Wizard of the Grove

by Tanya Huff

  On the dais, the king swayed and he moaned deep in his throat.

  * * *

  Rael stretched the two-hour ride home from the Grove to nearly four, dismounting to sit for a time in the moonlight. To his left, waited the shadow that was the forest. To his right, a ribbon of brown led to the distant lights of the town that spread like a skirt outside the palace walls. The Lady’s Wood. King’s Road, King’s Town.

  His horse nickered and lipped at his hair, more interested in returning to the comfort of stable and stall than in philosophy.

  Grasping the gelding’s mane, Rael pulled himself to his feet, mounted, and kicked the horse into a trot. He had always known that someday he would be king. He enjoyed the power and privilege, and even the responsibilities, of being prince and heir. But sometimes, in the moonlight, he wished he had a choice.

  Hoofs thudded onto packed earth, and Rael turned up the King’s Road.

  The watch had just called midnight when Rael reached town. Because the King’s City was so close to the center of Ardhan, miles from any invading army and surrounded on all sides by loyal subjects of the king, it had no wall. The scattered farms and cottages of the countryside merely moved closer together along the road until they gave way to the houses, shops, and inns of the city. At the Market Square—well lit even at this hour, for when business in booths and stalls shut down, business in taverns and wineshops began—Rael turned, avoiding the light, preferring to remain unseen in the residential neighborhoods where the inhabitants had long since sought their beds. He told himself he avoided the trouble that would arise if anyone recognized the young man tucked deep in the worn cloak as the prince and heir, riding alone, unescorted. He told himself he didn’t need his pocket picked, an unprovoked fight, or an escort back to his father.

  He had just passed silently through the merchants’ quarters and crossed the invisible but nonetheless real line that separated their homes from the only slightly larger ones of the nobles, when the dark and quiet were snatched from around him.

  “Bertram, aren’t we home yet?”

  “Very nearly, sir.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t this far before.”

  The whiny, self-indulgent voice belonged to a minor official of the court, one Diven of House Tannic. Rael had endured too many hours of petitions to mistake it, even distorted as it was by drink.

  The torchbearer rounded the corner first, followed by an overdressed man leaning heavily on the arm of his body servant. A City Guard, hired as evening’s escort, brought up the rear.

  Rael kept his horse walking. With luck they would be too interested in gaining their beds to pay any attention to him.

  Luck was busy elsewhere.

  “Awk, Bertram! Brigands!”

  Bertram looked to the heavens, exasperation visible even to Rael, and patted his master comfortingly on the shoulder. “It’s only a single rider, sir.”

  “Oh. So it is.” Any other would have been content to leave it at that. Diven stepped forward, past the torchbearer and directly into Rael’s path. Drink made him determined to erase the embarrassment of his fright. “You there, state your business in this neighborhood. Speak up, or I’ll call the patrol.”

  Rael reined in. The torchbearer grinned, obviously looking forward to telling his cronies of how the drunken noble had accosted one of his equally noble neighbors and threatened him with the patrol. Bertram, now up behind his master, was thinking much the same thing, but not with amusement. The guard looked bored.

  “Well, boy, do you tell me your business or do I call the patrol? I will, you know, don’t think I won’t.”

  Rael wondered how a voice could whine and be shrill at the same time. He had no doubt the idiot would do exactly as he said, and wake the neighborhood doing it. And that would be the end of the dark and quiet, no mere interruption. He sighed, made his smile as friendly as he was able, and pulled back his hood.

  “Highness!”

  For a moment the smile held them—they began to return it—then the torchlight flared in his eyes.

  The guard saluted and all four men began to back away.

  Respectfully, and nervously, they backed away.

  From the torchbearer and the guard, it was almost understandable for they met the prince and heir for the first time. Bertram also; for all he served in a noble house he was not accustomed to facing royalty so closely and so informally. But Diven of Tannic saw the prince almost daily. And still he backed away.

  Rael held the smile until his horse carried him out of the circle of torchlight. Once he would have said something, tried to find the camaraderie his father seemed to share with every man, woman, and child in the kingdom. Once. But all the words had been said and still the people moved away. Not rejecting, not exactly, but not accepting either.

  Let them move if they will, he told himself wearily, replacing his hood. I have enough who stand by me. Then he moved back into the dark and quiet.

  * * *

  At the smaller of the palace gates, he allowed the guard to get a good look at him, and passed unchallenged through the outer wall. Except for a sleepy groom waiting to take his horse, and the men on watch, it appeared the palace slept. It didn’t, of course, for within its walls the palace was almost a city in itself and the work needed to keep it running smoothly continued day and night.

  He walked quickly across the outer courtyard, slipped in a side door, and began to make his way silently through the maze of stone to the tower where he had his chambers. Once, he froze in shadow and an arguing pair of courtiers passed him by.

  At the cross-corridor leading to the king’s rooms, Rael noticed the royal standard still posted, the six swords on a field of green hanging limp and still against the wall. His father had not retired for the night. Wide awake himself, Rael turned toward the royal bedchamber, hoping the king would not be too busy to speak with him.

