“They treat me different, my family. My brothers especially. My Uncle Zac started teaching them two years ago, and I assumed they’d flaunt their spells in my face. I’d prefer that to what they’ve done, which is tiptoe around me like I’m made of porcelain or something. They don’t discuss magic around me. What they’ve mastered, what they’re working on: I couldn’t tell you a thing about it. My parents never mentioned magic much, and that hasn’t changed, but now it’s like I chase the ease out of any room I enter. I’m older than my brothers,” Kansten said. “I don’t need protection from my strange normality. I’m the normal one, after all. I’m damn sure smarter than they are, and I’d put my brains against their incantations any day.”
Hune’s eyes, the light eyes his father had given him, they were penetrating.
Good Giver, I cursed before a prince. I….
The only thing to do was to ignore the faux pas, which was a good gut inclination, because Hune didn’t stare so intently for her unfortunate choice of words. Kansten almost shrank away as he admitted, “I’m jealous of my brothers too.”
Kansten’s protested, “I’m not jea….”
Hune spoke over her. “You are. You’re jealous of their powers, and you resent them walking on pins and needles around you in your own home. In my case, I’m not jealous of the magic. What I hate is the way I feel superfluous.”
“Hune, you’re hardly unneeded around here.”
“Really? My father refuses to rest, though he didn’t sleep, so he’s in more meetings about Vane’s situation with his Chief Adviser. He pulled Valkin away this morning, I can only think to have him cover his daily obligations, because Valkin’s disappeared since then. Neslan too. Must be helping him. My mother’s helping August, and there’s some value in that, I’d say. Me? What am I doing? I’m talking with you.”
Kansten narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have to be, Your Highness.”
Hune sighed. “I mean no offense. You’re a pleasure to speak with. My point is, if they can’t find a use for me in the midst of all this, when will I ever have a purpose? When Valkin steps out, which is rare, I can’t breathe for all the people rushing about demanding where he’s gone. That even happens when Neslan leaves. I can count the times I’ve left and come back to find someone waiting for me with urgent business on one hand.”
Adage left Kansten to curl up near the prince, who went on, “My father keeps me informed, at least. He makes a point of that, because he was the younger brother in his day, and he knows how it is. I attend all the meetings my brothers do, and offer my opinion from time to time, but no one ever asks it.”
Kansten frowned. Her mind had taken her backward in the conversation. “Did you say your brother’s running the kingdom? Has he done that before?”
“Can’t say he has. He’ll know what he’s doing, though.”
“What are you doing with me? You should find him. Help him with something. He probably feels like he’s drowning.”
“He probably does,” said Hune. “He hasn’t asked me to jump in after him, has he?”
“Then offer to. He’ll be grateful, I’d think, whether or not he says so. If you want to be useful, isn’t this your chance?”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Hune, after thinking for a moment. “You just might be right. He’s in my father’s office, I’d wager.”
Kansten dared to give him a nudge toward the door, and Hune set off, his beagle leaping up to follow.
Hune passed Adage off to the first servant he saw and made his way to his father’s office. He knocked lightly, then entered without waiting for admittance. Valkin sat behind the desk, half hidden by papers, while Neslan had a chair in front of it. The crown prince barked with a gruff beckon, “Where in the Giver’s name have you been?”
“You never asked my help, Valkin.”
“Well, I need you, so come here! I swore to Father I wouldn’t embarrass him.”
Hune bit back a retort. Kansten’s assumptions had been accurate; Valkin felt overwhelmed. The last thing that would help him was for Hune to criticize him for being a prig. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a prig, and wouldn’t make him any easier to suffer, but….
“You’ll always have my help, and I say that in all sincerity. What can I do?”
“Neslan and I are crafting the agenda for tomorrow’s meeting with the Traiglanders. Can you write me a welcome speech for them, for tonight? Before the dinner? You won’t be there, but only because Father wants you in the party to speak with Vane when he returns.”
Hune grabbed his chest. “Father wants me to hear…?”
“Vane’s updates, yes. So you can report to Neslan and me afterward.”
