King's Son, Magic's Son

by Josepha Sherman

  His eyes were bleak.

  "Estmere . . ." What could I say? That I pitied him? More, that somewhere along the way I was finding myself genuinely wanting to befriend him? Ailanna, you were right. Forgive me, my love, my vow does bind me after all. "Very well. I'll stay, for a while longer at any rate."

  He smiled. But it was a formal thing, king to prince. And when my brother said, "I'm glad of that," neither of us was sure he meant it.

  CHAPTER VII

  THE BOAR

  It was a fine, bright day, and we had gone hunting, Estmere and I and the obligatory courtiers. And a fine, bright sight we made, too, all of us in the royal red and gold, banners flying, horses prancing, and horns and hounds trumpeting bravely into the clear, crisp early morning air.

  Though of course one of the natural laws is that some must die that others be fed, I'm not much for the idea of killing as sport, not after a boyhood spent among deer and fox. But I must confess it was good to get away from the closeness of court for a while—Duwies, yes!—to be surrounded by clean air and the healthy green life of the forest.

  Estmere was clearly enjoying himself, too, with the enthusiasm of someone who has little enough time to be lighthearted.

  My poor brother. I only wish I could convince him I'm no threat to him.

  But when it came to that, had I been so completely honest with him? No. I was still hiding the fact of my magic from all. It wasn't that I feared for my life. A true magician isn't easy to hold, as I'd proved to those silly villagers who had tried to burn me on my way to Lundinia. But getting myself branded as demon-spawn certainly wasn't the way to win anyone's trust, let alone that of a king!

  Of course that's not to say I wasn't making use of the smaller, less detectable wisdoms. How else would I have known that the horse Estmere was riding was both very young and very foolish? I had caught the feel of the animal's mind when no human was around, and found not a brain in its finely shaped head.

  Sure enough, the silly beast decided to outrace all the rest of us. Estmere, laughing, didn't even try to check its gallop. Terrified that the horse was going to do something truly stupid, I urged my own mount forward and gave chase.

  We caught up with them just as a boar erupted out of a thicket. Estmere's horse screamed like a frightened child and leaped sideways so sharply my startled brother was thrown. He fell with stunning force—and the boar turned in its piggish fury and charged him. I saw its eyes glint red, felt the murderous thoughts of its brain, knew Estmere was about to die—

  "Duwies, no!"

  And the full force of the Power I had denied these past weeks surged up within me with such fury I nearly staggered. Magic blazing like wildfire through every vein, I flung out my hand as though casting a spear and shouted a word of Command. The boar stopped dead in its tracks, confused. The small, fierce eyes looked up at me, their gaze trapped, and I caught the animal mind with mine.

  "Fear me," I commanded quietly.

  And the boar shrank away. I could feel the panic growing and growing in that savage brain, overcoming all urges to rend and slay, I could feel its knowledge that, half drunk with Power as I was, there really was cause for it to fear me. And all at once the boar yielded. Squealing its terror, it whirled and charged away into the forest, crashing frantically through the bushes.

  Silence fell. I slumped in the saddle, the wildfire dying down within me, breathless as though I had fought the boar hand to hand.

  Panic sent new energy racing through me and I sprang from my horse to see if Estmere had been hurt.

  He was conscious. Staring at me.

  "Are you injured?" I asked quickly.

  "No." He got to his feet, ignoring my offer of aid. "That beast was scared of you, Aidan. A wild boar is afraid of nothing on Earth. Yet it feared you as though you were the very devil. What are you, Aidan?"

  "Fy brawd, your brother," I said lightly, stalling.

  "Half-brother only. Why did that boar fear you? Are you a sorcerer, Aidan?"

  There was an iron-cold light in his eyes, and I sighed. "If you mean by 'sorcerer' one who walks the Lefthand Path, who has sworn pacts with Evil—no, I am never such a one."

  "What, then?"

  "You know my mother was of Cymra. That land is . . . different. Older. Stranger, you would find it." I took a deep breath. "My mother was a wielder of magic, Estmere, and I am truly her son."

