“Not at all.” Wardin squared his shoulders. “I’m saying we should find some soldiers, and fight off his army with those.”
“No offense, War,” said Arun, “but have you missed the fact that all the soldiers in Eyrdon belong to Tobin now?”
“For the moment,” Wardin agreed. “But they’ve chafed under Tobin’s rule long enough. We can rally the Eyrds. I can rally them.”
A woman behind him scoffed. “Draven Rath’s son?”
“Rude as Joan may be,” Alaide said with a sharp look past Wardin, “she’s right that out there, they don’t know what your father did for us. His is not a memory they cherish.”
“They might not flock to the banner of Draven Rath’s son, but I’m also Lional Rath’s nephew,” said Wardin. “My name will still mean something. Particularly if we can add others to it.”
“What others do you have in mind?” Conrad asked.
“I’m told that Pate Forthwind went into hiding after he was wounded in the war. He was one of my uncle’s most valued commanders, and one of his best friends.” Wardin cleared his throat, glad for the dim light that hid his flushing cheeks. “There were even those who called for Pate to rule Eyrdon instead of my father, when my uncle died. I’ve no doubt there are still Eyrds who would fight for him. And if I had him at my side, they would trust me. We can unite them. We can stand against this enemy.”
“Are you saying you want to declare yourself as the heir, and rise up against the Harths? Now. In the midst of all this.” Erietta’s face was inscrutable, and Wardin couldn’t tell whether the hard edge to her voice was respect or disapproval. Perhaps she didn’t know herself.
He smiled at her. “Can’t think of a better thing to fight over, can you?”
Before he could judge her reaction, she turned toward Bartley, who’d stood to speak again. “Much as it delights me to see you acting the prince,” he said in a tone that indicated anything but delight, “that is a ridiculous idea. Even if Pate is still alive, you won’t find him and raise an army before Tobin finds us.”
“No harm in trying though, is there?” Arun asked with a shrug. “While we keep working to stay hidden, I see no reason Wardin shouldn’t go out and stir up some support for us, in case it comes to a fight. Surely doing everything we can is our best hope.”
“Nothing would make my heart gladder than to agree with you,” said Erietta. “Or to see Wardin take up the banner of his house and banish the Harths from this kingdom. But what happens when Tobin’s men catch him while he’s out there?”
“I won’t be caught,” Wardin said tightly, and there was that prickling in his legs again. As if they longed to rush out the gate that very instant.
“No?” Erietta raised her chin. “Tobin’s men have a sketch of your face and the promise of a reward, and they are crawling all over these mountains like beetles. If they should by any means—magical or otherwise—trace you back to us, then they’ve won.”
Wardin narrowed his eyes at her. “Then send a contriver with me, to disguise me and conceal us both. I’m sure I could find a volunteer.”
A few people murmured, but Erietta shook her head. “I’d go with you myself, if I thought it would help. But it’s too risky.” Her eyes flicked down to his clenched fists, then back up to his tight jaw. She gave him a look that was almost pleading. “It’s not just you, Wardin. People who wish to stay hidden must hide. We shouldn’t allow anyone to leave right now.”
“Except the students,” said Eldon. “They ought to be sent home immediately.”
“No. Not even them.” Bartley shrugged at the frowns and mutters cast in his direction. “Call me ruthless if you like, but we were discussing the weakness of the tunnel door only moments ago. Every one of their hands is a threat to us. Anyone, of any age, who can get in and out of Pendralyn should be kept inside this valley.”
“He’s right.” Arun cleared his throat, perhaps trying to rid himself of the foul taste of agreeing with Bartley. “Even apart from the door, sending the students home now is a bad idea. An undue number of travelers in this part of the country will draw too much attention. They’ll be stopped and questioned. That’s dangerous for all of us, including them.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Erietta crossed her arms. “I take your points. And I agree with them, for every adult here. But I won’t force children to stay if their parents would rather take their chances on the road.”
