Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3)

by Gregory Mattix

  “I was yet a foolish girl, Sir Edwin. Circumstances have made me a queen. Whatever we once shared is gone now.” The words sounded harsh to her own ears, but she knew her rebuff was necessary.

  Edwin took it with more grace than she had expected. A brief pained expression flitted across his features, but then he simply nodded. “Then in the hope there might be even a minuscule chance to find a place in your heart again, Sianna, I pray to Sol I might redeem myself in his eyes and in yours.” He bowed again and turned on his heel and strode out of the audience hall.

  Sianna let out a long breath. Despite her determination to not allow him to affect her, his words still struck a chord. What feelings she’d once had for him plucked at her heartstrings like some half-remembered childhood memory.

  Pull yourself together. Such a dream was that of a foolish girl and was never meant to be. What’s done is done. Now I must concern myself with winning a resounding victory on the field of battle.

  At that moment, even though she had no actual crown, she could imagine the weight of it upon her brow, threatening to make her stoop like an old crone under its burden. The weight of duty… Father oft made mention of it.

  Sadness came rushing back at the thought of her father, bringing with it memories of her mother and brothers—all dead and gone now. She was the only one left to try to hold the kingdom together.

  A polite cough drew her from her reverie. The herald bowed when she focused on him.

  “Shall I admit the others, Your Majesty?”

  Sianna drew herself up and pasted a smile on her face, for the next order of business was cause for celebration, and it wouldn’t do for the queen to look as if she had just witnessed her pet kitten drowned in the bath.

  “Send in the witnesses,” she called.

  The elderly man rapped the butt of his staff on the throne-room doors. A moment later, the guards swung them open, and the group of chosen witnesses entered the throne room: Lord and Lady Lanthas, Iris, Jahn, Creel, Taren, Mira, and Ferret, along with a group of assorted courtiers and officers.

  Rafe remained standing alone at the threshold as the others gathered by the dais. He was wearing the Atreus colors, blue and white with a red hawk on the breast of the surcoat. His uniform was neatly pressed, although somewhat ill-fitting—the best that could be found on short notice. His worn boots were polished to the best of his ability.

  He could use a new uniform. Jahn as well. She made a mental note to mention it to Iris, if she hadn’t already thought of it.

  The witnesses arranged themselves below the dais, making their bows and curtseys to Sianna. Once they were positioned as Iris directed them, Sianna descended, though she remained standing on the lowest step so that the others weren’t all looming over her.

  Rafe hovered at the threshold to the great hall, his nervousness apparent to her, for she’d gotten to know her friend quite well in the past months.

  “Guardsman Rafe,” she called out in a clear voice, “come forward and be recognized.”

  Rafe strode down the length of the throne room, his eyes darting nervously across the faces of those gathered. Sianna shared a glance with Iris, who maintained an admirably straight face. This recognition wasn’t a total surprise to Rafe, as Sianna had floated her idea previously, just to make sure she wasn’t binding the man against his will to a life under a strict code of conduct.

  “Your Majesty.” Rafe dropped down to one knee.

  Sianna stepped down and approached her friend. “You may rise.” When he stood, she turned to address those present. “Guardsman Rafe, along with Lady Iris, has been my constant companion since I was forced to flee Castle Llantry in the night. Rafe has displayed exemplary courage and sacrifice both in service of the crown and to myself personally. He’s kept me safe from harm while he himself has been wounded several times in the line of duty but hasn’t let that deter him. And for his inspiring selfless service and valor, I am rewarding Rafe the most appropriate way I know how. Kneel, Rafe.”

  Rafe dropped to both knees, and Sianna drew her short sword, the same Sir Colm had given her what felt like a lifetime ago. The blade rang out with a pure note that reverberated in the great hall.

  “In the sight of Sol and men, do you swear to uphold the code of conduct of the knighthood? To serve queen and country selflessly, to live a life of virtue and honor, and to protect the innocent and defeat evil wherever it may fester?”

