Wary of alienating this young lord, who outranked him and the strength of whose influence with Mirvanovir's duke he did not know, Brescom took the offered seat and related the fight and capture of Morna's castle, the march to Castle Lir and its besiegement in plain military terms. Blaise listened without interruption, sometimes closing his eyes, so that when his recital was done, the earl was unsure how much he had really attended to it. His next words dispelled the notion that he had not listened.
"Alwyn is dead then?" Blaise asked without looking at the earl.
"Yes, he died in battle."
"And what of Idris? She was Morna's baroness and niece to our now deceased regent."
"She's here," was Brescom's reply.
"What? You're joking?" Blaise, who had been leaning back, slouched in his chair, straightened and looked directly at the earl with disbelief. "Why did you drag her along? Couldn't you have left her in Morna locked up under guard, or sent her back to Greystone?"
Exasperated as he had become with the young duke, Brescom managed a steady voice as he answered what he considered to be a question that Blaise had no right to ask. "There are too many people loyal to her to be able to safely leave her in her own lands. I could not risk chancing her escape and raising an army at my back. My orders from Lord Niall were to strike through Morna and get to Castle Lir as quickly as possible. To send her back to Greystone under guard was, I felt, inadvisable in view of the distance they would have to travel with the children."
"Children?"
"Three. All under ten years of age."
"It sounds as if you are collecting quite a nursery in camp," Blaise drawled with something just short of a sneer.
"She is a very valuable prisoner, your grace," Brescom reminded the young man before him, keeping his temper in check. "Their merit as hostages outweighs any inconveniences they might cause."
"Oh I dare say she is, but to carry her along like excess baggage with the army...never mind." Blaise waved his hand to summon his personal adjutant standing near the doorway. "My head is not feeling better! Go tell that physician to brew me something that actually works," he snapped angrily. "That's all for now Larth Brescom; I'll see you in the morning." With a wave of his hand, he summarily dismissed the Earl of the Inner Ward.
Lord Brescom left quickly, secretly wishing the Duke of Tuenth's head to be split asunder like a rotted melon.
The next morning, things did not go quite as Blaise had so confidently predicted they would. The troops were drawn up into formation beyond bowshot range, facing the walls of Castle Lir in the subdued light of a cloudy morning. From the tops of the walls, curious and mildly apprehensive looks had been cast by the castle's defenders. Brescom sat pensively, waiting with his men for the duke's arrival. Having waited until the stage was set to his liking, Blaise rode out with his standard-bearer and down the line in front of his troops. An adjutant came forward to take the duke's horse by the bridle when Blaise dismounted, and the duke turned to stand before the castle. Nervous silence enveloped the armies on both sides of the walls. Blaise's own troops, who had actually seen him at work, were only slightly less disquieted then their brethren, who only knew from whispered rumour what was about to happen. On the main gate-tower, Ian and Griswold turned perplexed expressions on one another.
Striding forward so all could see him, though still remaining a cautious distance from the walls, Blaise took several calming breaths and began the process of reaching inside himself for the key that would unleash his power. Feeling the by now not unfamiliar sensation at the base of his skull of something pushing from within, he tapped into it and directed its energy at the walls before him. Nothing. Thinking that he had not released enough of his hold on the power, he tried again to direct the tremendous force he felt welling up in him towards the stone walls. A slight tremor shook the ground and a few loose bits of mortar shook loose and slid down the wall. A froth bubbled from between his lips as he felt something resisting him. For the third time he tried, this time throwing the whole of his will into the effort. The world went black.
He became conscious to the inner scream of a headache that left him retching over the side of his cot. Opening his eyes brought blinding stabs of light and colour that made him long for the oblivion of unconsciousness. A towel, cool with water, was laid over his forehead and it seemed that its weight would crush his skull like the cracking of a shell. Determined to master himself, he pushed an elbow underneath him and strove to sit up. The blackness lasted much longer this time.
His next surfacing to consciousness was not pleasant but it was bearable. Sitting beside him was his personal physician who helped raise him up off his pillow and gave him something thick and noxious from a spoon, followed by a long drink of plain water. Lying back, Blaise oriented himself and ventured to ask for details. Embarrassed to be the one to tell him, but seeing no way to avoid the task, his physician described as tactfully as he could Blaise's fall into a faint before the walls of the castle and his being carried back to his tent as Lord Brescom ordered the troops to step down.
Blaise avoided the inevitable confrontation with the earl the rest of that day by refusing to leave his bed. His bruised ego was not yet up to the further humiliation of hearing Brescom's no doubt unpleasant opinion of the matter. Also, Blaise wanted time to think about what had happened and to analyze it. He was certain that he had tapped the power correctly, just as Rashara had taught him to, and as he had done so successfully a few days previously. The only reasonable explanation for his failure was that there was an arcane power of some kind within the castle capable of resisting him.
By the next morning, Blaise had recovered enough of himself to no longer feel mortified, only angry and in a mood to do something about it. He had not finished eating his breakfast when Lord Brescom was announced. In a foul humour over having been defeated and made to look foolish twice in one week due to arcane machinations, the earl stomped ungraciously into Blaise's presence and gave the most perfunctory of bows.
