Merry stood up and paced. She was feeling like the conversation was making her brain turn upside down and sideways. She wished she could talk to Eynon. He’d help her get her thoughts in order with an innocent question.
“Is there anything you don’t know?” asked Merry, nearly losing her temper.
“Yes,” said the queen. “Why is Ealdamon in the palace?”
“He hasn’t set foot here in over forty years,” said Astrí.
“That’s news to me,” said Merry. “I have no idea. Why don’t you ask him yourselves?”
Chapter 14
Damon
“Are you the young fool who’s put the kingdom into such a precarious position?” asked Damon as trumpets continued to sound and the door slammed behind him.
King Dârio leaned back unperturbed in a chair by his desk a few yards from the door. His long muscular legs were extended out over one corner of its surface with his dark-blue boots crossed. He held a quill in one hand.
“Are you the old fool who left the kingdom without its Master Mage for two generations?” asked Dârio without raising his voice.
“Your great-grandfather was twice the man you are,” shouted Damon.
“My great-grandfather’s mind was as lost as a fool on his wander year for three years before he died,” said Dârio. “You might have done something to help, but you chose a self-imposed exile over service to Dâron.”
“Who are you to judge me?” asked Damon.
“Your rightful king,” Dârio replied.
“No,” Damon began. Then he closed his jaw and intentionally cut off what he’d been about to say, squeezing his hands into fists and relaxing them. The trumpet fanfares stopped and tiny flashes of lightning that had been dancing around the wizard’s head ceased, leaving a faint smell of ozone in the king’s study.
“Your Majesty, forgive an old man’s impertinence,” said Damon, approaching the king’s desk deferentially. When he was close enough, Damon abruptly tugged the young king’s legs off the desk, stepped close, and leaned over the young ruler. He tried to grab the king by his collar but Dârio was fast enough to block Damon and hold the wizard’s wrists. The two were locked together, their faces nearly touching.
“We’re days away from utter ruin, you fool,” said Damon. “Fercha and Doethan are bringing you an agreement from Nova Eboracum to enlist their support. Don’t behave like the idiot I’ve heard you are and ignore them. Sign the agreement and we may yet save the kingdom and your throne.”
Dârio released Damon and pushed the old wizard back to arm’s length. The king tickled the end of Damon’s nose with a nearby quill and picked up a sheet of parchment from his desk. It was only half the size of a typical parchment and one side was cut in a zigzag pattern.
“You mean this agreement, old man?” said Dârio, waving it in front of Damon. “The one I signed half an hour ago? The governor’s copy should already be in his hands and his legions will be here later today, thanks to wide gates Fercha is building.”
“What?” said Damon, clutching the edge of the desk for support. “She’s figured out how to build wide gates? And she’s showing the Roma? What is she thinking?”
“She’s thinking she’s saving the kingdom,” said Dârio. “Fercha said she’s lined up wizards here for our end of the gate and is headed to Nova Eboracum to help the Roma wizards with their end.”
Damon shook his head and took the parchment from Dârio’s desk. He read the agreement and saw the fresh-cut indentations where the copy for Occidens Province had been separated from Dâron’s. Damon looked like a warrior who’d just caught a solid blow across the helm from a heavy wooden practice sword. King Dârio moved a chair behind him and helped the old wizard sit down. He poured Damon a goblet of watered wine from a sideboard and watched the older man drink it down.
“Is that better?” asked the young king.
“A bit,” said Damon. “So you’re not a fool, then?”
“No more than we all are,” said Dârio, “though not to hear my mother tell it. She thinks I’m a great fool and tells me so at every opportunity.”
“Princess Gwýnnett truly is a fool, then, to treat you that way,” said Damon.
“What does that make you, barging in to frighten and over-awe me into authorizing an alliance with the Eagle People that I’d already signed as soon as it arrived?”
Damon shook his head slowly, as if making sure it was still attached to his neck.
