The Queen and the Mage

by Wilma van Wyngaarden

  “The Puppet, the Puppet...” The whispers went around the market like a sudden breeze, flowing from ear to ear, and Arrow strained imperceptibly to see. “Out hunting again!”

  Back from an early morning hunt, it seemed. Splatters of darkened blood marked the soldiers’ clothing, and one soldier’s arm was in a makeshift sling. In the center of the group, the young king rode, his coarse blonde hair reaching midway down his back, and a red smear staining his leathers from thigh to ankle.

  The hard eyes of the guardsmen searched the market as they passed. Vendors and shoppers flinched visibly. The king turned his brown eyes neither right nor left, but looked only forward. His narrow shoulders hunched, a strange grimace drawing his lips back from his teeth. Three well-dressed noblemen rode with him.

  Arrow had last seen King Joff and his soldiers some days ago, in the old horseman’s camp on the northern plains, when they had come on a horse-buying jaunt.

  But in his mind now came long-ago memories of Joff as a laughing young prince who sat a horse with ease and harmony. The aura of strung tension that sent the young man’s sweating plains horse scuttling sideways now was shocking.

  Arrow became aware that his companion was speaking and listened.

  “Our young King Joff,” said the old man softly. “The Puppet… fettered and unpredictable. One must contemplate whether to seek new ventures. But… one must be careful. Spies are everywhere and unrest is spreading.” There was a note in his voice that Arrow had not yet heard, a grimness that he now recognized as rampant throughout the market. Grim, fearful, a buzz of worry…

  Arrow shook off his own tension, glancing at his master. “I am always prepared to seek a new venture! Enough of words, old man, I will fetch us a midmorning snack!”

  He was off, dodging through the marketplace. The old man, left behind, hissed softly to himself as he watched Arrow take the same direction as the group of riders. A moment later, lips pressed together pensively, he dropped his glance and relaxed into stillness while market life churned around him.

  And up the street, going towards the gates of the Walled City, the king and his accompanying riders surged on. If any of them noticed the figure pelting after them, they saw a boy, older than a child, but not much larger than a child. If they looked closely at him among the other street urchins who followed, they saw straight brown hair, chopped off unevenly and whipping around his sun-browned face as he ran along. His clothes were rough—neither new nor well-fitted—and his wiry limbs had a quick lithe movement. In short, just another undersized youth bent on survival in the streets of the City.

  One of the soldiers, fumbling with his reins, dropped a glove without noticing. His horse felt it slither down his shoulder and sidestepped. The soldier cursed as he caught up the rein and spurred him over.

  Arrow, seeing an opportunity, darted forward and seized the fallen glove before anyone else had it.

  “Hoi—King's man!” he shouted breathlessly above the clatter of the horses' hooves as he ran to catch up with the rider who had dropped the glove. “A glove, a fine glove—do you so easily throw it away? Maybe you've no need of the other!”

  The cheeky grin behind the tousled hair drew snorts of amusement from other riders as Arrow waved the handsome leather glove high above his head and pranced alongside. The young king's head didn't turn.

  “You’re a dreamer, lad!” said one of the other riders.

  “But honest, see!” returned Arrow, tossing the glove toward the guard who had lost it. He caught it, giving Arrow a glare as he skipped along, palms raised and open.

  “Reward the lad's honesty, Cray!” chivvied one of his companions.

  “Honesty is its own reward,” growled the guard, but fumbled at his belt and tossed Arrow a coin.

  Arrow caught it and neatly dodged a wheelbarrow full of stable sweepings near an alley opening. He slowed to a walk, winded from his sprint after the horses, and inspected his prize with panache, holding it up and peering along his nose.

  “A penny,” he exclaimed to no one in particular, although a street audience had seen the by-play. “Oh, I swear I'll eat for a week on this!”

  “Fool, I'd have given you five times that for the glove!” a skinny youth snarled.

  “And you'd have sold it for ten!” yelped a woman from a window above, where she was hanging laundry on a line that spanned the street. Her laughter echoed through the street.

