Dârio heard shouts from men and women-at-arms as they landed.
“The king! The king! Dârio is here!”
He could sense a buzz of reports radiate out across the camp.
Rumors travel faster than wizards, thought Dârio.
He smiled when he realized he was riding behind the infamous author of that epigram.
Duke Háiddon stepped out of a large, rectangular marquee flying dark and light-blue pennants to greet the young king and master mage. The duke was in his early forties, the same age Dârio’s late father would have been. He was of average height but had long auburn hair that made him look like an older, but still powerful lion. His physique reflected four decades of intense martial training and he wore a coat of blued mail over a white padded gambeson.
“Your Majesty,” said the duke, extending his hand.
Dârio shook it, and introduced Damon. The duke bowed to Damon and shook his hand as well.
“We’ve met, Master Mage,” said Duke Háiddon. “I was with Crown Prince Dâroth when you froze the Abbenoth. I’m glad you’ve returned to help Dâron in our present generation’s hour of need.”
“Yes, yes,” said Damon. “Glad to assist and all that. Let’s go inside.” The old wizard paused and stared at the duke for a moment. “Has anyone ever told you that you resemble your father?”
Duke Háiddon laughed and so did Dârio.
“What?” asked Damon.
“There’s a famous fresco of the duke’s father on the wall of the great hall in his castle,” said the young king. “He’s been hearing that comparison for decades.”
“Is there?” asked Damon. “I wasn’t going by a fresco, I knew his father personally, and remember him when he was a young man not much older than you are now, Dârio. I hope Háiddon has inherited more than his looks from his father.”
“My esteemed sire taught me many things,” said the duke. “I hope I’ll live up to his memory.”
“You’d better,” said Damon. “Or things won’t go well in the morning.”
The three men, each representing a different generation, walked toward the entrance to the headquarters tent.
“Do you think I could get a mug of cider?” asked Damon. “I’ve got a lot of news to share and talking is thirsty work.”
“There’s a standing order for a cask of Applegarth cider in the headquarters tent,” said Dârio.
“In that case, make it two mugs,” said Damon.
They stepped inside as guards were lighting torches on either side of the tent’s entrance.
* * * * *
Damon was on his second mug of cider while the king and duke were still sipping their first. The master mage had established a sphere of solidified sound to prevent them from being overhead and had just finished updating the earl marshal, with assistance from Dârio. They were standing next to a sand table where their current location and the land on both sides of the river for five miles had been sketched. Small blue-painted rectangular wooden blocks marked as infantry, cavalry and archers, representing the forces of Dâron’s royal army, were already in place on the expected site of the upcoming battle.
“See if I understand our tactical position correctly,” said Duke Háiddon. “We’re here.” He pointed to the royal army’s location. Damon and Dârio nodded.
“There are five hundred ships filled with bloodthirsty Bifurland warriors who may or may not decide to attack us here.” The duke indicated several yellow blocks positioned in the “river.”
Damon shrugged and opened his palms to confirm. Dârio shook his head slowly from side to side.
“The main strength of Tamloch’s army is just north of us,” the duke continued, placing green rectangles exceeding the number for Dâron’s army immediately across a broad open stretch of sand. Dârio rolled his hands in a yes, yes, get on with it gesture.
Duke Háiddon reached out a finger to touch a collection of purple rectangles to the east.
“And our only allies are on the far side of the river, with the nearest bridge more than twenty miles upstream at the capital.”
“That sums it up nicely,” said Dârio.
“Except for the part about Verro having an extra surprise to spring on us,” noted Damon. “We’re not sure what that is.”
“Oh joy,” said Háiddon. His face looked anything but joyful as he finished his mug of cider. He frowned when he realized he couldn’t get a refill until Damon dispelled the privacy sphere. The old wizard tipped an inch of Applegarth cider from his second mug into the duke’s.
“What’s your assessment of the situation?” asked Dârio.
