The Queen and the Mage

by Wilma van Wyngaarden

  The two lords stared dumbfounded at the treetop. Armonald’s jaw had gone slack, as his eyes darted avidly from branch to branch. “I believe… Could that be a trellet we just heard… a treelet, as they are known by some.”

  “Eeee! Eeee!” Keet screeched again. For a moment he showed himself—a small gray stick-like creature, his beady eyes glaring down at the group below as he bared a set of sharp little teeth. One skinny hand clutched at a limb. He shook the other arm which ended at the elbow. “The king will be king indeed! Mark my words! Mark my words!” Then he leaped lightly away and vanished among the leaves.

  Armonald’s and Lister’s astounded gaze fell to the young king’s stubborn face.

  “Good Goddess!” said Lord Armonald in stark shock. “King Joff has a trellet? I have never, ever laid eyes upon one before today. I have only heard stories of them.”

  “Tis a mythical creature, is it not?” Lister spoke up. He stared up at the tree again, but Keet had gone. “I would not have believed that except for seeing it with my own eyes… Did we truly just see…?”

  “... a trellet,” Ryall confirmed smoothly. “As you saw, he has only one arm. He has been following King Joff.”

  “Following King Joff,” Armonald repeated. He gave his head a shake and rubbed his hand over his face. “I cannot believe it… but is that not said to be a good omen?”

  “I have been told so, Lord Armonald,” said Ryall, without admitting that he had only just laid eyes on the tree dweller himself, and half an hour earlier he had never heard of the species at all.

  The lords exchanged glances again, this time with new interest.

  “However, let us return to the subject at hand… the King’s Guard and these villagers follow King Joff. I cannot say for sure what will happen when Woliff returns, but… we have two days, gentlemen!” Ryall’s hard stare went from one to the other. “Here is your king before you! We have already seen King Joff in action—I say rouse your legions and follow him. The stronger we are, the stronger Joff’s army, and the stronger we stand… dare I say it aloud… against the Protector!”

  Lister flinched. “I can only be sorry it has come to this! But I for one am with you, Captain… that is, with you, King Joff,” he corrected himself.

  “I am not sorry,” Lord Armonald spoke up with sudden determination. “Let us be honest about the corruption and from where it stems… and let us bring Gryor out of the shambles it has become! We are with you, King Joff! Lead on!”

  From a thicket near the creek, two pairs of eyes watched the column of riders clatter over the bridge in the wake of the young king and his men. The bodies of the toll guards lay in an untidy heap near the bridge, and the dead horse had been dragged off the road.

  “Eeee!” said Keet in a chirping whisper, from his perch among the twigs. “What think you, cat?”

  Below him, the forest cat crouched on a soft bed of dry leaves, the sunlight dappling his olive tabby stripes as it flickered through the shrubbery. “Methinks King Joff took your words to heart, trellet,” he purred.

  “Must we follow them further?” Keet’s beady glare followed the troops as they crested the hill.

  “It may be dangerous to do so. Also, I prefer to travel nocturnally.”

  “I concur… I concur!” chittered the stick man nervously. “I cannot travel through the trees as quickly as before my injury. We did what we were told, did we not? The thought is in the king’s head, and has been hammered home by the crusty captain. I like the captain! They have taken the hint... I can do no more! Let us return to the deep forest, cat.”

  “Aye,” yawned his companion, stretching his forelegs and raking the fallen leaves with his sharp claws. “We must travel quickly before the great Keet’s legend spreads further through the land. Someone may decide to hunt himself a trellet—’tis a good omen to have a trellet, I hear.”

  “And do not forget it, forest cat!” Keet shrilled. He skittered through the branches and sprang to his companion’s back, clutching at the olive-green fur. “I hope the kinglet does not continue to chop off heads with such enthusiasm. He took to the idea with astonishing fervor!”

  It was mid-morning in Rellant. A light overnight rain had fallen, perking up the grass and settling the dust. Several horses stood on the training field next to the castle… the brown and white one that Queen Scylla had ridden to Zara’s village, two black ponies that had stood idle since the young princes’ deaths almost two weeks ago, and Captain Coltic’s lanky bay, along with others. Soldiers tightened saddle girths, adjusted bits and bridles, and checked hooves.