  “It was a fine glove, almost new! Did you see the leather... fit for a king!”

  There was a commotion in the group of riders, now some distance away, and a sweat-stained horse wheeled out from beside the king and came trotting back, snorting loudly. The street urchins around Arrow scattered and vanished into doorways and alleys, while Arrow pondered whether to run—and where to, if he did.

  “Boy!” Ryall, Captain of the King’s Guard, hauled his snorting horse to a stop, glaring down at Arrow. They had last traded glances in the horseman’s camp when they had bought the bay horse several days ago. Did Ryall recognize him as the old horseman’s boy? Arrow drew himself up as tall as possible and struck a showman's pose… something the horse boy would never have done.

  “Yessir, and what may I do for you?”

  The breeze flipped his hair across his face. Ryall’s eyes drilled into him. After a moment, he demanded, “How old are you, lad?”

  “As old as yesterday, and as young as tomorrow! Ancient as the hills and young as… no idea, really.” He fell silent, shifting his weight for a fast escape.

  “Where are you from?”

  Arrow blinked up at the soldier. He pushed his hair off his face and met the captain’s glare blandly, drooping one eyelid and crossing his eyes slightly.

  “Tarvid’s farm,” he answered, not entirely untruthfully, as he and the first horse trader had spent a few weeks there training colts. “He had a heavy fist. I've another master now, he hasn't beat me yet!” He rolled his eyes and twisted his mouth in a cynical grin.

  Ryall cast a glance over his shoulder at his companions waiting impatiently for him. The young King Joff, a distraught expression twisting his face, wheeled his horse around.

  “What are you doing, Ryall?” he all but screamed. “Come on—we have work to do in the castle!”

  Ryall’s horse sunk back on its haunches and threatened to rear. “Here! Next time you find a thing of value, bring it to me—Captain Ryall!” His hand swung out and Arrow cringed instinctively. But instead of a blow, coins dropped into the dust at his feet. With a seasoned beggar’s speed, he snatched them up.

  As Ryall’s mount spun and clattered after the others, the ragged street youngsters popped out from their hiding places. The skinny youth jostled Arrow, clutching at his arm. “What'd ya get? Let's see!”

  “That was Ryall, he’s the King’s own Guard!” someone else screeched at the top of his lungs.

  Arrow broke free. “Pennies, man, I'm rich!” He flashed a handful of pennies, the ones he had got for his juggling show in the market. He flung them high in the air. Gasping in disbelief, the others chased the coins as they rolled away. Arrow took to his heels and ran, clutching in his other hand the three half-puppets the captain had tossed him.

  As he dodged down streets and alleys, he shivered at his own audacity. He had seen again the young-old face and hunched posture of the vicious young king. He had also drawn the attention of the guards and Ryall, who had looked into his face only five days before. He might look familiar to them, but did they recognize him as the old horseman’s boy from the plains? Or perhaps... another boy from years before?

  Ryall, Captain of the King’s Guard, a man as familiar to him as his own father, was one of the men he had come back to the Walled City to kill.

  Ryall… second in line after the high priest, the Protector—Woliff.

  Even Arrow knew the task he had given himself was next to impossible, especially if he hoped to survive.

  “But does it matter if I survive?” he asked himself, as he had before.

>   Was it more important to avenge a five-year-old wrong… or for Arrow to walk away alive?

  He steeled his resolve once again. Ryall and the high priest would pay for what they had done—if he could make it happen. Whether he died in the attempt was unimportant.

  Chancellor Mako knocked on the door of the queen’s chambers. “Good afternoon!” he called out cheerfully as he pushed open the door. “Is it after noon yet?”

  “It may well be.” Scylla glanced over her shoulder as he entered. Her slight form slumped in the chair as if she had regressed to life as an invalid. Both feet were on the footstool, and she had wrapped herself in a wool robe.

  “I believe it is,” Minda said. “Here is your tea, Princess.”

  “How did the morning go?” Mako asked.