  "I don't understand. First you say you are no sorcerer, and then—"

  "Uffern!" I snapped. "Have they taught you nothing of the Old Ways? Well then, listen: there is magic—Gallu, Power—and that is a force, a tool neither good nor evil. And there are folk who have been granted that Power, and trained in its use. Agreed? I won't deny that some of those folk abuse their training, deliberately use it for harm. They are the ones you call sorcerers."

  "Go on."

  Feeling my mother's presence very much with me, I continued, "But there is still the Threefold Law that binds all who work with magic, the law no one can change or evade. And it states simply that each magician bears the threefold return of whatever force has been sent out. If that force is for good, well now, that's a fine thing to have triply repaid. But if that force is for evil . . ." I hesitated, suddenly remembering the one time I had misused my Power . . . the stag I had tried to destroy . . . the sickening horror of its terror surging over me till I thought I would never be free of it . . . I shuddered. "Ethics aside, Estmere, it is slow and torturous suicide, it is condemning yourself to torment or, if the wise folk are right, to eternal death and never rebirth. Can't you see I would never, ever, so endanger my soul?"

  Estmere hesitated a long while, toying absently with the hilt of his sword, and I thought, There goes friendship, though there wasn't a word I would have taken back if I could.

  "Come now, Estmere! If I had wanted you dead, all I had to do was wait just a few short moments for the boar to do the job for me."

  "True," he admitted wryly. "It would have made a very convenient hunting accident. And your hands would have been quite unstained by fratricide." The faintest of shudders ran through him, but his voice remained level. "I do thank you for my life. But . . . this . . . magic: why didn't you speak of it before?"

  "When we first met? Would you ever have accepted me if I had?"

  "No," he conceded.

  "Look you, what do you want me to do to prove I mean no harm?" But then a thought came to me. "In Cymra sworn vows are sacred, unbreakable. Is it the same in these lands?"

  "After a fashion." Estmere's voice was dry. "But I do know you West Country folk hold vows inviolate."

  "Good. Then shall I swear my honesty to you?"

  "Yes!" Almost savagely, my brother whipped out his sword, holding it up so that hilt and guard formed a cross. "Swear by this sword."

  Och fi. "I could," I said miserably, bound by truthfulness. "But such an oath would mean nothing."

  "Nothing!"

  I paused, uneasy, uncomfortably aware after my experiences in Estmere's lands that some people feel very strongly about the subject of religion. Sometimes dangerously so.

  "Aidan?"

  "I . . . many Cymraen folk follow the old ways."

  "What are you trying to say?"

  All right, be bold now! "I am not of your faith, Estmere, but of one that is very ancient."

  "A pagan?" he exclaimed, blunt in disbelief.

  "You sophisticated folk are free with labels, aren't you?'

  "But—"

  "Estmere, I assure you, I do not steal about in the dead of night wearing feathers and paint and offering bloody sacrifices to crude stone idols."

  He couldn't help but grin at the outlandish image. "No. I hardly thought you did."

  "So. We both worship the Creator. But to me That One is y Duwies, the Goddess, Mother of us all. It's as simple as that." Not quite that simple, perhaps, but this was hardly the time for a lecture on theology. "Does that disturb you?'

  "Of course it does!" Estmere stirred impatiently. "Oh, not l
ike that; no matter what the priests insist, I know there's nothing demonic about the old beliefs. But to confess that you . . . men have died for such confessions."

  "I know."

  He stared. "And yet you would put your life in my hands. Curse you, Aidan, why are you so very trusting?" But I felt the bewilderment behind the anger, and I waited. At last Estmere said in a softer voice, "I never could be a . . . burner of heretics. And, as I say, sinful or not, I do know a little about your religion. If that's sincerely your belief. . . ."

  "It is."

  He held up his hands in resignation. I said quietly, "I promised you a vow:

  "If I have lied to you in either word or deed, if I have ever walked the Lefthand Path or used my Power for harm against man, woman or child, then may y Duwies grant me neither rest in this life nor rebirth into the next."