“There’s no fool like an old fool,” he said.
“Especially an old fool who quotes from his own book of epigrams,” said Dârio with a smile.
A small nod marked Damon’s response, accepting the teasing.
“It’s disconcerting for me to meet you like this,” added the young king.
“Disconcerting for you, perhaps, but embarrassing for me. I’d been told you were utterly unsuited to be king.”
“And I’ve wanted to meet you for half my life—Master Mage Ealdamon, the wizard who froze the Abbenoth and brought our armies to the gates of Nova Eboracum. You’re one of my heroes.”
Damon rested his chin on his palm, supporting his arm with his elbow on the desk. He smiled at the younger man and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m no hero, Your Majesty. Just an old man with a habit of running away from trouble.”
“But you didn’t run,” said Dârio. “You came when my grandfather called. I’ve read all the stories about you in the histories and must have all your epigrams committed to memory.”
“What comes after, ‘There’s no fool like an old fool?’” asked Damon.
“One of my favorites,” said Dârio. “Justice is a sword. Mercy, a healing potion.”
“I think that’s right,” said Damon. “When you get to be my age, it’s easy to forget small details.”
Dârio waved at a bookshelf a few feet away.
“There’s a copy over there if you’d like me to check.”
“No need, Sire. I’m sure you’re correct. I’m honored you’ve read my book.”
“I’ve got three copies—one here, one tucked into a cushion in the throne room, and one on a stand by my bed.”
“I’m unworthy,” said Damon without a hint of humility.
He grinned at Dârio and began to feel better. The old wizard sat up straight and sipped at his goblet. Dârio refilled it and poured watered wine for himself.
“I’ve wanted to ask you something for years,” said the young king. “Did you ever discover any clues in your search for my great-aunt Seren?”
“That’s a long story, my liege,” said Damon. “One best told when we don’t have half a thousand dragonships heading upriver in our direction.”
“And when we’ve something stronger to fortify us than watered wine?”
“That, too,” said Damon. “When will the Bifurland fleet arrive?”
“About the same time the legions get here,” said Dârio. “It will be a close thing, but the Roma should be on the east bank of the Brenavon ten miles south of the city later today. The dragonship raiders will get to that point first thing tomorrow morning. The royal army is marching down the west bank, and with luck—and help from you—we can smash the Bifurlanders between the hammer of Dâron and the anvil of the Roma. Which brings me to a very important question.”
“What is it?” asked Damon. He suspected he knew what Dârio was about to ask.
“Do you think you’re up to freezing the Brenavon instead of the Abbenoth?”
Chapter 15
Fercha and Doethan
“Why do I have to carry the bag of magestone dust while you carry the agreement?” asked Doethan.
“Fine,” said Fercha, taking the bag from Doethan and slinging it over her shoulder while continuing to hold the cut parchment with the copy of the agreement for Occidens Province. She doubled her pace and Doethan had to speed up to stay with her as they walked from a secret gate in a townhouse in Nova Eboracum toward the governor’s palace. They saw soldiers and s
upply wagons gathering along the paved broad way from the northern wall defending the city to the palace.
Doethan was a few inches shorter than Fercha, so he had to lengthen his stride as well as move faster.
“Do you have your token for the gate guards at the palace?” he asked.
“Do you?” Fercha replied in a serious tone.
Both laughed. They’d fallen back into the teasing banter they’d developed as neighbors along the Rhuthro and allies on the Conclave.
“Why are we carrying a bag full of blue magestone dust?” asked Doethan.
“What do you mean, we?”
“Why are you carrying it then?”
“Because I know how to get the Roma legions to Brendinas faster,” Fercha replied. “I’d intended to use the dust on a demonstration for Dârio on speeding up troop movements, but hadn’t had a chance to show him yet.”
“I was wondering why you had a twenty-five-pound bag of magestone dust in your rooms in Brendinas,” said Doethan. “You finally figured out how Damon made the extra-wide gate from the kitchen to the banquet hall in the castle at Melyncárreg?”
