Reality's Plaything

by Will Greenway

  He saw Wren’s shoulders slump with the weight of responsibility. He disliked her methods, but he respected the woman. He and Sarai had accused Wren of wanting to use them. Was it so bad to expect something in return for her aid? Irodee had asked, ‘what is your freedom worth?’; a question he had pondered ever since.

  Bannor watched the squall, the fury of the elements as they ravaged the landscape. What person wouldn’t be daunted by such forces? To have stood in their path this long seemed impressive in itself.

  Gods wanted him. Visions of creatures snapped up in Hecate’s jaws flashed through his mind’s eye. Men and women doomed to perpetual torment. The thought of Sarai suffering like that made his stomach churn.

  So far, Wren and Irodee were the only ones willing to help them. They were possibly the only ones who could help. No, he wouldn’t let Sarai change his mind. Wren might be irritating, but she would never subject them to the horrors those monsters would. It was a trade off, like any of life’s compromises.

  He gripped Wren’s shoulder. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. If there’s a way out, you’ll find it. I’ll do whatever it takes to help.”

  Her eyelids fluttered. “Please, Bannor, don’t try to help too much. It’s been Ishtar’s own luck that something hasn’t happened. Your talent is coming awake faster than I dreamed…” Her voice trailed off. “If something—” She paused. “Please save it for an emergency.”

  He nodded. “Is there a practice that can help keep me from using the power wrong?”

  “That’s what I’m writing in that book, observations about how your talent works, to suggest a way to train you. With few exceptions, savants are born able to control their abilities. Unfortunately, each one is different.”

  “You helped me astral travel, and in the healing—?”

  Wren held up a hand. “Little things tend to be the same. My power is mostly defensive. I used my talent all through my teens not knowing I was doing it. Only later did I find offensive uses for it.” She tapped him on the nose. “Your power is anything you want.”

  He swallowed. “Sometimes it’s dangerous getting what you ask for.”

  “Exactly. The night before last, you must have wished for us to have the power to move Irodee. Your talent blindly complied. Since you didn’t know how much it would take, you found a magic source and put it all at our disposal.” She shuddered. “We only needed a little telekinetic magic.”

  He rubbed his cheek. “So simply knowing exact methods and the consequences might be all I require.” He glanced at Irodee and Sarai. “An education in magic.”

  “That would keep you from accidentally using methods that are dangerous, yes. Controlling your thoughts, and the parameters of the power are the most important. That requires study.”

  “Whatever it takes. I don’t want to hurt people by accident.”

  “Good.” Wren patted him on the shoulder.

  He felt a twinge in his forehead. It made him wince. At first, he thought Wren might be doing something, but he noticed she had stiffened as well. It reminded him of the time on the gallows when they first met…

  Wren turned. “Damn. Irodee, Sarai take defensive positions. Someone’s coming.”

  Irodee stood, ducking to prevent bumping her head. “Wren, sure? The storm—”

  A rumbling bass cut through her words. “Is of no consequence to me, Lady Irodee.”

  Bannor stepped back pulling his axes from their loops as a figure loomed in the cave mouth. He stood taller than Bannor, the lines of his broad form seeming at right angles to one another. A cloak the color of blood trailed in the wind as he stepped out of the rain. His eyes looked cut from obsidian.

  Not a drop of moisture dampened his clothes. He held his hands away from his sides showing no intention of reaching for weapons.

  “Mazerak,” Wren’s eyes narrowed and she pulled her sword.

  “You know this man?”

  Mazerak grinned at Wren. “Well, Princess, an introduction?”

  Wren’s lip curled. “Bannor, this is Mazerak, savant of Storms. One of the few I lost.”

  Lightning cracked outside and Bannor saw the bolts reflected in the man’s eyes. “Quite so.” Mazerak glanced toward Irodee and Sarai. He folded his arms. “I have come to strike a bargain.”

  * * *

  Royalty. An interesting concept conceived by mortal minds.

  Their kings and queens wish it to be believed that they are divinely charged with the task of ruling. That such fallow creatures expect to get the same respect accorded an immortal demonstrates the extent of their arrogance.