  The guards saluted as he approached and moved aside to give him access to the door.

  “Is he alone?” asked the prince.

  “Aye, sir, he is,” replied the senior of the two.

  Rael nodded his thanks and pushed the door open.

  “Father?”

  The king sat at his desk studying a large map, one hand holding down a curling edge, the other buried in his beard.

  Rael was thinner than his father, his eyes an unworldly green, but aside from that the resemblance was astounding. Both were handsome men, although neither believed it. They shared the same high forehead over black slashes of brow, the same angular cheeks and proud arch of nose, even the determined set to their jaws and slightly mocking smiles matched. Those who had known the king as a young man said to look at the prince was to look at a piece of the past. The people of Ardhan might wonder at the identity of his mother, and they did, but none could doubt that Rael was the king’s son.

  Raen looked up as the door opened and his face brightened when he saw who it was.

  “Come in, lad,” he called. “And shut the damn door before it blows out my lamp.”

  Rael did as he was bid and approached the desk, collapsing with a boneless, adolescent grace into the sturdy chair across from his father.

  “The Western Border?”

  The king nodded. “And you’d best get familiar with it yourself. We march as soon as the armies are assembled.”

  Rael leaned forward to study the map. “You’re surely not assembling all six provinces here?” He wondered where they’d put everyone. The six dukes and their households jammed the palace to the rafters during seventh year festivals. The six dukes and their armies . . . !

  “No, only Cei and Aliston will come here to Belkar. We’ll join with Hale on the march.” He traced their route with a callused finger. “Lorn and Riven meet us on the battlefield.” His mouth twisted. “And it’s to be hoped those two hotheads will concentrate on fighting the enemy instead of each oth
er. I’m thankful you’ve no rival for your lady’s hand.”

  Rael felt his ears redden.

  “You can keep no secrets in this rabbit warren, lad. It’s a good match; her father and I both approve. You’re lucky I’ve no need to join you to some foreign princess to tie a treaty.”

  “Join?” Rael repeated weakly. He’d barely gotten beyond worshiping from a distance and his father spoke of joinings?

  The older man laughed. “You’re right,” he mocked, but kindly, “it’s bad luck to talk of joining on the eve of war.” He turned again to the map. “And on the eve of war we are; I want the armies on the road in two weeks.”

  “In two weeks? Father, it can’t be done.” The Elite, the Palace Guard and the Ducal Guards that made up the standing army, yes, and, he supposed, most City Guards could adapt fast enough, but when Rael thought of the chaos involved in turning farmers and craftsmen into soldiers his head ached.

  “It’s going to have to be done,” the king said shortly. “We have no choice. Melac’s moving very fast; he wants those iron mines in Riven badly and has had plans to invade us for years. Though he’s a fool if he thinks he’s in charge, not that madman he has for a counselor.” He looked down at the map and shook his head. “Still, madman or not, he’s a brilliant leader. I’ve never heard of anyone getting an army into the field so quickly.” Teeth gleamed for an instant in the lamplight. “If I didn’t know all the wizards were dead. . . .”

  The wizards had destroyed themselves before there was an Ardhan or a king to rule it. Their dying convulsions had reshaped the face of the world.

  “Father! You don’t think . . . ?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, boy. I was joking.” Raen leaned back in his chair and looked fondly at his son. His expression hardened. “You’re not wearing your sword.”

  Rael’s hand jerked to his belt and he flushed.

  “I saw Mother today, to tell her I wouldn’t be back to the Grove for some time. You know how steel upsets her.”

  “Well, your guards were armed, I hope?”

  Rael looked at the cold hearth, the hunting tapestry on the wall, the great canopied bed, everywhere but at his father.

  “You took no guards.” The king’s voice was sharper than Rael’s missing sword.

  “The guards won’t go into the Grove.”

  “The guards will go where I tell them.” And then he thought of Milthra’s reaction to heavily armed men tearing up her peace and reconsidered. Gods, he missed her. “Well, they can wait with your horse at the edge of the forest, then. They needn’t go into the Grove.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell as both considered another who would not go into the Grove.

  “You’ll take them with you next time,” Raen said finally. “I don’t want a dead son.”

  Rael turned the brilliant green of his eyes on the king. “Who would want to kill me, Father?”

  “Balls of Chaos, boy, how should I know?” Raen looked away from the Lady’s eyes. “Melac’s men. Madmen. You’re prince and heir, my only son. When you ride from now on, you ride with guards.” King’s command, not father’s. “I don’t care where you’re going. I will not lose you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Suddenly, Rael made a decision. He was tired, he decided, of bouncing from the pain of one parent to the pain of the other and tired too of pretending he didn’t see that pain because they both so obviously tried to keep it from him. He took his courage in both hands and asked what he’d never dared ask before. “Father? Why don’t you go to the Grove?”

  Raen stared at the map without seeing it. He remembered ivory and silver and green, green eyes and strong smooth limbs wrapped around him. He remembered a love so deep he could drown in it.

  “How did your mother look when you left her this afternoon?” he asked hoarsely.

  Rael thought about his last sight of the hamadryad as she merged back into her tree.