  It was about as serious a vow as one could swear. But I meant what I said. Estmere could only have realized that, because after a moment of the two of us staring at each other as solemnly as a pair of owls, he gave a shaky little laugh and sheathed his sword.

  "I said once you were unusual, but I never guessed just how unusual!" He hesitated, head to one side. "It's true, isn't it? You really don't want anything from me, do you?'

  "Your friendship."

  "Why?'

  "I have no human friends. The human side of me was lonely." Much to my surprise, I realized as I said it that it was quite true.

  "No human . . . you were lonely." He shook his head, but for all my brother's bewilderment, I surprised a certain hint of sympathy in his eyes. "There's never been an enchanter in the family," Estmere commented. "Ah . . . 'enchanter,' 'wizard'—what do I call you?"

  "Brawd?" I asked tentatively, and he laughed.

  "Yes, brother, of course, but—"

  "If you must have a professional term, swynwr, magician, is as good as any." I paused uneasily. "Am I still welcome at court?'

  "Of course. A magician is a useful friend for a king." His smile took the coldness from the words. But it wouldn't have taken magic to read the amazement still on my brother's face, and I chuckled.

  "Wondering what marvels I can perform?'

  He didn't quite draw back in alarm, but it was a near thing. "You can read minds?'

  "No, nothing quite like that!" I grinned. "Nor can I tell the future, nor 'tear the stars from their courses,' nor 'call up demons from the briny deep.' We-ell, I suppose I coula do the last. But I wouldn't."

  "God's blood, I should hope not!"

  "Estmere, 'useful' I may be, but are your people going to accept me for what I am?"

  "Those at court, you mean?" Estmere's eyes had lost their dawning humor. "You must keep your faith a secret. Worship as you please in private. But I will not have you used by my foes as an excuse for religious war."

  Chilled, I nodded agreement.

  "And as for anything else," he continued, "of course there will always be . . . conservative folk who disapprove. But you are my brother and I am the king. If I choose to set you at my right hand, no one will dare question my will."

  I gave him the formal little bow the situation seemed to demand. But I straightened abruptly, listening. . . .

  "Aidan? What is it?'

  "I thought . . . for a moment I felt something . . . no. It's gone now."

  "What's gone now?"

  "For a moment someone was eavesdropping. Psychically."

  "What!"

  I shrugged. "When I chased away the boar, I announced to the entire arcane community that a magician was in this region."

  "I . . . see." There was much to be said for regal self-control. Estmere must have been shaken at the thought of magic being alive in his lands, but he didn't show it. "Someone was curious."

  "Yes. Nothing more."

  He was still putting up an admirably calm front. "You would know about such things better than I. And if you're not worried . . ."

  "I'm not." Not unless there was to be an open threat. No. Not yet. But Estmere had been asked to accept so much that was fantastic, I couldn't push him any further. "There's only one thing left to do," I said, and watched his hand tighten involuntarily on the hilt of his sword.

  "What's that?'

  I grinned. "Why, catch your horse, of course, before the fool beast runs all the way back to Lundinia!"

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE ACCIDENT

  The sound of swordplay in the early morning air drew me to the balcony rimming the small courtyard. I looked down at a small swarm of courtiers and their servants, bright as so many spring butterflies, cloaks and tunics rich reds or blues or yellows, gems gleaming. To one side of the smoothly paved yard clustered some of the little royal pages, colorful enough themselves in their red and gold livery. They were fosterlings of noble blood, of course, learning the proper ways of the court, but those here now didn't look like anything but the children they were, all wide-eyed and chattering with excitement.

  Understandably. In the middle of that courtyard, laughing, their king duelled with one of his men. Most simply clad was Estmere in white tunic and dark hose in the warm air of late spring, and his hair blazed splendidly in the morning sunlight.

  I leaned on the stone balustrade, more interested in swordsmanship than fashion. The shieldless form of duelling my brother was practicing was all the rage in the land. It had only recently reached this kingdom, I'd been told, brought here across the Eastern Sea from the lands to the southeast, but it looked remarkably familiar to me, requiring as it did a much slimmer sword than the old cut-and-slash blades, one with a true point to it, and a different stance and quicker footwork. In short, it reminded me very much of what I had learned from Tairyn.

