Eynon rubbed his chin. I wonder if it’s the same Master Mage as today, he thought. And why was he summoned from the far west? Was he here in Melyncárreg then? Why was the Master Mage living so far from Brendinas?
He read on.
When their supplies grew short, the infantry squares and cavalry of the Eagle People came forth from their walls to give battle. The king’s son, Crown Prince Dârioth, fell in combat fighting side by side with Túath, the heir to Tamloch’s throne, but their sons avenged them. Young Prince Dâri of Dâron and Prince Túathal of Tamloch slew the commander of the city and his guards, claiming eagle standards from four legions.
Eynon had heard that story from grandfathers and grandmothers in the Coombe who’d served in the levies. They didn’t often speak of the battle at the walls of Nova Eboracum, but it seemed like every one of them had been within a hundred yards of the royal princes when they fell.
A book like this should give me the truth of the matter, thought Eynon. It’s not the faded memories of old warriors who probably heard the story third-hand around a campfire. He kept reading.
All would have been lost without the actions of two brave, quick-thinking men. Salderwen, a yeoman soldier in the king’s guard, blocked a cowardly thrust from an enemy short sword aimed at young Prince Dâri’s back. Llandoethan, a newly made crown wizard, cast a shield spell that saved both princes and their armsmen from a great fireball thrown from the walls of Nova Eboracum.
Eynon had hoped for clarity, but ended up more confused than before. Salderwen and Llandoethan? Were Derry and Doethan heroes in the war with the Eagle People? If so, why did they end up settling in the far west of the kingdom along the Rhuthro valley, instead of closer to the court in Brendinas? He skipped over a long section detailing the terms of the Eagle People’s surrender and the new borders for their territory until he found something relevant.
From what he read, he learned that the old king was grateful to Salderwen and Llandoethan, raising Salderwen to a baron and giving him a generous estate on fertile lands north of Brendinas.
Llandoethan was also rewarded. His magical talents were strong and he was named Senior Crown Wizard—the Master Mage for the kingdom in all but title, since the Master had disappeared again, shortly after creating the ice bridge across the Abbenoth.
The historian writing this volume of the Annals was clearly dancing around a sensitive area when discussing the Master Mage. Perhaps that story was in the previous volume. Eynon glanced at the shelf and confirmed the earlier book was there. He’d read that one next, since he also wanted to know more about Princess Seren and what she’d done to merit a gold statue—or two gold statues, if it was true that dragonship raiders took the first.
Eynon knew the romantic daydream version of the story—it had been one of his little sister’s favorites when she was small. Princess Seren was the first child born to King Dârioth and Queen Carys, close to seventy years ago. Her younger brother, named Dârioth, like his father, came along a few years later. The princess had striking auburn hair and was a favorite of the court, as beautiful as her wits were quick. She sat by her father’s side in court and council from the time she was six, learning how to be a good ruler when her turn came to take the throne.
Years passed, and Princess Seren grew from a precocious child to an impressive young woman. Suitors from noble families across the kingdom vied for her favor, but she put them off, saying she wanted to focus on her work as her father’s assistant for a time before considering marriage. She was scheduled to speak to a gathering of stewards and military engineers on the importance of building solid roads and sturdy bridges when she disappeared while walking down a hallway from one room in the palace to the next.
Everyone in the kingdom from blacksmith to baron tried to find the missing princess. The king and queen offered a huge reward to anyone who could help them find her, but it did no good. She had vanished from the land between the mountains and the sea and was never seen again in Dâron.
Eynon’s sister Braith had a Princess Seren doll when she was younger. The doll’s hair came from a fox tail and was made for her by one of the women a few cottages down from theirs in Haywall. When Eynon was older, he learned that the tail of every fox caught robbing a hen house in the Coombe was used for a similar purpose.
He looked back at the copy of the Annals of Dârioth XXIV, Volume I, behind him on the shelf and decided he had time to follow his quest to learn more of Princess Seren’s story. Chee didn’t stir from his nap when Eynon got up and returned with another thick book.
It was no surprise that the disappearing princess merited her own chapter in Volume I. Eynon skimmed the pages and gathered that the romantic tale told to children was largely correct. What it omitted, however, was any discussion of the Master Mage’s role in the search for Seren. The book in his hands covered that in detail.
The Master Mage blamed himself for not being able to find the princess. He was convinced she had been abducted by wizardry using a congruency gate. For days, he cast detection spell after detection spell, hoping for details about who might have taken her and where she might be. None were successful.
After a fortnight of failures, he requested an audience with the king and queen and tried to resign his position. The royal couple wouldn’t hear of it, but the Master Mage insisted. The king was wise, however, and suggested a compromise, which the Annals recorded.
“The kingdom rests on a four-legged stool,” said the king. “The crown and its nobles, the wizards, the traders and artisans, and those who till the land.”
“That is known to all,” said the Master Mage.
The king nodded.
