Gryphon (Rise of the Mages Book 2)

by Brian W. Foster

  Take that, King Barius. Take that.

  59.

  Xan paced back and forth.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said. “It’s my blasted throne room. You must let me in.”

  His hand shook, and he clutched it against his leg. Scrubbing radiation from the city and the surrounding area had taken nearly a week, and he’d done it mostly seed-free.

  “I’m sorry, my lord wizard,” Robyn said, “but you have to wait.”

  “But … but … it’s my room. Mine.”

  “And you’ll see it when it’s ready, my lord wizard.”

  “Did you not hear the scout’s message?” Xan said. “The Queen’s emissary is in Eye Lake. He’ll be in the castle in less than an hour.”

  “Yes, my lord wizard.”

  “This meeting will set the tone for my entire relationship with the queen. If I’m too weak, they’ll walk all over me. Too demanding and she may decide not to treat with me. Do you understand the importance?”

  “Of course, my lord wizard.”

  “Then let me in my blasted throne room! I have to prepare for the meeting. Get my head straight. Figure out how to handle the guy.”

  “My lord wizard, would it be better to meet him in your newly furnished fancy chamber suited for a ruler of a nation or in an undecorated, dirty space that’s still under construction?”

  Xan pursed his lips. “But …”

  “I’m glad you’re taking this seriously, my lord wizard. This meeting is important. My life, your life, all our lives may depend on the outcome, and I’m positive you’ll do great.” She paused. “Sometimes, though, you might have the teensiest, tiniest problem with getting angry? While your humble servants finish preparing the room, maybe you could consider this short, minor wait like … practice … for controlling that temper?”

  Xan clenched his fists. They trembled. Not lashing out at the nearest wall took all his willpower.

  Instead, he breathed in and out. Long and deep. Calming himself. “Fine.”

  He stalked away and paced, recalling his first experience dealing with nobles. His ideas barely tolerated, much less respected. Forced to serve. Locked in a tower. Shot with an arrow. Almost dying in a haystack.

  The meeting with the emissary would probably turn out as disastrous. They’d be doomed.

  If only Tasia were there. She was the only one he knew both who had experience treating titled asses diplomatically and who was reasonably normal.

  But she wasn’t there and might never be there again. Definitely not in the way he wanted her to be there.

  Those thoughts weren’t getting him anywhere, though. He pushed her from his mind and focused on his goal. How to get the queen’s representative to agree to an alliance?

  Obviously, standing together was the only way to defeat Dastanar, but would the queen see that? Or did she even believe the threat existed?

  If she did, his job would be a lot easier. Otherwise, she probably saw him as a threat. Hard to know how best to proceed until he knew his footing. He’d have to come up with a plan while negotiating with the emissary.

  Xan frowned. He’d need to be sharp. Focused.

  Like he was after eating a seed.

  But he couldn’t do that. He’d cut back for a reason. The drug made him too reckless, especially when boosted.

  Of course, he could take a few without using magic, but experience had taught him they’d not have much impact that way. No use taking them if they didn’t do anything.

  Hmm.

  What if he just boosted the effectiveness a little? A quick burst, a tiny one. Enough to give him a push but not overwhelm him.

  No danger in an experiment, right? After all, he had plenty of seeds. He’d instructed the team sent to Goldstream to harvest more, and they’d followed his orders.

  But he’d sworn he’d wean himself off them. Only a few days had passed since his last one.

  On the other hand, if he had a tool that could help him, he’d be remiss in his duties as a ruler if he didn’t use it.

  Yeah. That made sense.

  Xan popped a seed in his mouth and, once it hit his stomach, gave it less than half his normal magical boost. Energy shot through his body. His mind woke.

  He took a few deep breaths. Not as potent as a full measure but good all the same. His pacing quickened, but he still wasn’t exactly filled with confidence. So he did the only thing he could think of; he went to Hosea, who used a partially finished area of the castle for judging disputes, and explained about the upcoming meeting with the emissary.