“Sort of,” said Fercha. “I had some help.”
“And not from Damon, I assume.”
“You assume correctly. I’m hoping all this blue magestone dust will help power a gate big enough for a legion to use.”
The street around them was crowded and bustling with soldiers and ordinary city residents. Oxcart wheels in need of grease squeaked like thousand-pound mice and the pair of wizards were jostled more than once by passersby as they headed south along the street’s rough cobblestones. Doethan wished he had his familiar Rowsch with him. The big dog would have helped clear them a path.
“Did you get it from Carreg Glas?” asked Doethan after dodging a woman carrying buckets of beer on a yoke across her back. He knew proper Roma citizens preferred wine, but the legions of Quintillius Marius Africanus, from the lands south of Egypt, had a taste for beer brewed from sorghum.
Fercha used a quick sidestep to protect the agreement from the sharp elbows of a centurion striding past her in the opposite direction.
“Of course—it pays to use the best when you can get it,” she said.
“I have a table in my library with a top made from Carreg Glas blue marble,” Doethan replied.
“That no one can appreciate because you keep it covered with books and documents,” teased Fercha.
“But I know it’s there, and that’s enough,” said Doethan. “Did the quarrymaster charge you an arm and a leg for the dust?”
“No, he gave it to me for free,” said Fercha. “But I had to promise him a week of work around the quarry in return for two particularly fine magestones his men found while cutting blue marble. My new magestone is one of them.”
“And Merry’s is the other?”
“Yes.”
“Have her help you work off your debt,” said Doethan. “It will be good training for her.”
“The thought had never crossed my mind,” said Fercha, her tone making it clear that doing so had been part of her plan since she’d taken on her new apprentice.
“Sorry,” said Doethan, in a tone that indicated he wasn’t. “It’s not like we don’t have other, more important priorities at the moment.”
“Do you think?” asked Fercha.
They were almost at the north gate to the governor’s palace. The street was still crowded with people. There were many tall, long-limbed men and women from Roma’s African provinces and a smaller number in the garb of the empire who could have otherwise been at home in the markets of Brendinas.
They must be connected to the legions from Sarmatia, realized Fercha. The settlers from the White and Green Isles who had populated Dâron and Tamloch had originally come from lands to the north and east of Roma.
Everyone avoided walking on the paving stones nearest to the gate, however. None of the passersby wanted to get too close to the squad of guards in brightly polished loricas holding unsheathed short swords and barring entry. Doethan removed his token from his pouch and took the bag of blue magestone dust from Fercha. She got out her own token and the two wizards crossed the empty space to present themselves.
“Please tell Laetícia her guests have returned,” said Doethan to the senior gate guard, extending his token.
He smiled at the woman and knew the sack of dust on his back made him look like a peddler.
“Go away, old man,” said a young guard to one side wearing a helm that was slightly too big for him. “Deliveries are at the west gate, near the kitchens.”
“Stultio—report to barracks and have them send us a replacement, then do ten laps around the city in full kit, on the double,” said the senior guard.
The dark face of the young guard got darker as blood rushed to his cheeks once he’d realized what he’d done. He bowed to the senior guard, then to Doethan and Fercha, and withdrew into the palace.
“My apologies, good gentles,” said the senior guard, smiling at the wizards. “He’s a new recruit. I’ll put him on night soil collection duties for a few weeks and I’m sure he will learn from the experience.”
“No doubt,” said Fercha.
“That’s the way you handle an apprentice,” said Doethan, leaning close to Fercha.
“As if Merry didn’t have you dancing to her tune more than half the time, I’m sure,” Fercha replied, handing her token to the senior guard. The guard shook her head at the wizards’ byplay.
“Enforcing discipline is a constant struggle,” she said. “Laetícia told me to keep an eye out for you and escort you to her as soon as you arrived. Follow me.”
