The Child Prince (The Artifactor)

by Honor Raconteur

  “Excellent shot,” Axelrad praised. “Have you been practicing behind my back?”

  “But of course.” Bellomi beamed at him.

  The captain chuckled softly. “Well, we can’t stay here longer. What say you? Shall we continue the competition at Massart’s house?”

  “I think that a splendid idea.”

  No one stirred until well after noon, not with the events of the night before. Sevana made a very late breakfast (lunch?) and left it sitting out on the table, available for whenever people dragged themselves from their beds. As she had absolutely no intention of dealing with the massive amounts of reports and things to go through, she headed straight for her workroom and instead dealt with the pile of work orders that Kip had piled up on the table. Dealing with that took a good portion of the day, so it wasn’t until midnight or so that she finally got through with the business-related work.

  She entertained an idle thought or two of perhaps retiring to bed, but she didn’t do more than get her feet off the table before Sarsen gave a quick knock on her door and stepped inside. “Ah, good. You’re still up.” Without invitation, he came all the way in, plopping himself on the bench next to her with easy familiarity.

  Sevana hadn’t seen a soul today before he walked in, and so had just enough curiosity to ask, “Is everyone else still sorting through all of that?”

  “What else do you expect?” he responded, half-amused. “Although they did cheat at one point. Hana had me come in and use a key-word spell to sort through the truly relevant ones. She’s got them in nice, tidy little piles now.”

  “The girl’s becoming a magpie, I swear.”

  “But she’s an organized one,” Sarsen agreed, eyes crinkling. “I stuck my head in there just now, and I don’t think it’s going well. There’s some very unhappy faces in that room.”

  Sevana rubbed at both eyes with thumb and forefinger, resisting the urge to sigh. “I don’t think anyone’s expecting good news. They’re just holding their breath to see how bad it really is.”

  “Hmmm,” Sarsen agreed noncommittally.

  Another knock came at the door, and as usual, Aren didn’t wait for a response before just stepping inside. Sevana watched wearily as he came in and also sat without invitation. The man just couldn’t develop the habit of asking for permission, could he? It had taken a direct threat from her before he even learned to knock!

  “Sevana, Sarsen,” he greeted, sitting down in the sole remaining chair. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

  Something important, judging from that expression and tone. Curiosity piqued, Sevana silently waved for him to continue.

  Aren leaned forward in his chair slightly, elbows braced on knees, posture and expression radiating intensity. “I come to you with this not because I want a magical solution but because I need your minds. Artifactors are known the world over as the most intelligent, talented, and resourceful people. You cannot hold the positions that you do without possessing a very sharp intellect. I need that now.”

  Sevana gave Sarsen a glance, and the look on his face confirmed that he knew just what the king had come to them for, as she did. “You want us to find and entrap the person who attacked you and Bel.”

  “Yes,” Aren said simply, voice rough and husky.

  Sevana took in a deep breath to buy herself a second to think. Aren had hit the nail on the head—this problem didn’t have a magical solution. She had already tried to track down the person who cast the spell only to have that idea backlash in her face. When that didn’t work, she had nothing left to try. The trail for this crime lay ten years cold after all. This would indeed be a mental challenge, although they might be able to use a few magic tricks to gain the information they needed.

  A good challenge had never scared Sevana. She enjoyed them, actually. Sometimes the job of Artifactor became tedious because people constantly requested the same spells and potions over and over and she grew tired of the repetition. Part of the reason she’d picked up Bel was simply for the challenge. So she smiled at Aren with wicked anticipation.

  “Sounds fun. Sarsen?”

  He sported the same feral smile, teeth flashing white in his dark skin. “I’m in.”

  Aren’s eyes closed in a gesture of relief. “Thank you.”

  “Let’s start with the basics of what happened,” Sarsen suggested, already pulling out a miniature shell from his breast pocket. He set it on the table and tapped it three times on the apex with his forefinger.

  “What is that?” Aren asked, pointing a finger at it.

