by Barbara Howe
And then there was Master Sven, Flame Mage. The entangling wires did not touch him, and his moral code was a good deal better than Sunbeam’s alley cat ethics. He would take this conspiracy seriously, if anyone would, and would know what to do. I gazed at him, as enthralled as when I’d considered him a hot marriage prospect.
Beorn’s bellow interrupted my silent prayer of thanks. “Too bad you don’t like it. We’re doing it anyway. Meeting’s over. Get back to work.”
René left first, through the fireplace, after giving me a long stare brimming with curiosity.
Hey, big sister, should we get you some pearls?
Don’t be ridiculous. I’m still a fire witch, and if you don’t believe me, wait until tonight. I’ll blast your butt all the way to Blazes from the top of Storm King.
Yeah, right. Nobody answered my question. What did the Frost Maiden do to you, and why?
Later.
Later when?
We’re meeting with Master Sven tomorrow morning for a session on spellcraft. I’ll tell you both then.
Okay, but it better be good.
Better than you dare imagine.
Sven took the distraught Sunbeam by the arm and guided him towards the door. Sorceress Lorraine had spoken about water magic’s powers of absorbing and soothing. Was there anything I could do to soothe the old warlock?
I went to him and took his hand, murmuring platitudes I’d learned at my mother’s knee about fire wizards bringing change. He responded, his agitation diminished and flowed into me. Not to make me agitated, but rather to be absorbed into my reserves of power, to draw on whenever I needed.
Sunbeam squeezed my hand and thanked me. He and Sven left. I stood by the door in a daze.
Flint noticed me on his way out and checked. I snapped out of my daze.
“It’s your fault,” he spat. “Women oughtn’t to be warlocks. It’s not natural. Or maybe,” he said, shooting a sly look at Jean, “somebody who can do what you’re supposed to be able to do, and I’m not saying you can, maybe that somebody isn’t a woman.”
“Maybe somebody who burns his wife,” I said, “isn’t a man.”
He flamed me.
I saw it coming. I would have used my shields if I had not just had the experience with Sunbeam. But some other instinct took over, and I dropped the shields, letting him flame me unprotected. As with Sunbeam’s agitation, the power flowed into me and I absorbed it.
I had no time to enjoy Flint’s outraged stupefaction. Jean grabbed me and spun me around.
“Irresponsible idiot,” he barked, giving me a hard shake with each word. “Where are your shields? Has your fighter training been for naught? When will you learn to protect yourself?”
I knocked his hands away. “It’s the water magic,” I said, in a voice a Frost Maiden would have been proud of. “He didn’t hurt me. He gave me power, and I could throw it back at him.”
Jean was livid, his voice shaking. “Did you know that when he flamed you?”
“No, but I trusted the water magic.”
“Fool.” He turned away in a blind fury and slammed into the side of the fireplace. “A warlock cannot trust water magic, or a sorceress. Nor, apparently, one’s own wife.” He disappeared in a tower of flame so intense the room echoed with the noise.
The Warmth of a Warlock’s Touch
In my ignorance, I had believed members of the Water Guild defective, lacking the natural warmth of Fire Guild members. Funny I had never noticed cold’s defensive properties. Jean’s fury, blocked by a wall of ice, did not hurt me. It wounded my pride a little, but that was all.
Cold reason argued Jean’s anger was justified. I hadn’t known what the water magic could do for me, and Flint could have roasted me. Cold reason also acknowledged it must have been a dreadful shock to see his fire witch wife transformed into a semblance of the water sorceress who had tormented him for more than a century.
Cold reason was cold comfort. Thunder rumbled from Storm King, and I winced. When the ice thawed, I would be a wreck.
I surveyed the conference room. Sunbeam’s overturned chair. Jean’s cinnamon roll, a single bite taken. The tray, still more than half full. Beorn sitting at the table, watching me.
“Where’s Flint?” I asked.
“I tossed him out on his ear. Told him this time to apologise in person.”
“He won’t be back for a while, then.”
“Years, if we’re lucky.”
I slid the tray along the table towards Beorn. “Have one. As peace offerings go, they didn’t amount to much.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I like them, even if Jean doesn’t. But I don’t get it. You ought to be crying, or throwing lightning bolts, or something. What gives?”
I sat down across the table from him. The cinnamon rolls repelled me. I shoved the tray away. “It’s the water magic, blocking things out. Or maybe I’m in shock. I’ll cry, later.”
“Looks like water magic to me. Now about that—”
“I know. I shouldn’t have accepted her offer. It was a mistake.”
“Like hell. What you did was damned impressive, and you’re as cool as a water witch. If the Fire Office wouldn’t throw a tantrum, I’d beg Lorraine to do it to me, too.”
“Really? Why?”
“I could use some help keeping calm.” He tugged at his beard for a while before continuing. “Lucinda, I’ve got something to show you. I showed this to Jean after you got back, but I figured you had enough problems then you didn’t need to see it. I’ve changed my mind, and—”
I looked daggers at him. “I have less on my mind now?”
“No, and that’s the point. When you’re getting bad news, get it all over in one go. It’s easier to deal with in one big steaming pile than a never-ending series of little piles.”
