The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare

by April Leonie Lindevald

  “Whatever you say, little one,” the dragon agreed, wryly. Jorelial cocked her head.

  “As if you aren’t the slightest bit aware of how persuasive you are, you big green goon…”

  “I? Why, I was under the impression we were merely conversing on a problem. As I said, I would never presume to tell you what to do…”

  “Oh, no, never!” Rel laughed, feeling lighter already. Then, more seriously, “Tash, as long as I have breath, you know I will be beside you on the journey as well. You know that nothing and nobody will ever take me away from you. You are my heart, my wisdom, and my strength.”

  There was a long beat of silence, as if the dragon needed to frame his next sentence most carefully, “Jorelial Rey, someday a man may come into your life who will be a fit partner for you. A helpmate, a lover, a friend, a father for your children…”

  “I do not care about any of those things. I already have all I need.”

  “Listen to me. You think you do now, but there are experiences you need to have in this lifetime, and you must open to them or a part of you dies.”

  “Tash, there was a time I wanted those things, but my life is very full now – more than I even want it to be – and I doubt there is anyone out there who would be willing or able to link his life to my crazy existence in that way. And there is no one out there who could ever take your place. That is certain.”

  “Dearest, it is the same for me, but I am not suggesting anyone will come along and make you choose between us. I am saying that a great heart has room for many loves, and you must allow yourself to look for the one who can love you so generously and deeply, that he loves all you are, and all you bring with you. You will know him easily, because he will never make you choose.”

  “Sounds a bit like a fantasy lover to me,” she yawned, her eyes growing heavy, “but if you say so, I will try to allow the possibility…someday. Tash, what about you? Are you lonely for a mate of your own kind?”

  Another thoughtful pause, in which Jorelial might have dozed off, but she thought she heard his response clearly, a moment later.

  “I am content, my dear. If something more is to be, I, too, am open to whatever gifts destiny has in store for me. Rest assured, you will never be displaced from my dragon’s heart, Jorelial Rey.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned back. The fire was flickering low, but Tashroth’s chest was warm. They would have to fly back at dawn, back to responsibilities and demands. But this time was precious and sacred. Night noises filled the air, evidence of the ongoing drama of survival taking place in the shadows around them. But Jorelial Rey was not worried about danger, teeth or claws, sting or venomous tongue. She slept soundly, secure in the knowledge that there were indeed some advantages to being loved by a dragon.

  Anyone crossing the courtyard would not have noticed the trio of figures at the corner, shrouded in cloaks and loitering behind the columns. Not that there would be anyone crossing the courtyard at this hour of the night. Dark clouds scudded across a gibbous moon, and somewhere far off, a wolf sent up his plaintive, lonely howl. The small, wiry man with the pockmarked face pulled his cloak closer, despite the pleasant warmth of the midnight air.

  “E’s overdue! I ain’t waitin’ any longer. Someone’s bound to see us out ‘ere and start askin’ questions.”

  “Keep your shirt on, Brubaker. Not a soul about. He’ll be here,” replied a rather lumpy man with unruly curls.

  The third figure, tall and sour-looking, hissed at them, “Won’t be a picnic for any of us if you two don’t quit yer squawkin’. Don’t you know these walls are like a canyon? You’ll be heard clear across the yard. Shut yer traps.”

  The curly-headed man held up a hand, “There! That shadow just moved. See, there? It’s coming towards us. That’s Gargan alright. I’d know him anywhere – big man.”

  “Hush,” said the wiry figure, “wait until yer sure.”

  “I tell you, I know him.”

  “Quiet. Whoever it is has heard us now. You’d better hope it’s him, alright.”

  The hulking form was indeed upon them, emerging without a sound from the shadows and mist, nearly invisible in its dark cloak. A deep voice addressed the odd trio.

  “It’s a good thing that everyone in Theriole’s asleep now, or the whole of Eneri Clare’d know what it is we’re about. What are you nimwits up to, making such a racket?”

  “Told you.”

  “Ah, ye did no such thing…”

  “Quiet!” Gargan commanded, and the others slunk back like wild dogs acknowledging their pack leader.