  “Ah, it’s an Endless Shell,” Sarsen explained easily. “They naturally record the sounds of the ocean, so we’ve learned to adapt them to record any sound that we wish it to. It’s part of how we gather spell elements, usually. But I like to use it for moments like this, where it’s too much of a hassle to take notes.”

  From the expression on Aren’s face, he really wanted to have one as well, but since it took a magical person to operate it, he’d have to keep wanting. Sevana moved them along before he could get the idea permanently lodged into his head. “Alright, I know Bel’s story. He told it to me the first day he came here. But what is yours?”

  “I honestly can’t tell you when I was cursed,” Aren admitted sourly. “The spell worked on me so gradually I didn’t notice until it was too late. I had passing thoughts of talking to someone about what was happening to me, but I could never follow up on the thought long enough to move more than a step before that thrice-cursed spell re-focused my attention. But I started to tinker more and more in my workshop about a month or so before Bellomi was cursed.”

  Interesting. Bellomi had said it was longer than that. This might be a simple matter of ten year old memories and a different perception, but Sevana made a mental note of it regardless.

  “His curse of course diverted my attention for a time, but after I set Pierpoint to solve the problem, I felt a compelling need to be in my laboratory.” Aren briefly buried his face in both hands. “If my wife had still been alive at that point, she’d have had my head for neglecting our son.”

  No doubt. If she hadn’t been cursed as well.

  Aren’s forehead furrowed as he concentrated. “Those early days I remember clearly, but it becomes progressively murky after that. I don’t remember much after I ordered Pierpoint to focus on Bellomi’s curse. I remember he was worried about me, for some reason, but he couldn’t ignore an outright command from me.”

  He should have, Sevana couldn’t help but think.

  “But I don’t remember ever following up with him about it, or him reporting to me his progress. A few members of the council came to see me in the laboratory, and I remember responding to their inquiries into several matters, but I don’t think I left that room after that.” He shifted, agitatedly, growing progressively more upset as he spoke. “I stayed in there, sometimes resting in a chair, or eating a tray that was brought up to me, but never leaving. And then my thoughts and energies were poured into whatever ideas I’d thought up or sketched out and just didn’t have time to build. The next thing I recall that was different than that routine was Bellomi coming to take me away from that place.”

  That didn’t give them much in the way of information, much like Bel’s story. Sevana gave a little growl of vexation. “And where was Axelrad during all of this?”

  “Oh, he retired a good year before Bel was cursed.” Drawn out of his moroseness, Aren looked back up. “He didn’t want to, but the man should have retired a good five years before, so I rather forced him. Now I wish I hadn’t. He would never have let things go as they did.”

  No, he wouldn’t have. But the attacker might well have been waiting for the extremely loyal captain of the guard to retire before attacking. So Axelrad remaining in his position would have done nothing more than delay the inevitable.

  “You said several Councilmen came to see you in those early days,” Sarsen said slowly, wheels turning in his mind. “Which ones?”

  “
Hmmm. Now, let me think.” Aren’s eyes strayed to the ceiling as he tried to recall. “Bauwens, Clasessens, Goethals, Massart…I remember seeing Delhaye once. Oh, Lernaire came once as well, although I don’t think he said anything to me, just hovered near the door.”

  “So, six men out of a council of thirteen.”

  “Clasessens and Goethals came several times and voiced concern over my reclusiveness,” Aren added thoughtfully. “They were always the most loyal to me. I don’t think they had anything to do with it. Bauwens and Massart were famous for sitting on the fence and siding with whoever they thought would give them the most advantage. I don’t think they were behind the attack, but I’m sure they took advantage of it. I’ve never been able to tell what side Lernaire was on, or if he’s on a side at all.”

  “And the rest of the Council?” Sarsen asked.

  “You can lump them all into the category of ‘greedy, ambitious men with no scruples,’” Aren responded sourly. “I wouldn’t put anything past them.”