"So, have you got any more magic tricks to entertain us with today, your grace?" he inquired sarcastically. "Yesterday's was very impressive."
Wiping his mouth on a napkin, Blaise regarded his fellow general with a cold stare. "Yesterday was unfortunate, but my powers were not to blame."
"Oh yes, your wonderful House Power which was supposed to bring the castle walls tumbling down at our feet," Brescom openly jeered.
Blaise rose to his full height, half a head taller than Brescom though nowhere near as broad as the older man. "I think that you are forgetting yourself, Earl of the Inner Ward."
Brescom stared balefully at Blaise. "You may be a duke, but my pledge of loyalty is to Mirvanovir. I suggest you come down off that high horse of yours before someone topples you from it!"
The pale brown eyes under their shaggy, iron grey brows fixed themselves belligerently on Blaise's scornful green ones. The young man's mouth twisted into a chilling smile as he stared down at the earl. When my Lady Rashara and I sit on the throne of the Pentarchy you will dearly regret this little outburst, Blaise thought to himself. Curbing his ire, Blaise turned his back to the earl and retired to his chair.
"Sit down," he commanded the other man, pointing to a chair. When Brescom continued to stand, Blaise simply shrugged. "I thought at first that my failure might have been due to being over-tired," he said without preamble. "But I am now convinced that there is an arcane power residing in the castle which prevented me from moving the ground beneath the walls. You said that arcane means were used against you and your machines the other day, do you know who wielded the power?"
"No," was the monosyllabic response.
"You didn't see anyone on the walls or towers?" Blaise probed.
"No."
"Whoever is using arcane energies in the castle must be unusually strong to be able to resist a House Power, so I don't think they've got just an arcane adept up there," he mused in a thoughtful voice.
"Why not?" Brescom tried not to soun
d interested.
"Because arcane adepts utilize what is called High Magic; the House Powers are based in what is known as Old Magic," Blaise explained.
"How do you know about this clap-trap?" Brescom was still in a contentious mood.
"I have studied," was the vague reply. "And I do wield the House Power of Tuenth," he added. Not wishing to have the earl ponder too long on where and with whom he might have studied, Blaise went on. "Do you know if anyone who is blood-related to House Langstraad is in the castle?"
"As far as I know, the duke regent is the only relative of House Langstraad in there."
"It can't be Hollin's cousin, he's from the distaff side, a de Medicat."
Brescom shook his head. "In that case, there's no one. The late duchess only had two cousins on her mother's side and I know for a fact that neither of them are in the castle." His brow creased as he thought about what Blaise was asking. Suddenly the lines vanished and a glint came into his eyes. "If you're sure that this is House Magic, then I may be able to put a name to who's behind it," he said. Blaise raised his eyebrows. "Creon's daughter, the little chit that caused the scandal last spring in Pentarin, was married off to Ian de Medicat earlier in the summer," he pronounced in smug tones.
"Damn! You're right! That has to be the answer. It slipped my mind, but it is the logical explanation." Blaise lost himself in his own speculations.
"What do you intend to do, then?"
Blaise permitted himself the slightest of smiles. By the tone of his question, it was evident that Brescom was at least still open to his ideas. "Lady Idris and her brats may be of use yet," he said to the earl.
"You think to trade them for Creon's daughter?" Brescom stood, pondering the wisdom of this move. "They might just go for it," he finally judged. "Lady Idris is a vassal of Langstraad and very popular within the duchy. There will be many, some fled from Morna itself, within the castle who will be eager to have the lady and her children back. Creon's daughter, however, is newly come, and not too popular from what I've heard. They even say that Lord Ian shuns her and her bed. If this is so, they may not be over reluctant to let her go. Still," he added after more thought, "if they trade her away, they will no longer have the use of her powers to aid them."
Blaise thought on this. "They might not even know that it is she who is resisting. Indeed, we still don't know for sure. But we must do something, and if it turns out that we get the girl and find that she is not the source of power, we still possess a valuable hostage."
The earl nodded in agreement. "Lord Niall might be well pleased to have Branwilde's daughter at hand, should Branwilde prove recalcitrant. I will go and order the demand to be drafted and delivered."
In the private study that she had appropriated for her own use in Pentarin Palace, the Duchess of Mirvanovir stood waiting anxiously while the shimmer before her eyes slowly coalesced into a seemingly solid form. It was a complicated spell, rendered more difficult since neither she nor he who cast it wanted its casting to be detected. The figure, life-sized, emerged to not quite stand on the carpet in front of her. Robes of deepest blue concealed his body, so that his head with its long, pale face appeared to be floating by itself. Dark hair fell to his shoulders, held in place by a thin circlet of silver that gleamed in the light from where his true body stood. Black eyes, sharp and piercing, were set on either side of a long, thin nose. The face could never be construed as handsome or ugly, young or old, it was a face filled with craft and intelligence and something that took it far beyond the ordinary.
"Greetings, Master Malvasius," Rashara welcomed him.
"Greetings to you, Rashara de Sharonnara." The lips of the image moved, but the voice sounded only in her mind.
"Thank you for answering my summons," she began.
