Torchlight

by Theresa Dahlheim

  At last it seemed that he was actually dressed in what he would wear that evening for dinner, because the tailor and his apprentices gathered up the rest of the clothes, scissors, trimmings, and bolts of fabric, and trooped out. The white linen undertunic he wore felt very sheer and soft against his skin, and over it was another white shirt, long-sleeved, with a short, squared-off collar. Over that was another shirt, with slashed half-sleeves, in a pattern of small squares alternating shades of dark blue and purple; it buttoned off-center, and opened to a rolled collar. The trousers were plain black, but the low boots were two-layered suede with a cutout pattern of oak leaves, and the belt had a heavy silver buckle.

  He had literally never thought twice about anything he had worn before—clothes were to keep a person modest and warm, and that was pretty much it—so it was with a craftsman’s curiosity that he was inspecting the intricate hidden stitching that kept the shirt collar in place when Lord Contare appeared at his side. “Do you approve?” the sorcerer asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Graegor said, turning from the window and straightening his tightly cuffed sleeve. Lord Contare was also dressed in dark, fine fabrics, but the cut was more conservative—not much different from what Graegor considered ordinary clothes. The bigger difference was that he seemed younger; his white hair seemed fuller, and his eyes brighter blue. Of course, he was home, and being at home was supposed to make one content.

  “Our man did a fine job. You look very respectable.”

  “Thank you, sir. The tailor already had some of it pieced out.”

  “Yes, when I contacted Andru from Farre, I asked him to have the tailor start cutting. I guessed at your height—how well did I do?”

  “Well, there were a lot of alterations ...”

  “Ah, well.” He smiled, then held up a small wooden box. “This is for you.”

  Graegor opened the box, and the fold of silk inside, to reveal a heavy gold-and-silver signet ring. It was crested with a falcon, the Torchanes falcon. He pulled in his breath, because this was obviously an old ring, well used, with tiny scratches in the gold and a trace of purple wax at the falcon’s beak. “Was this King Zacharei’s?”

  “Yes. Prince Augustin retrieved it before he escaped. After he was killed, his wife left it for me.” When Graegor continued to look at the ring without touching it, the sorcerer said, “Try it on.”

  It didn’t quite fit; it spun on his ring finger and wobbled on his middle finger. “We can have it sized tomorrow,” Lord Contare said.

  “Thank you, sir.” Graegor closed his fist to feel the gold and silver against his fingers and palm. “Thank you very much.”

  “The king and his family should be here soon. Are you nervous?”

  “A little.” A lot, actually. He had never met Duke Richard of Farre—had never really wanted to. He’d never even formally met the baron who held his home village’s charter. In fact, the only noble he had ever spoken with before was Lord Contare himself.

  “Well, the king is a serious man, but the queen is very charming. The crown prince came of age this month—we just missed the celebrations. They have another son, two years younger, and two little daughters. I think the younger one just turned four, so there may be some high-pitched fussing before the evening is over.”

  “I have a little sister at home. Not that little, but I know what they’re like.”

  Lord Contare nodded, his eyebrow slightly raised. Graegor suddenly blurted, “I grew up in a village on Long Lake. I left because there were no apprenticeships I wanted and because my father and I didn’t get along. I ... I miss my mother and sister though.” He still didn’t want to talk about his family, but it made no sense to keep his origins from his master. The sorcerer had joined Prince Augustin in his fight for the throne, and he deserved to know how far Augustin’s descendants had fallen from it. “I’d just been let out of jail when you found me.”

  Now Lord Contare’s eyebrows shot all the way up. “Why were you in jail?” But he didn’t sound upset, just very curious.

  “For fighting.”

  “Did you hurt anyone?”

  “Not permanently.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “For what?”

  “For ...” He stopped, because he couldn’t find the right words.

  “It’s all right, Graegor. Think of it this way—your adventure in the dungeons of the haughty Duke of Farre will make a good story someday. “

  “Yes, sir.” Your adventure in the dungeons ... “Sir, is there a way into the secret tunnels from here, from this tower?”