  While Sevana had to agree that the culprit was probably a Councilman, she had been taught by Master to never assume anything or look at a problem with too narrow a focus. “Outside of the Council, who are your enemies?”

  “If I started listing them, we’d be here most of the night,” Aren grimaced as if he had just bitten into something rotten. “In short, anyone that’s connected to the Council with the same greedy ambitions, anyone that doesn’t agree with my policies, and anyone that I’ve denied promotions to in the past twenty years.”

  Sarsen hummed in a deep, thoughtful way, as he was wont to do when contemplating something. “I don’t think we should focus on who, Sev. Too troublesome, too wide of a field. We should focus on how. How many people could afford to hire a magician of such high caliber that even you couldn’t trace him? How many people could manage to sneak him in through palace security not once, but twice, in order to curse two different highly guarded people? That is where we should start.”

  He made several very good points. “Then let’s start with the magician and work our way outward.” Seeing that Aren still sat there like a lump on a log, she shooed him out with a wave of the hand. “You’ve got other things to research. Leave this problem to us to puzzle out.”

  For some reason, this amused him, as if being shooed away had never happened to him before. Well, actually, it probably hadn’t. But he stood and made his way out of the room, no doubt heading for the second research room to help Hana.

  At least, if the man had any sense, that’s where he should be headed.

  Sarsen shifted in his seat, tucking one leg up under another, leaning so that he had a better line of sight of Sevana. “Alright, so what do you know about the caster?”

  “He’s very, very skilled.” Sevana ticked off points on her fingers as she spoke. “He crafted two different spells that were made of benign elements that would go past Pierpoint’s magical shield—and believe me, that was a well-crafted shield. It took considerable effort and planning on my part to figure out how to circumvent it. This man is not a fly by night magician. He’s one of the elite.”

  “So it would be very pricey to hire him,” Sarsen concluded. “What else do you know?”

  “I had the funniest suspicion that he was a Kindin magician,” she admitted slowly, rubbing both palms together in a steady, circular motion. “Just by the way the spells were crafted. They had that sort of flair, y’know? In fact, the way the spell was crafted, I would almost swear that an Artifactor did the work. I’ve never seen such clean, economical spells such as those coming from a magician.”

  “A Kindin spell caster, perhaps an Artifactor, being hired by a Windamere aristocrat?” Sarsen let out a low whistle. “This isn’t just a matter of money, but connections. You can’t just hire a magician from another country by requesting it. You have to know who to ask and how to ask ‘em.”

  “I know.” The more said, the more she thought it really would have to be a councilman or someone directly connected to a councilman, just because of the price tag involved. “Let’s come up with a round figure that we think it would cost to manage this. Then we’ll ask Hana for a list of who could afford it ten years ago. That should narrow our list of suspects.”

  “I think we should also ask Axelrad how a magician would be able to sneak in, not once, but twice in order to cast these spells. And who would know of the security holes,” Sarsen added.

  “It’s a good thought, and a place to start,” Sevana agreed. “You know the interior layout of the palace better than I do at this point. Go talk to Axelrad. I’ll talk to Hana. We can compare notes after. But don’t expect me to do it tomorrow.”

  “Oh?”

  “I got a note earlier from Vash Village warning me that we’re about to be invaded. Our dragon is due to arrive tomorrow.” Sometime. Dragons were notoriously bad at keeping track of human time. They couldn’t be bothered to specify even a particular day most of the time. If not for her message from Vashti, she’d have no idea when the dragon would actually come.

  “Ah. True, that does take precedence. Then, we’ll take about this a few days from now.” With a casual salute to her, he hefted himself free of the bench with a soft grunt and headed for the door.

  “Sarsen,” she called after him in exasperation, lifting his shell from where it still sat on the table. “Don’t forget this!”

  “Hmmm? Oh.” He caught it as she tossed it to him. “Thanks.”