  “Sounds like you’re scared, my lord.”

  “I’m not …” Xan was about to deny it, but that wasn’t true, as much as he hated to admit it. “I guess I am.”

  “Well, get over it, my lord.”

  Great advice. Xan gritted his teeth. “How?”

  “I reckon first you need to figure out exactly what you’re afraid of, my lord.”

  Okay. That made sense. He could work with that. “I guess I fear losing my temper and doing something stupid.”

  “Don’t get mad, then, my lord.” Hosea grinned. “Problem solved.”

  Xan frowned.

  “You can be a mite fierce, my lord, but I don’t reckon you let your ax fly off the handle any more than most.” Hosea shook his head. “No, that’s not what you’re really afraid of.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  Hosea just stared at him. Silent.

  “Maybe I’m scared that there’s no way to succeed,” Xan said. “That no matter what I do, this emissary won’t grant me the alliance I need.”

  “You’re a strong-willed lad, my lord. I can’t figure you fearing what someone else will do.”

  Xan hung his head. “So many people are depending on me. What if I fail?”

  “Son, look at me.”

  He reluctantly raised his eyes.

  “I reckon failing is a part of life, my lord,” Hosea said. “Everyone does it. The trick is get up, brush yourself off, and move forward.”

  “But … what happens if—”

  “Nothing is for sure, my lord. Maybe you make a hash of things right good, but I’ve more trust in you than I have in any save the Holy One.”

  Xan sighed. He didn’t know if the conversation had made him feel better or worse. Regardless, he trudged back to his throne room’s antechamber and waited until the door finally opened.

  Marco stepped out, dressed in an immaculate black uniform with red trim and a gold gryphon on the chest. “It’s ready, my lord.”

  Robyn appeared beside him, wearing a similar outfit but with a skirt and pips on the right shoulder. Both looked so pleased with themselves that Xan didn’t have the heart to complain any more. For their sakes, he’d pretend he cared about the room’s decorations.

  “Show me,” Xan said.

  “Yes, my lord wizard,” Marco said.

  As it turned out, he didn’t have to act.

  They’d built a dais, two feet high with stairs on either side, and placed it at the back of the room. At the center of the platform, the plain wood chair had been replaced with a work of art.

  He flew to the throne and touched down beside it. Constructed of an elegant black wood polished to a glossy finish, accents of what appeared to be real gold adorned it. Speechless, he circled it. The sides bore the shape of a gryphon on the cusp of flight, and his emblem, the gryphon brand like the one stamped on his coins, dominated the chairback from the front.

  “It’s … it’s … perfect,” he said.

  Both Marco and Robyn beamed.

  And the room. Tapestries depicting gryphons in flight graced each wall. Sparkling sunlight shown through stained glass, every scene showing more gryphons, instead of the old clear windows. Black-painted chairs with actual cushions replaced rough-hewn benches for those seeking audience.

  Xan couldn’t imagine a better throne room. That his followers—no, his friends—had done such for him …

  He found himself too choked up
to speak and had to clear his throat. “Amazing! Simply amazing. How did you do all this?”

  Robyn grinned. “I had a lot of help, especially from Tina, my lord wizard. We have few artisans in town, so she commissioned the windows and tapestries, some in Heart Harbor and others at various villages.”

  “That throne, though!” he said.

  She laughed. “Officially, The Gryphon Throne.”

  Xan grinned.

  “It’s something, isn’t it, my lord wizard? And that was one thing we did in-house with our own goldsmith and fine woodcrafters.”

  He thanked them profusely and asked that Robyn pass along his appreciation to others who had helped.

  Things were really coming together. All he had to do was make alliances with Bermau and Kaicia, and maybe, he’d actually have a chance against Dastanar.

  As he moved about the room examining the hard work that had been put into the construction, a boy wearing plain farmer’s garb burst in. He sprinted to Marco and whispered something.

  “My lord wizard,” Marco said, “there’s an emis … emis something … here to see you. Says his name is Poole.”