  “No, they’re just in the old keep. You want to try going in, don’t you?—Well, I’m sure the two princes will accommodate you. They’ve been curious about the tunnels ever since they found the trapdoors in their chambers.” Lord Contare paused and gave Graegor a serious look. “Khisrathi tapped into the original earth magic to seal her spell into the stones, so that it would endure. It has endured, and it is still very powerful. I will admit that I am not certain how it will react to you.”

  “Sir?”

  “You are not only a Torchanes. You are a Torchanes sorcerer. The spell may react to your power as well as to your blood.”

  “React how, sir?”

  “I am not certain. There is a measure of the unpredictable here. Roberd told me that he would sometimes walk through the tunnels to feel their magic, and that he was always humbled by the strength he could sense in the earth below.” Another pause, another look. “Tread lightly, and be careful.”

  “Yes, sir.” It went without saying to give deep respect to the magic that Sorcerer-King Carlodon had used to raise his fortress on this hill.

  Then Karl came up to them to announce the imminent arrival of King Raimund and his family. His heart pounding, Graegor followed Lord Contare to the open space in front of the door leading downstairs, and he saw Marschelle, Andru, their son, and two other servants standing decorously back near the kitchen. Karl, now dressed in the same blue livery as the other magi, opened the door with a flourish.

  A pageboy wearing an emerald-green tabard entered first. He bowed deeply to Lord Contare, then to Graegor. “My lords,” he announced in a high, piping voice, “His Majesty, the King of Telgardia.” He stepped away from the door, turned, and bowed again.

  Graegor bowed as Lord Contare did, swaying a little but managing not to stumble, before he heard the king speak: “My Lord Contare. It is good to see you.”

  It was not a remarkable voice; in fact it sounded like Master Jarl’s, but as Graegor rose from his bow, he saw that any likeness to the old saddlemaker ended there. King Raimund was as tall as Lord Contare, with a weathered face, iron-grey hair, and a short black beard. His crown was a thick, beveled band of gold, and he was dressed as Lord Contare was, dark and sober. This was as much as Graegor could observe as the king and the sorcerer traded greetings, and then Lord Contare was gesturing him forward. “Your Majesty, it is my pleasure to present to you my successor, Lord Graegor Torchanes.”

  “It is my pleasure to meet him.” The king nodded, and Graegor bowed again, glad to escape for a moment the keenness of the king’s gaze. “My lord, I extend my most heartfelt welcome.”

  “Thank you, your Majesty.” He was glad he said it without a stutter.

  “May I present my wife, Queen Leota.” The king turned and took the hand of the lady behind him. She had a soft, pretty smile in a face that looked quite young. Her hair was brown, piled up around a tiara set with teardrop pearls in shades of grey-blue, the same colors as in her gown.

  “Your Majesty,” Graegor said as he bowed over her pale hand.

  “My Lord Graegor. I am truly honored.” She turned her smile on Lord Contare and they greeted each other with genuine fondness. Then the two young men behind her set down the two little girls they had carried up the stairs, and the girls came forward to their mother and curtseyed to Graegor and Lord Contare. They had identical yellow dresses and wide blue eyes. As the qu
een introduced them, Graegor saw that they were clearly less interested in him than in Lord Contare. He’d probably done magic for them the last time he was here.

  As the queen took the princesses’ hands and drew them off, the king gestured forward the two young men, whose clothes were of a similar cut to Graegor’s own. “And my sons. This is my firstborn, Prince Darcius.”

  Graegor bowed once more. He was getting better at it. “Your Highness.”

  Prince Darcius also bowed and said, “Lord Sorcerer,” then stuck out his hand to shake. Graegor hesitated only an instant before doing so, trying not to stare. Prince Darcius was Graegor’s height, his tan less deep, and his eyes bright blue, but his standout trait was his hair—bright, golden blonde, blonder than any Telgard’s Graegor had ever seen, nearly obscuring his silver circlet. Graegor didn’t think he’d ever seen blue eyes and blonde hair on the same person. The effect was startling.

