Appearing out of the dark night, the skull-like face alone was alarming enough and their uneasiness abated only slightly when Tobyn, suddenly shivering with the cold, reached behind him to replace his hood to partially hide his features.
For the next hour or so, Tobyn displayed some of his skills. He levitated a large rock and hurled it a distance away from the camp. He produced a flame from the palm of his hand to light the dry twigs beneath a cooking pot. Everyone was amazed and vastly entertained by his talents and badgered him for his secrets. The men gathered in a small crowd and although the man standing before them seemed to be, different, greed finally overcame any misapprehension they might have had. The offer to join their troop was repeated. Tobyn and his six companions could not believe their luck in being so readily accepted by the travelling entertainers.
“We have an engagement to amuse the king,” said the man, who was obviously the leader of the group. “Would you and your friends like to join us? I am sure the king will pay us handsomely if we can please him, although very few have ever seen him laugh. From what I hear, he is a grumpy fool, who rarely leaves the comfort of his castle. But he has got a pretty young wife, whom I have been told is worth seeing, even if we are not paid.”
Tobyn smiled. “Why not,” he agreed. “We have no immediate plans or engagements. When are you due there?”
“The day after tomorrow,” said the man. “I will have blankets brought for your comfort tonight. You can sleep under any of the wagons for added safety.”
Tobyn travelled with the wagons during the following two days and gained entrance to the castle with the troop of entertainers. There was to be a banquet that evening, and they had been ordered to amuse the king’s guests. He watched from the corridors, as jugglers and acrobats performed before an audience who barely noticed them. He liked what he saw and thought the king would be easy to please, once he had proved his worth. Two hours passed and the king’s guests were growing bored; they had begun to jeer at the tightrope walkers, shouting that any fool could walk a rope suspended just a few feet from the ground. Tobyn decided that it was time for his own entrance. Wearing a long dark blue robe, his face was virtually hidden inside the folds of the hood. He entered from the dimly lit corridor, traversed the aisle between the food and drink-laden trestles finally halting before the table where the king and queen sat.
From within the folds of his hood, Tobyn studied the two people before him. The king, he saw, was much older than the woman at his side, and very much over weight. He was not a handsome looking man and he wondered just what had made a beautiful woman like the queen, marry such a man. But then he cynically thought that wealth and position might change many a girl’s mind. She was, he noted, strikingly beautiful. With her long dark hair pinned up her face shone like porcelain. Her eyes were blue and bright and sparkled as she gazed at him. There was something about this woman that troubled the master magician, but at that moment he couldn’t lay a finger to it. He would, he thought enjoy playing one against the other, given the chance.
“My lord, if I may be permitted, I will perform a few conjuring tricks.” Tobyn bowed at the waist and with a sweeping movement of his arm eyed the king and queen from within the darkness of his hood.
He was jeered from both sides as he stood waiting for an answer.
“I hope that you are better than the rest of the artistes we have seen this evening,” drawled the king, in a bored voice. “If you fail to entertain my guests, I will have you all placed in the dungeons, where perhaps you will have the time to learn your trade a little better.”
Tobyn’s gaze wandered up and down the hall until he spotted a pretty young woman sitting next to a rather tubby older man. He looked deeply into her eyes, held her gaze and beckoned for her to stand. She placed the goblet she was holding onto the table and made her way down the hall until she stood at his side.
“Now my lord, I will have her dance. Music, if you would be so kind,” he asked the three men who had provided the sounds he had heard earlier.
As the music began, the girl started to move her arms and body in time to the rhythm. “Faster!” Tobyn demanded. As the music grew faster, so too did her movements as she danced around the room, until finally, she fell to the ground exhausted.
There were cheers from the audience as the music stopped and the girl, suddenly aware that she was the centre of attention, picked herself up from the floor and fled the room. Beneath the hood, Tobyn sneered in contempt and pointed his right forefinger towards a pitcher of ale, which began to rise from the table, floating as though invisible hands were guiding it. A slight movement from his wrist and the pitcher tipped forward, pouring its contents into the king’s own goblet.
“My lord, I thought perhaps your drink might need refreshing,” Tobyn said, as the pitcher re-settled itself on the table.
During the remainder of the evening, he made his way amongst the people, amusing them by pulling a coin from behind their ear or releasing the ties to a man’s breeches, so that when he stood, they fell about his ankles.
The women he charmed by asking them to make a wish and then fulfilling it. By the time he’d finished, everyone was demanding he stay and continue. But Tobyn knew when to stop, leaving the king frustrated that his own requests had yet to be granted.
The leader of the troop smiled, and grabbed Tobyn’s hand as he entered the corridor. “I think you have earned the king’s favour, at least we will be paid for tonight’s work.”
The money meant little to Tobyn, what mattered now was staying at the castle. From here, he knew he would be able to control the people’s lives, the king was weak, and would be easily persuaded to go to war.