  “I rode the horse in endless circles. Then I stood next to it, brushing its hair on both sides until my arm ached. After that I encouraged it to eat grass while the soldiers rode around the field like madmen. Captain Coltic says if I am not busy this afternoon, I should repeat the whole process.” Scylla heaved an exasperated sigh. She clasped her cup with both hands and breathed in the reviving fragrance of the tea.

  “Excellent! How did Prince Leon take to riding?”

  “Like a trellet in a tree. As did the feral child River.”

  “I saw her riding the other pony. What a surprise—that she did not just run away!”

  “She did afterwards… It was simply curiosity,” said Scylla wryly. “She was in the bushes with the trellets and she popped out to ask why I was frightened of the horse. It seems no one is afraid of horses! She isn’t.”

  “Ah, yes.” Mako was silent for a moment. “I regret that I could not talk King Tobin out of making you ride that white pony. It was impossible, really. Not a mount for a child at all.”

  Scylla shrugged. “The princes, I am sure, made up for any disappointment he felt over me.”

  “They were born to ride, just as King Tobin was… and the twig too, it seems.”

  “I, however, was not!” Scylla snapped. “Nonetheless, I will go back out this afternoon if I must!”

  “It is just a matter of…”

  “Do shut up, Chancellor! I am merely sorry that Sorrell’s injuries keep her from joining in such fun. What news have you? Is Orwen back soon? I believe Minda is worried about him!”

  “Not for a few days. He should have arrived in Gryor either last night or today. I have sent a messenger which I hope will have reached him, Minda… to warn him of Woliff’s attempt to capture the castle.”

  Minda looked out upon the roof garden, where Axit sat on a bench coaxing the prince to eat and Sorrell paced slowly by. “Well, it is nothing new to wonder when Orwen will be back. He has been an adventurer as long as I have known him, and good luck—or the Goddess!—sails with him. I will see him when I see him. Would you like some soup, Mako, and anything else from this feast the kitchen has provided to ward off starvation until dinner?”

  Mako nodded abstractedly and sat down at the table. “Captain Renold’s troop tracked the physician Greyel to the east this morning and they have just returned. They were told he traveled through several villages three days ago. Then they lost his trail. His servant lad was seen with him, but the servant’s pony was lame.” He loaded a plate with a sampling of the kitchen’s offerings.

  “Where could he be?” Scylla mused, sipping her tea. “May I have some soup, Minda? I feel hungry!”

  “He stopped for a meal at a roadside inn and said he was summoned to a deathbed, but gave no details. Renold sent pairs of soldiers on to scour the countryside further, but they may not be back until tomorrow.” He watched as Minda gave a bowl to the princess, but refrained from criticizing how thin Scylla appeared or how little she was in the habit of eating.

  “I presume the kitchen is feeding the feral children again tonight,” said Minda as she sat down at the table with Mako and picked up a hand pie to eat.

  “I will be there to see who turns up. I have information about the village boys who show up. Their mother is bedridden, I’m told. There are two younger girls, not much more than babies. This afternoon I’ll visit the shack to speak with the mother. Perhaps they can go to Zara’s village. They’ll be looked after and will be a suitable addition… I hope.”

  “I hope Lady Zara can find some kindness within her. I saw none,” said Scylla.

  “I have seen a little, but her manner is very harsh. A housemaid will go along to look after the children. Brit and his crew should have the shacks ready within days.”

  “Have you hired a housemaid?” Minda asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “I am sure I can find someone suitable, if you cannot.”

  “Please do,” Mako told her. “Perhaps two, as it is so remote and isolated. I am not surprised the younger generation left.”

  “What district is Zara’s village in?” asked Scylla.

  Mako’s eyebrows rose, and he thought for a moment. “It may have been on the northern fringes, but I cannot remember the district’s name. The family died out, and the Keep is derelict.”

  “Herron or Morse can look it up,” said Minda. “It is all written in the kingdom’s records, is it not?”

  “Morse says everything has been recorded. The question is how long it will take him to find something among all those pages… in all those books.”

