Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  Everyone turned to face her. “Another Stone?” Eloni asked, incredulous.

  “Why not? You were unaware of the existence of the Stone we found,” she gestured to Davin, who nodded.

  Maeve stood, addressing both Kelia and the Council. “Just before we landed, we scanned Elystra for possible locations of the energy source we sought. We ultimately chose the location in the mountains because of its remoteness, and we ended up finding the Stone.”

  “Where were the other two sources located?” Kelia asked.

  “One was in the heart of your village,” Maeve said. “And the third was on the northwestern coast of the continent.”

  “The northwestern coast?” Katura said. “That is the country of Agrus.” She turned to her fellow Councilors. “It's possible she is seeking the Agrusian Stone.”

  “The what?” Davin asked.

  Kelia spoke up. “Centuries ago, the Stone that now lies within this plateau was unearthed in Agrus. It was stolen by Vandan raiders, who attempted to return home with it.”

  “You told me this story,” Maeve said. “The Stone allowed your ancestors to free themselves.”

  “Correct,” Liana said, her aged face creased with worry. “And now this woman, as well as this army that accompanies her, are coming here. Why would they seek our destruction? How would they even know about us?”

  Maeve shook her head. “That I can't answer. But if she knows about your Stone, it's a safe bet she knows about the one we found as well.”

  Nyla eyed Davin as he rose to his feet. He looked absolutely terrified. “And we left the Stone on our ship, three hundred miles away, completely unguarded.”

  Maeve's body stiffened as she looked at Nyla, at Maeve, and at the Council. “Shite. We have to go get it, or we're all farked.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once Mizar and Taron were safely within the walls of the chamberlain's private office and the heavy door was closed to prying ears, Taron moved to a locked cabinet. After finding the correct key from a heavy, jangling ring, he unlocked the top drawer and produced a folded parchment, sealed with wax and stamped with the sigil of King Aridor. Mizar took the document from his outstretched hand and immediately tore it open, much to Taron's chagrin.

  “High Mage!” he objected. “Would it not be more prudent to –”

  “No it wouldn't,” Mizar said, turning his back to Taron.

  His eyes scanned the message:

  Mizar,

  The meeting with Largo went about as expected – he is concerned about the safety of his people, as am I. After what happened to the Agrusian army, he believes his forces are insufficient to withstand a siege from Elzor's rabble should they come calling. He has asked Darad for help, and I am inclined to give it to him.

  Callis, that Barjan braga who calls himself the Viceroy, remains a constant thorn in our sides. Largo questioned him – rather too aggressively for Callis's liking – about how Elzor could amass such a huge following right under his nose, to say nothing of hiding a powerful Wielder from detection for the better part of fifteen years. The Viceroy has been less than forthcoming in providing satisfactory answers. I find myself wondering what else he might be hiding.

  Tensions between Callis and Largo have escalated, and suffice it to say, Callis no longer feels comfortable negotiating within Imar's borders. In order to stop the situation from disintegrating completely, I have offered the Castle Randar as a site for all the leaders to discuss what is to be done next. Even King Torvin, that monument to effeteness, may be a useful ally in what is to come. Make sure Prince Zendak is fully briefed and prepared for the summit as well, as his first-hand knowledge of Elzaria's power may prove a fitting motivation for unified action.

  And now for the part that is meant for your eyes only, Mizar. Do not discuss what I am about to say with anyone but me. I wish I had something to back up my suspicions, but it has been half a year since I last heard from Captain Rabin. I fear he may be dead. This only adds to my belief that there is something distinctly rotten in Barju. I think Viceroy Callis is not an unwilling victim in this business, but its instigator. As you know, our treaty with Barju is the only thing that keeps our armorers supplied with the machinite alloy our soldiers depend on. I cannot risk putting that in jeopardy by accusing Callis of malfeasance without proof.

  Find the proof, Mizar. Whether you must consult Arantha or the murky depths of Merdeen's scribblings for the answers we seek, it matters not. Or all Elystra will feel the tremors of our failure to stop this catastrophe for generations to come.

  I will seek you out immediately upon my return.