* * * * *
“I got resin on my robes,” grumbled Doethan.
“Adjust your spell to banish water from them so it works on tree sap,” said Fercha. “It’s mostly water, anyway.”
“There’s no point in bothering with it until the job is done.”
“We’ve finished laying pieces of obsidian between the trees,” said a short, stout older wizard in purple robes with a graying dome of dark hair and intricate facial tattoos. She hadn’t found it easy to bend down and place black volcanic glass in the fresh plaster now hardening in a trench between two massive maples, but had worked diligently.
“Thank you, Mafuta,” said Fercha as she helped Doethan finish sprinkling blue magestone dust on the resin they’d spread up and down the trunk of the left-hand tree. Fercha had already completed preparations for the tree on the right.
“I have the obsidian-crusted rope tied off,” said a second purple-robed wizard. He was floating on a flying disk and leaning against the left-hand tree. This one was young, tall, male, and thin enough to almost disappear in profile. Fercha thought he looked like a version of Merry’s lover carved from coal instead of ivory.
“Excellent,” said Doethan. “Don’t tip over, Felix.”
“He won’t have any problems,” said Mafuta. “I’m the one who taught him to fly.”
Doethan and Fercha walked back fifty feet to the right-hand tree to double-check their work and have a few moments to talk. Doethan leaned close to Fercha’s ear and whispered, “Are you sure it’s wise to teach these two how to make an extra-wide gate?”
“It can’t be helped,” snapped Fercha. “And the gate will only be stable until something breaks the lines.”
“We’ll have to make sure the legions and their supply wagons don’t damage the obsidian,” said Mafuta from the left-hand tree. “I didn’t need a spell to overhear you, by the way. I could see your lips moving.”
Doethan laughed and Fercha frowned. Doethan should have put up a privacy sphere, but he hadn’t taken the time.
The short Roma wizard moved out of the way as her younger colleague brought his flying disk down to the base of the left-hand tree.
“We’ve got boards to cover the obsidian on the ground,” said Felix, “and we’ll send the wagons through after the soldiers, just in case.”
“Are they ready to mar
ch?” asked Fercha. She was glad Inthíra and other members of the Old Queen’s faction in the Conclave were handling the Dâron side of the wide gate.
Mafuta stepped on her flying disk and rose above the tops of the great maples. Felix and two other Roma wizards joined her to assist with the gate’s top, bottom, and sides.
“They’re ready,” Mafuta replied.
Fercha drew on the power of her new magestone. It wasn’t as smooth as it had been with her original stone and setting, but it was enough. A curtain of interlaced blue and black magic appeared, framed by the magestone dust on the tree trucks and the imported obsidian pieces above and below. The magical interface flickered, showing a broad, grassy meadow on the other side. The Brenavon’s blue water flowed beyond the meadow, and off to the right on the other side of the river they could see the highest pennants above the far-off walls of Brendinas.
“Send them through,” said Doethan.
“Why not connect the gate on the other side of the river, closer to the city?” asked Felix.
“Think about it,” said Mafuta. “We can fight dragonship raiders from this side, before they reach Dâron’s capital.”
“Oh,” said Felix. “But we’re less of a threat ourselves because we’d still need to cross the river to attack Brendinas.”
“Precisely,” said Mafuta.
Doethan and Fercha nodded at her. They all smiled at Felix.
“How are we going to engage the dragonship raiders without ships of our own or siege engines?” Felix asked. “Can’t they just sail past us?”
“Yes,” said Mafuta. “How are we going to force engagement?”
“We have that in hand,” said Doethan, glancing over at Fercha to ensure that they did.
“Yes,” said Fercha. “Well in hand.”
She hoped Damon’s skill with freezing-magic hadn’t diminished in the past quarter-century.
No, Fercha considered. He’s still the coldest man I know—with the possible exception of Verro.
Chapter 16
The Congruent Wizard Page 10