With a purse full of coins, the troop of players prepared to leave the castle.
“Find me the one who wore the blue robe,” the king commanded the soldier-at-arms standing behind him. “Tell him politely that I would like him to consider staying. I have never seen a man with such talent, there is much he might do for us.” The soldier caught up to the train of wagons, as they were about to roll over the drawbridge, and told Tobyn that the king wished him to stay behind. From beneath the concealing dark hood of his robe, Tobyn smiled. “Why, of course I will stay, for a while,” he agreed, “I can easily catch up with my friends at a later date.” He jumped down from the wagon, advising the six, who had fled the crippled ship with him, to find lodgings close by, and to be ready should he have need of them. It was a fateful day, for had the king known the intentions of his new entertainer, he might have asked for his execution rather than his friendship.
Chapter 5
To Kill a King
The king no longer wanted to wage war with neighbouring lands and had kept the taxes at a level whereby the people were beginning to prosper and, dare it be said, love him. It made Tobyn sick with rage. His powers of persuasion were excellent. Tobyn was outwardly all smiles, civil and sympathetic while hatred and malice clawed at his heart. But the king liked him, and although his councillors were somewhat wary of Tobyn, there were very few people who dared gainsay when he ‘advised’ the king. He commanded a respectful fear from the majority of the court, but there was one person who was not afraid. Tobyn saw only hatred in the elder prince’s eyes every time they met. He knew this wretched boy who was so like his mother would cause him trouble.
Sofia was the daughter of a wealthy merchant before agreeing to marry the king. She and her father, along with many other young ladies had been sent invitations to a ball being held at the palace. The idea being that the king would find a bride so he might produce an heir. The problem was, the king was fat, had no table manners, and stunk of mead. He stood at just five feet six inches, and walked bandy legged. Over the course of that evening he danced with all the young females, but after the dance ended, they all curtseyed, made excuses and kept away from him.
He sat alone, surrounded by his council whom were all trying to find a way to entice one of the girls to stay with him. Sofia had not yet danced with the k
ing and wandered close to where the king sat and noticed how sad he looked.
“My Lord, everyone is so happy and having a great time. The music sounds wonderful. Why do you look so sad?” The king raised his eyes and saw not just a young woman standing before him, but also a very beautiful young woman. He noted in those brief seconds – as you do - that she was a little taller than he, and she was slim. Her hair was long and dark, but her eyes were the most brilliant blue he had ever seen. Her face was free of blemishes and her smile tore at his heart.
“Perhaps for you it might sound wonderful, but not for me,” the king replied.
The members of the council were suddenly aware that this girl was not shunned by their king’s appearance. In fact she was standing talking to him without being forced. One of the councillors stepped forward and spoke to the girl. “Might I ask your name, so that you can be properly introduced?”
“It is Sofia Alexandra,” she said, smiling. “My father is an overseas merchant to whom the invitation was sent. The king stood, took her hand in his own and kissed the back of her hand. “I am honoured to meet you,” he said, “and would be more honoured if you would allow me to dance with you.”
After the dance ended, she didn’t rush away like the other girls had and allowed the king to escort her around the gardens surrounding the palace, but closely watched by two chaperones. By the end of the evening Sofia had agreed to allow the king to send a carriage for her during the following week. Three months after meeting, they were married. Within the first year of marriage the first heir to the kingdom was born.
Parlan had all the good looks of his mother. He grew to be tall and slim, almost six feet in height, and had deep blue eyes. He was a happy boy and wanted to try his hand at everything there was to do. Two years after his birth their second child was born, but Kaleb was not as lucky as his elder brother, he took after his father. He was only an inch or so taller than his father, and even at a young age had gained an excessive amount of weight. His hair was thin and had no real colour at all, unlike his brother’s, which was thick and dark. He was lazy, in as much that he never put himself out to do anything he could get someone else to do. The younger prince grew up hating his brother not only for his good looks, but also because everyone seemed to want to help him and do things for him without him even asking.
The queen had been responsible for softening the king’s outlook towards his subjects; her graciousness endeared her to everyone in the kingdom, including her husband. He stopped his every night drinking, and very rarely now drank more than a single mug of ale in an evening. He also mended his table manners, and instead of just throwing half eaten pieces of food on the floor, he let them remain on his plate.
She pointed out that to leave the people with too little food, or the means by which to grow more meant that many would starve and die.
The king listened to her and commanded his tax collectors that if a person could prove hardship, they were to be lenient. All of this ate at Tobyn and he knew that before he could enslave the kingdom, the queen had to die. For as long as she lived, the people could not be roused to war, which for Tobyn meant he could not exact revenge on his captor for abducting him from his own world. It seemed he needed to consider his future plans very carefully, as his advice to the king was often queried by the interfering snotty-nosed little runt, the eldest prince, the same way his mother always did. In addition, the young prince would soon be of an age whereby his voice would be heard in the assembly. Festering in his quarters in the lower levels of the castle, Tobyn began to devise a plan that would rid him of the queen and the boy.