  King Aridor

  Mizar read the letter a second time, folded it back up, and held it at arm's length. With a wave of his other hand, the corner of the letter burst into flame. As he and Taron watched, the letter was reduced to smoldering ash within seconds.

  Taron waved away a whiff of smoke, coughing. “You could have done that outside,” he grumbled. “Now, if you're done stinking up my office, is there anything in that letter that I should know?”

  “Yes,” Mizar said, meeting his gaze. “Find Prince Zendak and inform him that King Aridor is returning. Tell him of the summit, and make sure he is prepared to speak on behalf of his homeland.”

  He'd been there the day Prince Zendak had been brought to the castle, half-dead, on the back of a merych led by Aridor's eldest son, Prince Warran. It was from Zendak that they learned of Agrus's fall, the death of King Morix and the entire royal family, and of Elzaria's existence. Her attack had left the young prince horribly burned, but thanks to both Sen and the court physician, Zendak had been healed to the point where he could walk and dress himself with minimal pain. The scars that marred the left side of his face and body, however, would likely never heal completely.

  “What about this girl accompanying you? Who is she?”

  Mizar frowned, forcing down his irritation at the barrage of questions. “I would rather you not ask me that right now.” Taron opened his mouth again, but Mizar stopped him with a raised hand. “I assure you, she will not cause trouble. All I can tell you is that she has a vital role to play in the future of Darad. I will do my best to keep her out of sight until the right moment presents itself, but for the time being, give her a room as close to mine and Sen's as possible.”

  Taron sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Have Twilla sent to my study with all due haste.”

  Taron's face crinkled, but he simply nodded. “Yes, High Mage.”

  * * *

  Mizar stopped by his bedchamber to change into some fresh, dry clothes. He opted for a plain tunic, thick and black, the preferred color for a High Mage. He fastened the clasp of a clean cloak around his neck, pulling it tight around his body. He took a moment to enjoy the feel of it as well as the faintest smell of perfume that the washwomen had sprinkled on it. With the days becoming colder, his thick cloaks provided much-needed warmth while also making him instantly recognizable to others.

  Donning a fresh skullcap, he made his way to his study, where Sen and Vaxi awaited him.

  The bound volumes and scrolls that comprised what King Aridor's grandfather, Sardor, had deemed “Forbidden Knowledge” lay spread out across a large table in the center of the room. Sen had also dug out the cipher text they would need to resume their translation of Merdeen's writings.

  Sen, who seemed to be in a cheerful mood since leaving Thage despite the rain, looked positively sullen as he hunched over the work table. It wasn't difficult to tell that the boy was developing strong feelings of affection for the young huntress, and from the way she smiled back at him, it was equally clear those feelings were mutual. However, in the short time since arriving at Randar, he could only surmise that something must have happened. Vaxi sat in a large chair against the far wall, her eyes fixed on Sen, who, just like back in Ghaldyn, was conspicuously avoiding eye contact with her.

  As much as he wanted to know what caused the sudden black cloud hov
ering over his apprentice's head, there wasn't time for trivialities; far more important duties called. “Ah, good, you're back at work,” he said.

  “Yes, Master.” Sen looked up. “Any news?”

  “Only that time is short.” He strode to the table, sweeping his eyes across the myriad of texts and scrolls. “Remind me again where we left off.”

  Sen plucked a scroll off the top of the pile to his left and turned it around to show Mizar. “This here,” he pointed at an elaborate design resembling the branches of a tree encircled by a sphere, “is the symbol for 'Ixtrayu', the Mother Tree.” He cast the briefest of glances over at Vaxi, who stood up and joined them at the mention of her tribe's name.

  “That is amazing,” she said. “So Merdeen envisioned my tribe, what, a hundred years ago?”

  “Yes,” Mizar confirmed. “And the Ixtrayu were also mentioned in the notes of High Mage Jerril, more than three centuries ago. But the fact that Merdeen chose to reference your people so obscurely is a clue in and of itself.”

  “What do you mean, Master?” Sen asked.