“It doesn’t look good,” said the duke. “The royal armies of the two kingdoms are evenly matched. We’ve been trained to fight each other, and our wizards know the attacks and counters of their opposite numbers in Tamloch. The odds are good we’d end up with a stalemate, but we have to defeat them decisively, because they’re between us and Brendinas.”
“And city walls don’t count for much against wizards,” said Dârio. “Not that anything in Brendinas besides Dâron Castle is equipped to stand a siege.”
“Correct,” said Háiddon. “And the Bifurland fleet is still a wild card, plus that surprise you mentioned, which I expect won’t be good for us.”
“A wise assumption,” said Damon.
“So why aren’t the two of you looking more worried?”
“Remember what Damon did a generation ago to help Dâron’s army?” asked Dârio.
“He froze the Abbenoth…” said the duke. “Oh. And the Brenavon isn’t as wide as Abbenoth. The legions will be able to support us and flank Tamloch’s army. This could be entertaining.”
“That’s not my preferred choice of words,” said Damon.
“Sorry,” said Háiddon. “I meant it ironically.”
“I know,” said Damon. “I’m anxious about Verro and his surprise, but I have a surprise of my own to spring on him.”
“Eynon?” asked Dârio.
“Precisely,” said Damon. “That young man has more raw power than any other wizard I’ve trained.”
“He’s got a red magestone,” said Dârio. “He exploded a fireball above the Bifurland fleet that convinced them they didn’t want to sack Brendinas.”
“That was a wizard’s fireball?” asked Háiddon. “We saw it from here. I thought it was a comet!”
“No, it was a fireball,” said Damon. “My apprentice made it.”
“I’m impressed,” said Háiddon, “And I’m glad this Eynon lad is on our side. We’ll take all the help we can get, and we’ll probably need it. A red magestone, you say?”
“Like a ruby the size of a hen’s egg,” said Damon.
“Have you told Eynon that he’s going to be a surprise for Tamloch?” asked Dârio.
“No,” said Damon. “He’s innocent and enthusiastic. I don’t want him to worry—or get a swelled head.”
“That makes sense,” said Dârio. “You can tell him when he and Merry get here in the morning.”
“Merry?” asked the duke.
“She’s the daughter of…” began Damon.
“Salderwen, one of comrades in arms at the gates of Nova Eboracum,” said Háiddon. “Now I remember. He’s baron of the Upper Rhuthro now.”
“He goes by Derry these days,” said Damon. “His daughter is only fifteen, but shouldn’t be underestimated.”
“She sounds like her father,” said Háiddon.
The duke stretched and covered his mouth to hide a yawn.
“It’s probably best if we call it a night,” said Háiddon. “I’ll update the commanders, so they’ll know what to do in the morning.”
“Don’t tell them what Damon is planning,” said Dârio.
“I won’t,” said Háiddon, “but I will make sure they know Master Mage Ealdamon is here to help us to victory.”
“That will do a lot to boost morale,” said Dârio.
“They’ll also be glad to hear you’re with the army,” sa
id the duke. “Your armor and weapons and several changes of clothes are in your tent, Your Majesty. The Master of Stables has your warhorse groomed and ready.”
Dârio looked carefully at the duke. His tone had been teasing and his eyes were dancing. Háiddon had a surprise planned for his king and Dârio hoped he’d enjoy it.
“Where’s Inthíra?” asked Damon. “I need to give her an update, so she can inform the rest of the Conclave in the morning.”
“Cancel the privacy sphere and I’ll have servants escort you and His Majesty where you want to go,” said Háiddon.
Damon gestured to dispel the sphere, then he yawned. Háiddon called for two attendants.
“Don’t stay up late,” said Háiddon. “You’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”
“I do indeed,” said Damon. He sighed and followed a servant out of the brightly lit tent.