“There are things we can do to help them get home safely,” Eldon added. “We’ll use tricks, we’ll cloak them. We’ll—”
“We’ll defend them!” Wardin’s shout startled several of the magisters. He didn’t care. They needed to be roused. There was a heat in his chest that he’d never felt before, like a creature struggling to get out, and with it came both restless energy and unwavering certainty. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be a prince.
“It’s the only way,” he said. “Yes, time is short. I would dearly love more of it. To finish my training, to rally as many people to the cause as I can. But it seems I’m not going to have that luxury.” He scanned the crowd, eyes hard. “If the Harths are coming now, we have no choice but to be ready for them.”
“This is foolishness! Nobody leaves.” Bartley sneered at Wardin. “Most especially you.”
“Most especially me?” With rapid strides, Wardin moved into the aisle, toward the smaller man. “Care to come and tell me why?”
His words were almost lost in a swell of voices. Half the magisters were standing, arguing with one another. Bartley stepped forward to meet him, lip curled.
“Enough!” Erietta glared at all of them until they sat again. Wardin, scowling back at her, was the last to take his seat.
She stood calmly, hands clasped behind her back, until the crowd quieted. “I believe we all know our options. Headmagisters, do you agree to abide by the wishes of the majority?” Alaide, Eldon, and Bartley all indicated their consent. “Very well. Please stand if you are in favor of forbidding anyone to leave Pendralyn, apart from those specifically and temporarily sent to Avadare to reinforce our defenses.”
Wardin saw immediately that the number of people who stood was greater than half. The heat in his chest seemed to spread to his limbs, his throat.
Erietta looked around the hall, face unreadable, then nodded for them to sit. “And those in favor of sending either the students or Wardin—or both—away?”
Wardin sprang to his feet, followed by Arun. Many of the magisters, Alaide and Eldon included, joined them. But not enough.
Erietta nodded again. “We have our answer.”
The others sat and began to whisper and mutter, but Wardin remained standing, eyes fixed on Erietta. “You have your answer. But I don’t answer to you. And you’re making a mistake.”
The look she gave him was possibly the most sympathetic he’d seen since he’d arrived, but her words were no softer for it. “Perhaps. But it’s ours to make.”
“Is it?” He straightened, taking full advantage of his height. “I am your prince.”
It was difficult to tell for certain with the shadows crossing her face, but he would have sworn that look in her eyes was pride. Perhaps even admiration. But she shuttered them quickly. “And I am the archmagister.”
“You cannot hold me here.”
“Perhaps we can. Perhaps we cannot. But if you wish to have the loyalty and aid of Pendralyn in the conflicts to come, Highness, you will not force us to find out.”
17
Erietta
“I hear the young prince is none too happy with you.” Jasper’s smile twisted into something nastier. “Doesn’t like answering to anyone but himself, I suppose. Princes can be like that.”
Erietta followed the innkeeper into a cramped, low-ceilinged room containing only a small table and four chairs, and a barrel of mead in the corner. Three wooden mugs sat atop the table, a shaft of weak light from the single window highlighting the dust floating above them. Not an especially comfortable space, but it was i
solated. Nobody had any business in this part of The Dark Dragon except Jasper himself; any footsteps they heard would serve as a warning.
“Why don’t you like him?” She dropped the cloaking spell that had shielded her arrival from any prying eyes. “Did you know him before? I can’t remember.”
“Not really. I was just coming into my last year when he started at Pendralyn. But I remember the day he arrived. And his whoreson of a father, swaggering in ahead of him.”
Erietta gave Jasper a hard look as she handed him the basket she’d been carrying. “Draven Rath saved Pendralyn. Never speak of him like that in my magistery. Here, I brought you some honey cakes.”
“As we are not in your magistery, I’ll call him what he was. One good deed does not make up for a lifetime of bad.” Jasper pulled the cloth back from the edge of the basket and inhaled deeply. “And thank you. You can’t get honey cakes like this anywhere else, you know. Doesn’t matter how the rest of us try. It’s the orange peel. Even I can’t get oranges more than once a year, at best.”
