Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles)

by Melvin, Jim

  Torg brought Izumo to a halt, and he and Laylah dismounted. Several dozen people gathered around them, some out of adoration and others sensing a potential customer. The wizard whispered in the ear of a groomsman, who nodded and led Izumo away to be watered, fed, and brushed. Then the wizard took Laylah’s hand and led her down an alleyway almost as claustrophobically narrow as the ones they had traversed in Duccarita, the City of Thieves. As they walked, small dogs nipped playfully at their ankles. Finally they stopped at a wooden door that barely came up to Torg’s chin. Outside was a sign with painted red lettering that read Boulogne’s. Torg rapped his tough knuckles on the splintered wood.

  While they waited for a response, he gave Laylah a rascally look. “I only take you to the finest establishments.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Don’t worry . . . as I said before, the décor isn’t much, but the food and drink make up for it.”

  “If you like it, I’ll like it.”

  The door swung inward, and a man less than half the size of Elu, the diminutive Svakaran warrior, squinted up at them. Other than being tiny, he looked a bit like Bard the woodsman, with the same black beard and piercing blue eyes.

  “Lord Torgon, how wonderful to see you again!” he said in a squeaky voice. “It’s about time you showed up. I had hoped you might stop by last night. And I see you have brought your lady with you. She is even more beautiful than my informants described.”

  Torg laughed—and the tiny man did the same. “Laylah, allow me to introduce you to Master Baldwin Boulogne, the owner of this establishment and a longtime acquaintance. As you can see, he is not a pureblooded Jivitan.”

  “Damn right! And proud of it! But where are my manners? Come in! No offense, but you both look like you’ve had a rough night. Did you stay up late to watch the fireworks?” Then he winked at Laylah and scampered off.

  MASTER BALDWIN Boulogne had always liked to flirt, especially with women several times larger than he. This amused Torg immensely, and it never ceased to charm him. As the tiny innkeeper trotted off, Torg found himself thinking back to the first time he had met Boulogne many years ago.

  The known land contained three great forests: Dhutanga, the largest; Java, the smallest; and Kincara, which lay south of Jivita and west of the Kolankold Mountains. Kincara was the least explored of the three; few enemies emerged from its borders, so the White City found little need to pay it much heed. Even the trees seemed to mind their own business.

  In his long lifetime Torg had entered Kincara several times, but only once did he travel to its interior. What he discovered amazed him. Rather than being dark and spooky like the inner sanctums of its two sister forests, Kincara was sparkly and playful, with a feathery canopy that permitted plenty of sunlight to reach the floor. Torg enjoyed his visit, learning a good deal about the magical inhabitants.

  A race of enchanters and enchantresses called Gillygaloos dwelled deep within Kincara, but they were little known to most of Triken’s people. Their diminutive size enabled them to conceal their whereabouts from intruders, and they made their homes underground in tunnels that wove within the tree roots. The Gillygaloos were related to the Mugwumps of Kolankold, though the latter did not have any magic of which Torg was aware, while their cousins to the west wielded impressive power.

  Torg’s first encounter with the Gillygaloos occurred unexpectedly. When Torg was five hundred years old, he delved alone into Kincara’s interior. On a dreary day in late winter, he smelled smoke in the air, and in silent Asēkha fashion he came upon a dozen Gillygaloos gathered around a campfire. Each of the creatures was little more than a cubit tall but otherwise very humanlike in appearance. The males wore beards that hung past their waists, and the females had pretty faces with red lips. When Torg stepped into view, they scattered like frightened mice.

  Torg felt guilty for startling them, and he called out, first in the common tongue, then the ancient, and finally in various forms of Mahaggatan. He even tried the coarse language of the wild men of Kolankold, but to no avail. Eventually he began to question his own sanity, wondering if he had been hallucinating.

  At least he hadn’t imagined the fire. Torg sat down, broke out his cooking gear, and began to prepare a vegetable stew with wild potatoes, greens, and fresh herbs he had gathered nearby. When he was finished eating, he replenished the fire with deadwood, then sat cross-legged and began to meditate. Soon after, he heard the slightest of sounds: the crackle of a dried leaf, the snap of a twig, even a miniature sneeze. When he opened his eyes, a tiny man and woman were standing a dozen paces away, pointing wooden wands at his face.