That wasn’t news Hune expected. To hear Vane’s briefing…. He shuddered to think what Vane might say. Dreaded the possibility that Vane might never come. He gulped, and told his eldest brother, “A speech, right. I’ll get you a speech. How long should it…?”
“No more than five minutes.”
Neslan glanced up from the writing tablet in his lap. “You’ll write a great welcome, Hune. You’re personable. That’s one of your strengths.”
Hune nodded his appreciation, and went to the empty table after gathering what materials he needed. He blessed Kansten beneath his breath for sending him away, and set to work. He wrote for a full hour, though it felt triple that, before a man and woman knocked and entered. Hune knew them well, as did his brothers: a married couple, both members of the king’s Magic Council. Hart and Casandra Quin.
“So sorry,” Hart apologized. He was a muscular man of forty years, and his face showed his age. His hair was graying at the temples. “We were looking for your father. Thought Francie Rafe might have sent him word as to why she couldn’t make a meeting with us. We’ve been waiting an hour for her.”
Francie Rafe was one of Hune’s favorite members of the Magic Council. She had grown up with Vane and was as young as he, maybe a few months older.
The princes exchanged confused glances upon Hart’s statement. Neslan observed, “That’s not like Francie. To miss an obligation with no excuse, no clear reason….”
Hune said, “Not like her? She’s the most responsible woman I’ve met. Perhaps she fell ill?”
Valkin told the Quins, “The king should be in his antechamber. Go find him. He’ll need you, need the assistance of the Enchanted Fist.”
It was Hart’s turn to look confused. “The Fist?”
The Enchanted Fist was a secret society, one composed of empowered individuals and dedicated to magic’s political advancement. It had been rogue members of the organization, a decade before, that had kidnapped the king’s sons, but the guilty individuals had been stripped of their powers and were serving life sentences in prison. The rest of the organization had never caused the royal family problems. In fact, Hune found Hart and Casandra quite pleasant.
Valkin insisted, “His Majesty will need the Fist. He’ll need the support of any magicked individual who’ll aid him. Go find him, Hart.”
* * *
Back in Partsvale, Vane wrapped up his meeting with Evant Linstrom and Terrance Vole without any danger to himself. He had them fooled, and was beyond lucky for that. Otherwise, they could have joined forces to kill him in that closet, casting any grisly spell they desired beneath the sound barrier’s protection. No need to worry about screams; they could have tortured him as thoroughly as they chose, and he would have suffered as long as they persisted in letting him hold the Lifestone.
Vane forced himself to think of other things as he headed down the high street for a meal at a tavern before he met the bald baker again. He breathed easier in the open air, and judged the most perilous moments of what he had set out to do behind him. Still, he doubted he would keep something more substantial than soup from coming back up, so soup was what he ordered. The tavern had potato soup that day. Fine.
Vane tried and tried to make sense of Linstrom’s explanations as he ate, then waited on the clock. Linstrom hardly seemed to b
e lying, or Terrance, when they claimed the crown had ignored them during interviews for the Magic Council. Vane, though, had seen the stack of applications. He had helped the king sort through them and had even written some of the negative replies on Rexson’s behalf. No sorcerers had expressed the slightest interest beyond himself and Zacry.
Perhaps Ryne Howar would know more. When Vane returned to his shop, the baker led him up a set of stairs in the back to his living quarters, leaving his apprentice to tend to any customers who might wander in.
Howar’s living area was comfortably furnished, though cluttered with books, empty sacks of flour, dirty plates, and half-filled glasses. While Howar cleared two chairs for himself and the duke, Vane cast a sound barrier and even muttered “Encanta” various times beneath his breath. That spell would alert him if Linstrom had enchanted an object nearby.
Appeased, Vane dropped into his chair without being invited. Howar followed suit, and said, “Gratton and my brother told me to expect you. Said you’d have instructions. I’ve been biding time, but we haven’t much time left.”
This man thought he had instructions? Would be informed?