  As he disappeared out the door, Sevana said aloud to the empty room, “The man needs a familiar. Or a keeper. Something. I swear he’d misplace his head if it wasn’t attached. Big? Keep an eye on him for me, would you?”

  Will, the mountain promised.

  ~ ~ ~

  The Curse Breaking Day dawned clear and a little cold as fall started to encroach on the land. Bellomi had been so nervous, so excited, that he didn’t sleep at all the night before. Hana had stayed up with him most of the night, but by dawn, she’d fallen fast asleep. Not willing to wake her (especially after a night of keeping her up), he covered her with a lap quilt and stole quietly out of the room.

  Sevana predicted the dragon would arrive sometime after breakfast, so he made himself take the time to wash, dress, and eat something before going up top. He met Sevana in the kitchen as she finished scrambling eggs in a large skillet.

  For the first time in a long time, he stopped in the doorway and really looked her over from head to toe. She wore the white shirt, simple vest, tan trousers and knee-high boots that she normally preferred, blond hair braided tight around her head. She didn’t look nervous, or anxious, or strained at all as she went about cooking breakfast. But she didn’t look particularly happy, either. He didn’t find that surprising. Sevana had proclaimed herself as a non-morning person and she detested being awake this early in the morning on general principle. She wouldn’t be fit for any kind of decent conversation for at least another hour or so.

  From his vast repertoire of experience, he knew better than to say anything, and wisely stayed silent as they ate and cleaned up. No one else joined them at the table, it still being far too early for anyone else to be awake, so Sevana covered the food and placed warming spells on most of it before heading out the door. Bellomi tagged at her heels, double checking that the package he had in his coat pocket was still there.

  Sevana went straight up the path to the second level, her hand brushing the walls as she did so. “Big? Move the crate to the outside, please.”

  A wordless sigh of acknowledgement ruffled his hair as the mountain responded.

  Pausing at the door to the top, Sevana turned and told him dryly, “And you, lose the swords.”

  Huh? Oh! Bellomi glanced over his shoulder at the sword hilt, belatedly realizing that he had put them on this morning from sheer force of habit. A little sheepish, he slung first one scabbard and then the other off and propped the swords up near the doorway.

  Nodding in satisfaction, Sevana unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping i
nto the morning sunlight.

  After the dimness inside, Bellomi needed to blink several times for his eyes to adjust to the morning’s rays. Remembering the last time, Bellomi asked the mountain, “Big, are you alright with this? The dragon will likely land here, and last time that a dragon did that, you were itchy.”

  Big grumbled and grumped, but didn’t say a word of protest.

  “He’ll be fine,” Sevana snorted. “I’ll wash him down afterwards.”

  Right. Clearly no sympathy could be found here.

  “Now, don’t distract me,” she ordered them both. “I have to get this exactly right, or you’re going to be crushed by water for no good reason.”

  Holding up both hands in surrender, Bellomi found a comfortable place to sit that gave him an excellent view of the southeastern horizon so that he could keep a watch out for the dragon. As he sat, he scooted about and brushed some of the loose pebbles away, leaving only grass as a cushion. He took in a deep breath as he settled. Nothing seemed out of place here. The air carried the rich scents of earth, trees, water, and various wildlife. The sun started to warm up the air, dissipating the coolness of the night, and the chill on his skin slowly faded.

  Even with grass cushioning him, the ground still remained too hard for him to sit on for long without shifting positions. He did that several times, going from a cross-legged posture, to flat on his back, to kneeling, and sometimes he just got up and paced. The sun rose in the sky at a steady rate, climbing so that it nearly shone directly ahead. Bellomi didn’t attempt to say anything to Sevana as the hours passed, not daring to interrupt her as she held the incantation in front of her, glowing in magical lines with a brilliantly white shine.

  The incantation looked rather like the one that she had used to break his father’s curse. It consisted of three circles, and in between the circles were letters that he’d never seen before, all connected to each other. It looked larger than the other one, though. This one would have enough distance in the center for him to step in and out of easily.