He found the same piece of parchment he’d scribbled on earlier and wrote a sentence.
“There. Now that will be in my next book, too.”
“When do we leave for Brendinas?” asked Merry.
“We don’t,” said Damon. “I do. You can stay here and keep out of trouble.”
“That’s unlikely.”
Damon frowned at her then realized her statement was true.
“You can come to Brendinas if you’ll do what Nûd usually does for me.”
“And what’s that?” asked Merry.
“He tends to all my needs, so I can focus on important matters of wizardry.”
“He’s your servant, you mean?”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“You do seem to need looking after,” said Merry. “If that’s what it takes to get away from this cold, foul-smelling place, I’ll be your servant until Fercha’s son reclaims the position.”
“Fine,” said Damon.
“Fine,” Merry repeated.
She walked over to the tall windows on either side of the fireplace. It felt liberating to move freely around Damon’s study now that he wasn’t connected to Tempora in Nova Eboracum. Morning sun was streaming in and she raised her hand to interpose it between her eyes and the light, but was too late. She looked directly into the sun for half a breath. Dozens of black spots danced in front of her eyes, temporarily blinding her.
Merry lowered her hand and raised it again to see if she could get a better angle for protection, but the damage had been done. She thought she might have seen movement out of the corner of her eye in the courtyard below, but when her vision cleared, the cobblestone-covered space was empty.
No matter, she thought. There can’t be anyone else here—the castle is clearly deserted. It hasn’t been properly cleaned in months. She couldn’t get to Brendinas soon enough.
Chapter 10
Fercha and Doethan
“When can I take off this stupid blindfold,” grumbled Fercha as carriage wheels bumped over cobblestones.
“Practice patience,” said Doethan. “I can’t see either, but I can smell flowers—and horse manure. We’re between the royal gardens and the royal stables. I expect they’ll be letting us out soon.”
“Or we could be next to an undertaker’s wagon,” said Fercha.
“It won’t be long now,” said a young woman’s soft voice—one of Laetícia’s agents in Brendinas, most likely.
Outside the carriage they could hear the bustling noise of thousands of people in the capital going about their daily lives. Drovers shouted at their horses, wagon wheels squeaked, and merchants cried their wares. They were familiar sounds to Fercha, but less so to Doethan, who’d only recently returned to court.
After another minute of the cacophony of urban life, their driver called to his horses and the carriage stopped. Doethan and Fercha heard the door to their carriage open and its stairs drop down.
Gentle hands removed their blindfolds. They belonged to a slim woman in a blue gown with white trim, wearing a hat with a narrow circular brim and an almost opaque white veil. Her face was completely hidden.
“It’s time for you to leave,” she said. “The gentleman was correct. You’re not far from the palace. Get the King’s signature as soon as possible. Laetícia told me to tell you that the legions can march back to Nova Eboracum as easily as they can march to Brendinas if Dârio doesn’t agree.”
“Tell Roma’s mistress of spies her message is received,” said Fercha over her shoulder as she carefully stepped down.
“Have a good day,” said Doethan when he made his exit.
“And you,” said the woman. Doethan suspected she was laughing behind her veil.
The woman pulled the carriage’s folding stairs up and its door down. The conveyance creaked its way along Garden Street and turned onto Royal Boulevard, joining a dozen of others exactly like it on the busy thoroughfare.
“Well,” said Fercha, smoothing her robes. “I’m glad that piece of spy-craft theater is over.”
The palace was only a block away, its ornate yet indefensible form standing out, but somehow less than the imposing stone walls of Dâron Castle on the heights above it. That was a fortress.
“So am I,” said Doethan, blinking in the bright sunlight while he got his bearings. “I was right. We’re next to the royal gardens.”
“But not on the side near the royal stables,” said Fercha. “It’s an understandable error. There’s so much horse manure in the gutters every street smells like a stable’s dung pile.”
“That’s one of King Dârio’s new economies,” said Doethan. “It was instituted a few weeks ago, just after you left for points west. Streets are cleaned once a week instead of every day.”
“But the smell,” said Fercha. “And the flies. It will make half the city sick.”
“The savings are supposed to be substantial, according to the new exchequer…”
“I’ll fry his brain, too, when I get to the palace.”
“Her brain,” said Doethan. “The old exchequer stepped down in protest. This one knows better, but when Dârio said he needed more revenue, she had to get it from somewhere.”
“Quite a few somewheres, it seems,” said Fercha, taking in the rundown state of the gardens. The plants inside the gardens’ waist-high walls looked like they hadn’t been pruned or weeded.
Doethan was surprised by Fercha’s expression. It wasn’t the disgusted look he expected and seemed more like pride. He resolved to talk to her about it later.
“If it’s a choice between gardeners and guardsmen, I’ll take guardsmen,” he said. Doethan leaned over the garden’s low wall and pulled a red flower on a thorny vine close enough to inhale its perfume.
“No time to stop and smell the roses, old friend,” said Fercha. “We can use the South Gate. It’s time for me to knock some heads.”
“I thought you were boiling brains,” said Doethan.
“I may do both.”
* * * * *
“Go away,” said King Dârio to an approaching servant. “I told you, no interruptions.”
