I struggled to understand what I’d seen, and a seed of fear took root in my mind. I bit my tongue and put away my suspicion. I knelt, going to one knee according to the custom in Collum. Gael, Rory, Mirren, and Bolt copied me, but Herregina remained standing. She might have nodded in Boclar’s direction.
“Rise,” Boclar instructed.
But when I stood, his gaze was still fixed upon Herregina.
“I hadn’t counted on that,” I said to Bolt.
“You have to stop saying that,” he muttered. “It makes my stomach hurt.”
“Lord Dura.” Boclar rose from his chair without difficulty, buoyed on a tide of light. “I bid you welcome to Caisel.” Without warning a smile wreathed his face. “Bolt, I see you’ve finally managed to escape Pellin’s company. How did you do it?”
My guard shrugged. “I retired. Evidently that’s one of those decisions that the Eldest can unmake, if he wishes. He placed me with Lord Dura. I’m sure it must be penance for something, I just can’t remember anything I did that would warrant it.”
“Nice,” I muttered.
Boclar stared at me. If Laidir had the ability to measure a man with a glance, I could only say that Boclar did that and more, but at last he turned from me with a smile for Gael. “Lady, you grace us with your presence.”
“Your Majesty.” Gael curtsied.
“You are unknown to me,” the king said to Mirren. “Time is in short supply, else I would attempt to interpret your identity by your actions. Who are you?”
Mirren glanced at me and I nodded. “I am Lord Dura’s apprentice.”
I cleared my throat. “The most recent addition to the Vigil, actually.”
The king looked at me. “Truly? You found one of them.”
“We did.”
“I’m sure there’s a tale there, but it too will have to wait.” He turned to Rory. “I’d heard you’d taken an apprentice, Bolt.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said. “This is Rory. He’s still new to our company, but he’s already one of the deadliest men I’ve ever met.”
Herregina gave Rory another of those appraising glances that he went to some length to ignore. Then the king of Caisel turned his attention to her. “Your presence in this company is a surprise. Do I have the honor of addressing the rightful queen of Aille?”
She bowed from the neck. “Your Majesty. I am Herregina Gestaella, daughter of the second minister of internal protocol in the court of Cynestol.”
Boclar smiled. “The traditions of your kingdom are known to me, though I confess that I’m unfamiliar with the exact duties of the ministry of protocol.”
Herregina made a discarding motion with one hand. “It’s of no import, Your Majesty. Few outside the court of Cynestol would have any reason to know it. We spend an inordinate amount of time on matters of little consequence to keep ourselves out of trouble.”
The king laughed. “Well spoken, sister.” He turned to the rest of us. “You all look road weary, which I can only attribute to haste and, in these times, fear. Tell me, Lord Dura, what makes a man with your unique talents and gifts fearful enough to come to me in such haste?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Any hope of summoning the Fayit hinged on convincing Boclar of our need, and my ability to dissemble with him was probably about as close to zero as it could be. “We need to gather the kings and queens of the north, Your Majesty,” I said. “The defeat of the Darkwater depends on it.”
He glanced at Herregina. “That you would risk bringing the new queen of Aille here attests to the fact that you believe what you say, but that doesn’t make it true. How will having us all in one place accomplish our enemy’s defeat?”
At my side, Bolt leaned in to whisper to me. “I hope you’ve found a way to say this that doesn’t sound completely insane.”
Chapter 50
I hadn’t, but I decided it might be a good idea to offer a bit of explanation first. “As you know, Your Majesty, the gift of kings can’t be split, even though it’s been tried any number of times.”
Boclar nodded. “I’ve often wondered why that might be. In my experience, Lord Dura, there’s a reason for everything and I consider it the greatest frustration of my life that there are mysteries left unexplained. Are you telling me you’ve discovered the ‘why’ behind this particular one?”
“It’s still not going to sound good,” Bolt mumbled.
“Suppose you found yourself in circumstances you’d never encountered before, Your Majesty.”