  “And Prince Adlai.” While Prince Darcius greeted Lord Contare, the king brought the younger prince forward. Prince Adlai looked much more like a Telgard, but even his hair was striking in how dark it was, black-brown, and his silver circlet almost glowed against it. His eyes were deeper blue, his skin pale but with the flush of weather and wind that meant time spent with horses.

  “Shall we sit?” Lord Contare gestured toward the chairs and divans, and escorted the queen to the finest of them. As their elders took their seats, the two little princesses stopped in front of Lord Contare and whispered to him. He nodded very seriously and pointed to a large wooden box in a corner. The girls darted for the box as Karl and Andru brought in wine on silver trays.

  “We are very interested to know, Sire,” Lord Contare said to the king once the magi had withdrawn, “the disposition of the Kroldon ambassador.”

  “Yes, my lord, I imagine so.” The king nodded at Graegor. “I thank you, my lord, for your far-seeing.”

  “I’m glad I could help, your Majesty,” Graegor said carefully.

  “Three of our warships were in port to resupply after a patrol,” the king went on. “With your early warning, they could be manned and readied quickly enough to intercept the ambassador’s ships before they reached the bay. In the guise of an escort, we took the ambassador’s ships to anchorage at the edge of the breakwater.”

  “And there they stay,” Lord Contare observed, looking out one of the windows.

  “It was explained to the ambassador,” the king said, “that he has arrived at a delicate time, as the new sorcerer is now in Chrenste”—he nodded again to Graegor—”and all the attendant celebrations are strictly Telgard affairs. He will therefore have to wait until we are not so thoroughly occupied before the question of his reinstatement can be addressed.”

  Lord Contare, the queen, and both of the princes all looked very amused by this, but Graegor didn’t quite understand. Was the king just going to leave the ambassador out there?

  Lord Contare raised his wine glass in salute. “And if a storm brews up?”

  “His ships appear weather-worthy,” the king said blandly. He had not smiled once, but Graegor wondered if he was truly as serious a man as Lord Contare had said. “This gives me time to investigate the ambassador’s intentions. As he is not on Telgard soil, I do not yet need to decide whether to reinstate him or arrest him. Again, Lord Graegor, you have my thanks. Your talents have already served your kingdom well.”

  The talk turned more general, about weather and Lakeland. The queen asked Graegor about his home and the sort of work his father did, which Graegor answered briefly and self-consciously. Before long, Karl and Andru returned with more wine, and the queen started to talk with Andru about a court magus who had been ill, while the king and Lord Contare discussed something else. The princesses were busy with an ever-more-widely-strewn collection of wooden toys, and Graegor watched them for a few moments. Then Prince Darcius sat forward in his chair across from him. “I noticed, my lord, that you have a Torchanes signet ring,” he said, with a hopeful look. “May I see it?”

  “Yes, your Highness.” Graegor pulled off the ring and gave it to Prince Darcius, pretending to be casual about it. Prince Adlai also leaned over to inspect the signet as Prince Darcius turned it over in his hands.

  “Did your father give it to you, my lord?” Prince Adlai asked as his brother handed it back to Graegor.

  “No, your Highness, Lord Contare did.” His father had given him nothing of his heritage. Had he known? Could he have known? “He said it belonged to King Zacharei Torchanes.”

  Prince Darcius nodded slowly, then shook his head and laughed a little. “I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t mean to stare. It’s just—nobody thought the Torchanes line had survived.”

  “Lord Contare did,” Prince Adlai pointed out. “He knew you were a Torchanes right away, didn’t he, my lord?”

  “Yes, your Highness.” He wondered what else the princes already knew about him. “He said that my—my magic, my power, feels like Sorcerer Roberd’s, and like the Torchanes magi he’s known.”

  “Was Prince Augustin a magus?” Darcius asked.

  “Lord Contare told me he was.” The prince had dropped the “my lord”, but Graegor wasn’t certain that that meant he should drop the “your Highness”.