“Each leg must be of equal length for the stool to balance,” he continued, “but losing the princess makes the crown’s leg shorter. I can already feel the stool begin to tip.”
“Only for a short time, Your Majesty,” said the Master Mage. “The prince will grow and fill the void.”
“That is so,” said the king, “but now the stool is swaying. If the wizards’ leg grows shorter—if you leave our service forever—I fear the stool will fall.”
The Master Mage stood silent. The king looked at him with kind eyes, while the queen’s gaze was down. She still wept for her lost daughter.
“Leave the court for a time,” said the king. “Take as many days or months or years as you need to find Princess Seren, or find peace.”
The Master Mage bowed, acknowledging the wisdom in the king’s words. He gave the king a ring that could be used to summon him if the kingdom was ever in grave danger and left the palace.
According to the chronicler who wrote Volume I, the Master Mage was not seen again, though Eynon knew he reappeared more than twenty years later when he froze the Abbenoth River at Nova Eboracum.
Carefully lifting the leather cover, Eynon closed the book, then closed his eyes. It was a sad story. Two of the brightest gems in the kingdom had been lost within weeks of each other, forty-five years ago.
Maybe that’s why the Master keeps to himself in his tower, he thought. If he’s even the same person.
He was hoping for answers from history, but all he had were more questions. Eynon heard a tapping on the frame of the door to the library. It was Nûd.
“Time to put the rolls in the oven and get dinner started,” he said.
Eynon sat up with a start and wondered how the afternoon had passed so quickly. He smiled to himself, knowing the answer, then put the history books back on the shelf, collected a half-asleep Chee and joined Nûd in the hall.
“I’ve got a lot of questions for you about the Master,” he said.
“I’m sure you do,” said Nûd.
His smile, as best Eynon could read it, was enigmatic.
Merry
Merry was practicing her shield work at the top of the tower in the moonlight. Th
e setting sun had turned the western horizon red and gold hours ago. As she practiced, she faced east, watching for Doethan. Merry was gaining confidence in her new magestone and setting, pleased with its power and responsiveness. She snapped spheres and hemispheres and flat walls of solidified sound into place in fractions of a second and dispelled them every bit as quickly.
After Fercha had tagged her on the back with a stinging ball of sound that afternoon while she was using a hemisphere instead of a sphere for protection, Merry and her magestone had devised a very thin sphere of solidified sound that acted as a detector for anything approaching from behind. It was very sensitive and would automatically switch to a full, thick spherical shield in case of an attack from the rear, yet not interfere with working offensive magic when thin. The only problem was its sensitivity. It would snap into place if approached by a midge, not just a missile.
At least I’ll avoid mosquito bites, thought Merry. And better too sensitive than not sensitive enough. I’ll have to tell Fercha about it and see what she thinks.
“Merry,” came strong Fercha’s voice up the stairs. “Come down. Doethan’s here.”
“How did…” Merry said out loud, then she stopped herself. Of course. He didn’t fly all the way from Brendinas. He came through a gate.
She started to speed down the stairs, or tried to. It was hard to run on a spiral staircase. Even at a more measured pace, it didn’t take long to get to Fercha’s workroom.
Doethan was standing next to Fercha by one of the worktables. He still wore his sky-blue cloak, but his plain white linen tunic had been replaced by a finer white garment edged in gold embroidery. His long gray hair was pulled back and the large blue gem in his circlet pulsed with light. His ironwood staff leaned against the table so both his hands were free to hug Merry. The two held each other for a moment, then Doethan stepped back.
“You’ve rejected me as a teacher to take up with this one instead,” teased Doethan with a grin. He put his hand on Fercha’s shoulder and they all smiled.
“Your loss, my gain,” said Fercha.
“No, my gain,” said Merry. “Now I’ve got you both to teach me.”
All three laughed.
“I’ve learned so much, Doethan,” said Merry. “Fercha helped me find my true magestone and craft a setting and taught me offensive and defensive magic and…”
“Fercha is an excellent mentor, I’m sure,” said Doethan, breaking in. “And I owe her an apology for sending you and Eynon here without her approval in advance. But I’m here with a purpose, and it’s best if we get to it.”
His expression turned serious.
“We need to know what Verro was looking for in the Coombe. Spies in Tamloch say they’re preparing an attack on Dâron territory, and I’m concerned the Coombe may be their target. Verro never does anything without a good reason.”
“I’ll second that,” said Fercha. “That’s why I stopped him when I saw him over the Coombe initially. I wanted to talk, but he attacked me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Doethan.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Fercha. “I lost my original magestone in that fight, but now I’ve got another.”
“It will take you weeks to get back to…” began Doethan.
“That’s my problem, not yours. The wizard makes the artifact…”
“The artifact does not make the wizard,” completed Merry and Doethan.
“Fine,” said Doethan when Fercha glared at him. “You can take care of yourself—and help me scout the Coombe in the morning.”