  “I do so swear, Your Majesty,” Rafe said.

  “Then by the power vested in me, I hereby bestow knighthood upon Rafe, son of Robert. Lands to be assigned at a later time.” She touched her sword to Rafe’s right and then left shoulders in turn. “I hereby dub thee Sir Rafe. Arise, Sir Knight.”

  Rafe rose to his feet, his face split with a huge grin. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I am deeply honored.” His voice cracked with emotion, and he bowed low.

  Sianna turned to the others with a smile, mirroring her friend’s joy. “Let us all congratulate Sir Rafe.”

  The witnesses cheered and applauded, those who knew him best the most boisterous. Iris swept forward and boldly gave him a kiss on the lips. Once she stepped away, the others lined up to shake hands and clap him on the shoulder with many well-wishes.

  Sianna’s eyes swept over the group of courtiers with distaste, the lot of them suddenly anxious to make themselves known to Rafe, since he was obviously held in high regard by the queen. Lorena had let slip earlier how tongues were already wagging around court about Iris and Rafe’s scandalous relationship. Some of the poison they spewed had enraged Sianna. She had made it a point to invite some of the worst of the courtiers to this ceremony.

  This will set their tongues wagging again. Only now, with Rafe’s elevation, they have no cause to disparage my friends in such a manner. Perhaps now their words will be positive for a change.

  She wasn’t so naive as to truly believe that, but she could always hope. And hope was in short supply these days. But for the time being, seeing recognition given where it was due made her smile.

  Chapter 20

  Elyas studied the city of Carran in the distance. Its walls were formed of white stone, and beyond it, the blue surface of Zoph Lake shimmered in the morning sunlight. Carran was an impressive city from the perspectives of both size and economy, but he thought its defenses were lacking. The army encampment outside the walls was unimpressive, wretched even. Men drilled and sparred nearby, but from the numbers of tents, the entire force couldn’t have been much larger than four thousand men, roughly a third of what it had been months earlier.

  He watched the men sparring with sword and shield for a time, many green recruits or conscripts, judging by their collective ineptness. More seasoned men served as trainers or sparred separately. I might have been one of those men, had fate worked out differently. Do any of my former comrades still live?

  Before he could entertain those thoughts any further, Nesnys swooped down and landed gracefully before him with a rush of air.

  “Go now,” Nesnys said. She had teleported the two of them a short ride from Carran and had just returned from surveilling the city and its defenses from the air. She intended to remain nearby, monitoring the situation.

  “Aye, Mistress.” He dug his heels into his steed’s flanks and rode toward the city gates, a mile or so distant. He was unarmed, with only a headless spear shaft couched in his stirrup with a white flag of parley mounted atop it. His mighty warhorse covered the ground at a steady canter, and the gates quickly drew nearer.

  A contingent of city guards warily regarded Elyas’s approach with crossbows loaded and swords at the ready. He obviously put them ill at ease from the intimidating appearance of his armor and towering bearing on horseback. Groups of refugees seeking entrance to the city shied away from his presence like nervous rats.

  “That’s close enough.” A sergeant of the guardsmen held up a hand. “State your purpose here.”

  “I am here at Warlord Nesnys’s behest,” Elyas answered. He ignored the
surprised mutterings. “I seek parley with your queen and also require the presence of the mage Taren for a private discussion.”

  Several of the guards exchanged uneasy glances.

  “I know not this mage you seek,” the sergeant said.

  “He will be in the company of those who rescued your queen. His name will be well known among those at the castle.”

  “I shall send a runner to deliver your request, but this does not mean Her Majesty will see or speak with you.”

  “I will await their arrival.” Elyas had no doubt that Taren would wish to speak to him and was confident the young queen would as well.

  ***

  Sianna was in the midst of touring the castle defenses, another stop on her morale-building tour of Carran, when a rider dressed in the livery of the city watch galloped into the bailey below, drawing her attention.

  “And the curtain wall is nigh impenetrable, Your Majesty,” the guard captain was saying proudly, as if the castle’s construction were his own doing.