I pushed away from the table. “I don’t care. I’m sick of problems, and I’m sick of secrets. Keep it to yourself.” I turned around before I was halfway to the door. “Forget I said that. I am a fire witch; I have to know.”
He grinned and waved at the fire. “Atta girl. This was right after the riots. Watch.”
An image of Beorn, the ruby in the Token of Office throbbing with red light, grew from the fire. He stepped out of a fireplace in the royal palace. King Stephen didn’t give the exhausted Fire Warlock time to wipe the sweat from his face.
“What in God’s name is happening?” The king’s voice sounded an octave higher than normal, and shaky. “A mob killed the Black Duchess. Why weren’t you in Blacksburg, protecting her?”
“I don’t like what happened either,” Beorn said. “But not even a warlock can be in two places at once. I was cleaning up the riot at the Green Duke’s palace when the other one started.”
“We’re not supposed to have two riots at once,” the king screeched. “We’re not supposed to have any riots. You’re supposed to be in charge of protecting the upper class and keeping the commoners under control. Why aren’t you doing your job?”
Beorn’s face, already flushed, turned a deeper red. He loomed over the king and barked, “Now see here. That’s not my job. My job is protecting Frankland from its biggest threats. Right now those are idiots like the Black Duke who wouldn’t back down even after I chewed him out three times. If you want the nobles shielded you’d better start telling them to shape up, because the next time something blows up, I’ll burn nobles as well as commoners.”
The king screamed, “You can’t do that.”
“I can, if the Fire Office is convinced they’re threats to the country’s security, and after back-to-back riots it’s gotten there. Besides, I’m sick and tired of protecting highborn halfwits.”
“How dare you call my kinsmen halfwits? They’re not responsible—”
“Damn right. They’re the most irresponsible lot this country’s ever seen, and
shouldn’t be in positions of authority to start with.”
The king blinked at the Fire Warlock, his mouth open. “I meant they didn’t cause the riots. You should find out who is responsible, and burn him.”
Beorn and the king stared at each other for a long moment, nose to nose, before Beorn said, “Didn’t your parents ever tell you to be careful what you ask for, for you will surely get it?”
The king looked unnerved. “What do you mean?”
Beorn’s whisper was as hot as a glowing coal. “I mean, the unrest has been building ever since your great-great-something-grandfather stopped taking the oath to be the king for all the people of Frankland. You’d better reconsider what you just said.”
“If things get worse,” I said, “you think the Fire Office will decide King Stephen himself is the biggest threat to Frankland’s security.”
“Yep,” Beorn said. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Would that be so bad? Without Stephen, Crown Prince what’s-his-name—”
“Justin.”
“Yeah, him. He would become king, and he’s too young to rule by himself. If we got someone with some sense—a mage, say—appointed as regent, things would get better, wouldn’t they?”
Beorn shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. The nobles would only accept another noble as regent, and none of them other than the queen have any sense. But you’re missing the point. What happens to Stephen?”
“We’ve put kings out to pasture before. Several went senile, and one went mad in his thirties.”
Beorn shook his head. “The Great Coven made provisions for lunatics and simpletons. There’s no way to force a king to retire, otherwise.”
“But if the Fire Office makes you… Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. If the mandate to protect Frankland from its biggest threat comes into conflict with the mandate to protect the king, then what?”
My mouth went dry. The prohibition on making threats against the king was drilled into everyone in Frankland, from earliest childhood. No one dared risk the Fire Warlock blasting them to kingdom come for treason over a casual remark. Despite the July heat, I shivered, and shook my head.
“Well, then,” he said, “If Stephen calls down the wrath of the Fire Office on his own head…”
I let out a gusty sigh. “Nicely put.”
“These are Jean’s words. He’s better than me at figuring out what we can and can’t say.”
“Right. Go on.”
“The opposing mandate may kill the Fire Office’s agent for obeying the Fire Office’s own orders.”
I hugged myself until I stopped shivering. “But that’s guesswork. We’ve never gotten into this situation before, so we don’t know…”
“You sure?”
I jerked upright. “What? Well, of course. Even during the Scorching Times, when the records are most fragmentary, we have histories of the succession of kings. Most kings died of old age. There have been only a few that…” I stopped, mouth hanging open.
“That what?”
“The most recent Scorching Time started when the Fire Warlock and the king died together in one massive blast. We went through another pair of warlock and king before the Scorching Time ended.”
“Yep. And since they didn’t live to tell the tale, we don’t know what led up to those blasts.”
The water magic was helping me keep my temper, but it wasn’t doing much for fear. I drew my legs up and curled into a ball. “Not another Scorching Time. Please, God, anything but that.”
“Yeah, that’s what scares me. Maybe we won’t have to find out—it takes a hell of a lot to push the Fire Office that far. But when it does… I haven’t named a successor.”
“You should.”
“René’s only fifteen.”
I said, “There aren’t any good choices, are there?”
“No. René’s powerful enough, but he’s still a kid, and will be for years yet. Sunbeam can’t understand how bad things are. He’d sit on his thumbs and do nothing until the Office forced him to burn the rioters or get charred himself. Flint…”
“He’d burn everybody he could, for the fun of it.”
