The general considered. “There are better men.” Though none that I’ve met, if I put humility aside for a moment.
At this the Queen laughed again. “Really? Then who? Kensington, you say? Or this trader from Whilure? Would you have me throw myself at our meticulous Steward? My ancient Mage? Peter and Simon have wives and likely mistresses as well. Come, tell me true—am I so ugly that you would not have me? Would we be having this discussion if I looked like Niku’s protégé, Belara Kassar, over whom all the men at court fawn? Or even the Elven princess you gawk at, Lady Elyn—Chief Chocktaw’s daughter? Surely the power I offer in trade compensates, does it not?”
Strongiron frowned. “You insult me, my Queen.”
The Queen plowed forward. “If I insult anyone, it is myself. Come, we are speaking plainly, are we not? I am not under any illusions here. But—you may find that love grows from a place of respect. Half the realm arranges their marriages, each lord jockeying to move up in stature, securing more land, more title. The milkmaids and stable boys may chase after love. As leaders, we must be more discriminate.” She paused. “Frankly, I am surprised at your stubbornness.”
The general narrowed his ice-blue eyes. “Very well, if we are speaking plainly, then let me ask the indelicate question. How do you know your—womb is fertile? I don’t engage in court gossip, but there are whispers, Najalas. You were married ten years!”
The Queen closed her eyes and lowered her head. “I just know.”
Strongiron narrowed his eyes further. “My Queen? How do you know?”
She looked up, tears in her eyes. “Because…he couldn’t get a baby on any other woman in court, either. Don’t you think we would have tried anything—anything—to give Elvidor an heir? Had one of our surrogates conceived, it would only have been my private shame. But at least the kingdom would persist.”
Strongiron just stared at his Queen, speechless.
“So when you talk of ‘love,’ now you know why I laugh. The King you say you loved must have had every lady in waiting, every countess, every single woman in Rookwood. All with my blessing, if not my joy. And we waited for some lucky lady to bear his heir. None did. No, Strongiron, it is not my shame, there is nothing barren about my womb. Quite the opposite, I suspect.” She smiled and chuckled cynically at herself. “My body has been preserved these last ten years. I think that is long enough. Will you not reconsider?”
Strongiron said nothing for an awkward moment while he poured wine into a large cup. “Najalas—I would do anything for you and the realm. I am yours to command.” He lifted the cup to drink, but stopped before it reached his lips. “But not this.”
The Queen narrowed her eyes and stood up. “I can command this.”
Strongiron bowed his head. “You can, my Queen. But you won’t.”
Exasperated, the Queen walked back to her place at the table. She wasn’t the least bit hungry. She grabbed her goblet and drank rather noisily, unbefitting a Queen, for sure. “Are you unable to be a man?” It was the only explanation that made sense to her.
It was Strongiron’s turn to laugh. “If that helps to explain my decision—”
The Queen threw her goblet at him, which he evaded easily. “It does NOT! I do pay attention to court gossip, as I’ve had to live with it for many years. I hear whispers, too. Do you not fancy women? A man of your looks, single well into his 20s… It is unnatural, as they say.”
Strongiron considered. If ever there was a good reason to lie… But he could not. Like all Knights, he was bound to tell the truth. Strongiron, son of Peace-arm, Knight of the Order Thunder, Commander of the Realm, bearer of the ancient crest of House Tuitio…he would not lie to his Queen and dishonor his name.
“Aye. I fancy women. I just haven’t found the right one. Yet.” When Najalas did not reply, he excused himself and left the chamber.
Strongiron
Raking back his dark brown hair, wet with salt spray, he remembered that conversation like it was yesterday. Sending her best general on a lengthy babysitting assignment seemed petty, outside of Elvidor’s best interest, and totally out of character for the Queen. She must truly believe I’m needed here. In the end, it was the only thing that made sense to him. He sighed.
