Melanthrix the Mage

by Robert Reginald

  “I will draft the proclamation this afternoon for the royal seal, which will be presented to Ambassador Wid­dekin before he departs tomorrow, and a second docu­ment will be dispatched to all of the meeting places of the king­dom. Now, let us adjourn briefly before taking up the matter of this morning’s attack.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “HOW WAS IT DONE?”

  Arkády promptly left the room to check on Fra Jánisar’s investigations. He returned a few moments later with Alexis Andrássy Count of Görgoszák, an accom­plished Psairothi master.

  Andrássy was a short, plump man in his forties, clothed in a rich maroon robe striped thrice in black across each sleeve to indicate the level of his proficiency. He frowned as he sat himself to the right of Arkády, and rubbed his beringed hands across the front edge of his re­ceding hairline, wiping away the sweat. He then pulled a sheaf of notes from his sleeve.

  When the others had returned to the Council table, Gorázd Lord Aboéty motioned for order.

  “Prince Arkády,” he asked, “are you ready?”

  “Yes, grand vizier,” the prince said. “We all saw the unprovoked assault made this morning on Ambas­sador Widdekin and his son by the late Prince Adolphos Count of Einwegflasche. After questioning the partici­pants, I have concluded that the count believed that an at­tack was being pressed against the king, and responded ac­cordingly. When the ambassador advanced towards King Kipriyán, Adolphos somehow saw a poisoned knife or sword in Widdekin’s hand, instead of the parchment, and when no one else came to my father’s aid, bravely stepped forward himself. He is innocent of any crime, and I be­lieve that God will judge him accordingly.

  “The question is ‘why?’ What prompted this as­sault? I asked the king’s physician, Fra Jánisar, to examine the count’s body, and to arrange for a necroprobe of his latent memories.

  “The doctor found nothing wrong physically with Prince Adolphos, other than the wound which was the im­mediate cause of his death. There were no malformations of the brain or other irregularities which could have fos­tered delusions in the man. His humours were in good bal­ance. Therefore, I propose that we must look to the psy­chic plane for the cause of Adolphos’s actions, since the mildness of his character was well known to all of us here.”

  Arkády cleared his throat before continuing.

  “Count Alexis of Görgoszák, an instructor in necro­probing at the Scholê, will now report on his findings.”

  “I thank you, Prince Arkády,” Görgoszák said. “I wish that you should understand that I was unable to per­form a completely thorough examination of the subject, due to the short amount of time that was available to me. Nor­mally, the elucidation of a death-probe of this complexity requires several days at a minimum, and preferably a week to assimilate all of the victim’s subtleties, and to understand their devious interactions. However, such as that...that is, with all appropriate caveats having now been ex­pressed here, I can proceed with an account of my discov­eries, such as they may be.”

  The count pulled an oval-shaped piece of glass from his pocket, and examined his notes more closely.

  “Ahem, yes, this is most, most interesting. Beneath the surface level of the victim’s thoughts, that is to say, his ordinary personality, there was an underlayer, a substratum of interference from some outside agency. Several triggers were introduced into the subject’s brain, so that certain events would inevitably proceed if they matched the appro­priate visual and auditory stimuli.

  “Specifically,” he said, “when the ambassador from Pommerelia was announced at court, one of these triggers was thereby enabled, and when the ambassador stepped forward toward the king with his hand outstretched, a second switch closed in the count’s mind, the additional compulsion then forcing the victim into his attack mode. He firmly believed at all times throughout this process that he was taking the only right and necessary action to defend both king and country.”

  He smiled his pedant’s smile of supercilious tri­umph.

  “It was most cleverly accomplished,” Görgoszák said.

  “Count Alexis,” Metropolitan Timotheos asked, “specifically how was it done?”

  “Well, as to that,” the adept hemmed and hawed, “well, I am not really certain. You see, it takes time to as­similate all the years of a man’s life, and this was a most sophisticated working, very unusual in many respects. There are layers upon layers of interference embedded in the count’s mind, some locked behind the green door, at least one of which I have thus far been unable even to crack. One must proceed very cautiously, because there are certain unscrupulous mages who will place traps in their workings, twistings that can destroy an investigator’s mind if he does not unravel the thread in just a certain way. There is much...”