  “Brubaker, look alive.” Gargan continued, and tossed a grapefruit-sized sack, which the wiry man caught with a quick, dull jingle. “It’s all there. Euligian gold coins, just as you requested. You won’t have any trouble passing them off in the market.” The wiry man nodded and tucked the purse under his cloak, a half-smile tugging at his thin lips.

  Next, Gargan pulled out a rolled piece of parchment, sealed with a wax insignia. He held it out to the curly-haired man. “Land,” he stated simply, “two hundred acres, woods and good upper pastureland. A small mine or two. A sturdy house and a couple of outbuildings. Agreed?”

  The stout man reached, but hesitated, “Mine? Recorded and deeded? No questions or problems?”

  Gargan handed him the scroll and sniffed, “Everything official. What do you take him for?”

  “But how? Where?”

  “The previous owner had…an unfortunate accident.”

  The curly-haired man twitched, but hastened to fold his new treasure safely under his cloak. “Lord Drogue is most generous,” he muttered, hanging his head.

  The sour-faced figure stepped forward boldly, “And my reward?” he probed. Gargan reached under his cloak one more time, and pulled out some sort of metal medallion on a long, colorful loop of ribbon.

  “Congratulations, Squire Colrick. Your new title comes with a fairly decent manor house, and the governance of a small, but prosperous fiefdom, subject to His Lordship, of course.”

  The new Squire inclined his head toward Gargan. “Of course,” he replied, pocketing the proof of his title, and bowing extravagantly, “Please convey my deep gratitude to His Lordship.”

  Gargan spoke almost on top of the man’s sentence, “Alright, then, is everyone satisfied, just as we agreed?” There were assurances all around, and then Brubaker chimed in once more.

  “Lord Drogue honors us with ‘is most liberal gifts – more than I could ever say for that twit as sat last on Clare’s throne – but what exactly will ‘e be wantin’ from us in return? What will ‘e expect us to do at the council meetin’?” The others shook their heads and murmured exclamations of agreement.

  Gargan smiled, “Oh, quite simple, gents. He just wants you to support his run for regent is all. Talk him up to your friends and families, put his name forward for nomination, vote for him when the time comes, of course. Show some excitement if he should get up to speak. And maybe a bit of noise for anybody that’s fool enough to oppose him, see? Not so much of a task, really, for so generous a bribe, eh? Oh, and he’ll expect you all to follow his lead, should he choose any other course there at the meeting, and support him with action if need be…”

  The curly-haired man’s brow furrowed, “Well, that’s going a bit far, now, isn’t it? I agreed to put his name up for regent, but I never said as I would give up my good reputation and follow the man into whatever hell he chooses…” The others laughed – all except Gargan, who grabbed the man’s shirt and yanked him close.

  “You’ve taken the land, sir. You have your deed. Lord Drogue owns you now. I would consider very careful-like how you reward my lord’s generosity. Because, I will tell you plain, he does not like to be disappointed. Are we clear?”

  The stout man’s eyes were wide, and he wheezed a bit as he nodded vigorously in reply. Gargan released him, and
the man’s hand flew up to his throat protectively.

  “Good. Very good. Do him proud, gentlemen. Pleasure doing business with you. Now I am going to tippy-toe back the way I came. Count ten – assuming that isn’t too high a number for any of you – and then back to your camps in each other’s company like you’ve been out to enjoy an ale with friends. Understood?” He was answered with a chorus of ‘ayes’ and a great deal of nodding. And then he was gone, a shadow among shadows once more, leaving his associates open-mouthed, but speechless, where they stood.

  Jorelial Rey flew back to Theriole on Tashroth at first light, determined to find her sister before anything else distracted her. She intended to have a long talk with her, and apologize for being so rigid in her handling of the situation. But, there was already a crisis waiting for her upon her arrival, involving two regional lords coming in for the Council Meeting, bickering over which should have the rights to pitch tents closest to the palace. Jorelial sighed, splashed some water on her face, rolled up her sleeves, and launched into some rather inspired diplomatic machinations. Delphine, as usual, would have to wait. Jorelial trusted that her sister would forgive her the delay, but made a mental note not to let too much time pass before re-visiting the girl’s concerns. Predictably, with the Council Meeting just days away, hours flew by with one situation after another requiring her immediate attention. Embroiled in so many vital decisions, conflicts and plans, she forgot to do anything about mending fences.