  “Naaham te santajjaami, vaa te sahaaye,” Torg said in the ancient tongue, and then repeated in the common tongue: “I do not threaten you or your friends.”

  The male surprised Torg by responding in the common tongue.

  “Who are you? And why are you here?” he said in a high-pitched voice.

  “I am The Torgon, a king from the desert far to the east. I am exploring the world, for my own pleasure, and came innocently upon your gathering.”

  The male stepped forward and bowed low.

  “I am Baldwin Boulogne of the Gillygaloos,” he said, “though I am no king. My friends call me Burly.” Then he came close enough to touch Obhasa with a finger as small as a baby’s. A blue spark erupted, causing Burly to gasp. “Such a wondrous wand. Are you an enchanter too?”

  “I am a wizard of great renown,” Torg said in a booming voice. Then he added softly, “At least, in my own mind.”

  Burly’s laugh sounded like a tangle of squeaks, but it made Torg laugh too. Soon, the rest of the Gillygaloos joined him by the fire, and they ended up spending several days together, “showing off” to each other, as Rathburt would have described it. As it turned out there were hundreds of Gillygaloos serving as stewards of Kincara, and they wielded magic wands capable of healing or harming, though they rarely used them to destroy unless under direct attack.

  Baldwin “Burly” Boulogne took a liking to Torg, plying him with countless questions about the goings-on outside Kincara. Burly desired to see other parts of the world, and eventually the good-natured Gillygaloo ended up in Jivita, where he was welcomed with open arms, partly because of his pleasant personality and partly because he brought with him an impressive chest of gold nuggets, some as large as a grown man’s fist. After paying sizable fees to some well-connected Jivitan burghers, the enchanter was permitted to purchase and operate a small tavern and inn, which he promptly named Boulogne’s.

  Several centuries later, he still operated the same business, closing only during winter so that he could visit his family and friends in Kincara. Due to his long lifespan, Burly became ensconced in all matters concerning the White City, including its political and economic underpinnings. It was widely known that if you were in need of inside information, you went to Boulogne’s.

  His lofty reputation in the White City made Burly proud, and it included a well-earned reputation for serving some of the best food and ale in the business district. Most nights it was standing-room only at Boulogne’s, but breakfast time was another matter; a person usually could find a seat on one of the long benches, especially in the early morning.

  On this particular day, there were a dozen patrons. When they saw Torg, they hurriedly opened a space at the end of a bench. As soon as he and Laylah sat, an obese man with rosy cheeks and swollen eyes shambled forward and presented them with pewter cups and a pot of black tea. Then he turned and waddled toward the kitchen, but apparently not quick enough to suit Burly’s tastes. The enchanter zapped the server behind the knee with his wand, causing the fat man to yelp and shuffle at a slightly faster pace toward the back room. Then Burly came over, leapt up on the table as deftly as a cat, and stared directly into Laylah’s face.

  “How do you manage to hold it?” he said to the sorceress.

  “Excuse me?” Laylah said, her face reddening.

  “How do you manage to hold it?” Burly repe
ated, gesturing toward Obhasa, which Laylah still gripped with her left hand.

  “How do I hold it? I don’t understand.”

  Burly timidly reached out his right index finger, which was about the length of one of Laylah’s fingernails, and touched Torg’s ivory staff. There was a jolt of blue fire, causing Burly to yelp.

  “Aaaaah, I see,” Laylah said. “Well, it doesn’t do that to me.”

  Burly grunted with annoyance, causing Torg to laugh.

  “It likes her,” Torg said.

  Burly stomped a tiny boot on the tabletop. “Well, it doesn’t like me! Never has. Hmmph!”

  Then the enchanter smiled. “You have chosen well, Maranavidu. This woman is special, beyond even a Tugarian female. And I should know . . . your warriors have been eating here night and day since they arrived. I’m surprised there are none here now. Boulogne’s is the only place in Jivita that serves the nectar of Tējo. And can they ever drink it! I’ve only been able to maintain a steady supply because I’ve learned how to make a passable version of it myself.”