  “Emissary,” Xan said.

  Maybe he should make the guy wait. If Xan were to request an audience with any of the three monarchs, they’d make him cool his heels for hours, if not days.

  Then again, he really didn’t want to be anything like those rulers.

  For better or worse, it was time to face the queen’s representative. Time to decide the fate of the three kingdoms.

  Xan sighed. “Send him in.”

  60.

  Xan gripped the arms of his throne.

  His fingers clenched the padding tightly, and the steel beneath dug into his flesh. Over five minutes had passed since Marco had left to retrieve the ambassador from the antechamber.

  Finally, the door opened, and a tall, thin man with gray-specked hair entered. He wore an impeccable blue coat adorned with gold trim and silver medals. Two guards dressed in the queen’s livery flanked him.

  Xan scanned the three newcomers. None were mages.

  “My lord Gryphon,” Marco said, “I present Kory Poole of Escon, Emissary of Her Eminence Queen Anna the Third of Bermau.”

  Such a good job. Xan was proud of the boy.

  Poole, however, frowned. “One must always announce persons of importance with their full and correct titles, such as referring to me as Lord Ambassador Kory Poole. And in a formal setting, leaving off Protector of the Pass and Defender of the Holy Realm from the queen’s titles is insulting, if not outright seditious.”

  Xan narrowed his eyes. “Mister Poole—”

  “Again, the proper address is Lord Ambassador Poole.”

  “And my proper address is Lord Wizard Gryphon, so if you want to talk about respect, that’s a great place to start.”

  “Do you know why I’m here, young man? Why I’ve come to see a commoner, some form of laborer from a small town in the southwest?” Poole paused. “Because you’ve set yourself up as a ruler, committing treason against those who rightfully reign. The queen sent me to determine if you can be reasonable.”

  “Do you know I can kill you with a thought? Many ways, in fact. Draining your life directly. Burning you. Flinging you against the wall. Creating a beam of light to blast through your heart. Making your surroundings so hot that your blood boils.” Xan shrugged. “I could go on.”

  “I serve the queen,” Poole said. “If that service requires my life, so be it. You would do well to learn from my example.”

  Xan took a deep breath. Things were spiraling downward quickly. “Lord Ambassador Poole, without this ‘commoner,’ Asherton would have fallen to Truna’s army, who we all know was backed by Dastanar.”

  “We do not ‘know’ any such thing. Yes, we suspect, but it could be that Duke Irdrin grew ambitious and, on his own, recruited the few mages proved to be present by eyewitness testimony. That’s not as uncommon an occurrence as you’d like to believe.”

  Dukes had used mages before?

  Poole straightened and tugged down on his coat, smoothing out a lone wrinkle. “There is simply no evidence that conclusively implicates Dastanar in—”

  “But—”

  “Do not interrupt me, young man.”

  Xan gripped the arms of his throne and barely resisted expelling the odious noble from the room. An alliance was too important. He had to keep his temper in check. “With respect, Lord Ambassador Poole, Dastanar sent one hundred mages against me a week ago. There’s your proof.”

  “Where?” Poole said. “Where, exactly, is the proof?”

  “It’s … uh …”

  “That one hundred riders rode over the southern pass, our people can verify. That you blasted them from existence, our people can verify. That any of those one hundred were, in fact, mages, our people have no way of verifying.”

  “If you don’t believe me,” Xan said, “why are you here?”

  “You’re openly using magic in defiance of the law. Bragging about it, even. You made it known that Eye Lake is a sovereign nation where magic users are welcome. Something had to be done.”

  “Something like an alliance?”

  “A what?” Poole laughed. “Boy, I’m here to bring you back to Escon. Your best bet is to beg for the queen’s mercy. She can be … generous. Probably, she’ll still have you executed, but one never knows.”

  The man couldn’t be serious, but there was no indication he jested.

  “As a sign of good faith, I’m prepared to offer your people immunity,” Poole said. “The non-mage ones, of course. And the ones who vacate Eye Lake. The rest, well …”

  “I see,” Xan said.