He turned to see Kari standing next to him. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Strongiron,” she said shyly. He was, admittedly, startled. My, she has brilliant green eyes. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, alone.” She smiled sheepishly. “I wanted to let you know about something I’ve been praying to Dymetra about…”
Veronica
It had been nearly two days since she had reached out to Xaro. Seated in a room, wrapped up in blankets to keep the cold at bay, she waited patiently to hear back. She had decided to stay on the outskirts of Rookwood, off the main paths, until she could speak with him, and she did not want to be around others when he cast his spell of communication.
Finally, near evening, she felt the air stir and saw his image appear in her room. He was smiling.
“My apologies, Veronica. I have been late in speaking with you. I have had other tasks that simply could not wait. The good news is that my labor has been fruitful. Our army is stable, and growing. But enough of my update. Please—I can bear the suspense no longer. Your good news for me?” Xaro’s image leaned forward, positively beaming.
Veronica’s heart sank, followed by her head. No. I will look him in the eyes when I tell him. “Master…I have failed you. I executed our plan, and took my shot. The poison dart…it was blocked. I won’t make excuses. I will simply say that the dart did not find its home in his flesh. I was lucky to escape after the attempt, but managed to do so without them seeing me, I believe. But their defenses will be up, and his especially. I will keep trying, Master. I will need more time.”
She watched the color begin to drain from Xaro, as disappointment spread unchecked across his face. “You were the best, Veronica. The one I most trusted. And now…this is beyond disappointing. You have no idea how much I wanted him dead.”
Silver always said a True Assassin never asks why. A True Assassin never asks why. A True… “May I ask why, Master?”
Xaro just cocked his head slightly. “You mean besides him being the leader of our enemy’s forces?”
Veronica now put her head down. “Yes, of course, Xaro. It is obvious why he is a target.” She looked back up though to stare at Xaro, unable to shake the sense that there was more.
Xaro smiled, but there was no joy in it. His smile was one of contempt. “He is my brother, Veronica, if you must know. We share a father, the wretched knight Peace-Arm—Peace-Arm Orion Tuitio. I am of House Tuitio, but you won’t find my name on any crests, nor gold in any coffers bearing my initials. The fool has no clue. We could have ruled the land as brothers—I offered him the same post Tar-Tan now holds. He rejected me, just as our father did nearly forty years ago. Imagine the surprise when I lay claim to the Tuitio wealth after his untimely death. The Queen and her army reels, our army and our coffers swell, and my brother lies dead—making me the last in the proud line of Tuitio men. Xaro Magnus Tuitio—the bastard child who was born of a union between my cowardly father and enchantress mother. Does that tell you why I want him dead, Assassin?”
Veronica just stared at Xaro. She had no words. All she could manage was, “Yes, Master.”
“To say I am disappointed is such an understatement because you—of all my lieutenants—you do not fail! That is what makes you special…what makes you the best. You should have slit his throat.”
“I would not have escaped,” she said.
“You should have slit his throat,” he repeated.
It was worse than a slap in the face. “I see.”
Xaro sighed. “Very well. You said they did not see you? Perhaps it would be better if you did take that trip down to Urthrax, to try and thwart their efforts. Maybe you can pick off the team one-by-one to ensure they never reach the Tower of Dariez.”
Veronica swallowed. “Master…the tr
ip has already left. My attempt at Strongiron did not delay their departure.”
“How do you know? Are you still in the castle?”
“No, I am on the outskirts, in a tavern. I…heard last night in the common room. There were some soldiers…grumbling.” This will not go over well.
“Soldiers grumbling? Over what? What do they care if their Queen goes hunting for True Clerics across the sea? What did you hear, Veronica?” Xaro narrowed his eyes.
She sighed. “They said…that she sent Strongiron with them. The soldiers were grumbling because their General was sent away on a mission to the South. A new man is in charge…I didn’t catch his name.”
Xaro slowly closed his eyes and put his hands over his face. “You could have been on that boat…with any number of opportunities. Argh!” he moaned.