  “Riding lessons!” snickered one young soldier to an older fellow as he picked out the hoof of one of the black ponies. “I saw the queen on that horse yesterday. Captain’s got his work cut out.”

  “The chancellor tried to teach her, years ago. He was but a soldier then in the King’s Guard. Wasn’t his fault or hers, it was that little menace of a pony. Too strong in the neck… scared the lass till she started screaming. Ought to’ve found an old nag to start with, but the king wouldn’t listen. His little princess had to ride the pretty white pony. Pretty is as pretty does!”

  “These two are pretty feisty too, but the princes had no trouble.”

  “The princes ride… rode like little devils, like the king himself. And went to their graves with him, poor souls. Not even two weeks ago! Ah well, we will see how the twig does!”

  “We can only lead him around—he is not yet three, is he?”

  “Never too soon to get started!” said the older man. “Captain Coltic wants to know which of those two ponies is better-minded to start him out on. That one nips… watch it.”

  “It’ll be sorry if it does! I say a horse can be safer for a child than these pig-headed ponies.”

  “Pig-headed ponies! Pig-headed ponies!” Bew and Spar, who were watching eagerly from the branches of a thicket near the castle wall, repeated the words shrilly in their nonsensical way.

  “Hush up!” River glared up at them from beneath the bushes. She had left the old willow tree after a night in her nest and was aiming to wander the village and on through the market. But the unusual activity on the horse field attracted her, and she had crawled into the bushes where she could watch unnoticed. It seemed the trellets had followed her, for soon after they had turned up overhead.

  “Ooh, Queen Scylla! Look, tree baby, here comes the queen!”

  “Shush!” River hissed. But, sure enough, she saw the slight figure of the queen limping from the castle. With her was a young housemaid, holding the hand of an excited small boy. The tall form of Captain Coltic came next.

  “Eeee! Eeee!” shrieked the trellets in unison. “Riding lessons!”

  River’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an O.

  “Now, Princess,” the captain was saying. “Remember what your intentions are today.”

  “I intend to learn to ride!” Queen Scylla’s voice floated across the field.

  “Yes, but today, just learn to relax. First, let’s see what Prince Leon thinks of riding.” He beckoned over the soldier with the pony and swung the little boy into the saddle. “Hang on, lad! Soldier, lead him around and don’t let him fall off.”

  “Well, of course he loves it,” said Scylla some minutes later, a note of irritation in her voice. “Do not all little boys take to riding in the same way?”

  “But not all stick to the saddle like a burr on a dog.” Coltic’s voice held a note of admiration. “Look, he is already trotting and not losing his balance! Take turns walking and trotting, soldier, and make sure he does not tumble off!... Now it is your turn, Princess. Axit, will you take charge of Queen Scylla’s stick?”

  “How will I get on with no rock to stand on, Captain?”

  “I will assist you, Princess. Here is the horse you rode yesterday. She is a sweetheart.”

  A moment later Queen Scylla was in the saddle and gripping desperately with her legs and both hands.

  “Do not grip,” Coltic reminded her che
erfully. “Take a deep breath!”

  But Scylla gasped for air, her body rigid.

  “Sit tall, relax and use your legs from knee to hip as your security,” the captain went on. He was still watching Prince Leon on the black pony. “Like that child does instinctively.”

  Scylla wheezed, fighting the panic that enveloped her. It was even worse than the day before, when she rode down the track from Spring Hill village.

  “Count to ten, Princess. Better yet, count to a hundred. And breathe deeply.” He turned to look at her. “If you breathe like you are doing now… in the top of your lungs, you are more likely to lose your balance. Breathe deeply!”

  As Scylla was hyperventilating, she could not comply.

  “Eeee, the queen is frightened,” one of the trellets observed quietly to the other. “Eeee!”

  River crawled out from the shrubbery. Both the horse and Captain Coltic turned their heads when she did.