  Maybe he could get something positive from the debacle. Information at least. Xan met the man’s eyes. “And how do you plan to force me to accept any of those terms?”

  “The queen’s army.”

  “And mages?” Xan said. “How many of those?”

  “The queen would never sully herself by—”

  Xan kinetically hoisted him waist high above the floor and dropped him. Poole fell on his butt with an “oof.”

  “Listen, you oaf!” Xan yelled. “Understand the forces I command. The queen’s army is nothing. Nothing! Unless your grand plan is to make me feel bad for having to kill so many of your men, tell her to accept my offer of an alliance.”

  Poole, unbelievably, simply stood and brushed himself off, nonplussed. Confident even.

  Draining his life would be too merciful. Maybe Burn him. Propel him through a wall. Penetrate his body with a hundred finger-sized beams of light. Boil his blood.

  So many options to wipe that smug look off his face.

  But Xan had responsibilities. People who depended on him. He had to do what was best for them, not what he wanted to do. “I’ve recruited sixty-five mages.”

  Poole raised one eyebrow and smirked.

  “That you’re skeptical of my resources tells me the queen doesn’t have nearly as many, if any at all considering your earlier comment,” Xan said. “Tell her that, despite me having the far more powerful force, I will work with her. Even follow orders.”

  Unless they were idiotic or unreasonable, of course.

  “This offer is only good, however, if she treats with me as an equal head of state. Otherwise …” Xan shrugged.

  Poole barked out a laugh. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.” He paused. “Look, boy, an alliance simply isn’t possible. Recognizing Eye Lake as no different than one of the three kingdoms would set far too bad a precedent. Why don’t you take some time to reconsider?”

  “There’s not a chance of me yielding.”

  “I’m afraid, then, I must return to Escon and inform Her Majesty of your decision,” Poole said. “You do understand the consequences of your rashness, do you not?”

  “You do understand that Bermau cannot stand against Dastanar without me and my mages, correct?”

  “Boy …” Poole said.

  “Appar
ently, you don’t.” Xan shook his head. “Give Queen Anna my message. I can only hope she is smarter than you are.”

  “Even if she believes you about Dastanar,” Poole said, “there will never be an alliance.”

  “I’m afraid, then, all is lost.”

  61.

  Brant’s fingers grasped the rock.

  He pulled, his muscles straining but hoisting his weight easily. His left hand found the next hold.

  A freehand climb up a sheer face without so much as a safety line got his blood pumping. Most definitely his idea of a great time.

  He glanced up. Not far to go.

  Ivie was already at the top, and Raleigh was right behind her. She was lowering the rope to pull up Tatiana.

  Brant should have been mad that anyone had beat him, but Raleigh was both unnaturally gifted at such stuff and had more experience than Brant had years. And Ivie. Well, her being skilled was a good thing, right? If she was to be his … what? Friend? Soldier?

  Whatever she would be to him, he would prefer she was good at it.

  After two more pulls, he reached the upper ledge. Stokes wasn’t far behind.

  Tatiana tied the rope around her waist, and they hauled her up. With everyone safely on solid ground, Raleigh left to scout the path ahead, and Brant allowed himself a moment to think. He was alive, and more importantly, he’d completed his mission successfully. Even Stokes had been impressed. Not that the sergeant said anything, of course, but the look on his face as he examined the notes spoke volumes.

  And there was the fact he hadn’t objected to almost all their coin being spent to buy Tatiana off Numav. Brant paid too much, but what else could he have done? His honor was at stake, and he couldn’t figure any other way to get her out of the castle.

  Besides, the money didn’t matter. They had enough, if they skimped on food and shared rooms at inns while traveling to Asherton, and even if they ran out, they could sleep under the stars.

  In ten days, a couple of weeks at the most, Brant would be in General Flynn’s office being praised for how well he did. And being promoted to Marshal. Assuming Duke Asher had waited for him to return before deciding, and surely, he had.