“I know. We should not have changed my plans. Master, I swear I will make this up to you. But perhaps there is another opportunity. Allow me to eliminate the Queen for you, Master. If she dies, Elvidor will plunge into chaos! We—”
“Elvidor will rally around their martyred Queen. I have considered this, Veronica. Even if I trusted you to do this—which I do not—I do not weigh the rewards as outweighing the risks. She is a figurehead; Strongiron is the key. No, there is enough chaos in Elvidor as is; I do not need to galvanize the east and west over a common cause.”
“Then let us attack, Master! I am already close, and with the General gone—”
Xaro was clenching his fists in frustration and cut her off. “We are not ready to attack. Are you serious? My cleric floats here across the vast ocean. My men need to be properly trained in the pits that I have built, which stand on the other side of the Ajax Mountains from where we sit right now. My army needs to learn how to go into battle with the undead next to them if we are to have a coordinated attack. And we need boats innumerable. We also need more mages, more thieves, and I daresay, more assassins. But mostly we need gold to address all these needs. You silly girl. Go to Gaust. Meet up with Trevor and Marik. Perhaps your talents will help recover my ring. Do not contact me again until you have my ring and are bound for Sands End.” He looked up one last time. “I am utterly disappointed in this contract thus far.” And then he was gone.
Veronica stared at the empty space that was his image a moment ago, and she made herself a vow: If it is this ring he wants, than I shall find this ring. And I will be the one to deliver it to him. Xaro will not stay disappointed in me for long.
Tarsh
Walking back to his barracks from a visit with Horace Packard, Tarsh felt the cold rip through his cloak as snow swirled around him. This winter was miserable, and he hoped to trade a bit of magic for some food for Nugget and himself. A blizzard had enveloped Brigg, making the walk slow. Luckily, his housing was not far away. Hopefully Nugget had a roaring fire going by now. Walking quickly alone in the dark through the snow, he found his mind wandering, as it often did when he was disgusted with his situation. Hungry, denied access to the Staircase, he felt trapped in Brigg and could not rid himself of that last conversation he’d had with the beautiful illusionist before she left…
***
“It makes no sense, Kari. I can protect you every bit as well as that nosy tracker and a hundred times better than our village Elder. Near as I can tell—”
“Who says I’ll need protection?” Kari blurted. “I am a year older, after all.” She did not want it to sound as harsh as it did. But it was true: she had had more training, passed more tests, and was a bit more accomplished. She looked a little insulted.
Tarsh sat quietly, ignoring her question. “Kari, I should be going with you.” I need to go with you. He reached for her hands.
Kari allowed him to hold them for a moment before gently pulling away. “I would love to have you come along, Tarsh, you know that. But as I’ve said—it’s not my money. We need Elder Phillip’s gold to travel to Rookwood. I’m lucky he allowed Rebecca to go.”
“Then why her and not me? What good is a rabbit hunter on board a ship!?” Tarsh said, raising his voice. “In fact, I’m going to talk to Phillip tonight.”
“No.”
“Why not? I thought we were…building toward something.” Tarsh thought about reaching for her hands again, but stopped short. “I still don’t understand why you’re leaving in the first place.” That’s not quite true. I know why you’re leaving…I just don’t understand why you’re leaving without me.
“Tarsh…” Kari began. “I already told you—what I heard and saw in my prophecy compels me to meet our Queen. And Rebecca will be helpful with…with Phillip. He is not someone we fully trust. She is far more talented than you give her credit for, and far more resourceful than I gave her credit for.”
Tarsh felt his face growing red as he tried to keep his anger in check. He was a patient man—it was one of his gifts. But his frustration with this entire conversation had reached a pinnacle. He looked Kari square in those dazzling green eyes that so captivated him.
“Stay,” he said.
Kari just looked at Tarsh strangely, as if she was thinking about something completely different. “What did you say?”
“I said stay, Kari. Wait. We’ll find a way to get to Rookwood together.”
Kari had that faraway look in her eyes for a moment longer before focusing on his words.