“I have no more idea of what I’m doing than you could describe to me. Oh, I’ve met with Linstrom, and it couldn’t have gone better. I’ll go with his men to the Hall of Sorcery tonight, but I…. The man has two hundred accomplices. All magicked. There’s precious little I can do on my own. Why didn’t Gratton assassinate the man? Walk into his shop with a dagger, pretend to need shoe repairs, and….”
“Because Linstrom’s nineteen sorcerer supporters, Ingleton. Kill Linstrom and they’re swarming upon Partsvale in the blink of an eye. We have to take them down at once, all together. That requires the king’s army. Requires you.”
Vane swore. “I’m one blasted man. Beyond transporting between here and Podrar to keep the king informed, what bloody difference can I…?”
“Well, we sure as hell have to do something. We’ve two weeks.”
“I’m aware of that. Listen, the king only learned of this mess last night. I’m sure he’s been consulting with people all day. When I meet with him next, I’m hoping he has some strategy developed, or at the least developing. He only has three sorcerers to aid him, though. That’s the problem: me, Zacry Porteg, and my instructor at the school. Maybe one or two of her past students as well, but we’ll need the army, like you said. We’ll need the bloody army, and the army isn’t here. Won’t get here in time. Three people can’t handle transporting hundreds the distance we’re discussing. It’s impossible. There won’t be a quiet end to this.”
Howar let out a dejected breath. “You’re certain, Ingleton?”
“Damn certain. I wish I weren’t, but we learned of the plot too late. The authorities here, you, Gratton…. We’re all too late. We can try to contain the damage and the aftermath to follow, but there’ll be a fair amount of both.”
“But your magic! There must be….”
“Sorcery has limitations. Real ones, damn it. I’ll tell the king tonight that as many women and children as we can quietly move from Partsvale should be moved. We’ll alert the guard to have armed shelters ready for those who remain, for when the trouble starts. The Shrine will be safe, at least. People can gather there.”
Howar nodded. “Linstrom’s got the fear of God in him. About the only thing he fears, I’d wager.”
“I’ll take it, if it’ll keep people safe when he attacks the village.”
“He’ll leave the Shrine alone, I knew that before. Your Grace, the Shrine’s not much.”
“We’ll make sure it’s enough, though. We’ve time for that.”
Vane’s turn had come to sigh. He alerted his fellow spy to the rest of the backstory he’d given Linstrom, and asked if Howar had any guess of what Terrance’s “surprise” for the evening could be, as it was nothing that boded well for those loyal to the king.
The baker said, “Linstrom sent him to the capital, for some kind of diversion. A small one. Just to make sure the king has no reason to set his attention here.”
“Well, I left Podrar this morning. After speaking with the king, and he mentioned nothing that fits what you’re describing. Terrance spoke as though it’s done, completed, whatever he referred to.”
A small diversion…. That meant Vane’s family was in the clear, thank the Giver. Assaulting the only sorcerer-duke’s loved ones would threaten to bring Linstrom, and his men, too much to the crown’s notice.
Howar shrugged. “Guess we’ll be surprised with the rest of them, and soon enough. Too soon, I reckon.”
Vane asked, “How did you get involved in this? How did the army get involved in the first place?”
“Now that’s a story. One of Linstrom’s supporters who lives in Fontferry and transports in for meetings, his wife heard him mumbling strange things in his sleep a couple nights in a row. Things about arson and magic, revenge and Partsvale. A tyrant king. The good woman was spooked, and went to Jonson Peare.” Fontferry’s mayor. He’d been mayor when Vane was growing up and still held the post, though he must be ancient now. “He had no proof of any plot, so Peare didn’t notify the king. He did, at least, send the garrison here a report. My brother’s a soldier, and he and Gratton began some discreet investigations.” Howar shook his head. “They wanted to be sure of a problem before they bothered the crown, or even our duke. Seems now they should have told the king straightaway, but….”
“Rexson knows now, and it might not be too late. What did the soldiers find?”
“Nothing concrete, but enough to throw Linstrom under suspicion. Call it a hunch on Gratton’s part, awoken by inexplicably soundproof walls.”
Vane nodded. “He’s too familiar with me not to have suspected a sound barrier. Some kind of sorcery.”
