Fletcher

by P. S. Power

  That sounded about right. Even if going to an actual meal there sounded daunting. He normally just ate with the servants. That or in the lesser hall, where the castle folk, the ones that were too low for the finest meals each day, ate. The food was about the same in either place, though finer than most got by far.

  “That sounds right. I’m not certain imposing me on the fine people of court would be the best thing for them. Even if I can manage to bow at the right time and not smear jam all over my face. I wouldn’t know what to say, after all. You do have to talk to people at those things, don’t you?”

  That got a happy enough grin.

  “You do! Which is part of the reason to have you along. Most of the time I get to listen to people complaining about their health problems, or how fearful they are of the new Magician. We can’t even get anyone to clean his rooms or tend his chamber pot. All the servants are too afraid of the man. I don’t see it myself. Perfectly polite, all the time. More than that even, considering he’s yet to arrive at all. He hasn’t even complained about our strange foods or poor service yet, though it honestly worries Father. The man is coming from Barquea, sent as a sort of emissary. It’s a rather serious insult that no one will work near him like that.”

  That got the Prince to stop, then nod.

  “Right. That’s what you should do. Tend to his rooms and run errands for him. At least a few hours a day. That way we can point out that at least someone was tending to his needs. You understand, when their King contacts my Father to reprimand us all for the lack of courtesy?”

  They walked on then. The words seemingly being forgotten. Almost as if they were a joke from the start. It kind of made sense to Farad though. After all, unlike Anders or the servants there, he wasn’t afraid of magic or those who wielded its powers.

  Chapter three

  From the way that Erold had spoken about the new magic user, Anders had thought that the man might have been there for several months, even if he hadn’t heard about such a person before. That was possible, with those that came from far off places. A lot of the servants would hold their own council on that kind of thing, instead of speaking in front of him about it.

  It turned out that the man was actually arriving that very day, by coach, that passed them as they entered the front gate of the castle wall. He knew that because the Prince next to him grimaced.

  “Magician Depak, no doubt. With no one here ready to greet him at all. That’s not good. The guard will put the call up. We should…” He looked around then and nodded, standing straight in an official seeming fashion. “We need to go and stand in for the others, until they arrive. Insufficient as we are for the task. I think Alpert should be around soon for this. Father will wait, since it’s only right for their first meeting to be at court. We aren’t dressed for this… It’s… Well, let’s hope we don’t get possessed or set upon instantly over it?”

  The other boy moved to the side of the coach, jogging to get there before the door opened. A guard, in his stone-gray outfit, was already dashing off, into the castle itself. There was no yelling or anything unseemly like that about the issue. Just strained looks on the faces of the men left standing by the front door to the place. They wouldn’t be allowed to let a dignitary inside until he was properly greeted, after all. Which could be awkward, if the man were tired or hungry.

  At least if things took too long.

  Anders didn’t hold that kind of knowledge himself. When he’d seen people coming in like that before, he’d always been taught to back far away. Really, he’d been told to run away, if at all possible, if he could manage it without being noticed. Otherwise he was supposed to walk, firmly and directly to the closest hiding place and make himself vanish. This time, Prince Erold pulled him along, bowing in the second courtly fashion, his rear leg far back and front leg bent a good bit, as the door to the golden colored coach opened. There was only one person inside, it seemed.

  A man, who had a long mustache, skin that was dark enough to seem familiar to Farad and nearly black eyes. His hair was gone on the top, being naturally balding and long on the sides, touching his shoulders. Rather than scowl at the lack of a proper greeting, he hopped down lightly from the coach and smiled at them. Looking from one to the other. Then he spread both of his arms and bent in half. A strange bow, thought it was clearly the same idea, if from a different set of customs.

  He held it, clearly planning to do so until the boys stood up. Anders did it first, which meant he was the one that was looked at as the Magician stood.

  “Welcome. Magician Depak. I have that correct?” It occurred to him that the man may not speak their language. Istlan was very different than anything that Farad knew, after all. Barquea was most likely either the new name for Barquenna, or a land that was related to that place. Otherwise it was too similar to have avoided notice in the ancient texts.

  The man, who was in a golden metallic seeming robe with fine seeming plant designs woven into it, closed his eyes for a moment. A slow blink.

  Then he spoke, his voice rich and full sounding.

  “That is, indeed, myself. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?” There was a tilt of the head then, as Erold stood, silently. Clearly seeming more than a bit afraid of the strange man. Which was odd, since the boy was normally far braver than Anders was.

  It was about the man having magical powers, no doubt. Even if it was clear that others there had that going on as well. It was hidden for the most part, which probably made it seem different to the people of the castle. Master Franken clearly had access to that kind of thing. It had been expected and simply accepted when he’d used a magical crystal on Anders. Valued as well. Prince Alpert had asked after paying him for it.

  A price that had been high enough or low enough that the Master had demurred on the idea.

  “This is Prince Erold Jamis Caldas. The youngest Prince of King Matheus Caldas. I’m Anders Brolly. Assigned to be your room servant for your stay here. Assigned by Prince Erold, just now, so that part might change. It sounds like the others are all a bit scared of your magic. I can’t see how that would be a problem when it comes to straightening a room for you, myself. The chamber pot gets emptied in the same place.” The words were probably too bold. At least the wide-eyed stare that came from Erold seemed to be saying that.

