“Good day, my lord,” said the faithful attendant. The man was butler, watchman, and all around helpmate to the enchantress. He had worked in Jenna’s service for years, and had smoothly switched to serving Coryn. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”
“It went by very quickly,” replied the marshal. “And it’s over now. The lady?”
“She is up in her laboratory, sir, expecting you, I should think. She ordered that, when you arrived, you were to be guided directly into her presence.”
“Thanks, Rupert. You’re looking well, and Donny seems to be turning into a fine young man.”
“Thank you, my lord. He does have a good head on his shoulders, it seems to me. And a warm welcome to you.”
Jaymes well knew the way. He took the steps three at a time up the grand circling stairway that climbed from the main hall. The upper floor of the villa was divided into two wings, one where the bedrooms, guest suites, and other inhabitable rooms were located, and another that housed the wizard’s laboratory. Jaymes turned in that direction, inhaling the familiar musty scents of incense and soot. There were stoves and even a miniature forge here, as well as storage rooms containing a myriad of exotic ingredients. But the main chamber was a long workroom with wide windows arranged to catch the maximum amount of sunlight and a veranda that offered a chance to pace and reflect or simply a splendid view of the Old City and the harbor beyond.
“Coryn!” Jaymes said, striding into the laboratory through the open door. She was standing with her back to him, her black hair fanned out across her shoulders, falling almost to her waist. Her white robe was, of course, immaculate-even when she worked with sooty components, shaping objects in clay and mud, blasting gouts of high heat through burners, she never seemed to get so much as a speck of debris on that robe.
Jaymes started across the room toward her and reached for her shoulder, but something in her still, rigid posture held his hand. He stopped, letting his arms fall to his sides.
“Coryn? The kender brought a summons… from you, he said.”
“Yes,” she replied, turning slowly to regard him. Coryn was a very beautiful woman-one of the two most beautiful women Jaymes had ever seen-but now her eyes were cold, her gorgeous cheekbones as white as though etched from ivory. “I did send for you. What took you so long to get here? We should have started working at dawn.”
His face didn’t betray how much her cold gaze unsettled him. “I rode through the city,” he explained. “It’s been a long time since the people of Palanthas have seen their lord marshal. But I came here directly. What’s the urgency?”
“I need your blood. Sit, there,” Coryn said, directing him to a chair beside a long wooden table.
He obeyed, watching her through narrowed eyes. “My blood? All of it or just a few drops?”
For the first time, her icy facade cracked with a flicker of emotion that made him think that she would rather enjoy taking all of his blood. But she merely shrugged and picked up a large glass vial. “I need to fill this up. You’ll find yourself a bit tired afterward, but with some rest and food, you’ll be back on your feet soon enough.”
Footsteps pounded down the hallway, and Moptop burst into the laboratory as Jaymes was taking a seat in the chair.
“I brought him right here, Lady! Just like you ordered. He wanted to go down to the wharf and look for crabs, but I told him he shouldn’t dilly-dally.”
“Well, thank you very much, Moptop. You are a very professional guide.”
“I myself brought Coryn here, all the way from the Icereach,” the kender said to Jaymes proudly, “back when she was a girl. I’m pretty good at guiding folks.”
“Now why don’t you guide your own way down to the docks. Have Rupert give you some coins so that you can buy some crab claws for dinner.”
“ Buy them? But they give them away! At least, I think they do!”
“Well, do me a personal favor and pay for them this time, all right?” Coryn urged, gently insistent.
“Well, all right.” The kender seemed more puzzled than disappointed, but he nevertheless rushed off to find Rupert.
Jaymes had been thinking. “All this fuss about my blood,” he mused. “It means that you’ve figured out a way to make the potion. The elixir you told me was impossible to make.”
She glared at him, and he began to see the reason for her attitude. “I thought it was impossible. But there were certain clues in some of Jenna’s oldest books. It’s a dark spell, and if I didn’t see the need, I would never attempt it. This is more like a job for Dalamar than for one who wears white robes-and I don’t like it!”