  “Stop!” interrupted the metropolitan. “Just tell us this. Did a Psairothi fashion the spell?”

  “I, uh, that is to say, I really do not know,” said Alexis, “at least not yet. There are t’ings about this, uh, this event that are very strange. Certain sins, that is, signs, that only an accomplished researcher such as myself would even recognize. Like, uh, for example, the frontal lobe being affected by the hyperthalmoidus. Which is to say, I see another’s hand at work here. One who has made some weary, that is, very good stuff. I think.”

  Prince Arkády tried to steer the proceedings back to some semblance of normality.

  “Is there anything you can tell us about the level of training that would be required to place such a compulsion in a Psairothi, even one not especially accomplished?”

  Alexis was sweating very heavily now, and he wiped his brow with his sleeve.

  “Ahem, well, I do t’ink ve have to go with the flow in an investigation of this type. There are intrinsicacies of the nature that can be seen in the lodes of Prince Dolphin’s mine. Like here,” he said, pointing to his own head and then rubbing the top vigorously. “In here we find much the same. I, uh, I can feel the nature of this coming through wery well, and hope you will do the same. I can feel them little fangers trying to work their way out of my skoal. Even so, princy, uh, princely, we see much in common between the work of Bózard de Guardrobus and, shall we say, Ludolf von Gegendreck. Or was it Rudolf. No, Waddolf, I fink. Anywho, you can see there sorta what I’m talkin’ about. Jesu Christu, they’re crawling all over my head. I, I find more t’ings to investiture...”—he started beating the top of his head with his right hand—“ah, got t’em suckers. Yes, now, as I was saying, they have to be wery good to do this. T’ey, uh, t’ey t’ink t’ey got me, but I knows better. T’ey comin’ t’rough my eyes now. I most stup t’em. Most stop, must, must pop.”

  Suddenly the count plunged his fingers into his sockets, scooping the eyes out with his fingernails, and popping them one at a time into his mouth.

  “Ah,” he said, biting down and smiling his crocodile smile, “T’at’s gut. Ha! Ahhh-ha!”

  Then Alexis started screaming, and he couldn’t be quieted, even when the guards dragged him away down the hall, kicking and biting and fighting.

  “I sees you,” they heard him yell one last time, “I sees you, Kyp. Kyp, Kyp, Kyp-ri-yan-os the Brief, chief!”

  “Someone clean up this mess,” Arkády managed to choke out, before running hurriedly to the garde-robe to void his lunch.

  The king just sat stunned in his place, his face as pallid as that of the absent Doctor Melanthrix.

  When the prince returned, he asked the question on everyone’s mind.

  “Do any of you know what just happened here?”

  Metropolitan Timotheos rubbed the new lines etched in his brow.

  “I would venture a guess, Highness, that whatever ‘claw’ was planted in Prince Adolphos was assimilated by Count Alexis during his probe, and suddenly erupted in his mind, eating away his sanity from the inside out. Whatever it was, I would not want to encounter it myself. The Count of Görgoszák, in spite of his pedantry, was superbly trained, and certainly as proficient as anyone at t
his table. If this menace can whelm him, who was expecting it, then none of us is safe.”

  All nodded soberly.

  King Kipriyán suddenly gasped out, “Then, then, what do you expect us to do?

  “What!”

  He pounded the table with his right hand.

  “What!!”

  He pounded again and screamed.

  “What!!!”

  Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he looked around at the faces staring at him, blushed, and abruptly said in a weak voice, “This meeting is adjourned,” before rushing out of the room without even waiting for his guards to catch up with him.