"Why have you called?" he asked, coming immediately to the point.
Used to his abruptness and dislike of roundabout formalities, she replied briskly, "There are questions that I would ask of you."
"And what would you ask?" His face betrayed no emotion.
"Are Colin and his wife still at the Scholastium?"
" Dinea has remained here in sanctuary, but Lord Colin has hired a ship and is sailing for Iscoed."
She tapped her foot, her only gesture of concern. "When did he leave?"
"Two weeks ago."
"The mage masters still refuse to help him?" A look of calculated pleasure crossed her face as she asked what she patently assumed to be a rhetorical question.
Folding his thin mouth into the prim lines of a schoolmaster, Malvasius took to answer her. "As I have explained to you, the Scholastium's charter strictly forbids interference in the Pentarchy's affairs. Kyledyr has ordered that this injunction be strictly obeyed by all members of the Scholastium. No one will come to Colin's aid, though there are those who are sympathetic to his cause. Ciaran is especially swayed in his direction."
"Will he actively help him?"
"No, but I think that he advises Colin to seek out a member of House Sandovar to petition for our support."
Rashara shook her head in negation of his words. "There are no members of House Sandovar! Prince Brian is lost and not likely to ever return."
Faint lines of amusement creased the corners of his mouth at her reaction. "Colin goes to ask Gervase Iscoed to make the petition."
"What?" Rashara's exterior poise wavered in her consternation. This possibility had not yet occurred to her. When she had contacted her old master to discover the whereabouts of the Viscount of Treves and his wife, Malvasius had told her of their arrival and Urien's reply to their request for sanctuary and aid. She had put the problem of the two noble adepts aside then, thinking them cornered in Dacara for the time being, and concentrated on Blaise and the unlocking of his inherent House Power. Like a cat hunting mice, she had assumed that they had been run into a blind corner and was now very disconcerted to find that there was a hole in that corner.
"If Ciaran has done as much for them, does this mean you are equally free now to aid me?" she asked with a sudden glimmer of hope.
He shook his head, the dark hair swinging free. "Ciaran gave them advice, an idea, that is all. He understands the neutrality issue, just as I do." The eyes were implacable and she knew that it was hopeless to try to move him.
As a student at the Scholastium, one of her instructors had been the mage master known as Malvasius. For many years she had studied under him as well as other, more advanced adepts, and the other mage masters. Malvasius had taken a special interest in her, at first because she possessed an exceptional talent and later, because she was willing to experiment with some of the darker aspects of arcane knowledge that repelled or frightened the other students. She had never understood all of the motivations that went into her relationship with Malvasius. Her long years of association with him, though, had taught her that while he might have private sympathies and even be willing to engage in practices not wholly condoned by others of his brethren, he would never act against the Scholastium or against the archmage.
Thoughtfully she paced before Malvasius' image. "You will not take my side and aid me then?" It was a great irritation to her, knowing that the mage master would communicate with her but refused her his aid.
"There is no choice." Neither relief nor sorrow could be detected in his reply. "Tell me about Blaise of Tuenth?"
This abrupt change in their conversation did not catch her off guard. She knew that one of the reasons Malvasius continued to remain in contact with her after she left the Scholastium was her marriage to Lord Niall. Malvasius had a fascination with the House Powers and was interested in learning all he could about them. Over the years, Rashara had loyally passed on what little she had been able to find out from Niall. In her last exchange with Malvasius, Rashara had discussed Blaise's latent abilities and how they might be unlocked. The mage master had supplied her with some important information that he had come across in the Scholastium's archives regarding the House Powers and, adding it to her own observa
tions, they had formulated a possible way to tap into the energies. Malvasius' involvement was based solely on his personal quest for knowledge; the politics and personal entanglements of the situation did not interest him at all.
"He has proved an apt pupil," Rashara remarked. "But then I have found him willing and able to do many things. He pleases me well." She smiled provocatively at Malvasius' image. Perhaps because the mage master had never evinced any amatory feelings for her, Rashara took pleasure in occasionally flaunting her own passions.
"He has left Pentarin for Langstraad then?" As ever, Malvasius chose to ignore what did not interest him.
Rashara laughed good naturedly at his refusal to be baited. "He left over a week ago. I do not think that he is in total command of his power, but he can wield it." A sober look came over her features. "It was very tiring work to find and release the potential in him. He was cooperative, but when I tried to work with the power through his own mind it forced me to lose my link with him."
Malvasius nodded his head, as if what she said affirmed some supposition of his own. "From my studies and what you have told me, I deem the House Gifts, or Powers, to be exceptionally hazardous. I wish that you had not let him go. It would have been better for you to have continued to keep him under observation."
"Well, he has gone," she replied tartly. "Need I remind you that we are engaged in a war to secure the throne? If you had seen fit to join us, you could have kept him under observation yourself."
"I can't, and I won't, and there is an end to it." There was an icy quality to the mental voice. "I must return to my duties here. Contact me when Blaise of Tuenth returns. Until then, you are on your own. Good-bye to you, Rashara de Sharonnara." The image began to fade and dissolve as he broke the spell.
The Pentacle War: Book One - Hearts In Cups Page 36