“But we both know how important it is for the future-if Solamnia is ever to be a kingdom, an empire, again. You know as well as I do why it is necessary!”
“Yes.” She stared at him. “But I rather hoped such a potion was impossible. After all, the princess is not my enemy! However, I agree with you that this may be a way to unite the plains states with the city of Palanthas.”
In fact, the city-states on the plains had been in terrible disarray until recently. Their dukes had been weak and petty and spent an inordinate amount of time feuding with each other. Ankhar’s invasion had weakened the realm beyond repair, and Jaymes Markham had usurped the dukes, one by one. With Ankhar on the brink of ultimate victory, Jaymes had united the armies under his command and driven the invaders from the environs of Caergoth, then he had liberated Thelgaard and Garnet. Some three-quarters of the lands of the ancient Solamnic kingdom were now under the protection of the lord marshal. Only besieged Solanthus remained behind the enemy lines.
Palanthas, the most important of all Solamnic cities, remained under du Chagne’s iron control, however. Furthermore, du Chagne administered the wealth that financed Jaymes’s armies. As long as Jaymes was successful, the lord regent grudgingly accepted the cost. But he kept his own substantial army, the Palanthian Legion, safe at home. Now Jaymes needed that army, and du Chagne’s wealth, to carry the campaign to its conclusion.
“So my blood is a key ingredient.”
“Yes.” The white wizard had picked up a short, thin dagger and nimbly whetted the blade on a small stone she held in her left hand. The scritch… scritch… scritch of metal against rock seemed to echo her mood. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?” she said.
He flinched. “I’m merely doing what needs to be done for Solamnia. You and I both know that.”
“ I’m doing what needs to be done for Solamnia. You’re doing what you want to do… for yourself. You treat the princess like just another of your pawns-like you treat me!”
“You know that’s not true,” he replied. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Bastard!”
He shrugged. “Maybe this job needs to be done by a bastard. Solamnia needs a strong ruler!”
“Hold out your hand.” She set down the whetstone and touched the dagger with the edge of her thumb. “Put it down, here.” Coryn moved the glass vial to a small stool next to the chair and arranged Jaymes’s arm so his hand was hanging down, with his fingers just above the top of the container.
With one smooth gesture, the wizard sliced the blade through Jaymes’s forearm. He grimaced; the pain was sharp, intense, and burning. Immediately blood began to flow, a crimson stream running down the skin of his wrist, over his palm, and down his fingers. He watched as a steady trickle of the precious liquid flowed into the large vessel.
By the time the vial was filled, Jaymes was beginning to feel light-headed.
“All right, lift your arm.” She deftly wrapped a cloth bandage over the wound, spinning the material around his arm three or four times, pulling it tight, and cinching it with a quick knot. “Can you stand up?”
“I think so.” Jaymes swayed as he took his feet, but Coryn supported him, and he leaned on her gratefully as she steered him toward the door of the lab. They went out into the hall. The wizard guided him through an open door and to the edge of a small bed where he sat down gratefully.
“Rest here for as long as you need to. I’m going back to work.”
“Thanks. Coryn?”
“Yes?” She stopped at the door.
“How long will it take? The potion?”
“Don’t worry about that for now. The most important thing will be for you to get back to your army and break the siege. Matters in Solanthus are dire, and the suffering there grows greater every day. I’ll preserve the potion until you get back.”
He leaned across the small bed, resting his back against the wall, fighting dizziness. But he met her steely gaze. “No, I want the potion before I leave the city. I intend to use it right away.”
Her eyes narrowed. Her scorn-and hurt-was palpable. “There is no battle more important, nowhere else where the fates of light and darkness are so tautly drawn. Win that battle, Jaymes-let light prevail!”