  Delphine, for her part, made several attempts both the evening before and at various intervals throughout the day to find Jorelial, or to intercept her between meetings, but without success. She was concerned and frustrated that their last ugly encounter was still hanging in the air between them without resolution, and torn between sympathy for her sister’s overwhelming schedule, and hurt that their relationship once again rated last priority. Failing in her quest to right things, she resigned herself at last to running into Rel whenever providence allowed. Then she went off to spend time with little King Darian, who adored her company, and with Mark, whose advice she freely sought on what they should do next.

  Meanwhile, Tvrdik was up and out so early that morning that he might have noticed Tashroth’s shadow as the great beast soared back to the roof of Theriole. Perhaps he might have, had he been a little more awake and alert to the outside world. But the day promised to be fair once again, and he was determined to put a good day’s work in on The Cottage and have something measureable to show by the end of the day. He had dressed in his sturdy boots and coarse work clothes, and was making mental lists of the day’s projects in his head at the moment Jorelial and the green dragon swooped silently over his head. The whole day was his to dispose of as he wished – no appointments, no deadlines, no interruptions expected – and he felt invigorated to be once more tackling something physical and finite. It was the kind of project he was more than familiar with: one that showed real results very quickly. It was barely light when he arrived at the house and stood looking at it, hands on hips, formulating his plan. Then he bowed his head, uttered a blessing on the work he was about to undertake, spit on both palms, rubbed them together, and strode to the door. He unlocked both the physical and magical locks, stepped within to pick up a crowbar. Emerging again with tools in hand and a healthy dose of determination, he began to make his way around the building, prying the wooden boards off of the windows, letting light and air into the stuffy, dark, long disused rooms. The transformation had begun.

  TWELVE

  In the Cottage

  IT WAS NOON WHEN THE dog came by to see what all the commotion was about, and what he saw must have thrilled the young wolfhound who had spent his brief life dreaming of wizards. Tvrdik was nowhere to be seen on the grounds, but two scrub-brushes were independently dipping themselves in a sudsy bucket, and applying themselves to the walls and mouldings of The Cottage. Four broad paintbrushes followed close behind, spreading fresh whitewash from another bucket, quite evenly and thoroughly – one might even say cheerfully – all over the house’s exterior. The place was already beginning to look brighter. No one else was anywhere in sight in either direction on the riverwalk. Stewart stood stock still at the gate, staring at the flying brushes in their orderly dance. He shook his head, woofed an enthusiastic greeting – and then sprang backwards in alarm as, all at once, the brushes fell lifeless from their endeavors, making a loud sploosh in their buckets. A pale head popped up from among bundles of straw thatch on the roof, peering down through spectacles that reflected the sun’s rays.

  “Who’s there?” the head on the roof shouted, sounding a little nervous.

  “It is I, sir, come to see what all the activity at The Cottage signified. Stewart, sir…ye remember, we met on the road the other day?”

  The voice from the roof seemed to relax a bit, and the head, followed by a torso, lifted from its bundles to become more visible. “Oh, Stewart! Of course, and welcome. Are you alone, friend?”

  “Quite so, sir.”

  “In that case, please come in, through the gate there. I’ll be right down.” Stewart started into the yard, his attention never wavering from the man on the roof, who…was no longer there. In his place an enormous white owl rose out of the thatching, circled once, and came swooping into the front courtyard, headed right for the spot where the big dog stood. Startled, the poor beast sidestepped just in time to miss colliding with the owl on its clumsy landing trajectory. And then, (perhaps he had blinked), a tall, dirt-smudged young man in work clothes and tousled hair stood before him, brushing himself off, and testing various joints to see if they still worked. He seemed to be already talking, a bit winded, but with good cheer.