  “As always, beautiful; but worried and sad.”

  “And her age?”

  “Her age?” He remembered how he’d wanted to protect her. “She seemed very young.”

  “Now look at me.”

  “Sir?”

  “LOOK AT ME!” Raen stood so suddenly that his chair overturned. His hands clenched to fists and his voice rose to a roar. “Once my hair was as thick and black as yours. You’ll notice that what I have left, and there isn’t much, is gray. There was a day I could defeat any man in Ardhan with my bare hands, but no longer. I used to be able to follow the flight of a hawk in the sun. Now I’m lucky if I can see the damned bird at all! I grew this beard to hide the lines of age!” He paused, drew a shuddering breath and his voice fell until it was almost a whisper. “Your mother hasn’t changed, but I am growing old. She must not see me like this.”

  Rael was on his feet as well, staring at his father in astonishment. “You’re not old!”

  The king’s smile was not reflected in his eyes. “Fifty-two years weigh heavily on a man, and your mother is ageless.” He raised a hand to stop the next protest. “I appreciate your denials, lad, but I know what I see.”

  Unfortunately, there was nothing to deny. His father was a mortal man and his mother stood outside of time.

  “Mother loves you. It wouldn’t matter to her.”

  “It would matter to me. Let her love me as I was.”

  Rael ached with the pain in his father’s voice that was a twin to the pain in his mother’s.

  “Father . . .”

  “No, Rael.” Raen put his hands on his son’s shoulders but avoided the leaf-green glow of his eyes. “There is nothing you can do. Go to bed. We have a busy time ahead of us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Is he too old for me to hold? Raen wondered, looking for his child and seeing only a young man.

  Am I too old to be held? Rael asked the dignity of his seventeen years.

  No.

  It comforted them both greatly.

  If I can only get him to the Grove, Rael thought as he left his father’s room. If I can only get him to the Grove, everything will be all right.

  TWO

  “Out of bed, milord. The Duke of Belkar and some of his men rode in last night and your father wants to see you in the small petition room.”

  Rael buried his head under the pillow as the middle-aged man, who had been his servant/companion since before he could remember, pulled back the heavy curtains and let in the weak early morning light. “Oh, go away, Ivan, it’s barely dawn.”

  “It’s an hour past.” Strong hands dragged the blankets away with the familiarity of long service. “Get up or you won’t have time for a wash and bite before you see the king.”

  There was time for the wash but not the bite and Rael’s stomach complained bitterly as he slipped into the room where the daily business of the kingdom was most often conducted. Raen looked up at the sound, pushed the remnants of his own breakfast across the table, and turned his attention back to the document he studied. More than a little embarrassed, Rael took a chunk of bread and slid into the only vacant chair. The Duke of Belkar smiled at him and the other man, who by his armor could only be one of Belkar’s two captains, raised an edge of his lip in what have been either a greeting or a grimace.

  Finally the king scrawled his signature at the bottom of the document, set his seal in wax, and gave the paper to the Messenger standing patiently at his elbow. Then he looked up at his son.

  “Belkar and I have talked it over and it’s been decided that you’ll command the Elite.”

  Rael choked on the bread. The men of the Elite were the best fighters in Ardhan. Every young man who could use a sword dreamed of joining their company. And he was to command them. He suddenly thought of something. “But, sir, the king commands the Elite.”

  “The king also makes the rules, and I’ve changed this one. As prince and heir, you must have a
command. I thought of creating a company for you out of the Palace Guard. You’ve trained with them and most of them know you, but the Elite is already a self-contained unit, used to serving under a royal commander.” Black brows rose. “Or don’t you want to command the Elite?”

  “Yes, sir!” The Elite, Rael thought.

  “As prince and heir,” the king continued, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, “you’ll be obeyed, but I hasten to point out that, training aside, you know little of actual warfare, so defer to the captain.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rael had every intention of deferring to the captain. He’d been terrified of the thickset little man for as long as he could remember.

  “Before you head down to the barracks, stop off at the armorers and get fitted for a new helmet, breastplate, and greaves. Your sword’s fine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, get going.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “He’ll be in the thick of the fighting with the Elite,” Belkar pointed out as the prince dashed out of the room.

  “Aye,” agreed the king grimly. “But they’ll have to go through the Elite to get to him. It’s the safest place I can think of.”

  “You could order him to remain here,” suggested the duke, not at all pleased to have both the king and his only heir in such danger.

  “I could, but I’ll be damned if I’ll chain my son to the walls.” Raen smiled ruefully. “And that’s what I’d have to do to keep him here.”

  * * *

  By the time Rael arrived at the Elite’s training yard, the euphoria was beginning to fade. Though the news of his appointment had obviously preceded him, the Elite weren’t yet ready to change their allegiance from captain and king/commander to captain, king, and prince/commander. Every one of them, soldier and servant, politely ignored him as he made his way to the practice ring.

  Doan, the captain, perched on the top rail of the fence surrounding the ring, looking like a well-armed gargoyle. He welcomed the prince with a grunt and slapped the rail in invitation, never once taking his eyes off the men training.