He shrugged. “By strictest definition, that’s a daily occurrence.”
I smiled, but inside I was scrambling to find a way to lead Boclar to the same conclusion I’d come to without sounding insane. “Suppose, Your Majesty, you prepared for a distant future as best as possible, but at the last, you were uncertain of your descendants ability to survive. What would you do?”
To his credit, and my relief, Boclar entertained my question instead of laughing. “I would do all I could to ensure that my posterity might live.” He leaned forward to rest an elbow on one knee, a gesture that reminded me of Laidir. “Are you telling me, Lord Dura, that you believe the gift of kings is nothing more than a means of ensuring our survival?”
I nodded.
He gave me a thin smile, his eyes bright with the reflected light of the powder. “You’ve spent a lot of words trying not to say something that you’re going to have to say eventually.” He leaned back and waved a hand at me to continue. “Let’s suppose for the moment that the gift of kings is unique for the reasons you postulate—though you’ve yet to tell me exactly what those are. Exactly what is it you want us to do?”
I took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to work. I didn’t know the king of Caisel well enough to interpret his lack of expression, but it was impossible to miss the signs of impatience. “Suppose, Your Majesty—”
“Lord Dura, I find your repeated use of that phrase tiresome. Answer my question. Now.”
“Here it comes,” Bolt muttered.
I met the king’s gaze as best I could. “I want you and the rest of the rulers of the north to help me summon the Fayit.”
To Boclar’s right, Erendella gasped as if she’d been about to laugh and then thought better of it. Boclar held my gaze for the space of a dozen heartbeats while I tried not to look away. Then he did the same with Bolt, Gael, Mirren, and Rory.
“Lord Dura,” Boclar said, “your companions obviously believe you, but that is less convincing than you might think. The power of domere is difficult to overestimate. You hold in your hands the ability to destroy or change the memories of any man or woman you touch. What proof can you offer that does not involve the use of your gift?” He smiled. “Have you spoken with Fayit already?”
I nodded. “I have, and did for years without knowing it. The Fayit are the wardens of the Darkwater Forest, and they always have been. Cesla broke the first commandment, not to delve the deep places of the earth. He used his gift in the forest and by so doing he left himself open to evil. There is a prison beneath the forest, Your Majesty.”
“What evil is in this prison?”
“The losing side of a Fayit war that destroyed their world.”
Boclar made a show of looking around his audience chamber. “And where are the victors, Lord Dura?”
I lifted one arm. “We’re right here, Your Majesty. Most of the Fayit who survived the war surrendered their immortality, willingly becoming less than what they were. Aer told them to split their gifts, talents, and temperaments with each succeeding generation. Their diminishment forged a closer dependence on Him, and we became incapable of the evils they’d perpetrated.” Ealdor hadn’t shown us the sort of evils that had plagued his world. I didn’t really want to know.
The king drew a deep breath and released it slowly. The light in the room dimmed slightly and Boclar glanced at the bowl before he brought his gaze back to mine, squinting. “Lord Dura, you come to me with myths and fables and claim to be the sole person on
the face of the earth who comprehends the nature of the forest.” He leaned forward. “How would you regard such a man in my place?”
“I’d think he was insane,” I said, “but the fact that you haven’t rejected my story out of hand says much.”
Boclar’s thoughts might have been running in the same direction. “Just how is it that these captives are able to reach beyond their prison to infect those who go to the Darkwater, Lord Dura?”
Everything in Boclar’s demeanor told me I’d failed to persuade him. “I don’t really know, Your Majesty. When Ealdor, one of the last Fayit, gave me his memories, I saw wonders and terrors, but I didn’t see everything the Fayit were capable of. Their prison is made of pure aurium. Months ago, I saw an alchemist test a sliver from the forest with the strings of a harp.”
The king jerked. I’d finally said something that surprised him. “Can you verify this?” he asked Bolt. “Is there aurium in the forest?”
My guard nodded. “Years ago, before Lord Dura came into his gift, Elwin recovered a sliver of the metal from a dead blacksmith who had entered the Darkwater.”