  “Well, at the time Merdeen wrote this, he was in the final stages of his life. His vision of death and destruction spooked King Sardor so much that he labeled Merdeen a madman and locked him away. When the High Mage died, Sardor, for whatever reason, chose to put these tomes in the castle vault rather than destroy them.”

  He looked at his apprentice with concern. “You remember that vision I had before we journeyed to Ghaldyn? The one that rendered me unconscious?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “One of the images I saw was of entire villages ablaze, the burned bodies of innocents staining the ground.” He shuddered at the memory. “It would not surprise me if this was the exact same portentous vision that Merdeen had, the one that made him and King Sardor adversaries after decades of friendship.”

  Sen's jaw fell open. “But that can only mean –”

  “That the calamity Merdeen foresaw ninety years ago is happening right now. What other explanation can there be?”

  Neither Vaxi nor Sen had an answer.

  “Then there is the image of the three female Wielders preparing to do battle. The antagonist is definitely Elzaria, based on what we know about her. And though the light emanating from the other two women obscured their faces, I think it's reasonable to assume that one of them is Kelia.” He glanced at Vaxi. “She is the most powerful Wielder in your tribe, right?”

  “Yes,” Vaxi said. “Her Elemental abilities transcend those of her ancestors.”

  Mizar ran his fingers through his beard. “How many Wielders are there in the Ixtrayu?”

  Vaxi thought for a few moments. “Twelve.”

  Sen gaped at her. “That many?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but most of them don't have abilities that would be of much use in a fight, particularly against a Wielder of lightning.”

  “What sort of abilities do the others have?” Mizar asked.

  She hesitated, casting a sidelong glance at Sen before responding. “Three of them are healers …”

  Sen averted his eyes, staring at the table. Mizar had no doubt she was referring to Sen's mother, and wondered what the two of them had talked about back in Thage.

  Vaxi continued, “Three of them use their minds to communicate with animals, two can make plants grow at an accelerated rate –”

  “Great Arantha,” interrupted Mizar as he thumbed through another stack of scrolls before finding the one he was looking for. On it was a list of names, which he held up to Vaxi.

  “What's this?” she asked, taking it from him.

  “These are all the men who have manifested Wielding abilities in our history. As you can see, several of them had powers that match what you describe.”

  Her eyes lit up in recognition as she read the names. “My people have Sojourned to Darad many times.”

  “Please, continue,” Mizar said.

  “Two Ixtrayu can control water,” Vaxi resumed. “And the final two are Kelia and her daughter Nyla.”

  “How old is Nyla? Has she begun to Wield yet?”

  Vaxi nodded. “She's thirteen. And quite powerful already. In time, she might grow to be even more powerful than Kelia herself.”

  Mizar knitted his brow. “I suppose the third Wielder in my vision could be her. Sadly, unless I am able to envision them in greater detail, there's no way to know for sure.”

  A light rap on the door cut him off. “Who is it?” he called.

  “It is Twilla, High Mage,” came a mature voice from the other side.

  “Ah,” Mizar said, sweeping the Forbidden Knowledge into a pile and then covering it with several other bound tomes. “Enter.”

  The heavy door swung open with a creak, revealing a tall woman with graying hair set in a stylish updo. Her fierce hazel eyes shone with intelligence, and the blue-gray dress she wore gave her a dignified, experienced air. She crossed the threshold and, seeing Mizar, bowed slightly. Behind her was a much younger, much shorter woman with a mousy face, a plain brown dress and carrying a large wooden box that looked to be heavier than she.

  “You sent for me, High Mage?” the older woman asked with a coquettish smile.

  “Yes, Twilla, thank you for coming.” Mizar returned the smile, waving the two women in. He turned to Vaxi, gesturing for her to step forward. “This is Vaxi. She is my special guest. And she needs a dress.”

  Vaxi shot Mizar a shocked frown. “What?!”

  “I'm sorry, my dear, but I'm afraid I must insist,” Mizar said, speaking soothingly. “There's every chance you might meet the King and his family in the next few days, and I cannot present you to them wearing …” he pointed at her borrowed tunic, “… this.”

  Vaxi's eyes flickered between him and Twilla, who seemed to be sizing her up. “I understand, but … a dress? I've never worn a dress before!”

