The SteelMaster of Indwallin, Book 2 of The Gods Within

by J. L. Doty

  France grinned evilly, leaned close to Morgin’s ear. “You know, lad, all the young ladies have been anxious to meet you, and I think you’ll be findin’ ‘em real receptive, if yer so inclined. Do yer old friend France a favor, will ya? If you find you got more than you need, throw a couple me way, eh?”

  There was a knock at the door. Cort opened it and admitted a large, round woman, apparently the palace’s chief cook. She had several servants in tow, each carrying a large platter of food; among them they’d managed to bring enough to feed a platoon of soldiers. Morgin was not terribly hungry, though it had apparently been days since he’d eaten, but he ate what he could, and with his stomach full his eyelids grew heavy. When he tried to get them to take the food away Cort and Sacress insisted he eat more. He put down a few bites, was starting to doze off before he finished that. Sacress chased everyone out of the room, but Morgin was asleep before they were gone.

  ~~~

  Morgin awoke to someone shaking him violently. “Wake up, Your Highness.”

  A lone candle lit the room, casting a flickering army of shadows on the wall. Morgin could just make out two guards standing near the door, while someone stood over him shaking him. “Wake up.”

  Morgin recognized the voice of the young guard captain. “I’m awake, Pandorin. Stop shaking me.”

  “The queen needs you. Desperately!”

  Morgin sat up and ran his hands through his hair, then rubbed his eyes. “Why does she need me in the middle of the night?”

  “She’s ill again.”

  Morgin shivered. He did not want to face the insanity of Aiergain’s magic again, but he doubted Pandorin and the two burly guards would let him ignore her plight. He crawled out of bed. “Get my clothes.”

  They argued briefly about the need for haste, but Morgin refused to go wandering about the palace in a bed gown. Pandorin and his guards helped him crawl into his torn and battered clothing. “All right. Lead the way.”

  Pandorin led, but his guards followed close behind Morgin. Still well before dawn, the palace halls were dark and unlit, but there were people moving hurriedly everywhere, and after several turns they approached an open doorway from which a shaft of light splashed out into the hall. Within Morgin found a large, well lit sitting room that was a hive of activity and excited voices. Sacress leaned over a man lying still and prone on the floor; the physician shook his head sadly. Tulellcoe sat on the floor against one wall; blood running out his nose and dripping off his chin. Cort and Val knelt beside him, trying to stem the flow of blood. They all looked up at Morgin as he entered the room, and those of Aud looked at him expectantly, as if he would fix everything now. “What happened?” he asked.

  Tulellcoe groaned, shook his head to clear it, spattered Cort and Val with blood. “Ahhh! She had a nightmare, so I came to help her. I’ve been trying to help her since I arrived. I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t,” Morgin said flatly. “You were born with magic, and as you grew up every facet of your life was steeped in magic. You’ve been trained since the cradle to use magic, and you make assumptions about it that I’ve never been able to understand. You can’t know what it’s like to suddenly have it thrust upon you.”

  Morgin looked at Pandorin. “Where is she?”

  With a nod Pandorin indicated another door that led from the sitting room. “That’s her bedchamber.”

  Morgin nodded, crossed the room and put his hand on the latch, but he hesitated for an instant and turned to Pandorin. “Post a guard outside this door, and keep everyone—I mean everyone—out of this room until I or the queen come out. I don’t care what you hear from within.”

  Pandorin nodded.

  Morgin opened the door slowly, pushed it inward but didn’t follow, and except for the shaft of light spilling past him the bedchamber was dark. He took one step forward, then another, and another. When he was past the open door a hand touched it and closed it softly behind him, and the room went completely black. Aiergain spoke softly into the darkness, “I’m told you relish shadows, ShadowLord.” There was a hint of hysteria in her voice.

  Morgin closed his eyes, tried to pretend the darkness in the room was a shadow, hoped he needed magic only to make shadows and not to see through them. It didn’t work, but he still felt comfortable in the dark, in shadow. “I like shadow,” he said.

  “I’m also told you can see through shadows.”

  “I could once, but my magic is gone now and like everyone else I’m blind in the dark.”

  “I’d give you my magic if I could.” Her hysteria bubbled to the surface. “I’d give anything to be rid of this.”

  “I once felt the same,” Morgin said. “Like you I was born without magic, and like you it came to me unbidden, and like you I found it a burden. But my wish came true, and my magic is gone now, and I feel like a man whose had his eyes gouged out, and his ears punctured, and his tongue cut from his throat. I feel empty.”

  She answered him with a long silence, then finally asked, “Would you like a light?”

  “Yes. May I call for one.”

  “No,” she snapped. “Make it yourself. I don’t want them in here.”

  “I don’t have a flint and striker with me,” Morgin said, thinking desperately. He had to get her out of the dark, so she could face herself. “Do you have a candle?”

  “There’s one on the table by the bed.” Her hysteria was now a palpable thing. “But don’t let anyone in here.”