  The Magician simply laughed. It was a happy seeming thing.

  “Yes, I too see that! Good, then. We will work together for that, Anders Brolly. You can tell me the secrets of how not to give offense here?” That part seemed serious, at least.

  So he nodded.

  “To the best of my ability. Right now… We’re waiting for the second Prince, Alpert and those who are supposed to greet you. There will probably be a bit of a speech, then you’ll be led to your room here. I think. Is that about right, Prince Erold?” He didn’t really know and didn’t want to mess the new magic user up first thing.

  Even if the other boy had frozen at first, he recovered nicely enough.

  “It is. Please forgive the lateness of my brother in this? We had been told that you’d be several days later than this. I trust that your trip went smoothly, given that?” The Prince swallowed, hard after speaking.

  Depak simply smiled. It was a very pleasant seeming thing for the strange looking man to do. He was a bit older, without truly having hit the age where it was a large detriment. In his fifth decade most likely. It was difficult to tell, since he didn't have many lines on his face. His hair was dark as well. There was simply a way of carrying himself that spoke of being older than he seemed.

  “The voyage went very well. I used magic to create winds to speed the boat, which probably accounts for my early arrival here. It did not even occur to me that it would be a problem on this end. I could, perhaps, leave and come back in some days, if that serves?”

  Erold froze again, so Anders smiled.

  “That won’t be needed. We have plenty of room after all. It will mainly be in this first portion that things are a bit off
. Even that won’t be too bad. Everyone here is most efficient.” Which was generally true, according to what was in Anders’s head on the matter.

  The coachman and his two guards, all from the castle there, by their uniforms and familiar faces, started to unload the three large trunks that the Magician had with him. They were huge wooden things, strapped to the back of the coach. Those were settled on the stone pavings, some twenty feet from where they were standing. Depak looked on, seeming fine with the whole thing. Even as the coach was driven away.

  There was movement by the grand front entrance of the palace, the one that Anders had never used before in his life, with the large, well-polished and heavy wooden doors being opened to show several people. Prince Alpert, his lady wife Aisla and the oldest Prince. Robarts. That was special enough that Erold blinked, even if it was his own brother.

  Meaning that he wasn’t going to be impressed or worried by his being there at all. That indicated the meeting with the Magician was more important then. Not enough to have the King out that day. Enough to have the Heir attend the man, however, instead of just the second Prince.

  There was a bit of a glare from the oldest one, directed at his sweaty little brother. A glance that was kinder toward Anders. Which was interesting. Still, the first thing he did was greet Depak, bowing low, using the second courtly form. Aisla, who was nearly as dark and exotic looking as Depak, curtsied, everyone else going low. Including Prince Erold and Anders.

  Robarts, who was nearly thirty, so a full-grown man, smiled as the unique bow of the Magician came again. It was held for a long time, with Aisla rising first, getting perhaps that magic user was going to stay down there until someone got up.

  She spoke first as well.

  “Great Grandfather. Welcome to Istlan.” She moved slightly to the side, gesturing gracefully at the others. “We have here Prince Robarts, the future King. Next to me is my husband, Prince Alpert. You have, perhaps, met the younger Prince as well? Prince Erold? Next to him is…” She stopped for a moment, seeming nearly angry as she looked at Anders. Why that was became clear shortly.

  It was simply different than even Anders would have expected.

  “Next to him is my husband’s son with his first woman, who by custom here is not his wife, as she would be back home… Anders Brolly. He is ill though and should be off in bed at the moment. He nearly passed away last night.” Her face was hard on the matter, as everyone standing there seemed more than a little shocked.

  Except the Magician, who moved in and put his hand on Anders’s forehead, much like the healer had done.

  “You are a bit warm. Recently touched by magic, as well. Still, great granddaughter, he stands here with us and has offered to see to my rooms for me, so that none here will fear my magics. We should, perhaps, seek to his care, if it can be done without giving insult?”

  Everyone stood there, staring at him. The reasons were probably different for each. Erold seemed to be slightly frightened. Robarts was annoyed with the whole thing going so far to the side of normalcy and Aisla, a woman that he’d never spoken to before to his knowledge, appeared honestly concerned that he might fall down and die at that very moment.

  He smiled, then bowed, using the second courtly version of it. That was probably the incorrect thing to do, since it was toward Prince Robarts. The man did it back. Somewhat ironically, it seemed.

  When they stood, the Heir waved him up.

  “You have a plan, perhaps, Master Brolly?” Unlike with Bedford earlier, there was no mockery in using the term Master from the man. He was, it seemed merely trying to salvage the situation at hand.

  “We sort of promised Magician Depak a speech? Then we could show him to his quarters, if that serves?” He managed to sound humble, rather than bold. It was the illness serving him in the moment. It took an act of will not to feel sick.

  Falling down was also not going to be allowed, since it would be too embarrassing. For all of them, it seemed.

  The oldest Prince nodded then, smiling. It was a bit false seeming, not reaching his eyes at all. Strained, instead of angry. At least that would be the hope.