His shaved head glistened with sweat as he tried to concentrate on three games of shah-mat simultaneously. Some said the young king kept his scalp shaved because his hair was dark, not red like his father’s or grandfather’s or the old king’s before it went white. Others said Dârio wanted to set his own style and make that as different from the old king’s reign as possible.
The sweat on the young king’s scalp may have also had something to do with the revealing gowns worn by his three young opponents—comely daughters of noble Dâron families all hoping to be the kingdom’s next queen. Dârio had selected them for their skill at shah-mat, not their looks, but at eighteen he did have a young man’s appreciation for the female form. One of the young women in a wine-colored dress was giving him a good game. He needed to focus on squares and pieces, not curves.
The servant hadn’t left.
“What?” said Dario.
“It’s Fercha,” she said. “And Doethan. From the Conclave. They said their matter was urgent.”
The woman in the wine-colored dress advanced her royal adviser. Dârio would be in check in three moves. Reluctantly, he turned up his palms.
“I’m sorry ladies, but we will have to continue our games after I meet with a pair of dreary old wizards.”
The three women withdrew. The one who’d just moved her royal adviser looked over her shoulder as she left the young king’s study to be sure he knew he was in trouble.
Dârio gave her a small smile. She’d earned it by her play.
Once the women were gone he instructed the servant to show his new guests in. Fercha entered with a quick stride, her blue robes swirling. She held the parchment she’d received in Nova Eboracum. Doethan made a more sedate entrance. They stood on the far side of the game boards, next to the chairs the shah-mat players had previously occupied.
The door to Dârio’s stu
dy remained open. Fercha was sure more than one servant would be listening to everything that was said.
“What does the Conclave want this time?” asked Dario, waving a hand holding a previously captured castle. “Money for rope to lasso the Moon to bring it down on our enemies?”
“Nothing so dramatic,” said Fercha.
“More pragmatic,” said Doethan.
“Something that might keep you on your throne past the summer solstice,” said Fercha.
Dârio slammed the shah-mat piece he was holding down on the nearest table and jumped to his feet. His face was red and so was his scalp. Doethan thought he might kick over the game boards at any second.
“What are you talking about? Who wants to take my throne?”
“Tamloch,” said Doethan quietly.
Dârio shook his head and turned from Doethan to Fercha. He gestured to the parchment she held.
“Is that what’s supposed to keep me on my throne,” he said, seeming to spit the words.
“The Eagle People have offered their support in our war against Tamloch,” said Fercha quietly. “These are their terms. I’ve heard them and they’re quite reasonable. You should sign this document and accept them.”
“Why should I?” asked Dârio. “What could the provincial legions give me that my own armies and wizards could not?”
“Victory,” said Fercha.
“Hah!” said Dârio. “I’m sure it’s a plot by Occidens Province to have us give up territory without a fight. Dâron will defeat Tamloch the way it always has—on the field of battle.”
“That’s not precisely true, Your Majesty,” said Doethan. “In the times before the old king’s reign Dâron often lost clashes with Tamloch, like at the Battle of…”
“You’re not helping,” said Fercha, tapping Doethan’s heel with the side of her foot.
“Two legions and sixty wizards are already on their way to Brendinas from Nova Eboracum,” said Doethan.
Fercha tapped Doethan’s heel again and muttered under her breath.
“Still not helping.”
“The Eagle People are invading?” shouted Dârio. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”
“Because they’re not invading,” said Fercha. “They’re coming to help. At least they will be if you sign the agreement.”
“Get out!” said Dârio, louder than before. “You wizards and the whole Conclave are useless.”
“At least read the agreement before discounting it,” said Doethan.
Fercha extended the document and Dârio leaned across the gaming tables and snatched it.
“Fine,” he said, showing less anger. “I’ll take it under advisement and let you know my decision in a week or two.”
“But the legions will be here the day after tomorrow,” said Doethan.
“And Dâron’s forces will counter them if they try to invade our territory,” said Dârio.
He pointed at Doethan.
“You’re not worth my time. What part of get out don’t you understand?”
Doethan turned toward the door.
“You can stay,” said the young king to Fercha. “I need your help with a love charm.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Fercha.
“What happened to boiling his brains?” muttered Doethan under his breath as he left.
“And shut the door!” Dârio shouted to Doethan.
The kingdom’s Senior Crown Wizard and acting Master Mage shut the door and was glad there wasn’t a dog to kick on the way out to release his anger. Rowsch, his canine familiar, would never forgive him.
Fercha crossed to the door and bolted it. Dârio walked around the shah-mat boards and joined her. They stood a few feet apart on a circular carpet woven with thousands of tiny flowers in shades of blue. Fercha created an opaque bubble of solidified sound around them and nodded at Dârio. Only then did the two embrace, hugging each other like friends who’d been apart for too long. When the embrace ended, they stepped back and smiled.
“How did I do?” asked Dârio. “Was I a suitable monster?”
“You played your part well,” said Fercha. “Tamloch is acting before they’re completely ready, and we got everything we wanted out of Quintillius and Laetícia.”