  “I won’t,” Morgin said. He felt his way to the bed, then to the table near it. He found no candle, but intuition told him to check the floor. He dropped slowly to his hands and knees and found it after only a short search. It had been knocked there during all the excitement.

  “Please come here,” he said. “I need your help.”

  He heard the rustling of her bed gown as she felt her way across the room, then blindly her hand gripped his arm. She gasped and jumped back, and he did the same. There was a moment of silence, and then she started laughing softly. “I do believe you’re as frightened of me as I am of you.” She hesitated, and he heard fear in her voice. “Will you help me? Please. Help me like you did before.”

  Morgin nodded, a useless gesture in the dark. “All right. But I can’t help you unless you do what I say.”

  “I will. I promise I will.”

  Morgin thought carefully about a time when he’d gone through a crisis much like this. He’d been a lot younger then, but what AnnaRail had done with him would still be appropriate for this young queen. “Sit down on the floor,” he said, improvising and modifying AnnaRail’s approach to fit the situation. “Sit with your back to the bed and cross your legs.”

  He heard her moving to do so and he sat on the floor facing her. “Now, I’m going to teach you a spell of confidence. It will help with what will follow. But first you must clear your mind of all turmoil. Think of yourself sitting in a cart bouncing down a road full of ruts and potholes. You’re being jostled from side to side; you’re uncomfortable and tense. But then you reach a stretch of road that’s less bumpy, and while the jostling is still there it’s bearable. It’s now no more than a light rocking from side to side. In fact you’re almost comfortable, like a babe rocking in her cradle. The tension seems to leave you, and like the smoke emanating from a peasant’s hut it drifts away slowly on the wind.”

  Morgin sat in silence for a moment, rocking side to side; he heard her doing likewise. “Now the road levels off, and is straight and plain and simple, as smooth as glass. There’s no more rocking or swaying or jostling, and you could almost fall asleep.”

  Morgin concentrated, trying to remember the spell of confidence. “Now think of yourself looking up that road. It’s so straight and unbending it seems to end in a sharp point on the horizon. Focus on that point; concentrate on it and repeat after me.”

  He brought forth the first word of the spell of confidence and he spoke it, and it meant nothing to him, but she rep
eated it, and as he spoke each succeeding word she repeated that too, and when the spell was complete he heard her breathe a sigh of relief. It had worked. He needed such a spell for himself, but of course he no longer had the power to create it.

  “Now let’s have a little fun,” he said softly. He held the candle out between them. “I’m holding the candle in front of you. Reach out and touch it.”

  She reached out and her hand touched his elbow first. This time she did not flinch away from him. Her hand hesitated for a moment as if she were curious, then it slid up his arm toward the candle, but when it reached his hand it lingered again for a moment of curiosity before sliding to the candle. “You have a nice hand,” she said.

  He ignored her. “Touch the wick on the candle. Form a picture of it in your mind and then let go of it. But keep that picture in your mind and think constantly of the location of that particular wick. And please don’t think of me, because I really wouldn’t like it if you lit me on fire.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes you. You’re going to do a fire spell.”

  Again Morgin reached into his memory for the spell, and he spoke the words, and they meant nothing to him, and she repeated them, and the spell worked. A faint glow formed on the tip of the candle’s wick and it grew until it became a flame. Aiergain let out a soft, little chirp of delight. “Did I do that?”

  “Yes you did,” Morgin said as he tipped the candle to one side, dripped some wax on the floor and stuck the candle there.

  She said, “The maid is not going to like that.”

  “I’ll worry about the maid later.”

  He had her repeat the spell of confidence on her own, helping her only when she faltered. They then tried several other minor spells, simple things for everyday living: a spell to heal a small cut, a spell to mend a broken rope—in their case they used a short piece of twine. Among them he slipped in the spell to banish fear, and several times he returned to the spell of confidence until satisfied she could repeat it on her own without any help from him. At one point the candle had burned so low they needed another. She let him go to the door, open it a crack, and have a guard give him several more.

  Much later, when she’d gained considerable confidence, not the kind brought forth by spells but natural confidence, he let her try something more difficult: a wind spell. He got her to approach it as an adventure, a challenge, and he didn’t let her know elementals could be extremely dangerous. The spell got away from her a bit, literally trashed her bedchamber before she got it back under control. But then she hugged him excitedly and let out a healthy laugh.

  Shortly before dawn all of the energy she was using finally caught up with her, and slowly she drifted off into sleep sitting on the floor leaning in the corner made by the edge of the bed and the wall. Morgin moved over to sit beside her, decided not to leave the room in case she awoke and needed him. He fell asleep there, with his head leaning against the bedpost.