“You’re a sage,” she said with a teasing smile. “All you have to do is learn the replication spell.”
He snorted as he set the basket down and picked up two mugs instead. “Do you have any idea how difficult that spell is? Of course you do, you’re the archmagister. I’ll wager you don’t have more than two or three who can do it, if that.”
Erietta took a seat near the window, where she could watch both the door and the rocky hillside that loomed over the south side of the inn. “In any case, you can hardly blame Wardin for his father.”
“Don’t need to. I can blame Wardin for Wardin, and that’s plenty to get on with.”
“Why?”
Jasper shrugged and bent to open the tap. “I remember him, walking around Pendralyn as if he owned the place.”
“Well, he was a member of the royal family. You might argue that he did own the place.”
“Always pushing the rules, always getting into one kind of mischief or another.”
“I was party to the exact same mischief.” Erietta bit her lip to suppress a laugh as she recalled the three of them, sodden and out of breath and horrorstruck, the day they discovered the vividrakes. “It was usually Arun’s idea.”
“But you’re a lot prettier than Wardin.” Jasper handed her a mug and grinned. “Makes it easier to forgive. Try that, we made it right here at the inn. Quite excellent, if I say so myself.”
She sniffed the mead, then tasted it before giving him an appreciative nod. “That is good.”
“No need to sound surprised. I’ll be back shortly.” He returned to the door and paused, hand on the latch, to roll his eyes. “You know how Ned is. I’m to meet him in the common room and cloak him, so anyone who saw him come in will only remember him stopping for a drink, like any other day.”
“Well, perhaps he has a good reason to be careful. We shouldn’t dismiss anybody’s worries right now. Or their information.”
“No harm in caution,” Jasper agreed. “But what are the chances of Ned knowing something we don’t? Nobody has seen soldiers in Avadare. Or anywhere within miles of here.”
That much was true. The village had been quiet in the four days since they’d heard the Harths were scouring the mountains. Magisters had been dispatched periodically to speak to the villagers, cast spells to sense traps, or simply sit in the inn and listen to what the patrons were saying. None of them reported anything suspicious. Erietta used only a small number of her most trusted and skilled people for such assignments, and never gave them leave to be gone for more than an hour or two.
Wardin was not among them, and Jasper was right: the prince was furious. Since the meeting in the old hall, they’d spoken only in mutual glares. Erietta did her best to cling to her own anger and disappointment; it was easier than admitting she’d been too hard on him, or that his contempt hurt her. According to Alaide, he was throwing himself into his studies with a new vigor, desperate to learn as much magic as he could to prepare for the conflict he was certain was coming. Or that he wished to instigate.
Arun was likewise absent, shut away in an attic room at the sage hall, throwing himself into his attempts at enchanting. Erietta worried for his balance, and insisted on daily reports from the students who brought him his meals. They assured her that he was unkempt, distracted, and irritable—but perfectly sane.
She could only imagine how much more outraged Wardin would be if he knew that she’d secretly written to those parents she was confident she could get messages to. He would never forgive her, if she allowed students to leave while denying her prince the same opportunity. Many of the magisters would be equally unforgiving. They would see it as weakness, and as putting them all at risk.
But she would be the one who couldn’t forgive, if any of the children were hurt or killed, and she hadn’t so much as informed their families of the danger. Erietta would not steal their choice. She’d rather accept the magisters’ loathing—and Wardin’s—than loathe herself.
In any case, that was a problem for another day. Letters were slow-moving things, traveling from villager to shepherd, shepherd to villager, until they reached their destination. None of hers would have been delivered yet. If any of the parents came to fetch their children home, that was a circumstance she would deal with as it arose.
Erietta’s brooding was interrupted when Jasper returned with Ned. The latter was flushed and fidgety, plucking at his jacket and the small bundle he carried. His close-set eyes darted around the room as he bobbed his head in greeting. None of this behavior was alarming, as it was Ned’s usual state.
