Jorelial was perplexed. “Well, who is he?”
“I don’t know, Mistress, he won’t say.”
“Well, then, what does he look like?” The pitch of her voice was beginning to rise in frustration.
“That’s the thing, Mistress – the man is dressed in rags like a beggar, with packs and sacks draped all over him as if he had travelled a great distance with all his worldly possessions. He talks like a stranger, and yet, something about him seems vaguely familiar. I feel I should know him, but I can’t quite place it. And he seems so earnest…”
Jorelial hesitated. Warlowe should know better than to interrupt an official audience for some beggar, when there was already a long list of petitioners waiting their turns for her attention. But she trusted his judgment, and could not dismiss his intuitions. She looked at him and cocked an eyebrow.
“Mistress, there is just something about him, and he will not be turned away.”
She sighed, paused, shook her head, and began to usher him back to the door, “It simply is not a good day for this. Take him to the steward, and see if you can’t get him on the list somewhere in the best possible position, and then find out if he needs something to eat. We can’t deny the man hospitality, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do tonight.”
Warlowe seemed almost disappointed. “Yes, Lady Rey,” he replied, bowing slightly, and crossed back to the door, disappearing behind its heavy oak paneling. Rel turned back to Mark, who was still sitting at the table, trying to look casual. “Now, where were we?” she asked.
SIX
Over the Threshold
TVRDIK STOOD IN A REMOTE corner of the palace courtyard, gratefully munching on the generous portion of bread and cheese he had been given at the steward’s command. The sun had just about disappeared below the horizon, and within the walled yard, shadows lengthened across the cobblestones. It was quiet now, almost emptied of the usual crowd of hopefuls daily vying for official attention. An occasional servant scurried by on an errand, and a few lords conversed in low voices in dim corners, punctuating their points of view with gesticulating hands. A lovely young girl sat opposite him on a low bench, twirling a hank of long, bright red hair in her nervous fingers, and, at intervals, jumping up to look toward the Hall of Audience. After a moment she would pace for a bit and find her seat again. She did not seem to notice the pale, weary, ragged young man in glasses, chewing a sandwich and talking to himself.
It hadn’t taken him long to arrive at the palace, from his waterfall in the deep woods. Eight days, to be precise. It seemed ironic that all those years, he had never really been so far from home, or from what he had once called home. For this journey, the mage and the naiad had travelled to the nearest village where Tvrdik was known, and traded some simple healing work and kitchen magic for a few provisions and a sturdier water skin in which Ondine could travel. Every few days he stopped again, wherever he could work for food or ask directions. But though he was often offered shelter as well, Tvrdik always chose to camp alone in some remote place under the stars by a stream or a lake. There, Ondine could spend the evening out in the open, and he could practice the wizarding skills which were still new to him, without fear of being noticed. Ondine would spend hours watching the young mage levitate, transmute, transform, dis-apperate and apperate any number of items, occasionally jumping up and down in the water, clapping her hands in glee at his accomplishments. Just as often, she would be giggling at his near-misses. Her favorite trick was the one where he’d turn himself into a big white owl, his spirit beast, and fly all around the campsite. The transformations were always thrilling, but the landings, where he would attempt to morph back into his natural human form – not so good. He was a diligent and tireless student, though, and she delighted in his rehearsals. Where he dealt with other humans, he kept her hidden in the wine skin, for fear that she would end up as a carnival sideshow somewhere. But in the lengthening spring evenings, and on some of the long empty roads they travelled, he would uncork the container, and they would talk. She taught him all about the life of a water sprite – probably more than any human ever knew on the subject – and he filled her in on the mission he was about to undertake, and of Xaarus’ plan. Tvrdik left out the details of his past, his flight to the woods, and his state of mind when she first saw him at the waterfall. Somehow, he did not want to seem smaller in her eyes, and was convinced the real story would disappoint her. Truth be told, he was enjoying her effervescent company, a new phenomenon after twelve solitary years. Why, he had actually laughed at her antics, on several occasions!