  “Perhaps the district can be assigned to some new lord, and the region brought back into productivity,” Scylla suggested.

  “An excellent idea,” Mako said. “That is, if we can convince someone to rebuild a ruin and take on a district with so few inhabitants, especially since no lord has taken charge there for decades.”

  “Possibly someone would be interested in buying the lands. I suspect ownership of the lands has reverted to the realm, if the family has died out,” Minda said.

  “I will have Morse look up the records and move on from there,” said Mako. “It will not matter, if the wolves of Gryor are on their way back.”

  “The wolves of Gryor are but dust beneath our feet,” Scylla said grandly. “Meanwhile, I still want to see the priests’ books of magic, Chancellor. Perhaps you can bring them tonight, when the War Council meets.”

  Mako grimaced. “Can we not keep them locked away, Princess? What if these books lure you in as they did the priests?”

  “Do not worry… I have no ambitions in that direction, Chancellor. I merely want to inspect them.”

  He heaved a sigh. “I will get them from the vault this evening, Princess. I hope it is not a mistake. I must also report that one of the remaining priests died of a lung infection in the cellars. I am releasing the last one who is sick as well. He will be under close supervision at one of the king’s farms and will be put to work if he survives.”

  “Whatever you think, Chancellor. But bring me those books of magic.”

  He repeated, “I hope it is not a mistake.”

  “Our own sorcerer will be here, will he not? I’m sure he will warn us if there is any danger!”

  A rap sounded on the door and Coltic came in. “Here he is now,” said Minda.

  “Princess! Your horse awaits,” he said cheerfully as he crossed the floor. His eyes went around the room and then paused on the figure of Sorrell, visible through the window on the roof garden.

  “Already?” snapped Scylla, who had not yet finished her soup. “Curses!”

  Coltic spotted the food on the table and went over to sample it. “Finish your lunch, Princess… I can wait a minute or two!”

  In mid-afternoon, faint screams came to Minda’s ears as she and the maids cleaned and tidied the royal chambers. The screams grew louder, and she went to the door to see who was coming up the stairs.

  “I am back, Minda!” Mako announced over the echoing wails of a small boy flailing under his arm. A large soldier carried two tiny, unkempt girls. Their older brother cowered behind, his thin face lined with desperation.

  “Goodness! What is this?”

>   Mako waved the others through the door. “Is there any food left?”

  “Of course there is.” She closed the door firmly behind them.

  “These children must be fed and cleaned up. Their mother has died. Can we house them somewhere until Zara’s houses are ready?”

  Minda nodded, her mind already at work. She beckoned to the maids, who took charge of the younger children. At the sight of the food, the boy’s wails reduced to convulsive sobs and soon he was sitting on a chair next to his older brother. His eyes grew huge in his tear-stained face when Minda gave him a hand pie.

  Mako pulled her aside. “The mother died several days ago and her body is still in the shack. It will be buried immediately. The older two have been coming for food but, as you can see, they’ve been starving for some time.”

  “I will house them in the guest chambers with the girls, who can look after them. As soon as they have had a bite or two of food, they can go there. Queen Scylla will be back from her riding lesson soon, as will Prince Leon and Axit. These children need baths and their clothes should be burned, I suspect.”

  “I will leave it to you, Minda. I must attend to another urgent matter… Thank you!” he called back as he strode to the door with the soldier behind him.

  “Goodness,” said Minda brightly, turning back to the children. “Your sisters are nothing more than babies! What are their names… and yours, lads?”

  Scylla’s body ached, and her ankle throbbed. She had been in the chair since her return from the afternoon riding lesson.

  “It is not really a riding lesson,” she said to Minda. “The captain leads me around and tells me to breathe. Then he takes the saddle off and I brush the animal’s sides until it dries off. Then I let it eat grass while the soldiers ride around practicing war maneuvers.”

  “Did the little girl come back?”

  “No, we did not see her this afternoon. Mako expects her to turn up for the food basket tonight. I hope she does. She has not come in for her comb yet, has she?”