“Yes, Solanthus is important,” the marshal acknowledged. “But so is that potion, important to me. I’m in Palanthas, and that’s where I need to use it. So you will give it to me when it is done. After I’ve used it, I’ll go back to my army. And then we’ll break the siege.”
She stared at him. Despite the powerful magic she could wield at the snap of her fingers, she looked for the moment more like a girl than a woman. Coryn blinked, but if there were tears brimming in her eyes, she held them back. Setting her jaw, she shook her head. “No.”
“This is not negotiable,” Jaymes said flatly. “I tell you I need that potion-as soon as it’s ready. You will give it to me, or there will be trouble between us. Agreed?”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping, seeming to shrink, becoming smaller, almost frail.
“It will be done tomorrow,” she said, closing the door behind her.
Jaymes woke sometime in the afternoon, feeling refreshed. He joined Moptop, Rupert, and Donny for a dinner of steamed crab claws and melted butter. Coryn remained at work in her laboratory, and after a few hours of restless pacing-and several curt rejections when he made so bold as to knock on her door-he retired for the night. A downy mattress and soft pillow were his bed, preferable to the woolen bedroll spread on the ground that was his usual resting place.
Or maybe it was the loss of blood that caused the lord marshal to sleep more soundly than he had in a very long time. When he awoke, he could hardly believe that the sun was streaming through his window and that dawn had passed-unnoticed by him-several hours before.
He rose and dressed hurriedly, irritated with himself for sleeping late. He headed immediately for the laboratory. This time, after his peremptory knock, Coryn beckoned him to enter.
He was vaguely aware that she had been crying, but his eyes went immediately to the small, clear container the white wizard held gingerly in her slender fingers.
“That’s it?” he said. The container was barely larger than a thimble, and the contents-a potion of liquid as red as his blood-would barely have filled a teaspoon.
“That’s it,” she said coldly. “You should add it to some wine… red wine, of course. It is tasteless, has no smell. When she drinks, the… the potion will take effect. And you don’t have to worry if you drink some; since it is made from your blood, it will have no effect on you.”
Jaymes reached for the small vial. It was hard to imagine this small amount of liquid had the power to solve his problems.
He looked at Coryn and saw that she was blinking rapidly; her eyes were still moist. He nodded, slowly, and opened his mouth to speak.
“Don’t say anything!” she said.
He shrugged, turned away, and departed. The laboratory door slammed behind him so hard and so loudly that he almost dropped the vial.
CHAPTER SIX
THE LORD REGENT
The lord regent’s palace guards knew the lord marshal by sight. Though he was not welcome in this place, they also knew better than to try and delay him at the gate. Instead, the sergeant made a great ceremony of greeting the lone rider, ostentatiously ordering the great drawbridge to be lowered while, at the same time, dispatching a runner to warn his master of the impending arrival of the visitor from the plains.
Jaymes barely acknowledged the reception, instead guiding his gelding at a walk into the deep courtyard below the lofty palace walls. Handlers emerged from the stable, and he dismounted before the great doors to the regency residence. He was already striding up the steps before the horse was led away.
Those massive doors swung open at his approach, a pair of guards snapping to attention while an officious, bewigged courtier hastened down the great interior hall.
“My Lord Marshal!” cried Baron Dekage, the regent’s aide-de-camp. “What a splendid-and unexpected-surprise! We had a report that you were in the city but could only hope that you would find the time to pay an official visit to his lordship. He is expecting you, of course. Can I show you the way to his office?”
“I remember how to get there,” Jaymes said brusquely, sweeping past the flustered nobleman. He took another few steps then halted, turning to regard Dekage with a raised eyebrow. “But can you tell me: is Lady Selinda in?”
“Why, er, yes. Yes she is.”
“Could you send word to her? I’d like to drop in and say hello to her after I’ve finished my business with her father.”
“Why, yes, my lord. Of course-I’ll let her know immediately.” The aide started away.