“Certainly,” said Fercha.
“Don’t you want advice on the Coombe from Eynon?” asked Merry. “He knows everything about it.”
“A nice young man,” said Doethan. “Good choice.”
“Thank you,” said Merry. “If I ever see him again.”
“You will, I’m sure,” said Doethan.
“She can see him now if you use that ring you gave him,” said Fercha. “Whatever made you decide to give him one?”
“Now that I think about it, I’m not sure. But I’m glad I did. I must have seen something special in the lad.”
Doethan rubbed the center of his forehead under his circlet, then noticed Merry and Fercha were staring at him.
“What?” he said. “It itches.”
“The ring, Doethan,” said Fercha.
“Oh, yes,” he replied, removing the simple gold band from his little finger and handing it to Merry. “He’s your lover. You call him.”
Merry raised her eyebrows but took the offered ring and held it in front of her in both hands.
“Gwaloeaden!” she commanded.
Three bell tones chimed. The ring expanded and a hazy scene began to sharpen inside its enlarged circumference.
“Eynon? It’s me.”
Chapter 28
“What is commonplace may not be common.”
— Ealdamon’s Epigrams
Nûd had been unresponsive, even evasive, when Eynon had asked him about the Master and Princess Seren.
“That’s the Master’s business, not mine—or yours,” he’d said. “What the Master decides to say to you or anyone is up to him.”
“But the Master is the same person who tried to find the princess when she disappeared?”
“He’s old enough to be,” said Nûd, “but he doesn’t confide the details of his personal life to me.”
Eynon understood that was the end of their conversation. He wouldn’t get more out of Nûd.
When he saw Damon at dinner, he considered asking the older man what he knew about the Master’s history. Damon’s dour mood at the table—a contrast to his smiles and laughter when Eynon had gotten the better of him this morning—made Eynon think better of it. He now had access to the Academy’s huge library—he could live without answers to all his questions with so many new things to learn.
Both men had cleaned their plates, so Eynon assumed they were satisfied with their dinners. Damon went upstairs after he’d finished eating without thanking Eynon for his meal. Uncharacteristically, Nûd shortly followed the older man instead of helping to clean up.
“What’s buttered their bread with goose droppings?” said Eynon to himself. That reminded him he’d best get busy if he wanted to have more time in the library before bed. It was still early evening in Melyncárreg, and Eynon thought he could light one of the lamps in the library to read by.
It didn’t take him long to get the pots and dishes washed and set out to dry. Then he had to prepare tomorrow’s bread. Mixing dough always relaxed Eynon. He enjoyed the smell of the yeast and the feel of combining the ingredients with his hands.
Eynon put the covered bowl of dough on a shelf next to the banked fire and had just finished washing his hands when he heard three bells chime softly. The middle finger of his left hand buzzed like a wasp trapped under a goblet. It was Doethan’s ring.
He held the ring’s enlarged circle in front of him, saw a blurred image, and heard an oh-so-familiar voice say, “Eynon? It’s me.”
“Merry?” said Eynon. “It’s you?”
“Of course it’s me,” said Merry. “Pay attention. We don’t have much time and we need your help.”
Now that the scene through the ring had sharpened, Eynon could see Merry’s smiling face. He smiled back, ready to jump through the ring, if that had been possible. He remembered how Doethan’s first message had been short and difficult to understand, so he focused on what Merry was saying. Chee leaned in from his usual perch on Eynon’s shoulder so he could see Merry, too.
“Right,” he said. “You’re safe? I’m so glad to see you! What can I do?”
“Yes. Me, too. Tell us what Tamloch might want from the Coombe,” said Merry in a quick burst.
“What?” said Eynon. “Dâron
hardly wants anything from the Coombe besides taxes and levies. What could Tamloch want?”
“This is a waste of time,” said a woman’s voice he didn’t recognize.
“Shush,” said Merry. “Think, Eynon. Is there anything of value to Tamloch in the Coombe?”
“Tell him I found Verro snooping toward the northwest,” said the unknown woman’s voice.
“Particularly in the northwest,” said Merry.
“I heard—and unless they want green soapstone griddles or green slate roof tiles, I can’t think of anything.”
“That could be it,” said a familiar man’s voice.
“Is that Doethan?” asked Eynon.
“Yes,” said Merry and Doethan simultaneously.
“Where would we find the soapstone and slate?” Doethan asked.
“At the quarries in Wherrel,” said Eynon.
“Ask him how to find Wherrel,” said the woman’s voice. Eynon could see a woman with short red hair behind Merry.
“How do we…” began Merry.
“It’s in the northwest corner of the Coombe. Look for a village where all the houses are topped by green slate. The quarries are a quarter mile west of there, through a gap in the mountains.”
“Thank you,” said Merry. “You’re wonderful.”
“So are you!”
The connection was beginning to lose coherence and fade.
The Congruent Apprentice (The Congruent Mage Series Book 1) Page 33