“In either case, law-abiding people die.”
I said, “That leaves… He’ll hate it.”
“You got that right. If I weren’t Fire Warlock, he’d torch me for suggesting it. I don’t like it either, but there’s no way around it.”
“We don’t know enough about the spells in the Fire Office’s core. Will it work?”
“Of course it’ll work. Jean named me his successor, and that worked.”
“I meant, we don’t know if I can wish him out of it a second time, when René’s old enough.”
“What? Oh, you thought… Forget it, Lucinda. None of the Offices will let someone serve a second time, unless there’s no other qualified adult available.”
“How do you know that?”
“It wouldn’t take, when I tried to name him my successor.”
“You what?” I yelped. “Damn you!”
“Whoa.” He backed away. “Like I said, it didn’t take.”
“Good.” Then the implications sank in. “Oh, no.”
“There’s nobody else, Lucinda. With a little ice in your veins, you’ll be better at keeping your temper, and less likely to flame out than Sunbeam or Flint. And you’ll have Jean around to help out.”
The first time the suggestion was made that I might someday be Fire Warlock, I had fainted. I stayed upright this time. Fainting wasn’t worth the effort.
He said, “When I talked to Lorraine this morning, she wouldn’t tell me why she’d offered you the gift of cold water, but I figure she’s trying to hold off the next Scorching Time, too. And she couldn’t wait until you’re Fire Warlock, because then the Fire Office wouldn’t let her. I told her we owed her, big time. Never imagined I’d say that to a water witch.”
“Can naming me your successor be revoked if—when—we get through this mess?”
He nodded, and I said, “Go ahead and do it, then. I’m so terrified of the unlocking, appointing me your successor won’t make it worse. Odds are I won’t live long enough for it to matter.”
He intoned the magic words, then picked up his hat and walked to the fireplace. “I’m meeting the other Officeholders—we’re going to tell King Stephen about your decision. You watch. From now on, keep an eye on all my dealings with him, so that you’re ready, if it happens.”
Fire bloomed in the middle of a courtyard, sending guards scattering. The Fire Warlock and Mother Celeste, arm in arm, stepped out of the fire. Behind them, Sorceress Lorraine and Enchanter Paul stepped out of a fountain. The quartet walked together in silence through an archway, past guards with rolling eyes, into an audience chamber where the king and his advisors waited. The stones in the Tokens of Office sparkled, sending flashes of coloured light bouncing around the room.
King Stephen sat on a throne on a dais with his advisors seated beside him. There were no other seats. The four Officeholders halted in a line before the dais. The king glowered. “You’d better have a good explanation for why the Fire Office shields failed Lord Edmund.”
Beorn growled, “He wasn’t shielded. Warlock Quicksilver and I showed you yesterday what happened.”
Sorceress Lorraine said, “Your Majesty, an unshielded minor noble’s death is of little consequence.” She rode over the king’s attempted interruption in her chilliest voice. “That is not why we are here. Both the Fire Warlock and I have warned you we intended to someday rebuild the Water Office. That day is upon us. On the first of September we will take it apart.”
The king gaped at her. His agitated advisors cawed like a murder of crows. He waved them to silence. “You can’t do that. This is Frankland. The whole world admires our stability. Nothing ever changes here.”
Sorceress
Lorraine said, “Your Majesty, change has already occurred. Two years ago, the Warlock Locksmith released a lock rendering the Water Office impotent. Now that it is stronger it is obvious to all the Water Office is broken.”
“Then put that infernal lock back where it belongs. You, Fire Warlock, one of your witches released it. Make her put it back.”
Beorn said, “No dice. The Water Sorceress and I can work together now, and it’s better for the whole country. We’re not going back to fighting each other.”
The king snarled, “It’s obvious why you don’t want to. You’re conspiring to steal power from me.”
In her firmest parental voice, Mother Celeste said, “No, Stephen, this is not so. You, your father, and his forbears have given power away. The kings’ greatest power came from the love and respect of his people. You forfeited that power when you abandoned the commoners.”
The advisors’ clamour grew to an uproar, with shouts about lies and nonsense. The king waved them into silence once more. He glared at Mother Celeste.
“You witches and wizards think you can make me take that damned oath, but I know better. I won’t let your magic force me to do what you want. You still have to take orders from me. Your Offices demand it, even if you don’t like it.”
He leaned forward, teeth bared, staring at Sorceress Lorraine. “I order you not to touch the Water Office.”
Her cool expression did not change. “This is not your domain, Your Majesty. The Office of the Northern Waters must be fixed, and I will do so.”
“Then make sure you fix it so the riots stop,” he screamed at her, “or the Fire Warlock will burn you and the whole Water Guild for threatening the country.”
Beorn glared at him. Sorceress Lorraine shook her head.
The king leaned back and crossed his arms. “I order you to come to the royal palace when you’re through with your so-called fixing, and show the nobles what you’ve done. Reassure them the country’s not going to hell because of your tampering.”
The four Officeholders exchanged glances in silent agreement.