One evening, camping by the riverside, far from any village, they found themselves hungry, and staring at the last of their meager provisions. Tvrdik chewed on a bit of hard crust, deflated. But Ondine splashed down into the river, shook the drops from her curls in a cascade of spray, held up a finger, and disappeared into the deep. In a moment, Tvrdik heard what sounded like a very loud and raucous song being sung under water. Before he could wonder at its source, two large fish leapt from the river and beached themselves at his feet. A tiny blue face appeared next, grinning at him from the water. With amazement and gratitude, Tvrdik blessed the fish, conjured a fire, and roasted them to a turn. Often, afterwards, he teased her that her singing had been so horrible that it sent the fish flying up from their watery lairs, just to escape the torment.
Now, at last, they had arrived at their destination, and found themselves locked out. Here they were, standing in the palace courtyard, the sun sinking, the day ending, and a chill breeze beginning to ruffle Tvrdik’s pale hair, and he did not have a clue as to what to do next. Of course, he had gotten himself put on some list for an audience with the Lady Rey, but it was a very long list, and who knew when the actual meeting would materialize. It could be weeks, or months even, and his business could not wait that long. Hmmph, he thought with bitter reflection, a list for a simple audience? Still full of herself, if you ask me, despite Xaarus sticking up for her. XAARUS! He stopped mid-chew, struck by the lightning bolt thought of the bond he and his Master had forged in order to make their lessons more efficient. Xaarus had said he felt it might work to keep the lines of communication open even across time and space, but only sparingly, only in Tvrdik’s mind, and only in the hour of greatest need. Tvrdik had not tested the theory yet, not wishing to abuse such a privilege. But if this was not greatest need, he could think of none. If he could not even get in the door for an interview, they were stopped in their tracks. He felt certain that Xaarus would know what to do.
Swallowing, he closed his eyes and poured all his intention into conjuring his memories of the older wizard. Holding these pictures in his thoughts, he focused on reaching out for Xaarus’ mind. It should feel familiar – the path had been well-worn in the final week of his training – but it was so far away now, it felt like a very long stretch into a vast unknown space. Tvrdik’s face began to sweat as he poured a little more energy into isolating his teacher’s unique energy. Then, with the scent of sage and old wax, there stood the older wizard before him, a bit translucent, perhaps, but very recognizable. Not wanting to waste precious moments with his master, Tvrdik seized the opportunity to present his dilemma. Meanwhile, peering over the rim of the wooden tankard in which she was temporarily housed, Ondine watched in fascination as her ‘Lovely Man’ seemed to be conversing most passionately with the air.
“Master, I am here at Theriole, but the lady will not see me. It is as you said here: chaotic, much fear and grief everywhere, uncertainty and confusion. The Lady Rey is in such demand that she will only receive petitioners who have registered on a list weeks in advance. We do not have the luxury of time or patience, nor am I sure she will see me looking like a threadbare beggar in any case. I tried to be as firm as courtesy would permit, but I do not think breaking the door in would be well-regarded. What do I do?”
Xaarus’ image flickered, but remained, the old wizard seeming to be considering this new informa
tion. Now his mouth moved, but the familiar voice seemed to come from a place inside of Tvrdik’s brain, as if from a great distance, while at the same time as close as his own heartbeat. It was a strange sensation, but Tvrdik could only freeze mid-breath, listening for the response his mentor might give. Use the coin, he heard, and shook his head blankly. The coin I gave you – my calling card. I daresay she will remember it. That should get you inside. Like a sunrise inside his head, Tvrdik recalled the small gold piece he had been carrying around in his pouch. Reaching a hand now inside the small one reserved for important personal items, he felt within until his fingers closed around the cool, flat circle, and he pulled it out, releasing his breath in relief to find it still there.