  While they spoke, the fat server arrived with two trenchers filled with stirred eggs, salted pork, and fried potatoes. He also brought two bowls of raspberries in sweetened cream and two cups of desert nectar.

  “More tea!” the enchanter said. “And hurry it up—or I’ll give you another jolt!”

  The server groaned and attempted to quicken his pace, but it was obvious he was no sprinter. Torg and Laylah grabbed their spoons and ate ravenously. Burly stood between the trenchers like a spoiled pet dog allowed on the table. Then he sat down, his legs dangling off the edge, and spoke in a whisper to both of them.

  “How bad is it, Torgon? And I don’t mean the food.”

  “It’s bad,” Torg whispered, with no humor in his voice. “The druids alone will be difficult to defeat. But even if that dreadful deed is performed, there is still the matter of Mala’s army, which approaches the black fortress from the east.”

  “Nissaya will fall?”

  Torg sighed. “I fear the worst . . .”

  Burly seemed surprised. “I don’t believe the populace is fully aware of the danger. As you must have noticed on your way here, fewer civilians have evacuated than you might think. There is a feeling of . . . overconfidence. What say you? Should I flee to Kincara?”

  “The selfish part of me is glad you’re still here,” Torg said. “But I recommend against your staying much longer. Two weeks, at most. Besides, it would lighten my heart to know that you’ve returned safely to Kincara to warn your people. Mala’s eye is not yet on the Gillygaloos, but if Nissaya and Jivita fall, then none in the known lands will be safe forever.”

  “We aren’t helpless, as you know,” Burly said, “but we don’t have the might to stand against such evil. I will consider your advice.”

  Suddenly Burly leapt off the table and waved for Torg and Laylah to go with him. They stood and followed the enchanter into the kitchen and then into a compact storage room with no windows. Burly lit a candle. Torg and Laylah sat down cross-legged in front of him on the floor.

  “I assume it’s safe to speak in front of your lady?”

  “Without question,” Torg said, squeezing one of her lovely knees and causing Laylah to smile.

  But Burly now was all business. “Queen Rajinii’s behavior of late has been even more erratic than usual,” he said. “Her highness continues to refuse all suitors, claiming she has no desire to remarry. Rumors abound as to why—but I believe that it is because of her obsession with you.”

  Laylah’s cheeks flushed. “Is there something you need to tell me, beloved?”

  “Nothing that you don’t already suspect. You’ve seen Rajinii’s jealousy firsthand. But this has been going on for quite some time. Five years ago, she proposed to me, arguing that a marital merging of Jivita and Anna would create unprecedented strength among the free peoples of Triken. I believed such a merging to be unnecessary. My answer was ‘no’ then and it remains so. But the queen is stubborn.”

  Burly listened to this exchange with fascination. “I knew nothing of a proposal.”

  “This was a secret between the queen and me. Apparently, she kept it, for once.”

  “Still!” Burly complained.

  Torg chuckled and turned back to Laylah. “Do not despair. My destiny lies with you.”

  Laylah smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I know . . .”

  “Well, well, well . . . how interesting,” Burly said excitedly. “But allow me to continue. Queen Rajinii’s reign is unchallenged—while she lives. But for the first time in many centuries, Jivita is without a direct heir. There are concerns among the high members of the Privy Council over who will lead if the queen were to fall.”

  “Concerns?” Torg said.

  “Yes, Torgon—especially among two powerful men with quite different viewpoints.”

  As if in response to Burly’s words, there was a vicious knock on the door of the storage room. The enchanter shouted in annoyance, but another wave of pounding almost tore the door off its hinges.

  “Lord Torgon? Are you in there? I am Fulcher Grousset, high commander of General William Navarese’s personal guard. The general insists that you speak to him before the Privy Council commences. Come with me immediately!”

  “Navarese is one of the men I was referring to,” Burly whispered. “You’ll find out the other soon enough.”

