“Ingleton should work just fine,” assured Arbora. The room had only one chair, and Bennie offered it to the Enchanted Fist’s foundress.
“I didn’t have much luck, not within your price range. We’ll need to spend more money than you mentioned, or we’ll have to take a place less secure than we probably should.”
“The figure I gave you is what we can spare. Find a smaller cabin if you must.”
“I might have to give up on Ingleton, then…. What’s the deal with Podrar, anyway? Why do you want a place here?”
Bennie determined herself not to break Arbora’s gaze, and the sorceress eventually explained, “I have it on good authority the Fist will want people in Podrar, and soon. The king will be founding a Magic Council. A secret one.”
Suspicion overcame Bennie’s face. “How do you know that? Does the Fist have someone in the Palace?”
“Of course not. We’re no rogue organization. You know that, Gretta.”
Just with some rogue members, Bennie thought. Blast it, that had been the perfect opportunity to find out how Dorane had learned to get to the boys. She could pry no further, could only say, “Next you’ll be saying the king told you himself about his plans.”
“He did, in fact. I first met Rexson Phinnean a decade ago, and I’ve sought his support ever since.”
“That’s not surprising, come to think of it…. Wait, does he wear robes? Brown ones? I think I caught a glimpse of him in my ball last night: just a glimpse, gone in a second. Didn’t know who he was, but now you’ve mentioned….”
“Gretta, I’m happy to say you’ll know the king well. I want you on that council.”
Bennie replied, “Wouldn’t Ursa be a better choice?”
“Ursa’s an officer. I need her doing other work, and the king could make good use of your ability.”
Well played. That was quite well played, you miserable….
“How do I join up?” Bennie asked.
“You’ll need to get a post in the Palace first. Make your power known, but carefully, and make sure the king hears of it. He’ll want to speak with you when he finds out you’re magicked. Offer readings for him or for anyone he wishes to have one.”
“The king? You want me to weasel my way into his confidence? How exactly do I do that, Arbora? Offer him a reading, you say. Like that’s the easiest thing in the world to.... What’s the man like?”
“Feign humility. He’ll eat that act up. Harp on the fact you’ve no active magic, none at all. Don’t talk openly about being a seer, not around other servants, but arrange for someone to come across you cleaning your crystal ball. Pretend you didn’t mean to be discovered.”
“And if I don’t want to do this?” Bennie demanded. “I’m not too keen to go near that tyrant. Rexson was chums with that bitch of a sorceress who slew my brother.”
“This is not about Laskenay Heathdon,” said Arbora.
“The bitch,” Bennie repeated for good measure. The insult made her stomach churn.
“Nor is it about Rexson, Gretta. It’s about that council and the Fist having influence there. The king will know nothing about you when you meet him. He certainly won’t know you’re one of mine, so don’t let that out. Whatever you do, don’t let that out, understand? He’d never willingly put a member of the Fist on his new council.”
“And why’s that, if I may ask?”
“It’s none of your blasted business! Listen, I’ll need you in the Palace as soon as you can get hired there. Go tomorrow to see what’s available. I’m speaking with Rexson tomorrow evening, and it’s likely he’ll start arranging his council soon after, even the next day.”
Meeting with the king tomorrow? We’ll see about that.
“What if I refuse to do this?” Bennie said again. “What if the idea of sweeping floors, or making beds, or cooking meals for the servants doesn’t appeal to me?”
“Don’t be contrary. I know you’ll do this,” said Arbora. She softened her tone at an eye roll from Gretta. “Dearie, I know you hate the king. I know the job you take won’t be pleasant, but it’s all worth it in the end if we give the magicked some kind of voice. Just get on that council!”
“Fine,” said Bennie. “Fine, damn you. I’m in.”
“Oh, I never doubted that.”
“I just wish it could be Ursa cleaning the Palace, her with her stylish clothing and ridiculous mansion.” Bennie cocked her head and made sure to sound offhand. “You been to her place?”
“Once or twice, but it’s been a while. Heard she added a back porch and refurnished some rooms since the last time I was there. Must be a couple years.”