Good, that’s it! Xaarus’ image continued, Once you meet her, you must convince her of your sincerity, and the truth of what you have to tell her. As for the first, be honest if she questions you. Hold nothing back. If you have opportunity to meet the dragon, submit without question. Tashroth will be able to read your heart, and could prove a valuable ally. For the latter, relate to her all we have discussed, and stress what I have told you about the coming war. Mention the name of Lord Drogue; it will resonate with her today, I think. I must go. I cannot hold the link. All my faith rests in you, my boy. You will succeed if you only believe it…. And he was gone.
Tvrdik sank to the ground, his back propped against a stone wall. Holding their communication link open for only a few moments was exhausting. But he had gotten what he needed and more. Somehow, even the shadow of Xaarus made him feel powerful, energized, hopeful. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. As soon as his strength returned a bit, he would go approach the doorman again, coin in hand.
A cold splash full in the face startled him awake. Ondine was staring at him, an expression in her wide eyes somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment. “Lovely Man, you sick?” she asked innocently, and then with a sharper tone, “Or maybe brain-addled?”
Tvrdik laughed out loud, “No, no, I’m fine,” he reassured, “I was asking for help from my Master, but no one else can see him…” She leaned backward like he might be contagious. Tvrdik laughed again. “It’s a long story – I’ll try to explain later. Sorry to say I need you back in your little house, Ondine. We have more work to do this evening.” He held the water skin out to her, and shaking her curls with exasperation, she disappeared inside. The sun had dipped low and the courtyard was fully in shadow now. Tvrdik noticed the young girl still sitting rather dejectedly on her bench, as he gathered the rest of his possessions. No time now to find out her story. Perhaps another day. He stuffed the last morsel of cheese in his mouth, tossed the gold coin in the air, caught it as it tumbled down, and started back toward the giant doors of the Hall of Audience.
Not five minutes later, the enormous door swung open again in the Hall of Audience, and Jorelial Rey, still in conversation with Mark, found herself again summoned to private conference with her doorkeeper. His eyes were as round as saucers as he addressed her, “Pardon again my intrusion, Lady…”
Annoyed at the turn the day had taken, Jorelial was not her best self as she snapped, “What is it this time?”
Warlowe stammered, “My lady, that man I spoke of earlier…”
“I thought I said…”
“He gave me this, and bade me present it to you by way of introduction.” The doorman handed her the small metallic object. Jorelial took one look at it, turned it over in her hand, and gasped, “Holy cat-tails and dragon’s bones, Warlowe! Did he say where he got this?”
“No, Mistress. Just said he thought it would interest you, and repeated that he had urgent business to discuss with you on behalf of the original owner, at your earliest convenience.” Warlowe blinked.
“At my earliest convenience, indeed…” Rel swore under her breath as she spun about. “Mark, I am afraid we will have to continue our discussion at a future time. Something has come up – you understand?”
Mark rose at once and attempted a little formal bow, almost unbalancing himself, “At your pleasure, lady, and I hope to call you ‘sister’ very soon.” She stared after him, deep in thought, as he disappeared through the large doors, and then turned back to Warlowe. “I apologize for my ill temper; it has been an excruciatingly long and trying day. You did exactly the right thing. Give me two minutes and then show him in, please. Oh, and could you please find the steward and tell him not to wait dinner for me? And if you happen to see Tashroth hanging about out there, could you tell him for me that I will join him on the north tower as soon as I can? Thank you, Warlowe.” She touched his arm in genuine appreciation. He bowed to her and stepped outside, raising a single eyebrow on the way out in response to the suggestion that he speak to a dragon.