The second servant led Dârio in a different direction, to a large oval tent with dark and light-blue dagged trim. A dozen torches in front of it illuminated the royal standard, a light-blue banner bearing a dark-blue dragon with its right front foot raised, below a gold crown. Dârio sighed. He was tired, and the battle in the morning might decide the fate of the kingdom. He pushed open the tent flap and entered. The lighting was soft and low, just a few oil lamps, but it was enough for him to make out the location of the bed. Dârio stumbled toward it. Then he realized it was already occupied.
“I’m glad you finally made it, Your Majesty,” said Jenet with a smile. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Her uncovered shoulders peeked out above a heavy quilt.
“How did you get here?” asked Dârio.
“On the back of a flying disk with a wizard who’d showed up late for the meeting of the Conclave,” she said. “I thought it would be a good idea if I wasn’t where Princess Gwýnnett could question me further.”
“That makes sense,” said Dârio. “You’re as wise as you are beautiful.”
“Thank you,” said Jenet. “It’s checkmate in three moves.”
“I know,” said Dârio. “I concede. You win.” He tipped an imaginary chess piece.
“You might be able to win at something tonight.” said Jenet.
“Oh? Do tell.”
“Of course, my king. My father suggested I might divert your attention with another sort of game to help you relax and sleep well before battle.”
“Of course he did,” said Dârio. “That sounds exactly like something your father, the kingdom earl marshal, would tell you.”
Dârio leaned down and kissed her gently.
“I may be putting words in his mouth,” said Jenet.
She sat up, smiled at Dârio, and let the quilt slide down a few more inches.
“It was mostly my idea.”
Chapter 43
Túathal and Gwýnnett
A single dim lamp burned inside the royal tent. Uirsé, a wizard Verro had assigned to the king, created a privacy sphere and took her leave. The dark-haired young woman had no interest in being anywhere near the king when her services weren’t required.
“You seem to have lost something,” said King Túathal to the image of Princess Gwýnnett inside the hoop of an expanded communications ring. “I thought you told me you had Dârio under control.”
“I do,” said Gwýnnett. “I’ve just misplaced him temporarily.”
“Misplaced your son and the ruler of Dâron?” asked Túathal. “That’s sloppy—and careless.”
“I thought he was occupied playing shah-mat and bedding would-be queen candidates,” said Gwýnnett, “but he’s gone and I can’t find him, or his favorite bedmate.”
“I can reassure you he’s safe,” said King Túathal. “I’ve just received reports he’s with Dâron’s royal army encamped on the west bank of the Brenavon. I can’t say about the bedmate.”
“I don’t care about his bedmate,” said Gwýnnett. Her eyes flashed, and her voice grew hard. “I care about Dârio’s defiance.”
Túathal shook his head. “I thought you had your son under your thumb.”
“Our son,” spat out Gwýnnett. “When I get to him he’ll be much more compliant—at least after his next meal.”
“Nothing to harm his mind permanently,” said Túathal. “He is, as you say, my son. Someday it will be his turn to rule Tamloch and Dâron. We can’t live forever.”
“I promise I won’t damage him,” said Gwýnnett. “I’ll just make him more amenable to my suggestions.”
“Be careful,” said Túathal. “I think I know the drugs you plan to use. They have side-effects.”
“Like making eighteen-year-old men even more interested in horizontal entertainments than they are under normal circumstances?”
One corner of Túathal’s mouth turned up. Gwýnnett frowned.
“I thought Dârio was eating the special meals I’d prepared for him,” she said. “Reports from his servants indicated the side-effects were clearly present.”
“Or perhaps he was behaving like a normal eighteen-year-old man and you took his willingness to do what you asked as a sign of his suggestibility?”
Túathal began to laugh, then closed his mouth. “Dârio is devious, then,” he said. “What else should we expect from my son—and yours, for that matter?”
“True,” said Gwýnnett. She squared her shoulders. “I’ll take a courier boat downriver immediately. I should be there to see to Dârio’s breakfast before dawn. Tell your observers along the river to let me pass.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Túathal.