“Good to see you, Ned,” Erietta said. “You look well.”
“I wouldn’t say well.” Ned sat down and set his bundle on the table, keeping one hand atop it. “Be on your guard. You may not be the only ones interested in what I have to say.”
“Don’t worry. You’re safe here.” As she spoke, Erietta began a spell to detect hidden enemies. It wasn’t the most precise magic, but she should at least feel something, if scouts or soldiers descended on the inn. Most likely Ned’s faintheartedness and imagination had gotten the better of him; it would hardly be the first time. But she wasn’t prepared to take any chances.
Jasper set a mug of mead in front of Ned. “Shall I wait outside the door?”
“No, you can stay.” The older man took several gulps of mead. Erietta knew better than to hope it might steady his nerves. “But only the two of you. You can’t tell anyone else. Those magickers—”
“Magisters,” Jasper corrected.
“Whatever you call them. I can’t trust them.”
Erietta pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. He wouldn’t take kindly to it, if he thought she wasn’t taking him seriously enough. “But I’m one of them.”
Ned shrugged and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “That’s different. You’re the leader. Tobin will flay you alive if he catches you, and that’s an excellent reason for you to keep what I tell you from falling on the wrong ears.”
The same could be said of any of the magisters—given the opportunity, the Harths would likely kill them all—but she saw no reason to waste time arguing the point. “Fair enough. What is it, then?”
“I have the solution to your problem. A way to keep your magistery hidden from enemies for good.” Ned carefully pulled away the cloth from the object on the table, revealing a book bound in stained, cracked leather. “I never went to the magistery, of course, but my grandmother did.” He squared his bony shoulders. “She was quite skilled.”
“And this is?” Jasper nodded toward the book.
“Her journal. I was reading it, see, and I found—” Ned broke off with a sharp cry and recoiled against his chair, hard enough to knock it over backwards. With much clattering and groaning, he tumbled to the floor. Jasper jumped up to help him.
“The window! There’s someone outside!” Ned pushed Jasper away. “Don’t worry about me, I can get up on my own.”
&nbs
p; Erietta was already at the window. She opened it as Jasper came to join her, and they stood for several moments, silent and still, scrutinizing the slope outside. There was no sound. Nothing moved.
But that didn’t put her at ease. A prickle of warning crept up the back of her neck. Her spell.
“I think he may be right,” she whispered to Jasper. “I think there’s an enemy … somewhere. Hiding.”
“How close?”
“I can’t tell. But I think we ought to finish this meeting quickly.” She resumed her seat and put on a bright smile for Ned’s benefit. His whole face seemed to be trembling, and she didn’t want him crying out again, calling attention to their location.
“There’s nobody out there now.” She leaned forward and put her hand over his, hoping he couldn’t feel her racing pulse through her skin. “Still, it’s best to be cautious. Perhaps we shouldn’t be together for long. May I take the journal back to the magistery to study?”
Ned snatched up the book and held it to his heaving chest. “No! I won’t let you take it from me!”
Erietta sat back and sipped her mead, pausing to give him a chance to calm down. And to do the same herself; her flesh was crawling now, from her shoulders to the top of her head. Whoever it was, they were getting closer.
Jasper fingered the hilt of his dagger as he eyed the door. Erietta still heard no sound from the hall. If it was a scout come to spy on them, it was a skilled one.
She leaned forward again, holding Ned’s gaze with her own and speaking in a slow, steady voice. “Ned, I don’t want to alarm you. But it may be that somebody has followed you here, after all. We don’t want to be overheard, do we?”
He shook his head with a whimper.
“It would be a great help if you would allow me to borrow it. Then we can all be on our way. I’ll return it to you tomorrow, I promise.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re lying. You don’t think anyone is spying on us. You think I’m a coward and I was seeing things. You just want the journal.”
Forsaken Kingdom (The Last Prince Book 1) Page 19