Jorelial looked at the coin in her hand one more time, then strode over to the formal throne on the dais. It would be important to start this particular interview from a position of authority. The door creaked open again, and Warlowe reappeared, ushering in a stranger. As the man crossed the long room, she had a moment to take his full measure. He was tall and lean, dressed in some sort of odd rustic clothing that was patched and threadbare. He carried a collection of packs slung over both shoulders and on his back. His age was difficult to assess, as one moment he looked quite young, and then, in another light, lines of care appeared on his face that made him seem much older. Around his head was an aureole of hair so pale as to be nearly white, while his piercing blue eyes peered out from behind gold-rimmed spectacles that seemed to give him a perpetually surprised look. Facing this man, Jorelial felt a powerful impulse both to laugh and to cry. Instead, she tried to look stern. The man approached, made a perfunctory bow, and spoke first. “Jorelial Rey, I hope you will forgive my forwardness, but I am sent here on a mission of grave importance.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and brandished the coin, “Where did you get this?”
“From him whose image appears upon it.”
“That is not possible, for he is long dead.”
“You are mistaken, as I have spoken with him this very evening, and he asked to be commended to you.”
“If you have spoken with him, then you must take me to him, that I might plead for his return, since there has never been a time that this realm needed his good guidance more.”
“That, I regret, cannot be, as he is not in a place we may come to.”
“But you just said you spoke to him this very evening.”
“I did.”
“You speak in riddles, sir. Is it your intention to confuse me, or try my temper?”
“No, Jorelial Rey. It is my intention to tell you nothing but the truth, and if you will hear me out, all will be made plain.”
There was a pause. She found it interesting that he called her by name without any of the respectful titles that everyone else used. She tried a new tactic.
“Who are you?”
“I am Tvrdik.”
“That’s an odd name. What kind of a name is that?”
He shrugged, “It is my name.”
Another pause. How to come to the meat of the matter with this odd stranger? And what had he to do with Xaarus? At that moment, the man shrugged and took a step to shift all his packs about and redistribute their weight. Jorelial realized he must be weary of them. She stood. “Sir, will you lay down your burdens for the moment, and then try to start from the beginning?”
Grateful, Tvrdik divested himself of all his parcels and packs, laying them in a careful pile on the floor. Only a single water skin he kept close to his chest, a detail that did not escape Lady Rey’s trained eye. He seemed at first uncertain as to how to begin, and then made a decision.
“Jorelial Rey, if you search the recesses of your memory, you might find that you know me, or at least have met me before. Long ago, I lived near this palace, and was an eager student of Master Wizard Xaarus. There were three of us apprenticed
to him at the time. Perhaps I did not stand out to you from among the group. But I remember you, coming and going on the great green dragon. You were barely fifteen when I last saw you, I would guess, and something of a lone wolf. No disrespect intended…” He paused as she came down the stairs and walked right up to him, circling once, and then staring directly into his face while he held very still…
“Tvrdik!” she shouted, making him flinch, “The Wizard School. Of course…I do remember you. Not that we’d ever really spoken to each other back then, mind you, but I do remember the three of you hanging around Xaarus all the time. The hair…the glasses…why, you were only a teenager yourself when I last saw you.” The flooding back of memories seemed to re-energize her, wipe away the aura of suspicion and weariness that had clung to her a moment before. “You know my father was very close to Xaarus; they were often together. And you three seemed always to be sort of slouching around in the background, waiting for something, or following him off somewhere in a little train.” A chuckle escaped her at the recollection.
Tvrdik’s throat tightened, and he could feel his ears getting hot. “Xaarus was a very great teacher,” he stammered, “we all felt so fortunate to be learning from him…we would have followed him into the depths of the underworld…”
But Jorelial Rey was lost in her own memories. Her face changed. “And then, suddenly you were all gone. All of you. Overnight, it seemed. No more wizards. What happened?” The blond man closed his eyes at that, and sighed in a way that nearly broke her heart. Clearly, this was not going to be an easy or brief story to relate. She made a snap decision. “Tvrdik, come sit down here at this table. If I am at last to hear the resolution of the greatest mystery in the entire history of our kingdom, we ought to make ourselves comfortable and do it right. Warlowe!” She sprang back toward the door, summoning the doorman once again, as Tvrdik sank into a chair. Warlowe was there in an instant, fearing some problem with the stranger.
The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare Page 8