He pointed at me. “Is there any possibility that this is a false memory implanted by Lord Dura to convince you?”
Bolt shrugged. “Anything is possible, Your Majesty, but he would have had to implant it in all the rest of the Vigil. He’s never delved Pellin or Toria Deel, and they’ve both referenced the metal. I don’t have the gift, but I’ve heard those I’ve guarded speak to this. Implanting memories is far harder than destroying them. Unless the new memory fits seamlessly with all the rest, the mind rejects it.”
Boclar’s expression settled somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “There is a universal law the liturgy never mentions. ‘Destruction is but a moment while creation takes a lifetime.’” Then he settled back into his chair, gazing through us as though we’d become nothing more than mist. Rory fidgeted. The rest of us waited, but time had stopped for the king of Caisel.
“Father,” Erendella said, “you’re considering this?”
He nodded. “I am. When you become queen, my daughter, you will find two tests of your ability to rule. The first is being able to withstand the tedium of your responsibilities day after day and still give your duties the best of your talent and attention. The second is harder. You must decide how to administer extreme circumstances with wisdom. Lord Dura’s tale is fantastic in the most literal sense of the word, but can I afford to ignore it?” He glanced at the polished brazier that lit the room. “How much time is left?”
“Possibly five minutes,” Helioma said. “No more.”
Boclar, his gaze still sharp and focused, settled himself and waved us to silence, during which he stared off into the space above our heads. Four minutes later, he spoke, his voice breaking the silence like stone hitting glass. “I’m sure you’re fatigued from your journey. I will have you conducted to quarters where you can refresh yourselves. I’ll have clothing brought to you while yours is cleaned. Now, I would have you depart. I have no wish for you to see my peculiar malady reassert itself.”
Erendella guided us firmly toward the door as the light in Boclar’s room faded. I didn’t look back.
“Is he sick?” Rory asked once we were behind closed doors.
I nodded. “There’s nothing about royalty that makes you immune to the human condition, but I don’t think he’s sick in the normal way.” I didn’t voice my suspicion. I needed Boclar, but now it appeared I needed Erendella as well.
Three hours later a dozen soldiers came with orders to conduct us to the king. The sunlight had faded, and we walked through the palace to the brilliance of lamps and candles. We bypassed court and continued east through the citadel. The guards had left us our weapons but provided no hint as to why. We were escorted down a slightly smaller hallway that ended in a pair of heavy doors. Men tall and broad enough to have stepped from legend stood watch. The soldiers escorting us stopped, and we were motioned forward into the king’s presence.
We entered into a circular room dominated by a huge round table in the center. Bookcases lined the walls, but they held fewer books than I would have suspected for any noble, much less a king. Other than a few other items, the room was surprisingly bare. Erendella waved us to seats around the table.
“I used to meet Laidir in his study,” I said to break the silence. “It was filled with books and contraptions so that there was hardly any room.”
Erendella must have caught something in my expression. “Of late, clutter distracts my father, Lord Dura.”
The doors to the side opened and the king shuffled in with the aid of two of his guards. The alchemist and her assistant came behind him, bearing the polished brazier, but once the king was seated they made no move to light it.
I looked to Erendella. “Why are we here, Your Highness?”
Her eyes flared, and a heartbeat later I realized my affront. I bowed to the king. “Your pardon, Your Majesty. As I’m sure you’re aware, the ways of the nobility are unfamiliar to me.”
Somehow, whether by palsied wave or glance, Boclar communicated his assent to Erendella to answer on his behalf. Her gaze was still hostile when she faced me. “You are here to place your petition before the rest of the kings and queens, Lord Dura,” she said, gesturing to seats around the table. “Please sit. It’s almost time to begin.” She reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a pink-tinged scrying stone that she placed on a base in the middle of the table. “If all goes well, all seven of the monarchs will be in attendance.”