  “Look, Princess, here is your barefoot tree climber come to visit,” Coltic said, with a grin. River ran across the games field and stopped a few yards away, her head cocked to one side.

  Scylla, who felt as if she were about to faint, blinked desperately at the small figure. “Oh... oh, it’s River,” she gasped.

  “Queen Scylla, are you frightened?”

  “I… am very light-headed,” Scylla admitted. She inhaled spasmodically.

  “Breathe deeply and slowly.” Coltic did not, however, offer to help her off the horse.

  “Why are you frightened?” River asked curiously. King Tobin and his soldiers rode their horses almost every day… and on feast days, riders from the entire kingdom had competed in the king’s riding competitions. “I have never seen anyone frightened of horses!”

  “I am on an animal... with a mind of its own... am I not? How do I know... what it will do next?”

  She sucked in some air, counted to five and then exhaled. She could still feel the horse running down the track from Zara’s village with all the other horses, their bodies jostling and their heavy feet trampling the ground.

  “That’s better,” said Coltic, turning his attention back to Prince Leon on his pony. “Breathe slowly, Princess. Remember to breathe slowly and deeply when you are panicking… What happens when you breathe out?”

  “How would I know?” Scylla snarled.

  “Breathe out totally,” said Coltic. Scylla forced herself to do so and sagged over the saddle front, her head bowed.

  “Now breathe in,” he said. She sucked in air, filling her lungs and sitting tensely upright. “Where is your weight now?”

  “What are you talking about?” Scylla said crossly. She exhaled again. “Oh.”

  “When you exhale and relax, your center of balance drops. You can still sit tall. When you fill your lungs and tense up, your balance rises and you will feel unstable.”

  “Oh, am I to never breathe in again?” snarled the queen, whose breathing was still fast and uneven.

  “Well, it’s a fine line,” said Coltic, winking at River. “Breathe slowly and feel secure… gasp and be unstable.”

  “Why are you riding the horse if you’re frightened?” River said curiously.

  “I need to ride. For traveling where Jay’s carriage can’t go… or in case of an attack…” Her voice trailed away as she remembered Jay’s words at dinner the night before. “… when you go into battle, Princess…!”

  “I am sure you can learn,” Coltic said encouragingly. “It’s all about sitting tall and relaxed... oh, and looking where you want to go. That tells the horse where you want to go. Look over there.” He pointed at Prince Leon, who was being led around the far side of the field. Scylla glanced over at him and back at Coltic. “Keep looking at the twig,” said Coltic. A moment later, Scylla’s horse turned to look in the same direction.

  “Now look at River over on this side,” said Coltic. Scylla looked at River, and a moment later, the horse’s head turned back. “What did you think of that, Princess?”

  “Of what?” said Scylla skeptically.

  “The horse looked where you did, did it not? This is a biddable horse… she will usually fall in line with what we want. Most horses will if the rider puts time into them. Yes, we use reins, bits, and spurs… but if we can be one with the spirit and the mind of the horse, we need less rein and spur. This is the magic of horses.”

  “I have felt no magic!”

  “That is not to say you cannot.” Coltic’s impish eyes met Scylla’s. “For the magic of horses, you need not be a sorcerer!”

  “And what is the secret, then?”

  “The secret? Time—every day for an hour or more, Princess. Or twice a day, if you can. Starting today.” Coltic looked around, seeing River a few yards away, listening intently. “Young River, now… can she ride a horse?”

  There were faint screams from the shrubbery along the wall. The heads of Coltic and the queen swiveled to see two small gray-green forms leaping violently from twig to twig in excitement. “Tree baby! Tree baby! Can she ride a horse? Eeee! Eeee!”

  “Go away!” River shrieked back at them.

  “There are your trellets, child!” Scylla brightened, forgetting for a moment where she was. “Do they follow you everywhere?”

  “I am plagued with trellets! They won’t go away!”

  “Well, never mind them.” Coltic beckoned to the young soldier. “Bring that pony over here.” He flinched, staring at the trellets in disbelief, but led it over. Like Leon’s, it was saddled, well-fed, and glossy.