  Sianna wasn’t impressed, in truth. Carran’s castle was more a palace than a fortress and seemed vulnerable compared to Castle Llantry. Even in her uneducated opinion, the castle wouldn’t hold up long against a determined assault. Nor would the walls of the city.

  The captain continued, “Any assault planned from the lakeside will cause them to think better.”

  She was barely listening, instead eyeing the rider, who was conversing with the gate guards below. One of them pointed up toward her entourage. She was spared from any further lecture when the rider hailed the captain of the guard.

  “Captain, I bear a message from the city gates for Her Majesty, the queen,” the man called up. When Sianna stepped closer to the wall, the watchman spotted her and dropped to a knee.

  “Don’t make us wait, man,” the captain snapped angrily. “Get your arse up here and report properly. Uh, pardon my tongue, Your Majesty.”

  She waved his apology aside with a smile, although she had an uneasy feeling at what this news might portend. Once she heard the message, she exchanged a solemn glance with Lord Lanthas.

  “I shall ready the carriage, Your Majesty,” Lanthas said.

  “Thank you, Loren.” She hiked up the hem of her gown and followed the procession down the staircase to the bailey, where Lanthas was already giving orders.

  “Someone find Taren at once,” she called, and runners took off.

  ***

  Taren was in the castle library, his favorite place to spend his time thus far while in Carran, when a messenger arrived, breathless, relief palpable on his face.

  “Milord, the queen bids you attend her at once.”

  Surprised, Taren closed his book and rose from the window alcove where he had been reading. “May I ask what this is in regards to?”

  He hadn’t even seen Sianna since the prior day, when Rafe was knighted, but had heard she was busy holding council with King Nardual and Lord Lanthas ahead of the formal conclave and was also expected to further tour the city’s defenses later in the day.

  “There’s a warrior arrived at the gates of the city, seeking parley on behalf of the Nebarans,” the messenger explained as Taren followed him out of the library.

  Mira fell in beside him the moment he neared the door. She had been conducting her own studies of some scrolls she’d found to be of interest.

  He was puzzled that Sianna would summon him so abruptly but not displeased. Any opportunity to see her was one he enjoyed.

  They arrived in the bailey a couple minutes later, and he was surprised to find a carriage prepared. Sianna was speaking quietly with Lord Lanthas, and Sir Rafe and Jahn were leading horses out to join them. Other castle guardsmen were scrambling to procure mounts from the stables.

  “Your Majesty.” Taren bowed to the queen. “My lord.”

  Sianna grabbed his arm excitedly, eliciting a frown from the duke. “Taren, come. We go to speak with a representative of the Nebaran warlord.”

  “Um, maybe a horse would be better…”

  “Nonsense, come on.” Sianna climbed into the carriage.

  Taren stepped aside, as was proper, to allow Lord Lanthas to climb inside, then he joined them, feeling uncomfortable at being singled out in such a manner. He sat down beside Lanthas on a cushioned bench seat, then Mira slipped in without waiting for an invitation and sat beside Sianna. Lord Lanthas glanced at her with raised eyebrow. Sianna patted Mira’s hand, implying her approval of the monk’s presence. The duke gave a soft grunt but said nothing.

  The carriage moved at a word from Jahn. He and Rafe rode to either side of the carriage as it rolled out into the street, a handful of mounted castle guards following. They were met by a group of city watchmen arrayed before them, keeping the streets clear so that they could pass unimpeded.

  After a few minutes of uneasy silence, broken only by the rumbling of the carriage wheels over cobblestones, Taren finally gathered the nerve to speak. “May I ask why I’m being included? I have no skill in such delicate negotiations, if that’s what this is.”

  Sianna’s expression was unreadable when she met his eyes. “This warrior claims to be your cousin.”

  “Elyas?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What…? Surely there must be some mistake.”

  “Hence the reason you are here,” Lanthas replied. “And because this individual asked for you by name as a condition to any negotiation.”