  “God in Heaven,” said Prince Arkády, “the enterprise has begun. The Great Lord help us all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “MAY GOD HAVE

  MERCY ON HIS SOUL”

  For Arkády, the next several hours passed quickly. His immediate concern was the safety of the royal family. He dispatched trusted members of his own elite guard to oversee the security arrangements at the personal apart­ments of his parents, his brothers, and the Forellës. Mes­sages were sent to Patriarch Avraäm and the chief officials of state to take all appropriate steps to protect themselves. When the prince was satisfied that he had done all that could be done for the moment, he summoned Archpriest Athanasios from the nearby Scholê.

  When the cleric arrived, Arkády asked him to take a seat opposite.

  “I know you’ve served as occasional private secre­tary for my father the king,” the prince said, “although I myself haven’t used you in this capacity before. However, I now have need of your services.”

  The prince gestured to his office table, awash in piles of documents.

  “I must have someone whom I can trust to help sift through the dozens of reports I’m been receiving about these outrages, and choose those important enough to bring to my further attention. I also require someone to handle confidential communiqués.”

  Athanasios bent to the canvas satchel at his side, and took out several sheets of parchment, a sharpened quill, and a small pot of ink. These he placed in front of him on the desk, and took pen in hand.

  “I’m ready to begin now, Highness,” he said.

  “Good.”

  First Arkády dictated a short, formal letter of sym­pathy on behalf of king and country to Ambassador Wid­dekin and his family, also expressing his own regret for the grief they were experiencing. The priest’s nimble fingers flew quickly across the page, finishing the docu­ment within moments of Arkády’s dictation. Then Athana­sios sanded the ink, scanned the page briefly, and handed it to the prince for his approval and signature.

  Arkády read the sheet carefully, and nodded in ap­preciation. He noted a few places where the priest had cor­rected a word, or had made a subtle change in the phrasing to more closely approximate his master’s meaning.

  “Excellent. Truly excellent,” he said.

  The prince inked the letter with a flourish, and set it to one side.

  “Now,” he sighed, “an even more difficult note....”

  He rose and walked to the nearby window. Gazing out at a gray sky which threatened snow, he began dictating to King Ezzö and Queen Teréza a heartfelt expression of the mutual grief their families were sharing in the death of his cousin Dolph.

  “...I would give anything if the events which tran­spired this morning had not happened...,” he added. “Please believe me when I tell you that I would have gladly offered my own life for his if I could have saved him. I shall always regret the fact that I could not....”

  Arkády paused to regain his composure, cleared his throat, and continued.

  “...With the king’s permission, I have dispatched my own guards to supplement those protecting you and your family. A state funeral for the soul of Prince Adolphos will be held four days hence at Saint Konstantín’s Cathedral. May God have mercy on his soul....”

  He stopped.

  “Please finish it, Athanasios,” he said. “I can do no more.”

  The priest continued writing for a moment or two more, sanded the missive, and passed it along.

  Arkády sat silently, reading both letters over several times. Finally he signed the second one and laid it aside to dry.

  “Thank you, Archpriest. You’ve done me a great service today, one which I will not soon forget. Now, you may go. Please send in Tyrvón as you leave.”

  “Yes, Highness.” Athanasios bowed. “Call me should you have further need.”

  Then he left the room, quietly closing the door be­hind him.

  Shortly thereafter, Arkády’s chief aide, Tyrvón Baëthy, entered. Arkády asked him to prepare the two let­ters for transmittal. As the prince affixed his seal to each, pressing his sphragis-ring deeply into the bright red wax, he thought of the blood which had oozed from the bodies of the two young men who had met their premature ends this day.

  He handed the first document to his aide.

  “Send this by fast courier to Ambassador Wid­dekin’s boat.”

  He picked up the second letter.

  “Deliver this note personally to Prince Ezzö’s quar­ters. Now!,” he said, more forcefully than he had in­tended.

  “Wait,” he added, as Tyrvón opened the door. “What I meant to say was, ‘Thank you.’“

  “Of course, sir,” came the reply.

  “I’ll be in my quarters the rest of the day. Please don’t disturb me.”

  “Yes, Highness,” Tyrvón said respectfully, bowing deeply.