The boys are there, all right. She’s too insistent she hardly knows the place.
Bennie claimed, “I’ve never seen the monstrosity. Never been invited there. Ursa’s a horrid snob.”
“That’s interesting,” said Arbora. “She says the same about you.”
“I’m not surprised. We get along well enough when we have to, though.”
“You’re mature enough for that, the both of you. All right then, Gretta, I can’t stay. You’ll look into a job tomorrow?”
“Hang you, I said I would, didn’t I?”
“Good,” said Arbora. She transported away. Shaking, Bennie sank into the room’s now unoccupied chair. She straightened her wig, determined not to remove it. Who knew if Arbora might return?
Good Giver, I didn’t expect that, I…. Well, I’m positive now Ursa has the boys. There’s no way Arbora hasn’t paid her a visit in two years. Ursa’s her third in command, and Arbora can transport. Ursa can’t. Yes, the boys must be there. Why else would Arbora lie about the mansion?
We’ll get Rexson’s sons back, and tomorrow, first thing. Then I can end this. Man alive, if I’d taken my wig off in the hall…. Get a grip on yourself! Just a few more hours of Gretta. It ends tomorrow.
CHAPTER SIX
Mistaken Identity
A fine mist lay over the fishing villages the next morning, a mist similar to the one that had blown from the sea each day the only other time Zacry had traveled this far south. Months before Zalski came to power, it had been. A friend of Zacry’s father had moved back to the trawling zone to be near his aging parents. He invited the Porteg family for a visit, so Walten Porteg loaded up his wagon with a chest he had made as a housewarming gift—Walten was a carpenter—and took his son for a two-week stay. Kora was recovering from a bout of flu when the invitation came, and her mother insisted on staying home with her.
Every morning of that visit had been humid and gray. Zacry had never experienced a coastal clime, had never seen reeds so tall, or cypress trees, or slimy films of algae like those that grew on the rocks of the bay where the fishing and shrimping boats made dock. The novelty of it all, coupled with the excitement of a first voyage, explained how he remembered the region so vividly, how he could fix it with enough clarity in his mind even at the age of twenty-six to transport the rescue party there from Podrar. He saved his companions a journey of ten days.
Vane, in contrast, had never traveled to the fishing villages. The fog was not thick enough to hide from him that he and his companions stood just inside a settlement even more rustic than his native Fontferry up north. The two or three cabins he could just descry looked more like shacks. A hunting dog rested in front of one of them, tied to the remains of a wooden cart. The vehicle was missing wheels, and the hound that guarded it was far enough away from the newcomers that it ignored them.
“Which village is this?” barked Gratton. “Carphead?”
“Snapperville,” said Zacry.
“And we’re approaching from?”
“The north.”
“Then we want to go south,” announced the guardsman, and gestured for the others to follow. He had spent the previous afternoon poring over maps.
After an hour of trekking through weeds and brush with hardly a sight of even a dirt road, Vane spied Ursa’s mansion, a building stylistically plain except for its large upper
windows. Wooden planks painted a cool shade of blue covered the exterior. As the mansion grew larger, the vigilantes reached the border of Ursa’s land. Waist-high hedges with a tended lawn and flower garden on the opposite side marked her property. The morning had progressed, and the sun dispelled the worst of the mist that had earlier obscured Vane’s vision. This was where the king’s party would split up.
Gratton took Rexson and Zacry and circled right. Their goal was to sneak to the window of a vacant room on the lower floor, from which spot the sorcerer could infiltrate the mansion, invisible, and do reconnaissance. Ideally, Zacry would run across the princes and get them out without alerting a soul. Otherwise, he might at least ascertain whether Ursa was home and get to the boys through her coerced cooperation.