  How could Elyas be here? And why would he be representing Nebara in any negotiation? Could this be some elaborate trap?

  He looked at Mira, who offered only a wan smile.

  Patience. I shall find out the meaning of this shortly—that’s what she would advise. He smiled in response to the thought.

  After what felt like a very long ride, they arrived at the city gates, which were engulfed in a riot of activity, with guardsmen running to and fro.

  Rafe dismounted and appeared at the window. “Your Majesty, just give them a moment to provide for your security. Taren and Mira, if you wish, you may exit.”

  Taren did so, with Mira preceding him. Several dozen armed guardsmen of the city watch formed a perimeter around the carriage, which had stopped just inside the city gates. About fifty paces outside the gate and past another cordon of guards stood a tall warrior dressed in soot-black plate mail, his face concealed by a helm fashioned to resemble a horned, snarling fiend. A massive black warhorse was grazing at the roadside a short distance away.

  A chill ran down Taren’s spine at recognizing the armored warrior, for he’d seen the same imposing figure before in a vision from Sabyl, giving orders and slaughtering anyone who stood in his path while Carran burned around him.

  Elyas? Could it be? Taren slipped into his second sight and saw the armored warrior glowing a fiery red, an ill magical aura enveloping him as if it sought to choke off what remained of the man’s own faint aura. He couldn’t be sure the man even was Elyas because of the armor’s fell enchantment.

  “Are you the mage Taren?” the guard captain asked.

  “I am.”

  “He demands to speak with you first. Apologies, Your Majesty.” The guard captain looked ashamed to make Sianna wait.

  The queen had just dismounted from the carriage, the cordon of guards opening before her so she might advance through a corridor of steel.

  “Go ahead, Taren,” Sianna said.

  He bowed and strode forward. Guards parted before him, then nothing separated Taren from the armored man save for a couple dozen paces of road. The warrior appeared unarmed, save for the terrible armor he wore, which, with its spikes and sharp edges, could be a weapon in itself. Taren swallowed nervously and took strength from Mira’s steady presence at his shoulder.

  “Elyas?” he called.

  The armored man reached up and raised the fiend’s-snout visor, revealing his cousin’s familiar face.

  “Hello, Taren.” Elyas smiled.

  “Elyas! How… what are you doing here?” He closed the distance,
wanting to embrace his cousin, a brother in actuality, but the armor was forbidding, and he stopped up short, an arm’s length away.

  “It is good to see you again, Taren. I’m here to ask you to join me.”

  “Join you? You’re with them, aren’t you? The Nebarans.” He looked around as if an ambush lay in wait, but they were alone.

  “Aye. My mistress wishes you to join us. Together, we can end this war.” Elyas’s voice was curiously without inflection, as if he were reading off a script.

  Taren stared at his cousin’s face, perplexed at first, but then that was swept aside by a surge of anger. “What has happened to you? Why do this—join the enemy? You are a Ketanian! All your life, you wanted to be a soldier in the king’s army, and you did! You fought, valiantly, as I hear it. And then what happened?”

  Elyas’s blue eyes clouded with pain. “I was defeated and then made a slave. Broken and forced to fight in the Pits of Leciras for the entertainment of the masses. And there I died.”

  “Died?”

  “Aye. I am that man no longer.”

  “But why join with the enemy? You must be ensorceled somehow. What of Uncle Wyat—your father! Has his death come to mean so little to you?”

  Elyas flinched as if struck. He blinked rapidly, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. A moment later, his jaw clenched, and he bowed his head, placing gauntleted hands on either side of his helm. A pained groan escaped.

  Taren took a step forward, reaching out instinctively to try to aid his cousin, for something was gravely wrong with him.

  Mira gripped his wrist and shot him a warning glance. “He doesn’t seem to be himself any longer—beware, Taren.”

  Elyas straightened back up, and his face was blank once more, eyes slightly glassy. “Won’t you come with me, Taren? At least speak with my mistress.”