But killing the queen would be no easy task. She always had a maid with her, and she was never alone when she wandered the castle corridors. To out-rightly kill her would mean that the king would not rest until the perpetrator had been found. No this called for cunning and far more thought.
By chance, late one evening as he was making his way towards his chambers in the lower part of the castle Tobyn saw the queen leave her chambers and head towards the magnificent staircase leading down to the Great Hall. He watched, hidden in the shadows wondering why she was out so late, and on her own. It mattered not to him. The important thing was - she was alone. In her arms she carried two scrolls of parchment. The queen started her decent down the marble risers and Tobyn saw his way to get rid of her. A mere flick of his fingers caused the hem of her gown to wrap itself round her legs and she fell headlong to the bottom.
She was found lying in a pool of blood in a crumpled and broken heap at the foot of the staircase the following morning, by one of the maids going about her duties. Everyone assumed it had been an accident. In falling she had broken her neck and her once beautiful face had been gashed and bruised by the sharp edges of the stairs. The whole kingdom mourned her death. All but one: Tobyn. He moved about the castle with care, keeping the hood of his robe pulled around his face, lest anyone saw his triumphant smile.
Since the queen’s death he had become the younger prince’s confidante. Jealous of his elder brother, he was the ideal candidate for Tobyn’s council. Due to his delicate nature, he was always pestering Tobyn for potions to relieve aches and to ease his suffering. Tobyn knew that by helping the boy, whatever task he asked in return would be carried out in gratitude. He was now fifteen years into his life, almost old enough to become king himself. Then, thought Tobyn, he could advise the young king to raise taxes, increase the size of his army and go to war. The obvious answer was, ‘The old King must now die.’
“Oh, it would have been so pleasant to be a king,” he mused, dreamily, “and to watch the country suffer, as poverty slowly crept across the land.” But then, being king was not nearly so much fun as waging war and causing unrest through a third party, then moving on should the situation resolve itself with the head of the monarch displayed upon the spike that overlooked the market place.
A plan had already been set in motion and was gaining momentum; it would not be long before the events of the evening took their course. Tobyn knew the country would then be his to run, and ultimately ruin.
It had taken nine years, a short period of time for one who had lived for over two centuries, to be in the position to wholly advise the younger prince. If all went well, nothing would stand in his way of finding the child of his ex-captor and fulfilling his promise of killing her. Even better was the fact that she would now be old enough to feel the fear of death before being killed, far better at her tender years, than if he had found her as a baby.
He leaned back in his chair, booted feet resting upon the wooden bench amongst his potions and body parts preserved in brine, some animal, some human. Leafing through the pages of his Grimoire of spells, his thoughts drifted to the woman he’d imprisoned aboard her craft. She would be helpless to intervene in these coming events, and when the king was dead and the younger son seated upon the throne, he would search out Ilanthia’s child and kill her. Heavy footsteps halted at the top of the steps leading to his quarters, glancing up, he quickly hid the book of spells he’d been reading. The pouch he’d placed it in, fashioned from human skin, still felt warm to the touch, even though the previous owner was now one hundred and fifty winters in a grave. The man had imagined he could to cross Tobyn, a serious error of judgement. It took little skill to boil the man alive, achieved by the mere passing of his hand across the surface of the pool used to take a bath. He had, prior to the man dying, stripped him of enough skin to make the pouch. A clasp made from the unfortunate swimmer’s index finger held the pouch closed, and with the turning of a small unique key, a ward was conjured into existence. If tampered with and the lock forced, the pouch would transform into a giant spider, more deadly than a thousand Black Widows.
The banqueting hall grew silent, as the king rose to his feet. Prince Parlan waited for the expected toast, and once given, he and the other guests raised their goblets towards their host, waiting for him to take the first drink. The goblet touched his lips and the king sipped the wine. Suddenl
y the king slumped back into his chair. A stunned moment of quiet disbelief was immediately followed by panic. “My lord,” Parlan cried, running towards his father. “The physician you fools; the king is taken ill,” he shouted at the guests, when no one moved. One of the men tending the table pelted for the door, anxious to carry out the Prince’s bidding. Others crowded round the stricken king, whispering and clutching at each other’s robes, horrified and frightened by what they saw.
Tobyn smirked to himself and prepared to climb the stone risers, as the footsteps came to a halt. The soldiers stopped at the head of the staircase and stood to attention.
“Right,” said the captain of the guard to one of the men, “go down and tell Lord Tobyn what has happened and that we have need of his assistance.”
“Err, me sir? Why do I have to go?” whined the man.
The Wolf and the Sorceress Page 7