  “Well, him you can trust,” Darcius grinned. Apparently dropping the “your Highness” was fine with him, and Graegor relaxed a little. “Stories almost always say the heroes are magi, so sometimes it’s hard to know.”

  “Wishful thinking,” Adlai said. “Everyone wants to be a secret magus.”

  “Remember when I tried to levitate you?” Darcius asked his brother wistfully.

  Adlai snorted. “By dropping me over the banister?”

  “You let me do it.”

  “I was four.”

  Darcius turned back to Graegor. “That far-seeing you did, what’s that like? Is it like looking through a telescope?”

  “Something like it. But Lord Contare said that stretching my vision isn’t exactly magnifying what I’m seeing. It’s still far away, but the detail is finer.”

  Adlai asked, “Can you see the moon and stars better too?”

  “Lord Contare said the stars are too far away. But I don’t know about the moon.”

  “We can try it when it’s dark,” Darcius said.

  “But we wanted to see if he really can go into the tunnels,” Adlai reminded him.

  “Oh, right!” Darcius’ eyes lit up. “Have you tried to go in yet?”

  He’d been waiting for them to bring this up. “Not yet.”

  “After dinner, do you want to?”

  Graegor nodded eagerly. “Where?”

  “In our rooms. We can open the doors, but we can’t go through.”

  “I’ve wanted to see them ever since I found out who I was.”

  “You mean a Torchanes, or a sorcerer?” Darcius asked.

  “Well, both. It all came at me at once.”

  “You’d never done any magic before?”

  It didn’t seem to be the right time or place to explain what had happened in Farre, but there was something else he could tell them. “Not that I knew at the time, but the magus in our village felt it when I used my power once without knowing it. Nobody thought it was me, though. Most people thought it was my quarterstaff. It’s purpleheart.”

  “There used to be a grove of purpleheart trees here in the castle gardens,” Darcius said. “Do you still have that staff? I’d like to see it.”

  “I’ll show it to you—I brought it with me.”

  Then Marschelle came to announce that dinner was served, and they all moved to the table. Everyone, including the little girls, seemed to know where to sit, and Graegor hung back until it was clear which seat he should take—at the table’s foot, which made sense when he remembered that he was Lord Contare’s heir. Darcius and Adlai were on either side of him, and the king and queen on either side of Lord Contare, with the princesses in the middle. Graegor watched everyone carefully for clues about table manners.
From meat-thanks to soup sipping to fork usage, it seemed that his etiquette-obsessed grandmother had known what she was talking about, and for the first time he was glad of the lessons.

  The two princes were not really different from boys he had known in his village. They kept up a constant stream of talk, asking Graegor questions or telling their own stories. The princesses took very tiny bites of their food and kept looking back at the toys they’d left behind. The adults seemed to be talking about details of the upcoming festivities to be held in his honor, to which Graegor purposely did not try to listen. He still wasn’t used to the idea that he was so interesting to so many people.

  The last course of cheese and nuts came out, and it was only a few minutes later that Darcius caught Graegor’s eye and gestured that they should go. Graegor nodded and stood, and the king and Lord Contare looked up as Darcius and Adlai stood as well. “By your leave, my lord?” Darcius asked Lord Contare.

  “Of course, your Highness.” His tone was easy, but his brief nod to Graegor cautioned him to remember what he had said about the spell on the tunnels.

  “You’re going back?” the queen looked up from one of the girls to ask Darcius.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Please take your sisters with you. It’s time they were in bed.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The princesses did not seem entirely happy about it, but they didn’t fuss or wriggle too much as their brothers scooped them up from their chairs. Good-nights followed, with bows and nods and anticipation of meeting in the morning, and Graegor led the king’s children down the stairs to the foyer. Two guards in green tabards were waiting, and they formed up at the front and back of the procession. On an impulse Graegor ducked into his little room to retrieve his quarterstaff, and Darcius and Adlai both grinned with approval before they started down the causeway toward the castle proper.