“That woman in Fontferry, she’d mentioned magic. When Gratton grew wary of Linstrom, my brother involved me because of my power.”
Howar stared intently at a rag thrown in the corner, and it broke into scraps that flew in all directions. After his demonstration, he said, “The cobbler and I, we’ve always been friendly. He appreciates that I send business his way when I notice pilgrims who could make use of him. It took a month before he opened up, but I started visiting him more often. I went off what we knew—his man’s mutterings about a tyrant king—and dropped some comments that hinted I wasn’t fond of Rexson Phinnean.”
Vane nodded, not wanting to speak and distract Howar.
“My brother and I had a falling out over who should care for our sick mother. We made it a public brawl.” The baker grimaced. “My ribs still ache, but it was necessary. The fight had to look real, so neither of us held back. Word of it got to Linstrom. When I figured he and I were good enough friends that it made sense for me to reveal my magic to him, I blew up some sticks to frighten off a rat we found in his storeroom. He immediately asked me to join him. He knew I had no emotional ties to Partsvale.”
Vane said, “At least he trusts you. I’m more surprised Gratton trusts you, to tell the truth. He’s wary of everyone until he’s cause not to be.”
“Gratton’s something, that’s for sure,” Howar agreed. “For now, you should come down to the bakery. Help me work. I hate to propose such a thing, Your Grace….”
“Don’t go there. I’m Rickard. Always Rickard, understood?”
Howar nodded. “It’s like this: a cousin of mine, makes sense he would make himself useful. ‘Specially if he’s lodging with me, which I imagine Rickard would, being from Podrar and used to throngs. Tight spaces.”
“We should spend the day together,” Vane agreed. “I’ll help in the bakery, that’s fine. And don’t feel awkward about it, either. I was raised by an innkeeper. I’ve baked my share of loaves and chased my share of chickens.” Most times, he had chased his aunt’s chickens with his best friend, Francie Rafe, a girl his age who had ended up with him on the Magic Council.
The nausea Vane had controlled all day spiked as he remembered Francie, and the
n Francie’s council interview. That interview had been the first time they’d spoken since the days of chicken chases. Should Linstrom have been in that room instead of the woman with an inactive power?
“Linstrom,” Vane said, “and his sorcerers…. Did the king ignore their council applications?”
“Reckon he must’ve. A foolish thing to do, hoping to paint himself the magicked’s ally at the same time, but there you go. A foolish act and a scoundrel’s deed to boot, if you want my opinion.”
Vane’s voice turned hard. “I didn’t ask for it.”
“Anyways, it doesn’t justify Linstrom. It doesn’t justify destroying the town, which from the sound of things we might be helpless to prevent.”
“An unfortunate truth. Well, come, Howar.”
Vane started for the door, and Howar told him, “A cousin would call me Ryne.”
“So he would. The bakery calls, Ryne.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Saving Francie
Ancient magic still insulated the Hall of Sorcery’s ruins, maintaining a comfortable temperature. Though built high in the mountains, with a gaping ceiling and a collapsed section in one of its walls, the space provided a haven from the gales and snow without.
The Hall was crafted of stone, with pillars down two of its sides. Visible through a fallen corner stood the Hall’s library, with windows of stained glass and thousands of spellbooks Linstrom and his men had likely been studying for months. Both buildings glowed with the light of numerous lanterns, thanks to Linstrom’s powers.
The Sorcerer’s Court—a self-governing council for the magicked population—had met here in centuries past, and the space was larger than Vane had envisioned before he arrived. Six hundred could have fit inside the Hall, but to Vane’s relief, only some thirty individuals attended Linstrom’s meeting, a fair number of them women. No more than the handful who needed aid to travel had gathered beforehand at the Dancing Drake, a tavern of ill fame outside Partsvale’s eastern border. Linstrom’s most avid non-sorcerer supporters had moved to Partsvale in the past weeks, making their group transport to the mountains a simple affair, while any sorcerer who had been to the Hall once could return with ease from anywhere in Herezoth.
The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 8