Vane, Bendelof, and Hayden had the task of taking down the bear, which was roaming around somewhere and could threaten the entire operation. A shame they had to kill the thing, but there was no way around it. Vane wanted to freeze it magically, to do it no permanent damage, but Gratton ruthlessly revealed the flaws of that suggestion. “Use your head, boy. Suppose Dorane or Arbora shows up and unfreezes the thing? What do you care about Ursa’s animal for? It’s got to die, and quietly. That’s why we’ve got Hayden’s bow.” In the meantime, Zacry would freeze the bear if he came across it first, so that Vane and Hayden could finish the job. If the cursed thing found the king and soldier after Zacry were inside, well, the pair had arrows of their own, but Vane hoped they wouldn’t have to use them. Gratton would not be pleased if he had to shoot the bear himself, not pleased at all.
Hayden led the second trio in the opposite direction. Vane ran their plan over and over in his head.
Kill the bear. Look in the windows, because Zacry’s on the other side, and go in if you see Ursa or the boys. A black flash for the enemy, red one for the hostages. Get in and get out. But first the bear, kill the bear….
The bear found Vane’s party almost straightaway, charging from a clump of oak trees near the mansion, where it was sitting with no restraints. Hayden acted in a flash; before the beast gave two great bounds he loosed an arrow, which lodged in the animal’s snout as it made a third massive stride. With an angry roar—one Vane used a muting spell to silence, but some seconds too late—Ursa’s pet reared up, exposing its chest, and took two more projectiles. Eyes red, claws exposed, yelling in a voiceless rage, the creature careened toward the building when the fourth arrow struck. Then the bear collapsed against the mansion’s blue wooden wall.
Vane threw himself to the earth, and dew soaked his clothing. Hayden followed suit, pulling Bennie with him. Hearts racing, they crept toward the building ten yards away. The sorcerer got there first and found a line of narrow, barred windows hidden by a bush row the bear had crushed. He turned invisible before he jumped the hedge and sprinted to the nearest pane, next to the animal’s corpse. He peered into a basement, a basement Zacry could not have seen because it covered only half the building’s length. An identical room must exist on the other side.
His voice shaking, Vane uttered two spells. The first sent up a soundless spray of ink-colored flashing lights. The second sent up red ones.
* * *
August was reading to the princes when a horrible, strangle-like roar sounded outside, then somehow cut off midstream. The two older brothers sat before her, Hune on her lap, and she dropped her book at the noise, clutching the youngest boy tight. Hune threw his arms around her, and his fingernails dug in the back of her neck as the bear collapsed against one of the room’s high windows, smacking the bars, making the pane shake. Neslan and Valkin clasped hands.
“What’s going on?” said Neslan. “August…?”
“Someone’s come for us,” said Valkin.
August clambered to her feet, pulling Hune with her. The pretty pink tint abandoned her cheeks, leaving them pasty. She had no idea what to do except to herd the boys out the basement. Valkin was right, she knew it as he spoke: a rescue attempt. A rescue attempt was afoot, and Dorane, Ursa, Arbora, they were all upstairs. If they had heard that bear shriek….
What if Dorane got to the boys before the king’s men did?
“Let’s go,” said August. “We can sprint to the main doors, get out the building…. Hurry!”
Hune moaned in fear as she tugged at his arm. Valkin stepped on August’s heel he was so close behind her, and they had reached the foot of the steps when out of nowhere August tripped, or rather, a spell tripped her. She let Hune go and pitched forward, cutting her forehead on the wood of the bottom stair. She let out a terrified moan, clutching her face.
Dorane had arrived. If he could bring himself to do it, he would murder not only the boys but August too, for her interference.
August opened her mouth to plead, but no sound came out. Someone, a sorcerer, materialized in front of her. He had jumped to the second step, and he was not Dorane. He was younger, with clearer skin, larger eyes, and nicer clothes. He was a bit scrawnier, too. He uttered a word August did not understand, a second spell, and she cried out as lavender-colored cords bound her. The boys tackled the stranger before he could speak again, all three at once, and the sorcerer lost his footing, dropping two feet to his back on the stone floor, nearly crushing August.
Valkin started as he looked at the young man’s face. He remembered him from somewhere in the Palace: a dinner maybe, in the parlor. He remembered his father making jokes on the occasion. This was a friend. But then why…?