  ~~~

  Morgin awoke close to midday, alone in Aiergain’s bedchamber. He climbed to his feet, staggered groggily to the door and opened it, and was mobbed by a crowd of retainers and servants and courtiers all of whom had been waiting for him. Several tried to kiss his hand and they all called him, “Your Highness.” Looking at these elegantly dressed people he grew conscious of the tattered nature of his clothing. Then Aiergain entered the room and the pandemonium ended. France and Tulellcoe and Cort and Val accompanied her.

  Morgin looked at Aiergain closely. The madness was gone from her eyes, the lines of strain gone from her face, and now she was very much a queen, a young and beautiful queen.

  Pandorin had followed her into the room. He dropped to one knee in front of Morgin, took one of Morgin’s hands and kissed it. “We can never repay you the debt we owe you, Your Highness.”

  Morgin was embarrassed, and he was tired of people kissing his hand. “What is this ‘Your Highness’ stuff?”

  “By my decree,” Aiergain said, “You are a prince of this city, and you will be treated as such by all her subjects.”

  A somewhat older man—Morgin guessed by his dress and manner he was one of the lords of the city—dropped to one knee beside Pandorin. “For the man who saved Her Majesty’s life no such decree is required,” he said as he tried to kiss Morgin’s hand. “Is there anything you lack; anything you want? Name it, and we will grant it.”

  Morgin thought carefully, and in the silence that followed his stomach growled loud enough for everyone to hear. They all laughed openly and France said, “Now that’s a request well spoken.”

  Morgin frowned. “There are a few things I would like.”

  Aiergain looked at him expectantly. “Name them.”

  “Well,” Morgin said uncomfortably. “I mean no disrespect, but I’d be a lot happier if everyone just called me Morgin, not ‘Your Highness.’ And maybe I don’t need to have my hand kissed anymore.”

  Aiergain smiled, looked at Cort. “You warned me he would be uncomfortable with titles and attention.” She turned back to Morgin. “Very well. Anyone whom you wish may call you by your name without incurring my wrath. But you must understand my people will show you what’s in their hearts, and if they are a bit joyous and freely giving of their gratitude, then so be it. I will not command them to withhold their joy.”

  Morgin was given a manservant named Terrikle. Morgin had never had a manservant before and didn’t know what to do with him. Terrikle was much older than Morgin, and very stiff and formal, much like Avis during the most formal of situations. But unlike Avis, Terrikle never dropped the formalities when they were alone.