“No, Tarsh. I’m sure we’ll see each other again, but this is goodbye for now. I must do this. I need to do this. I want to do this. But I will return when I can.” No hug, no kiss. She smiled as she squeezed his hand gently, before leaving him to prepare for her long voyage…
***
That conversation had been months ago, when the chill in the air was just starting, and yet he still pictured her silhouette walking out the same door that he now entered. He pulled the door shut behind him and saw Nugget fast asleep in a chair by the fire, slumped over awkwardly. Marik sat next to him.
“Hello, Tarsh. Pardon my intrusion, but there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”
Magi
It only seemed like several years since Magi had last set foot in Gaust. In many ways, the city was a turning point in his life; he had seen death up close and personal for the first time on that trip, losing his companions Lionel, the clever Ranger, and Sindar, the burly Warrior. Kyle and he had been forced to fend for themselves. He had become a thief that day, and felt the anxiety of one who was being chased—hunted. It was his first mission…and it was successful. He had found the precious scroll for his “master.” And he was clever enough to make a copy of it for himself before handing it over.
Perhaps I should try and use it on myself? He put the thought out of his head. He didn’t feel sick, he didn’t feel changed. Oh, he suspected Marik had used the scroll on him—he knew, intellectually, that his memories didn’t line up with his current personality. But it was his past that seemed out of character, not the present. Nothing wrong with him. Just a Dark Mage trying to make his way in a Dark World by whatever means that present themselves. The world gave him nothing that he couldn’t take for himself, and if he couldn’t take it, that was on him.
No, best to save it…surely there is a better use. Perhaps Kari…
He smiled to himself at the thought of what Kari could be like if she saw the world the way he now saw it—saw it properly, in all its darkness. Perhaps she would understand why her brother had been in the way…
A momentary uneasiness turned his stomach, ever so briefly, and he refocused on his task at hand. Climbing the massive steps to the Great Library, heavily cloaked for the chill of winter, he walked casually past the columns. An acolyte approached him. “Sir, come, warm yourself. May I help you find something?”
“I’m looking for Master Wyzle, Thomas.” Magi kept his hood up, but tried to sound cheerful.
“I see. You have me at a disadvantage—have we met before?” Thomas asked with a forced politeness.
“I’m sure we have somewhere along the line. Would you take me to s
ee your Master?” Magi began to walk slowly toward the Keeper’s office.
Thomas hastily scurried in front of Magi, cutting him off. “Yes, of course. What name should I announce?”
Magi pulled back his hood, revealing the off-putting whiteness of his eyes. “Tell him Magi Blacksmooth would like a quiet, brief word with him.” Though it had been less than a year since when they last met, Magi had grown accustomed to issuing orders in a commanding tone over the last several months. He expected Thomas to obey.
Thomas shuffled backwards, wordlessly. He did not take his eyes off the True Mage, but felt behind himself to avoid tables and bookshelves until he reached the door. He said simply, “This way,” and he disappeared through the door. Magi followed silently, smiling pleasantly. He knew the way to the back room where Lionel was killed.
In a few short steps, with Thomas mostly tripping over himself trying to avoid turning his back on the mage, he unbolted the door and announced, with no fanfare, “Master Wyzle—a guest for you. Magi Blacksmooth. Good evening.”
He started to depart, but Wyzle stood up quickly and said, “Not even Lord Corovant would have guessed that we should have a young mage visiting us.” He smiled awkwardly at his helper, and nodded him away.
Magi was left to stare at the Keeper of the Books across the room. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the body of his friend slumping over, blood quickly pooling everywhere. But the marble floor looked as white and pristine as ever.
Wyzle looked over at Magi. His expression changed when he saw Magi’s eyes. Most men’s did. “H-how can I help you, Magi?”
The True Mage grabbed a seat uncomfortably close to Wyzle. “Do you remember me?” It was an innocent enough question.
The Keeper stared at the young man, and nodded slowly. “Yes, it would be hard to forget you.”
Magi threw Marik’s book of Ancient Spells at him. “How did my former master learn that the scroll of Tralatus was here? He knew it was in the Great Library in Gaust, and he sent me and my friends here to find it.”
In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) Page 52