“Excellent,” said Dârio, carrying the parchment to his desk and dipping a quill in an inkpot. “Where do I sign?”
Chapter 11
Nûd and Eynon
“Do you remember how to get to the right spot on the river?” asked Nûd as they flew west from the castle.
“Even if I didn’t it appears that Rocky knows the way,” Eynon replied.
The wyvern was confidently flying high above a broad grassy plain covered with thousands of dark splotches. The splotches seemed to be moving.
“Are those wisents?” asked Eynon.
“One of the bigger herds,” said Nûd. “There are seven of them in the area.”
“That’s a lot of wisents,” said Eynon. “Are they dangerous?”
“Only if something spooks them and they stampede,” Nûd replied. “I’m glad we’re high enough up not to cause problems.”
“Me too,” said Eynon, though part of him thought a wisent stampede would be something worth seeing.
Rocky started to descend. Soon, he was circling a familiar stretch of the Melyncárreg River marked by a beach of smooth, rounded stones and weathered driftwood. The big black beast landed and settled into a spot in the sun that already had a circular depression in the scattered stones from the last time he’d napped there a few days ago. That’s when Eynon’s creative wizardry with solidified sound constructs had allowed him to collect a pound of gold in a few hours. He’d needed the precious metal to cast the setting for his magestone.
“I’ve got the bags for the gold dust,” said Nûd as he climbed down from Rocky’s back.
“I’ve got the basket of food Braith gave us this morning,” said Eynon.
Chee had climbed farther up Rocky’s neck and was sprawled between two protruding neck scales soaking up spring sun. He’d perked up when Eynon had mentioned food, but the raconette closed his eyes when Eynon didn’t take anything out of the basket. They were all lucky the weather had changed and the morning was warm, since the humans had left their heavy coats back in Haywall.
“Lazy bones,” said Eynon, addressing his familiar.
The raconette waved one of his front paws, but didn’t open his eyes.
Nûd stuck his tongue out at Chee but the raconette was oblivious.
“Looks like everything is up to us,” said Eynon.
“Up to you, you mean,” said Nûd. “You’re the wizard. I’ll fend off any attacking gryffons.”
Nûd took off his backpack, detached his crossbow, and placed half a dozen quarrels in easy reach on a larger rock.
Eynon took off his own pack and put it on top of a second big rock where his flying disk tipped back and forth on the dome in its center. He stretched his physical muscles, then his magical capabilities by crafting one of the grooved cylinders of solidified sound he’d previously used to collect gold dust. The structure formed easily, as if his blue magestone remembered what it had made before.
Using both his red and blue magestones, Eynon duplicated the construct over and over again. Soon he had five rows of ten rotating cylinders crossing the river from one bank to the other, each row a dozen yards apart. Nûd nodded his approval.
“That was faster than last time,” he said.
“It’s easier when you know what you’re doing,” Eynon replied.
“That’s true for lots of things,” said Nûd.
“How much gold do you think we’ll need to bribe the Bifurlanders?” asked Eynon.
“Taffaern said King Túathal gave them ten pounds to attack,” Nûd replied.
“Fifty should be enough then,” said Eynon.
Nûd smiled when Eynon turned away to watch the cylinders turn in the river.
“More than enough,” he said. “It’s a good t
hing you’re giving this gold to Bifurlanders.”
“Why?” asked Eynon. “Wouldn’t it be helpful to give King Dârio gold to help the war effort?”
“I don’t think so,” said Nûd. “If we give the gold to King Bjarni’s people, they’ll mostly make ornaments and jewelry out of it—rings and torques and earrings and such. Most of the gold won’t be used to buy things.”
“Why would it be a problem if people bought things with gold?” asked Eynon. He tweaked the locations of two of the cylinders to make sure they were getting enough rich sediments.
“What happens when you have a great harvest?” asked Nûd. “If there’s lots of wheat, the price of wheat goes down, right?”
“What’s that got to do with gold?” asked Eynon. “Back in Haywall, if there’s lots of wheat in one year, we store it in case of a bad harvest in a future year.”
“My example might not work as well in places like the Coombe,” said Nûd. “Let’s try something else, like books in Tyford or Brendinas.”
“I like books!” said Eynon. “Merry told me there’s a whole street of booksellers in Tyford. I wish I could have stopped there when we were in town.”
“Some other time, I’m sure,” said Nûd. “If someone brings ten pounds of gold to a city and starts to spend it, the price of books and almost everything else will go up.”
“Why?” asked Eynon.
“Because the person with the gold can outbid anyone else for whatever they want.”
“If they buy a lot of books, maybe I could convince them to loan some to me, so I could read them,” said Eynon.
“This isn’t working the way I’d hoped,” said Nûd. He rubbed his forehead. “Let me try again. What if you wanted to buy books and every time you offered to buy one, a person with lots of gold bought it for twice the price you could pay?”
“Then the bookseller would have more money to get more books.”
“That you couldn’t afford to buy,” said Nûd.
“Oh,” said Eynon.
“And what if it was bread instead of books?”
“I’d eat oatmeal,” Eynon answered.
“But the oatmeal is more expensive, too.”
The Congruent Wizard (The Congruent Mage Series Book 2) Page 7