  The aide carefully took the documents entrusted to him, and paused, as if he wanted to say something, but fi­nally just shook his head.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “YOU CAN LEAD AN ORT TO WATER...”

  Day was now easing into early evening. Sur­rounded by his heavily-armed personal bodyguard, Prince Arkády wearily made his way back to his apartments within the palace. Leaving the gendarmes stationed at his door, with instructions to summon him if they noticed anything out of the ordinary, he entered his quarters with a sigh of relief.

  A short, slightly plump, dark-haired woman was giving instructions to some servants at the rear of the room, but she turned quickly as he entered.

  “Kásha!” the Princess Dúra cried out, running to him. “I heard.... Are you all right?”

  “Physically, I’m fine,” he said, “thanks to God’s good grace. As for the rest....”

  He gathered her into his arms, and just rocked for a moment, holding her warmth tight against him.

  “Do you want to talk?” his wife said, stroking his brow, smoothing away the lines of care etched in his fore­head, brushing back the undisciplined lock of hair she so loved.

  Arkády shook his head “no.”

  “Maybe later,” he said. “For now, though, I should eat something.”

  He shuddered.

  “Gad, even the thought of food absolutely sickens me. But I must eat...and rest. And then, I’m afraid, I’ll have to leave again for a few hours.”

  He clenched her even tighter.

  “What do ordinary people do, Drúsha?” he said quietly into the mass of her hair. “How do they cope? I spend my days running from crisis to crisis, trying to shore up the walls of state here and there, but all the time seeing them crumbling everywhere I look. And fa­ther! God save us all.”

  “Shhh,” she said, “shhh, my love. Relax for a time. Let your cares slip away just now. I’m here. Lay back on this couch. Put your head down and close your eyes. Katrina will prepare something light for supper. There’ll be plenty of time to talk later.”

  She motioned with one hand to the hovering ser­vant, who rushed off into another room.

  “How’re the children?” he said, half asleep al­ready.

  “Ari misses you, of course,” Dúra said, “and so does Rÿna. She’s made friends with that hieromonk from the Scholê, the one whose name I can never recall....”

  “Father Athanasios,” Arkády said.

  “...Yes, Athana
sios. He told me yesterday that she had great psai potential. He wants to test her power. I said you would have to decide.”

  “Hmmm,” was all Arkády could manage.

  She paused.

  “There’s something else, too, Kásha. Please don’t be angry with me, but I had to call Doctor Melanthrix again today. I know you don’t like him, but he’s the only one who really seems to help Ari when he has one of his spells.”

  Tears filled her dark, luminous eyes.

  “I just can’t stand seeing him in so much pain, dear­est.”

  Arkády reached over and took her hand, rubbing the fingers.

  “And did he help?” he asked quietly.

  “Oh, yes.” Dúra smiled though her tears. “Oh, it was a gift from God! The doctor just sat there, very pa­tiently, holding Ari’s hand and telling him stories, and slowly, ever so slowly, the pain began to subside.

  “Sometimes, if it gets too bad, he uses those nee­dles. It makes me shudder to see those awful things stick­ing in my poor Ari’s body. And if they don’t work, he’ll give him a little fluid from an odd-shaped bottle. But af­terwards Ari seems so much better. I apologize, hus­band, for not consulting you first.”

  Arkády put her hands together and brought them to his face, kissing them.

  “How could I possibly chide you for easing our son’s pain?” he asked. “Dúra, I was forced to kill cousin Dolph today. Nothing...”—his eyes turned cold—“nothing that I’ll ever do again will make me feel quite this way again. I can still see Aunt Teréza, crying her heart out, blaming me with her tears.”

  “The world may fall around us, dearest,” his wife said, sitting next to him and pulling his head to her breast, “but as long as we have each other and our children, we’ll survive somehow.”

  “Now I must eat,” Arkády said, sitting up straight, as Katrina entered the room with a small platter and placed it on his lap.

  He looked down at the hodge-podge piled before him.

  “What is this stuff?” he asked, aghast at the jumble of dried-out bread and multi-hued meat and cheese.