  “That’s a plan. Let’s do that then… Welcome, Magician Depak Salimon Eta, Ambassador from King Durian of the House of Bartha. We hope that your stay will be pleasant and fruitful for you, bridging our two lands into a greater era of understanding and peace.” Then he bowed again.

  That got the move in return from the Magician and everyone else did the same thing, roughly. Aisla curtsied again, which was elegant when she did it. The woman wasn’t a great vison of loveliness, choosing a sturdy build and look over being lithe and graceful. Still, her face was kind and as soon as the speech was finished, she moved in to hug her great-grandfather. Even if the man didn't seem like he could be that old in the slightest.

  It was returned, pleasantly even, with a bit of pounding on the back from the man that was different than the same thing would have been done there in Istlan most of the time. It seemed happy, instead of abusive or harsh.

  “Now, Aisla, have you been eating enough? The cold weather here seems to be suiting you?”

  She grinned, like a much younger girl.

  “You know the way of it. This is spring here, and autumn back home. Meaning the weather is about the same. More rain here. The summers are cooler and I wear many layers of clothing in the winter, when the ground will be covered with frozen water that falls as a white fluff. They call it snow… It is a sight to behold! Now, we should pack you off to a room, so that we can send Anders to his bed for the evening? I know that I’m being a bit abrupt…” She turned to her husband on the last statement, her face still and a bit blank.

  Which got Prince Robarts in with her, almost instantly.

  “That’s a wonderful idea, on all counts. Let me summon the footmen, to carry your belongings? Normally I’m certain that Anders and Erold would gladly do that for you, but as mentioned, there has been illness. It wouldn’t serve to stress anyone right now.”

  The words were spoken with something close to amusement. Which got everyone else to at least affect the same basic posture. Even Anders smiled. After all, it was better to be the butt of the joke than tossed out of the kingdom, which was possible, if too many people went around claiming the wrong heritage for him. Not likely, perhaps, in the moment. At least no one had pulled a knife and started stabbing him in order to assure they’d be the next one on the throne, yet.

  Which probably meant it truly wasn’t that large of a problem. Anders didn't know if it was or not. The idea that anyone would have spoken openly about who his parents were simply hadn’t been a thing in his life to that point. Yes, there had been whispers and a few people dropping hints. No one had ever just openly said that Prince Alpert was his Father. Except the man himself and now his wife. Who apparently didn’t even hate him for it.

  Which made some sense, to Farad. From her words it was clear that she thought of Lyse as a fellow wife. In his own home that kind of situation, one man having several wives, was fairly normal. It left many men with none, which was a problem at times. They’d tended toward wars, thanks to that excess. In order to take new lands and gain their women. That or kill off the young men who would have been a problem, later. Both worked out well enough as a plan.

  He’d been exempt from both things, himself. Both women and warfare. Instead he’d devoted his life to other concerns. His skills and the story of all time.

  Blinking, he started to walk, being pulled along gently by Prince Erold. The boy, perhaps being more comfortable with Aisla’s family than with a powerful Magician, finally spoke as they moved through the hallways.

  “I’ve assigned Anders to see to the care of Magician Depak. I hope that isn’t out of place?” He was speaking to Aisla, making direct eye contact with her, his voice low.

  Not enough for the others to miss it, since they were in a tight group as they moved to the left wing of the castle. Walking slowly, matching the pace set by Anders. He was breathing a bit
hard, not letting himself slow too much.

  The Princess touched the other boy on the arm.

  “It is a well meant idea. A good one, I think? I know that some of the servants, and others here were a bit worried about your magical abilities, Great Grandfather. They aren’t truly that easy to frighten. It is merely that you come from a different land and they think you might smite them too easily in your anger, if they do not bow or scrape properly. I probably shouldn’t have been telling tales about how you defeated the armies of Modroc all by yourself. It’s a good story, so had to be told.” She didn’t seem repentant.

  The Magician, easily keeping up, even if the footmen dashed ahead with his heavy trunks, chuckled a bit.

  “Correct. All by myself, with only the help of the Ninth Army. I was there, which means that my small contributions did count, I suppose. What about you, Anders? Have you ever fought an army by yourself?”

  The patter was light and it was clear that he was supposed to find something witty to say. Really, that bit came from the Magician himself, who stared a bit, the idea coming off of him with a hint of a tingle. Aisla went wide eyed at the use of magic, even as the three Princes all seemed to miss it happening.

  “Does an army of ants count? I did once do battle with a small collection of that kind once. It was a victory, though not as simple as it sounds. I had welts on my legs for weeks.” He’d been seven at the time and had managed to drown them all with several buckets of water from the well. “They’d started it, so it had to be done.”

  The words got a laugh, from everyone there, even if it was only mildly interesting as a tale.

  “Ah! I would think so! The Modroc were like that, then. Larger, perhaps, unless the ants here are of great size?”

  Anders held his fingers very close together to show the rough idea.

  “Not so much. Fierce biters, if not over large. I’d wager you had the harder battle, given that. Not that I wish to make light of that sort of thing. Battle isn’t an easy topic.”