  “Stewart. Welcome. So glad you stopped by. Sorry about that near collision; I never can seem to get the landings right. Oh, and about my less-than-enthusiastic greeting, apologies too. It wouldn’t do to let just anyone passing by see magical doings yet; rumors would fly. I’m set back from the road enough to be safe from the casual traveler, but you took me by surprise. I was afraid my secret had been discovered.” He reached out a hand, which the dog sniffed by way of greeting.

  “No apologies necessary, good sir. I should apologize for arrivin’ unannounced. But what indeed are ye up to here? No one has even gone in there in over a decade.”

  “Aha!” Tvrdik shook a finger at the dog, “Well, we will remedy that soon enough. I have been commissioned by my Lady Regent to reopen and make repairs on Xaarus’ old house, such that it should be rendered habitable, and then I am to move in myself.”

  Stewart waggled his tail. “Why, that is wonderful news. Hearty congratulations, sir. I hear it is a fine and spacious home. But what a lot of work it will be to restore, no?”

  Tvrdik scratched his head, “Well, it’s not as bad as you might imagine, but there’s still a long way to go before I can give up my room in the palace and sleep here. I started off this morning doing each task by hand, and then it struck me, of what use is being a wizard if you can’t cheat a bit once in awhile, eh? I spelled some of the tools and brushes to go ahead and take care of a few of the more routine, repetitious tasks…”

  “And a fine job of it they were doin’, to my mind, sir,” the dog interjected, “while ye, yerself were on the roof?”

  “Why, yes. I was repairing and replacing the old thatching up there. There are quite a few thin spots, and perhaps some leaks as well. That I need to do myself, by hand. Which reminds me…” He waved a hand and in an instant, all the brushes rose up and resumed their chores. Stewart’s eyes were round as saucers under their charcoal brows, “Gorrrrrr!” he exclaimed, “That’s fantastic.”

  “I’m supposed to keep in practice anyway,” Tvrdik sighed.

  “Say, would ye mind if I, well, if I hung around here for awhile today? Perhaps I can be of some assistance?”

  “Not at all. Your company would be most welcome, and I’m sure you could be useful at that, if you don’t mind.
For one thing, would you let me know if you spot anyone on the path who might notice these shenanigans? As I said, it is efficient, but I wouldn’t want any gossip getting out just yet…”

  “Will do sir, and anythin’ else ye need, you just call fer me.” The big dog came to attention and dipped his head once in salute.

  Tvrdik smiled, “Many thanks, friend. Well, it’s back up to the roof for me…quite a few hours of light left and a good deal to accomplish before this day is out.”

  “Aye.”

  And the young man vanished once again, leaving Stewart gaping at the large white owl with oddly rimmed eyes, winging its way to the top of the building.

  For the remainder of that day, and the next four, Tvrdik worked hard on cleaning, repairing, and restoring the home of his youth. Each day he was up at dawn, and out to The Cottage as soon as he could dress and pocket some bread and cheese. He concentrated first on infrastructure, then on Xaarus’ personal apartments, so that they could be in shape for him to occupy as soon as possible. Despite the constant influx of visitors, dignitaries, and lords arriving for the council meeting on Friday, no one seemed to be pressuring him to vacate his luxurious suite at Theriole. This was a very good thing, as it was taking longer than anticipated to bring the house up to livable condition, even with the help of magic. He wasn’t spending many hours at the palace, but after a full day of physical labor, he truly appreciated the featherbed. Warlowe looked in on him each evening to see if there was anything else he needed, and to take a progress report, while the palace servants made sure there were wonderful meals, clean linens and clothes, and plenty of hot water for washing. Those evenings, before bed, he kept to himself, reading some of Xaarus’ intriguing books, picking up new knowledge and lore, and practicing his techniques.

  Back at The Cottage, Stewart seemed to have taken up a loose residency on the grounds, drawn by curiosity, respect, and a natural friendly nature. He made himself quite useful, fetching and carrying things, offering opinions, and telling amusing stories, mostly about his grandsire and Xaarus. Tvrdik enjoyed his company, and found himself growing attached to the curious wolfhound, looking forward to meeting him each day at the gate. Sharing the work of rebuilding made it seem easier, and chatting with a personable companion turned a day of labor into an enjoyable project.