  Torg shoved the door from inside. The high commander backed away just enough for it to swing all the way open. He and five armored associates stood in the cramped kitchen, while a female cook cowered in the corner. The server was nowhere to be seen.

  Like the banner guards who had met them at the palace, Fulcher Grousset wore white plate armor and a skirt of mail with a green cloak reaching almost to the floor. Grousset was tall for a Jivitan and very thick in the chest; even so, he was two spans shorter than Torg and not as muscular.

  “Her royal highness and the general have been searching everywhere for you, Lord Torgon,” Grousset said, his gray eyes wide with indignation. “The last thing we expected was to find you fraternizing with a gossip-monger.”

  “I fraternize with whom I choose, when I choose. Regardless, I will not tolerate your tone. If you and your men desire to challenge me, you will do so at your peril. Now back away and let us through. As for a meeting with the general, I am not subject to his commands or any others.”

  Obhasa, though still held by Laylah, began to glow, causing the kitchen to become even hotter than before. Grousset’s eyes widened, this time in fear instead of anger. Torg and Laylah strode past the white knights in a rush, but not before Torg issued one last threat.

  “If Baldwin Boulogne is accosted in any way, a Tugar will pay you a silent visit in the dark of night.”

  Grousset’s face grew even paler.

  WHEN TORG AND Laylah returned to the main thoroughfare, a luxurious covered carriage waited there to take them back to the palace. After being assured that Izumo had been properly attended, Torg agreed to be chauffeured. Two dozen mounted guards escorted them, including Grousset, while a pair of Tugars trotted alongside on foot. Once inside the carriage, Laylah appeared especially distraught.

  “What just happened?” she said. “I thought you and the Tugars were friendly with the Jivitans.”

  “We have common enemies. If the druids were to attack at this moment, we would fight alongside each other like family. But in other ways, we are not so similar. Tugars bow to my rule out of simple loyalty. And our numbers are much smaller: barely twenty thousand purebloods with only ten thousand warriors. Jivita houses more than a quarter-million people, necessitating that its governance is more complicated. Its people are free, but rules and regulations are abundant. When the Sovereign is strong, the lesser members of the Privy Council tend to behave themselves. When not . . .”

  “You’re saying Rajinii isn’t strong? Most of the soldiers and servants seem terrified of her.”

  “Her lack of an heir
is seen as weakness.”

  “Ah, I see. Well then, what do you know of the general?”

  “When I was last in Jivita five years ago, William Navarese was a young captain with lofty ambitions. But he also is Rajinii’s closest blood relative, being the eldest son of her only brother, who died several years ago.”

  “It sounds like Navarese has a rightful claim to the throne.”

  “Perhaps he does. But if I understand Jivitan law correctly, the Privy Council has the authority to choose who will succeed the Sovereign when the king and queen have no living son or daughter.” Then Torg yawned deeply. “To be honest, I find these matters tedious.”

  Laylah chuckled. “One more question, and then I promise to drop the subject. Burly said that there were two conflicting powers on the council. The general is one. Who is the other?”

  “I could guess, but what would it matter? Whoever it is will be sure to put on a show today.”

  “I take it you’re not looking forward to the assembly.”

  “Quite right, my love. As my Vasi master used to say, ‘Wake me when it’s over.’ But I suppose I have no choice but to take all this nonsense seriously.”

  After briefly refreshing themselves in their bedrooms at the palace, they finally arrived at the assemblage of the Privy Council. Torg was not surprised to find that the Throne Room was filled to capacity. A dozen anxious counselors sat in chairs arranged in a curved row facing the queen’s dais. When Torg and Laylah entered, a hush came over the gathering. But Elu rushed forward and hugged one of Torg’s legs, causing a spate of laughter that didn’t seem to bother the Svakaran one bit.

  “The queen has anointed Elu as a member of her personal guard!” he said proudly.

  Torg arched an eyebrow.

  “Elu!” said Rajinii from her white-crystal throne. “I had hoped to make an official announcement during the assembly. Of course, I can’t blame you for blurting it out. We have been forced to wait an excruciatingly long time for our esteemed guests to arrive. Thank you so much, Torgon, for finally deigning to make an appearance.”