“Going downriver?”
“No,” said Túathal. “Joining Dârio. The royal army of Dâron’s encampment may be overrun during the battle and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Oh,” said Princess Gwýnnett. Her eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“I don’t,” said Túathal, “at least not in that way, as you well know. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Gwýnnett frowned again. For a moment, she allowed her mask to slip and her eyes to show her internal fury. Then her mask returned.
“What do you think I should do, then?” she asked.
“Follow your original plan and head south on the river,” said King Túathal, “but allow my soldiers to intercept your courier boat and take you hostage. We can use that status as a bargaining chip with Dârio to make it easier to explain Dâron’s surrender and my proposed solution, joining our kingdoms.”
Gwýnnett nodded. “That might work.” She shrugged. “Unless the boy decides he’s glad to be rid of me and thanks you for removing me from his life.”
“I don’t see that happening,” said Túathal. “For all that he’s our son, Dârio is soft-hearted and an idealist. He won’t want you to be executed.”
“Executed?” asked Gwýnnett.
“A threat must be credible to be a threat,” said Túathal
“Not exiled to a tower on the Isle of Vines?” asked Gwýnnett.
“I might start with that as a threat, then escalate as necessary,” said Túathal. “We’ll see how soft-hearted the lad truly is.”
“I blame his great-grandmother,” said Gwýnnett. “She filled his head with stories…”
“And encouraged him to read,” said Túathal. “I know. My resources in the palace in Brendinas send me regular reports.”
Gwýnnett nodded in acknowledgment. Of course Túathal had spies. Everyone had spies.
“Too much reading isn’t good for a king,” said Túathal. “It can give them ideas.”
Gwýnnett laughed and her face contorted into what might have been a grin on someone less self-centered.
“Present company excepted, of course,” she said.
“Of course,” said Túathal. “Queen Carys is another crowned head who’s done too much reading.”
“That was never a problem for Prince Dâri,” said Gwýnnett.
“Hah!” said Túathal. “Your late husband had no interest in reading. He only cared about thr
ee things—fighting, hunting, and drinking.”
“There was a fourth thing,” said Gwýnnett.
“Oh, really?” asked Túathal.
“At least until I started drugging his drinks when he couldn’t give me an heir after two years of trying.”
“I see,” said Túathal, nodding. “We really are a well-matched couple.”
Túathal smiled to himself. He’d never tell Gwýnnett that the ring of friendship he’d given Dâri at the feast in honor of their mutual victory before the gates of Nova Eboracum was actually a fertility prevention charm.
“Except for the fact that you prefer men.”
“Except for that,” said Túathal.
“So kind of you to make an exception for me,” said Gwýnnett.
Túathal gave Gwýnnett a slight bow. Gwýnnett grimaced.
“What?” said Túathal. “Was my exceptional performance a problem?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, either,” said Gwýnnett. “Your performance was adequate—and Dârio was the result, so I’m more than satisfied.”
“As am I,” said Túathal.
“I’ve just been thinking about how long Queen Carys has been a thorn in my side. When will the old woman get on with it and die? I’ll never be queen so long as she lives.”
“You’ll be my queen,” said Túathal. “That’s our mutual arrangement. Soon you will be the Old Queen of our united kingdoms.”
“I could do without the adjective,” said Gwýnnett.
“Too late for that, my dear,” said Túathal. “You should have poisoned the Old King, instead of your husband.”
“But I didn’t poison Dâri,” protested Gwýnnett. “A blood clot moved from his knee to his lungs.”
“Of course it did,” said Túathal. The true manner of Dâri’s death was something else he’d never tell Gwýnnett. He hadn’t even told Verro.
Gwýnnett’s face clouded. She knew she was being mocked. Túathal distracted her with a new question.
“What do you know about the Old Queen’s personal wizard? My sources haven’t been able to learn much about her.”
The Congruent Wizard Page 25