  Estmere was quick on his feet, supple and graceful and clever, a credit to what had been the finest course in weaponry in the kingdom.

  I rather pitied his opponent. The guard was no mean swordsman himself (presumably why Estmere was duelling with him, rather than with the Weapons Master; if you're to be any good with the sword, you must practice against as varied a group of opponents as possible), but the combination of worries—that he might accidentally hurt his king or (horrors!) defeat him—was working against him. Now Estmere was forcing him back, back . . . and suddenly the duel was over as my brother lunged in what would have been a killing thrust had they been fighting in earnest. The nobles instantly broke into polite applause, and I saw a quick spasm of annoyance cross Estmere's face: he knew his opponent had been duelling under a handicap. But my brother saluted the man in good-natured jest, and the guard, grinning in relief, bowed low and hurried off as soon as everyone's attention was away from him.

  Estmere must have felt my gaze on him. As a courtier solicitously draped a cloak over his shoulders, he looked up, brushing back damp strands of golden hair from his face, and saw me leaning on the balustrade. He gave me the same joking salute he'd given the guard.

  "Good morning, brother! Come and join us."

  Well? I thought. Why not?

  Maybe we hadn't yet been able to find a nonalarming way to show the court my magic; it wasn't the easiest of subjects after all. I could at least prove to these pretty butterflies this uncouth Cymraen knew which end of a sword was which. Estmere was waiting, smiling, as I hurried down the stairway to the courtyard, his sword still in hand. Handing the cloak back to the courtier, he asked me, "Care to try?"

  "Do you expect me to let you win? I shan't, you know."

  His smile broadened. "I know. And it will be a welcome change. Raulf is a fine swordsman, but he just will not believe I won't have him executed if he defeats me! Come now, let's see how they duel in Gymra." His eyes glinted with mischief. "No magic, though!"

  "No magic," I agreed, taking a sword from a respectful servant, testing the weight and feel of the blade, adding in surprise, "No edge!"

  "God's blood, I should think not! Don't worry, Aidan, these blunted swords can still deliver some painful bruises if you're careless." He stared at me. "Where did you get the idea w
e would use edged blades."

  I shrugged, embarrassed. "From the Folk who taught me."

  "The—oh. That Folk. They really don't use practice swords? Not even for training? You must have been a remarkably quick learner, brother!"

  I grinned ruefully. "Believe me, if you don't soon . . . ah . . . get the point, you get the point."

  Estmere raised a brow. "A sharp remark," he countered, "and a keen and cutting wit." As I winced, he added, "Come, let's to it."

  And—that duel was fun. Does the word sound too frivolous? It was fun, the two of us moving up and down that small yard like a pair of well-rehearsed dancers, so evenly matched for strength and speed and size that we couldn't so much as touch each other, our two styles of swordsmanship matching remarkably well. At last Estmere, laughing and panting, called a halt, lowering his sword.

  "Else we'll be at this all day, and—"

  A shrill scream cut into his words. We both whirled, he with a startled, "What in God's name . . ."

  It was the pages, the children, and when I saw what had happened, I threw down my sword and raced to them, a trail of excited courtiers in my wake.

  The pages were armed after a fashion, of course, everybody wears a dagger for this chore or that. I imagine the children had been imitating us, scuffling as youngsters do—

  And one little boy had stumbled and fallen on his knife.

  He was still alive, y Duwies be praised, and mercifully too stunned to feel pain yet; pain would be slow in coming to such a wound. But his eyes were wide and wild with terror, and his bewildered thoughts twisted and curled away from my touch like smoke. For a moment I longed for night, so that I might use the Faerie sleep charm on him. But as soon wish for the moon in my hand, so instead I set my will on the boy, overcoming the untrained resistance of the child mind, catching it with mine, soothing, soothing, till suddenly he was limp and unconscious in my arms.