  “Dear oh dear, High Mage, where did you find this girl?” Twilla tutted.

  “That's a long story,” Mizar said. “And were we anywhere else, I would be more than happy to have you dress in whatever manner you desire. However, you're in the Castle Randar now, child; sooner or later, you're going to have to step outside this door. And if you don't wish to be mistaken for a servant, you need to be attired more appropriately. Twilla here is the one in charge of Queen Belena's wardrobe, so it is in her capable hands that I place you.”

  Nodding at Mizar's endorsement, Twilla stepped forward. Mizar watched Vaxi squirm uncomfortably as the older woman inspected her. Vaxi actually flinched when Twilla grasped her by the chin and turned her face, left and then right, examining the young huntress's profile.

  After a three-minute examination during which no one spoke, Twilla stood back and faced Mizar. “Today's your lucky day, High Mage. Give me two hours, and I will turn this girl into a proper young lady.” She reached forward and grasped Vaxi's wrist, moving to pull her from the room. Vaxi yanked her hand back, startling the old woman.

  “It'll be all right, Vaxi,” Mizar said. “You promised to trust me.”

  Vaxi and Mizar locked eyes for a few moments, and then she gave a resigned nod. “Very well.”

  He turned back to Twilla. “For reasons I'd rather not go into, I'd prefer she not be seen walking the corridors of the castle until she's properly dressed. Feel free to use my bedchamber to work your magic; it's spacious, clean, and you'll have complete privacy.”

  Twilla's mouth tightened into a firm line, as if irritated by having to improvise at such short notice. “As you wish, High Mage.” She turned to the mousy girl, whom Mizar had almost forgotten was there, as she'd not uttered a sound the entire time. “Zeeba, take my chest to the High Mage's bedchamber. Prepare my measuring kit. We're going to set a new personal record today.”

  Zeeba bowed and scooted out the door, toting her cumbersome burden to Mizar's bedchamber one door down.

  Twilla's face softened, and she smiled at Vaxi. “Fear not, girl. In two hours, you won't even recognize yourself.” With that,
she put her hand on Vaxi's back and coaxed her through the door. Vaxi gave Mizar one last plaintive look, and then Twilla closed the door behind her.

  * * *

  After locking the study door, Mizar and Sen spent the next two hours translating the second of three bound tomes that comprised the bulk of the Forbidden Knowledge. Their progress was hampered repeatedly by having to decipher Merdeen's shaky handwriting, which often led to mistranslated gibberish. By the time they turned the last page, they had learned nothing more than before.

  Sen stood up, stretched, and went over to the room's basin of fresh water, filling two mugs and setting one in front of Mizar. Smiling, Mizar waved his hand and lowered the water's temperature to a welcome coolness. Had his study always been this stuffy? He was tempted to open the door to let some air in, but with the Forbidden Knowledge just lying out in the open, better to not take the risk.

  After downing the contents of his mug, Sen pulled the third and final of Merdeen's diaries from underneath a pile of scrolls. He thumbed through the pages, most of which appeared to be blank. “He must have just started on this one when he died,” Sen mused.

  “Yes,” Mizar said. “Let us hope that his final thoughts bring us the revelations we seek.”

  Before they could resume, however, another knock came from the door.

  “Twilla?” Mizar called.

  “You're expecting someone else?” the older woman's voice came.

  Mizar instructed Sen to unlock and open the door. He obeyed, and Twilla stepped through. Several strands of hair had come loose from her updo, but she was beaming with pride. Mizar took this as a positive sign.

  “So, how'd it go?” he asked.

  “Well, it was a challenge, to be sure,” she said. “She's considerably taller than both Her Highness the Queen and Princess Tyah, and she has the muscles of a merych. Thankfully, I had plenty of material. A few deft alterations, and she can pass for a lady. I even had Zeeba work her hair into something more … elegant.”

  “Did she behave?”

  Twilla let loose an exaggerated sigh. “Prince Lehr squirms less getting his hair cut. I won't even go into how much she objected to removing that ghastly leather thing she wore underneath her clothes. And the scars …” She shook her head. “You owe me one, Mizar.”