  They quickly learn different when they are in the presence of a real queen.

  —From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

  Chapter Fourteen

  « ^ »

  Bannor gripped his axe and stared at Mazerak. The storm outside had quieted as if echoing the dark man’s calm demeanor. A new odor competed with the musty cave stench: spice-oil skin fragrance. Bannor wrinkled his nose. He knew a dandy when he smelled one.

  The cave felt cooler now, more so with Wren glaring at the intruder. Bannor felt certain that if he’d been caught under the assault of those flashing blue eyes, he would have left this place and never returned. The tautness of Irodee’s body and the way she moved to protectively shield Sarai said she respected Mazerak.

  A savant of storms

  Bannor met Sarai’s gaze. She smiled. He guessed more to reassure him than anything. Her face hardened and she gripped her dagger tighter.

  A grin split Mazerak’s dusky face as if this were all a jest. He shrugged the blood-colored cloak off and draped it over his arm, brushing at his spotless blue vest. Flipping a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed his nose. “Smells like a privy in here.” His gaze dropped to Wren’s sword. He raised an eyebrow. “Certainly you won’t attack an unarmed man?”

  Wren sniffed. “Since when does a savant need a weapon to be dangerous?” Her tone made Bannor’s nape prickle.

  Mazerak rolled his eyes. “Come now, I am here to parley. There will be opportunity aplenty for fighting.”

  Bannor broke in. “Wren said you were one of the few she lost.” He put his axe back in the catch on his belt. “What did she mean?”

  Mazerak rubbed his chin. His hands were manicured, the nails glossed and perfectly cut. “Bannor, isn’t it?” At his assent, he continued. “Actually, she never had me. I chose the winning side over her. Being a fugitive didn’t appeal—beastly existence.”

  Bannor frowned. He leaned against the wall and shifted his feet. He kicked dust on the storm savant’s shiny black boots. The dark-eyed man looked down and narrowed his eyes. Lightning cracked outside and the hiss of the wind increased.

  “Coward,” Wren muttered.

  “I resent that inference. I am practical. What this lady considers bravery is closer to suicide.” He ignored their looks and bowed to Irodee. “Lady Irodee, you no longer wear a maiden’s braids. So, you must have brought a young one into the world. I trust that bounder, De’Falcone, is treating you right?”

  Irodee eyed him the way she might a venomous snake she planned to crush under her heel. She nodded curtly.

  Wren growled. “This isn’t one of your courts. Say your piece and get out.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “I knew I shouldn’t have expected manners from you, Wren, once a peasant…” He shrugged.

  The lady savant reddened. The cave seemed to grow cooler, if that were possible. Bannor suppressed an urge to smile. Mazerak seemed to know where Wren’s dragon was chained. Bannor found it difficult envisioning this fop as one of the enemy.

  This fellow wouldn’t save his own mother if it meant getting dirty.

  “Manners remain foremost, even when faced with negotiations in such dreadful environs.” He sniffed and dabbed his nose again.

  “The exit is that way.” Wren pointed out to the storm.

  Mazerak made a dismissing gesture. Bowing, he held his hand out to
Bannor. “Lord Mazerak Duquesne.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Captain Bannor Starfist.” He gripped the man’s hand borderland-style, thumbs interlocking.

  Expecting to feel an effeminate hand, it surprised Bannor to find he held rock instead. Pampered and pretty this savant might be, but not soft. Mazerak met his grip and clamped down until it hurt.

  Bannor pulled back. He sensed Wren’s gaze probing Mazerak’s every movement and nuance.

  He smiled. “That’s how you westerners do it, isn’t it?” He peered toward where Sarai stood. “You brought another along, did you not?”

  Frowning, Sarai stepped from behind Irodee and folded her arms.

  Mazerak’s eyes widened. He dropped to one knee, soiling his silk breeches. “Your pardon, Ladyship, I did not know.” Mazerak glared at Wren. The first enmity he’d shown. “Such indecency should be beneath even you. Keeping royalty in a cave, and unheralded at that!”

  Mazerak appeared truly outraged. Bannor glanced at Sarai. Her brow furrowed. She had stiffened at his words. To Bannor, the reaction wasn’t because Mazerak exaggerated—but because he’d revealed a secret.