  Terrikle quizzed Morgin carefully on his preferences, learned Morgin did not like clothing that set him apart. Then the manservant called in the palace tailor to see that Morgin was properly attired. Terrikle dealt with the tailor himself, refused to let Morgin even speak to the man, and the conversation between the three of them was an odd one. The tailor might ask Terrikle, “Would His Highness like the cuffs long or short?”

  Morgin didn’t know what he wanted, so he looked at Terrikle and shrugged helplessly. Terrikle nodded and answered, “His Highness would like the sleeves fashionably sized, though be certain to keep the effect sedate and understated.” After the measurements were complete Terrikle picked out several bolts of cloth, conferred at some length with the tailor while Morgin waited restlessly for them to finish. Terrikle’s final instructions to the tailor were, “His Highness will be waiting for you. Please have an afternoon suit ready within the hour. And we’ll expect the rest by dinner.”

  After the tailor departed, Morgin asked, “Weren’t you a bit hard on him?”

  Terrikle looked offended, and his demeanor broke for an instant. “You saved our queen,” he said. “Any man in the kingdom would have died for her, but we were helpless until you came. If that tailor cannot have you properly clothed within the hour, then his business will be ruined. He came here knowing that. He also knows that if he succeeds, his business will thrive beyond his wildest dreams.”

  After the tailor left servants brought in a feast. Of course France showed up with the food, and he and Morgin dined on pheasant and beer and bread and cheese and fruits. It appeared that Terrikle’s new purpose in life was to provide whatever Morgin wanted as soon as possible.

  After the meal the tailor returned with a fully completed suit of clothes. Morgin tried it on, and it needed a few minor adjustments. The tailor sat down right there and did them, and when he finished Terrikle asked, “Does that suit Your Highness?”

  Morgin looked in a large mirror. The suit pleased him, not flashy or loud, but still expensive looking. “It’s very nice,” Morgin said, though he wasn’t sure when he’d have the need to wear something so dressy. When Terrikle wasn’t looking he turned to France and whispered conspiratorially, “Go out to a plain old shop and get me some plain ordinary clothes, will you?”

  France winked and nodded. “Leave it to me, lad.”

  ~~~

  Morgin
bounded up a long flight of stairs in the Palace of Lights. Caked with dust from the practice yard, his tunic soaked with sweat, carrying his sheathed sword in one hand, he took the steps three at a time and at the top turned right and got quickly lost.

  During the last month he’d forced himself to exercise almost daily. France and Val usually joined him, and sometimes Cort and Tulellcoe and Pandorin. They always drew a crowd of onlookers; at first Morgin had assumed they were curious about the female twoname: a woman dressed in the breeches of a man, and swinging a sword like a man, who an hour later might show up in the gown and manners of a lady of the court. But even without Cort the crowd gathered to watch, and Morgin realized their curiosity was for the outlaw wizard, the ShadowLord fallen from grace, the man with no power of his own who was tutoring their beloved queen in the dark arts.

  Morgin had to ask directions of a servant to find his way back to the wing where he’d been given an entire suite of rooms high up in the palace. Terrikle was waiting for him with a disapproving look on his face. “I know I’m late,” Morgin pleaded. “But I accidentally knocked poor Pandorin unconscious, and then I lost my way in this palace.”

  “I know, Your Highness. But you have plenty of time before your meeting with Her Majesty.”

  Morgin shook his head sadly. Terrikle’s job was Morgin, and he took that job so seriously he often seemed to know what Morgin was thinking before Morgin thought it. “Shall I draw your bath?”

  Morgin nodded. “Sure.”

  Terrikle bowed and left.

  A private bath all his own! At Elhiyne only Olivia, AnnaRail, Marjinell and selected guests had their own private baths. And he had a sitting room with a balcony. He liked the view of the ocean from there.

  He pulled off his tunic, stepped out onto the balcony. From high in the palace he looked out at the ocean that rested so serenely on the horizon. He tossed his tunic over his shoulder and stood there in the warm sun, leaned against the iron rail taking in the sight of that vast body of water.