  River looked ready to run, her gray eyes huge. She wasn’t much larger than Prince Leon, but as the soldier came closer, she pulled out her knife and said fiercely, “Get away or I’ll stab your eyes out!”

  The soldier jumped away, wheeling the fat pony between him and the feral child.

  “Put the knife away,” said Coltic peacefully. “Here, soldier, take Queen Scylla’s horse… River! Can you get on this pony?” Ignoring Scylla’s gasp of protest, he exchanged lead ropes and presented the pony’s side to the little girl.

  River assessed the situation narrowly. “Can’t be worse than a tree.” She stashed the knife, caught the stirrup, the saddle and the mane of the pony and climbed to its back. The knife appeared again in her fist and she glared fiercely at the captain.

  “Remember now…” He ignored her stony eyes and the knife but was careful to stay out of range. “Breathe, sit up tall and keep your balance low!” He led the pony off briskly and River, wide-eyed, went for the first ride of her short life. The trellets watched intently from the branches of a taller tree, in silence for once.

  The young guard’s eyes turned to Scylla warily. “Do you want me to lead your horse along with them, Queen Scylla?”

  “Curses, no!” she gasped hysterically. A moment later, changing her mind, she drew a deep breath and then exhaled. “Yes! Lead the horse but go slow. And stop the moment I tell you. On pain of death, soldier!”

  “Yes, ma’am… yer majesty!”

  Thus, when Chancellor Mako looked down from the top of the castle wall, where he was inspecting the progress of the new turret, a rueful grin spread across his face. He saw Prince Leon on one black pony, the ragged imp River perched on the other, and Queen Scylla’s brown and white mare ambling slowly behind. It was a far cry from King Tobin’s horse games, but once again there was action on the field.

  After a long boring day on the open sea, Woliff had spent the night dozing in the cabin. The hull creaked, the sails snapped, and the waves slid endlessly alongside as the wind pushed the boat eastward. At dawn, the winds died down and the boat wallowed.

  Woliff roared, “Mangus! Get in here!” There was no response. A few minutes later he left the captain’s chair and put his head out the low door. “Mangus!”

  “He’s below… sick as a puppy, master,” one of the sailors tending the flapping sails shouted back.

  “Seasick?”

  “Yes, master… Seasick!”

  Woliff gave a disgust
ed grunt and came out of the cabin, setting his feet wide apart on the heaving deck. He stretched, and then cast a long gaze over the gray waves, squinting in all directions.

  “Aha!” he said after a moment to no one in particular. “I thought I heard something… Sailor! Get that damned secretary on deck!”

  “He’s puking like a dog, master,” came the response a moment later.

  “Puking or not—tell him to get up here!”

  Long moments later, Mangus dragged himself above deck, groaning. He was so pale his face had a greenish tinge.

  Woliff caught the younger man by the shoulder and pointed across the waves. “What’s that, Mangus? What do you see there?”

  His secretary squinted into the dawn light. “It looks like a boat... High Priest,” he said, gagging.

  “It looks to me like three boats, young Mangus. Who was it we had information about… traveling to Gryor before we arrived at Rellant?” When Mangus didn’t respond, Woliff gave him a rough shake. “Three boats traveling from Rellant to Gryor the day before we got to that stinking swamp town… who was it?”

  “… Perhaps… was it the merchant Orwen Miller?” gasped Mangus, pulling free and going to the rail to hang over the side.

  “Orwen Miller with three cargo boats… Swamp-ville’s richest merchant after the king himself. I believe you’re right,” Woliff drawled. He eyed the boats in the distance. Their sails also hung slack with the lack of wind and they bobbed in a cluster, making no more progress than Woliff’s vessel.

  “Sailor—get this boat over to those others!”

  “We may have to row!” shouted back the sailor. “It is all but wind-still. Although the sail may help a little.”

  “Tack and row, man! Tack and row! ... Why in the earthen hell did I come out on this foul sea?” he added viciously, rubbing his face.

  Woliff’s boat inched its way across the water, the flapping sail assisted by oars. Eventually it drew close enough to the others and he raised a shout.