  Bannor’s throat tightened. Royalty?

  “Cretins,” Mazerak grumbled. “I shall hang them myself. If I had known I would not have let those slavers—”

  “Enough!” Sarai snapped. Her tone rang with command. “Don’t prattle. Do We know you?” The way she straightened and stared at Mazerak, she seemed much taller. With Sarai’s shoulders square and eyes blazing, Irodee no longer looked so huge standing next to her.

  Mazerak swallowed and stood. “We met at a banquet in Coormeer, your Ladyship.” He cast another withering glance at Wren. Her face looked like stone. Bannor wondered what she was thinking. “It’s been twenty summers. Father and I greeted your delegation. Your mother wore that stunning ruby dress that had all the matrons sputtering. It was—”

  Sarai held up a hand. “Yes.” She growled. “You wore that silly gold feather in your hat.”

  Mazerak winced. “Pardon, I assure you it was quite in fashion.”

  She snorted. “We are certain.” Sarai came and put her arm through Bannor’s. “Get on with it. What is this deal you wish to deliver?”

  Royalty. The word echoed in Bannor’s brain. A princess? He always sensed she was nobility, but never imagined so highly placed. What hurt is that she’d kept it a secret from him so long. They were going to be married next season. What was she planning on telling him? Oh, by the way, my One, there’s going to be a few more guests than expected.

  Sarai gripped his arm as if she could wring the knowledge out of him.

  Mazerak grimaced. This mission no longer seemed to appeal to him. “This is not right, your Ladyship. You shouldn’t be here. Not with her.” His gaze flicked to Wren and his voice dropped. “A princess of Malan should not be—”

  Sarai interrupted. “Lord Mazerak, are you implying that We can’t be where We please? Speak your message—or is it an ultimatum?”

  “No, your Ladyship, I wouldn’t presume—” He gulped, his dark eyes glazed like those of a trapped animal. Obviously, realm politics mattered as much to him as his duties for the avatars. Bannor could almost see the thoughts whirling in his head. “Her highness, Hecate—”

  “Faugh.” Wren made a spitting sound.

  Mazerak stiffened. “Her highness, would like to express her apologies. She wants it known that the actions of certain fanatical elements of her order were not personally ordained. She is willing to overlook the damages inflicted during the conflicts providing that there is no further interference in church business.”

  “Overlook the damages inflicted on her!” Wren shouted. “What about the damage to me! Where’s the restitution for the fifteen summers of my life and ten more of being hunted by fanatical elements? Don’t insult our—”

  Sarai broke in with a ringing voice. “Wren! Desist!”

  The lady savant stopped, mouth open.

  “We have heard your half of this story. Let Mazerak,” she seemed to deliberately leave out his title. Bannor saw the man’s mouth twitch. She paused and lowered her voice. “Let Mazerak have his say. We do not need your counsel simply to listen to this story.”

  Bannor looked at her. How could he have missed this part of Sarai? Doubtless she’d concealed some from him, but his own blindness seemed more at fault. He never saw her as capable of demanding obedience like that and getting it. He didn’t think anyone could make Wren shut up. Sarai had also lapsed into using ‘We’. He assumed she meant the royal ‘we’ and wasn’t referring to him and her.

  Being of royal blood explained some questions he’d asked himself on occasion. Where did Sarai learn to ride so well, or find the extraordinary teachers that taught her proficiency with so many weapons? How did she come by such extensive knowledge of Malan’s people and the borderlands? Why did the few elves they met show her such great respect? He wanted to flog himself. Not once did he wonder why she steered them away from elven contact and refused to cross the border into Malan.

  Bannor the blind. Sightless and stupid, he deserved all the surprises that had been thrust on him. He’d been so lovesick these past months, he could have tripped over a mountain and not noticed.

  “Well, Mazerak, go on. Tell us how your gracious lady plans to show us her generosity.”

  Irodee stepped next to Sarai and folded her arms. The look on her face spoke as loudly as any words. This the Myrmigyne had to hear.