I bowed without saying the presence of Queen Phidias of Elania was unnecessary. Of the seven rulers, she governed the only country that didn’t border the Darkwater, and while she held a gift and numerous talents, she was also the only monarch who didn’t hold the gift of kings.
We waited, and the time dragged by until I became uncomfortable. “Your Majesty?”
Boclar tried to smile, and a gesture that might have been meant to be placating sent tremors along his arm. Erendella spoke in his stead. “Rymark and Ellias begin the meetings since they hold command of our forces along the Darkwater.”
A hum came from the scrying stone, a vibration that prefaced a voice. “Are we all here?” Rymark’s voice came from the center of the table, diminished by distance.
At a nod from Erendella, the king’s alchemist stepped forward to summon light that filled the room with the sun’s radiance. Once again, I watched the king transform from a man trapped within the eroding confines of his own body to a confident, assured monarch. The fact that all of this seemed to be solely due to the burning of solas powder—the same concoction Myle had given me to fight Cesla’s soldiers—sent my stomach into contortions. I could only come up with one explanation. Sweat beaded and trickled down my back, and I prayed that I was wrong.
One by one, beginning with Ulrezia of Frayel, the kings and queens of the north offered perfunctory greetings. Herregina, on Gael’s left, leaned forward but demurred at the last moment, her gaze calculating. Clever girl. She would wait and take the measure of her fellows before she revealed herself.
Cailin of Collum spoke last. “I am here as regent for my son and rightful heir, Brod.”
“I’ll skip the usual pleasantries and obfuscations,” Rymark said. “We’ve been out maneuvered, Your Majesties. We’ve lost the inner cordon.” Gasps came from the facets of the stone.
Boclar nodded to Erendella, and she came to stand close to me and explained. “King Rymark split his forces to create an inner and outer cordon to shut off the flow of people attempting to gain access to the forest.”
“The forest erupted,” Rymark said. “In a single night, the entire inner ring surrounding it was wiped out almost to a man.”
“The battle is lost, then?” Ulrezia asked.
“Not yet,” King Ellias said, “but anyone who makes it past the outer cordon will have unfettered access to the forest. Cesla will have his reinforcements and he had more under his command than we expected.”<
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“Why did this attack happen now?” Boclar asked.
“We don’t know,” Rymark said, “but we noticed a change a few days ago in the tenor of our fight, when our main camp was attacked.”
Boclar nodded to his daughter who leaned in to speak to me. “Those who had been turned by the forest concentrated their attack on Kings Rymark and Ellias,” she said, “ignoring Toria Deel and Fess of the Vigil, even though they stood close by.”
Now I understood why Boclar had entertained my story. He already knew Cesla was concentrating his attack on the monarchs. He just hadn’t known why.
“For weeks, Cesla has been practicing a deception, gathering his forces in the forest until he could strike,” Rymark said. “The question becomes what has he been doing all this time? And why has he chosen this time to attack?”
Chapter 51
King Boclar leaned forward. “Perhaps Lord Dura will be able to shed some light on this.”
Rymark’s voice crackled from the stone. “Dura! What is he doing there?”
Boclar smiled. “He was kind enough to accompany Queen Herregina of Aille here to make my acquaintance.”
Voices erupted, each trying to shout over the other, and Boclar gave Herregina a wink. “You’ll discover being queen of Aille entails many duties and few pleasures. On rare occasions, I’ve been able to surprise my brother and sister rulers. I have to admit, I’m probably enjoying this more than I should.”
“What proof do you have that this is the true queen?” Rymark said.
“Lord Dura told me.”
“He told you?” Rymark asked. “That’s it?”
“I have no reason to doubt him, Your Majesty,” Boclar said. “I can guarantee that the unique requirements of his petition preclude deception in this regard.”
“Petition?” Suspicion filled Rymark’s voice.
Before Boclar could speak again, I leaned toward the stone. If the king of Caisel took offense, I would have to offer my humble apologies and hope for the best. “I believe I know why the enemy focused on you and Ellias during the attacks.”
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