The lord marshal looked up to see Lord Frankish, the captain of the Palanthian Legion, coming up the corridor. The big man walked smoothly, like a great cat. His long arms swung at his sides, and his black mustache shined as if it had just been oiled.
“Excuse me, my lord,” the captain said. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“And?” The lord marshal’s tone was bored.
“And”-Frankish, a Lord of the Order of the Rose, stiffened-“I am afraid I must insist that you tell me why you would like to meet with the Princess Selinda.”
“Ask her yourself… after I’m finished,” Jaymes replied. “If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”
“Do you understand, my lord, that my interest in the matter is more than casual?” The lord’s tone was as oily as his mustache. But he was a warrior, and it seemed to take a real effort of will for him not to strike out at the lord marshal.
“I don’t really care what your interest is. I’m not discussing my affairs with you. Good evening.”
Jaymes stalked away. Lord Frankish stood in place for a long time, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he watched the departing figure of the lord marshal.
Lord Regent Bakkard du Chagne was standing at his desk, staring impassively at the door that an attendant opened to admit Jaymes. “Hello, Lord Marshal,” du Chagne said warily. “How fares the campaign against the horde?”
Jaymes shrugged. “As you know, it would be going better if I had use of the Palanthian Legion. Two thousand more knights, with infantry, would probably be enough to turn the tide.”
Du Chagne shook his head. “I’ve told you before-it’s out of the question. They’re my only remaining reserve, and if I send them to the plains, I’ll leave this great city all but undefended.” He offered a reptilian smile. “I will speak to Lord Frankish, to see if he can spare a few companies, however.”
“Don’t bother. I can guess where he stands.”
The lord marshal sat in one of the regent’s comfortable armchairs and helped himself to a cigar from the humidor on the table by the fireplace. He leaned forward and lit the cigar off of an ember from the fading fire. Du Chagne took the adjacent chair, helping himself to a cigar as well. For a moment the two men sat in silence, a cloud of smoke surrounding them until it gradually began to be drawn up the chimney.
“I could make the same arguments that I’ve been making for a year,” Jaymes said with forced casualness. “That the only threat to this city is Ankhar’s army, the force that I’m facing on the plains. That your knights are growing fat and lazy here and need some battle time to remind them who they are and why they ex
ist. But I won’t make those arguments. Not tonight.”
“I’m pleased that you have started to see the matter through my eyes,” du Chagne noted, smiling. “After all, you have three armies under your command already. And it’s simply not wise to put all of our troops too far away from the base of our power… which is here, of course, in Palanthas. And you know, as to funding, of course I will continue to meet your payroll needs. Here in the city we’re all grateful for the job you and your men are doing-truly we are. But it’s-”
“I’m not making those arguments tonight because I didn’t come here to see you,” Jaymes interrupted sharply. “I knew that would have been a waste of time.”
Du Chagne’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you come here, then?”
“I came to see your daughter. I just stopped in your office for appearance’s sake. We both know that there’s no point in going over the same ground we’ve been debating for the last year.”
“My daughter?” The lord regent was nonplussed. He stood up, puffing his cigar until a furious coal glowed at the end then paced over toward his desk. He paused and turned to face his visitor. “Listen to me, Jaymes. I want you to stay away from her!”
Jaymes stood up. “I’m happy to hear it. Because I also came here to give you a message regarding your daughter: Your wishes are of no concern to me,” he said.
Du Chagne’s eyes suddenly flicked to the door, and the lord marshal turned to see Lord Frankish and a lord knight dressed in a white tunic with the Kingfisher emblem. Jaymes recognized the magic-user by reputation, though the two men had never met. The two strode into the office unannounced but clearly welcomed by the lord regent.
“Ah, my lords!” declared du Chagne, obviously relieved. “Welcome. Lord Marshal, this is Sir Russel Moorvan of the Kingfishers.” The regent waved absently at the white-clad lord, who regarded Jaymes with an odd smile of curved lips.
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