  The lord looked as if he’d eaten something sour. “Your Ladyship, they did not know of your involvement. The church would reconsider if they knew.”

  Sarai’s tone could cleave steel. “You came to deliver the message, Savant. Do it.”

  “This is preposterous. I want no part of—”

  She clapped her hands once. “Speak!”

  Mazerak gripped his throat as if that clap had been a headsman’s axe descending. “Forgive me. The edict is that Wren and her allies will go unmolested and you will be allowed to live if Bannor comes into our fold.”

  Wren looked stunned. “They want you bad, Bannor.”

  Sarai scowled. “We will be allowed to live? Allowed, Lord Mazerak? How would her highness like it,” she spat the word ‘highness’, “if Malan supported Wren’s efforts. How would she like it, if the throne proclaimed that all kingdoms harboring her highness’ minions would no longer receive Malanian mithril, food or border support?”

  Bannor let out a breath. He now understood Mazerak’s reluctance. His kingdom would be one of the first to suffer for insulting Malan. The Malanian kingdom was powerful in magic. Even the huge province of Corwin wouldn’t dare awaken the sleeping dragon of Malan’s army.

  Mazerak held up his hands. “They didn’t know, your Ladyship. Let me talk with them. I am certain they will see their error and be ready to negotiate something more suitable.”

  “You do that.” Sarai stepped forward and punched a tiny fist into his chest. The blocky man recoiled a step. “Don’t let them think they can kill Us or kidnap Us again.” She held up her hand and a glowing red sphere appeared there. “You know of the Malanian mind seal. I can send it faster than any knife or magic can silence me. Mother will know what has happened. Trust me, Coormeer will be the first to feel her displeasure.” She clapped her hands. “Be gone.”

  All the color had drained from Mazerak’s face. He bowed stiffly and whipped the cloak over his shoulders and headed for the exit. He stopped and glared at Wren. “You can’t keep getting lucky forever.”

  Wren’s smile never touched her eyes. “You heard the princess, Lord Mazerak. Be gone.” She made a shooing gesture. “Toddle off, and take your blasted storm with you.”

  He scowled at her a moment then stalked off into the downpour. Not a drop of rain hit him.

  How does he do that?

  Sarai watched the man leave. She went limp against Bannor and let out a breath. “I am glad that’s over. It should buy us a few days at least.”

  Bannor frown
ed. “Why didn’t moot—?” Sarai’s hand clapped over his mouth.

  “Things happened very fast, my One.” She took her hand away and rose on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Please let me think about what I’ve done. We may now be in more trouble than before.”

  Wren turned from watching Mazerak. Her eyes widened. “Sarai, please tell me the throne approves of you being here.”

  Sarai shook her head.

  Wren pointed at Bannor. Again, a negative. Wren put her face in her hands. “Splendid, bloody splendid.”

  His brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

  Wren swallowed hard. “Your mate,” she choked on the word. “Is a royal fugitive.” She peered warily at Sarai. “No doubt she refused an arranged marriage.” At Sarai’s steady gaze, Wren continued. “That means that if they catch us, the Malanian throne will throw us in the dungeon for assisting her. They’d be even more unpleasant with you.” She shuddered. “Not good. Mazerak will eventually wonder why half the Malanian cavalry wasn’t chasing after Sarai when those slavers caught her. He’s going to inquire in Malan. Ishtar, what a knot this all is.”

  Bannor focused on one thing in all of that explanation. He took Sarai by the shoulders and turned her to fully face him. “You’re marrying me so you don’t have to wed someone else?”

  Sarai scowled and pushed his hands away. “That is a horrible thing to say, Bannor. It is beneath you to even think it. I kept my ties to Malan quiet for many good and proper reasons. What you don’t know, you can’t accidentally give away. I refused to be part of Father’s barter marriage to that pig son of King Tradeholme’s. It’s an old tradition and its been broken at least half as many times as its been upheld. It simply takes time for things to calm down. Mother knows I’m all right. I’ve had letters couriered to her regularly.”

  “But—will they start scouring the southern borders when they find out you’ve been seen?” Wren asked.

  Sarai paused. “Probably. Father will want to spank some sense into me if nothing else.”