The crown prince realized Vane’s error. “That’s not Ursa!” he yelled at the sorcerer. “That’s not Ursa. She’s Ursa’s sister.”
“Ursa’s sister?” Vane coughed.
“On our side,” Valkin told him.
“Don’t hurt her!” Neslan cried. “She can’t do magic.”
“Let me up,” said Vane. “I made a gross mistake. There isn’t time….”
The boys released him. He vanished August’s bonds with another spell and helped her to her feet. “I thought you were Ursa,” he said feebly.
The appearance of three people on the landing prevented him saying more. That was Ursa, on the right. Arbora stood in the center, Dorane on the left.
Valkin and Neslan waved their arms in unison, without hesitation, and Dorane slid off the landing’s edge. He slammed hard against the ground and looked dazed, stunned. “Gag him!” Vane shouted, erecting an ice blue shield in front of Hune, whom Arbora was pulling magically toward her. August tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of her dress, lace trim and all, and leapt to gag a stirring Dorane, then kick him to keep him subdued. Ursa jumped to attack her sister, and Vane, one arm tight around Hune, let his magic shield slip away to fling Ursa against the wall with the same incantation he had blocked Arbora from casting on the youngest prince, one called Mudar, meant to move objects. Ursa hit the back of her head and slid unconscious to the floor.
Then a slew of things happened all together. Arbora yelled “Estatua,” and Neslan turned hard and gray, frozen like a statue. Valkin screamed; Hune fainted and became a dead weight Vane had to support. Dorane, regaining strength, ripped his gag away, overpowered August, magicked over one of the boys’ pillows, and began to smother her. Vane made the pillow vanish while Arbora froze Valkin the same way she had his brother. Dorane grabbed for Ursa’s sister, who almost wriggled free from him, and the noise of shattering glass rang out when three booted feet and a sword smashed four of the basement windows.
Hayden, Rexson, Gratton, and Bendelof aimed arrows through the bars; Vane could plainly mark their faces. His sparks had brought the king and guardsman rushing over. Dorane let August slip through his fingers at the distraction. Pale and coughing, she fell a yard away from him.
Arbora stood alone on the landing. She gaped to glimpse Bendelof in the first broken window, as though she recognized the woman. Then the metal door behind Arbora exploded, jarring her back to the moment, and she conjured a maroon shield to block debris. Vane ducked, protecting Hune’s unconscious form.
Z
acry had arrived. Thank the Giver! Now Vane could get the children away from there.
Valkin and Neslan would be all right. Whatever Arbora’s intent in freezing them that way—to keep them from harm or to stop them from escaping—they were safe in their current state. The same could not be said of Ursa’s sister. Carrying Hune, Vane crouched and scurried to where August lay. Dorane was occupied by the arrows aimed at him, and the split second he hesitated in reacting to Vane’s approach allowed Vane to freeze him like the princes.
With a ghastly-looking but superficial smear of blood across her forehead, August reached out for Vane’s wrist. He transported to the Palace guest stables, since Rexson had warned him he could not infiltrate the Palace itself via magic. He put Hune on a bale of hay and assured August, who collapsed beside the eight-year-old with an alarmed look, that the child was not hurt. Then he directed the only stable hand he could find to fetch the queen and to run, in the Giver’s name! The stables were empty when the man fled; the horses had been taken out for exercise, but the odors of saddle leather and manure lingered. August wrinkled her nose. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m going back for Hune’s brothers. You’ll be safe here.”
Vane turned invisible and transported back to the basement, where Arbora had unfrozen Dorane, the two were dueling Zacry, and arrows were flying to minimize Zacry’s disadvantage in being outnumbered. Vane materialized next to the frozen princes, and he threw himself down, stomach to the floor, to avoid the barbed missiles and stray incantations. He muttered “Desfazair” twice to free the boys, pulled Rexson’s older sons down by their shirts, and transported once again to the stables. Valkin lost his glasses, but they fell into his hand as he disappeared.
The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 8