaps of chopped vegetables within, along with roasted ducks and chickens, and a huge fireplace with steaming cast-iron pots, and a lad slowly turning two blackened lamb carcasses over glowing embers.
“Yes, they are feeding the staff in the great hall, and also my Council and I at our meeting,” Scylla said. “And yet it is nothing like the feasts my father the king and Queen Maris hosted every night.”
River clutched the basket with both hands. She could smell the contents. “Well, maybe I can get a comb tomorrow,” she decided. She looked up at the sky. The sun was igniting rosy highlights along the edges of the looming clouds. “Goodbye, Queen Scylla! You cannot see the sunset from here. I hope they finish the wall for you soon!” She ran away, holding the basket against her so it wouldn’t bump into her legs.
“River!” Queen Scylla’s voice was calling her. “River!”
“What?” She hesitated, looking back.
“Come to my chambers tomorrow and I will find you a comb. I will tell the soldiers you are coming!”
“Ahhh!” River shrieked loudly. She took to her heels, heading for the safety of the tree line. Amongst the shrubbery, with no trellets to bother her, she tucked herself into a hidden hollow. Tonight’s dinner was two fried lamb chops, a baked potato and roasted carrots, along with a hand pie filled with berry jam. She sighed with bliss. She would not think about Queen Scylla until later. Much later!
Mako returned to the kitchen door to find Scylla rising from her chair, and the small child gone.
“Here is a comb.” He held out a comb cut from fine-grained wood.
“Oh, well, I will take that,” she told him
. “I have told her to come to my quarters tomorrow. Inform the soldiers, Chancellor, and tell them to escort her upstairs if she comes in.”
“Good Goddess! Did you really, Princess? That child—tiny as she is—carries a knife, as you know.”
Scylla waved off the warning. “Here is some information for you… she says the brothers from the village may have others in their shack, but no ma or pa. Perhaps that might be an orphan family suitable for Zara, and less feral than some of these others.”
“For example, the rat-girl,” Mako said ruefully. “I have been wondering how our lady Zara will take to a girl with two brown rats! That is good information. I will make some inquiries in the village… Well, there is one basket left again on the table. They can leave it there. Perhaps some other hungry soul will come for it.”
The chancellor and Queen Scylla left the kitchen, escorted by three soldiers who had been on guard just inside the kitchen door.
“I look forward to dinner,” said Mako, sniffing the air appreciatively. “I am hungry after our journey today!”
“Are you?” Scylla responded without enthusiasm. “I for one feel rather unwell from all those hours of traveling. Thank the Goddess for Jay’s carriage.”
“I hope you will take the captain up on his offer to improve your riding... starting tomorrow. It is true—your ability to ride could make the difference between life and death, Princess—at any time.”
Scylla heaved a sigh. “I am sure it could, Chancellor. I will start soon.”
“Tomorrow? I will remind Coltic.”
“Possibly!” she snapped. “I may very well be too exhausted. In fact, I may stay in bed entirely tomorrow.”
“Oh? Perhaps I should call in the physician Greyel?”
“Do not, Chancellor! Besides, no one knows exactly where he is… or do you?”
“He has not returned to his house in the village. Renold is sending out a troop tomorrow who will track him as a training exercise.”
Having crossed the courtyard, they climbed the stone steps and went through the arched doorway. Inside, Scylla took Mako’s elbow as they ascended the grand stairway. “I will be back for dinner and our Council meeting shortly,” Mako said, standing aside as she entered her chambers. He gave her a half bow and closed the door behind her.
The Queen and the Mage Page 20