by Beach, B. J.
Vailin dismissed the guards, waiting until they had left the room before turning to the heavily curtained wall behind the throne. Holding out both hands palms forward, the young king spoke a short phrase. The wine red curtains shimmered for a moment, then with a loud ‘whoosh’ that made Symon wince visibly, disappeared to reveal a brightly lit stair-case leading upwards.
Turning quickly, and looking rather guilty, Vailin saw the expression on Symon’s face. “I think I need a bit more practice. I seem to be getting rusty.”
“Most definitely.” was Symon’s terse reply as he rescued the discarded crown and followed the king up the stairs.
Symon had been a guest in the royal apartments many times, and it never failed to amaze him how much had changed since young Vailin had come to the throne, after his father King Vailin the First met with an untimely death, caused by a bee sting while walking in his garden.
King Vailin the First was the epitome of everything his subjects thought a king should be. He loved fine clothes, lavish dinners with dozens of guests, and wore his crown and robes of state at every opportunity. Nevertheless, he was a good and wise king, a master of statecraft, the soul of wit, and his people loved him. Aided by Mordas, the King’s Physician-Mage, Symon strove to save him on that fateful day, but all in vain. All that could be said was his passing was mercifully quick. A few days later the state funeral was over and a still stunned and grieving eighteen-year-old Crown Prince found himself being dressed in coronation robes.
That was just over ten years ago, and in that time the young monarch had kept a cool head and grasped the reins of kingship firmly. Despite his tender years and a marked aversion to ceremony and high living, he proved to have inherited all his father’s best attributes, making him equally loved and respected by young and old alike. The charismatic young king had also unwittingly broken many a young woman’s heart, being now the most eligible bachelor in the land. So far he had skilfully avoided the marriage trap. To the relief of his Ministers, he also proved determined to immerse himself in the full-time occupation of being king of an appreciably large country, some of which he had never seen. This situation he enthusiastically set out to rectify whenever a suitable opportunity arose. He had, however, definitely made his mark on the royal apartments, replacing the heavy ornate furniture and lavish décor with his preferred style of a more subdued and tasteful elegance.
As they entered the room, Vailin tugged on a bell pull woven in soft shades of green and brown, complementing the warm, natural colour of the deep piled wool with which the room was carpeted. Seating himself in a comfortable armchair by the window, Vailin indicated that Symon should take the one opposite. At that moment, an attractive young red-haired maid dressed in serviceable grey, with a spotlessly white apron, and carrying a morning tea-tray, entered the room. After placing the tray on a small table, she poured tea, bobbed a curtsey and left through a side door as quietly as she had arrived.
Monarch and magician picked up their tea, sipping appreciatively in companionable silence for a few moments, before Vailin put down his cup. “I gather that your young protégé has noticed something worth bringing to my attention.”
Symon cradled his cup in his hands. “It was a short while ago, and I must admit that it was my idea to mention it to you and not his. He thinks it’s merely a coincidence, but I feel that it may be worth looking in to, although he could well be right. It’s just that my nose twitches whenever Naboria is mentioned.”
Vailin rubbed his chin as he looked long and hard at his court magician. “Would you think it a coincidence if I told you that the Naborians have recently requested a meeting to discuss a new trade agreement?”
The corners of Symon’s mouth edged downwards. “No, I wouldn’t. Karryl has recently taken a fancy to something of Naborian manufacture that he’s seen. He has also informed me that his friend’s older brother seems to have returned from there a short while ago after a long absence. Buying wine, Karryl thinks, but he said he’s not sure.”
Vailin sat bolt upright. “Naborian wine! That would be a first!”
“My thought exactly.” replied Symon. “I don’t know what it is he has been dealing in, although his father is a well respected wine merchant, but I doubt that it’s wine. According to Karryl he told his father that he had done ‘the kind of deal that dreams are made of.’ I doubt if anything the Naborians have would make my dreams come true.”
Vailin gave a slow nod of agreement. “I’ll bow to your superior knowledge on all things Naborian. Father told me all about the dreadful time you had over there.”
They sat in contemplative silence for a while, then as if to push unpleasant memories aside, Vailin smiled and leaned forward. “What was it that Karryl had his eye on?”
“A quill knife, in the Scribes’ Guild shop. Exquisite workmanship I’ve been told, very beautiful but seriously over-priced.”
Vailin mused for a couple of moments, the corners of his mouth drawn down, then reached up and tugged on another bell pull partly concealed by the window curtain. The summons of the bell was answered almost immediately by the arrival through the same side door which had admitted the maid, of the tall liveried footman who, judging by the speed of his arrival, must have been very close by.
He made a brief but respectful bow, and Vailin acknowledged him with a warm smile. “Jobling, could you find out if our cruelly under-used spymaster is in the building and send him to me, and if not, locate him as soon as possible. Also, arrange a meeting with the Trade Minister and the Foreign Affairs Minister, perhaps this afternoon?”
Jobling folded his hands almost prayerfully in front of him. “May I make so bold as to inform Your Majesty that the spymaster is currently engaged in an enquiry at the docks. Shall I have him located and returned?”
The young king thought for a moment, then waved a dismissive hand. “No. Just catch him when he gets back.” On an afterthought he leaned forward and looked hard at Jobling. “Any idea why he’s at the docks?”
The footman remained straight-faced. “To the best of my knowledge sire, there’s a problem with a ship from the Gamdonian continent. The captain is apparently intent on doing something the harbour-master doesn’t want him to, and there seems to be a language difficulty. More than that I was unable to discover.”
Brown eyes met grey, as Vailin and Symon exchanged glances. The king gave a brief nod. “Thank you Jobling; that will be all. You’ve been most helpful.”
The unflappable footman bowed. Straightening his shoulders, he then strode out of the room to do the bidding of his king, as he had done for most of his adult life. Monarch and magician finished their tea in thoughtful silence, until Vailin, putting down his cup, slapped the arms of his chair and stood up with a grin on his face. “Well, shall we go and see if Apprentice Royal Magician Karryl has signed his contract and Oath of Allegiance?”
Symon was so amused at Vailin’s mock formality in the use of Karryl’s full title, he inadvertently waived the magic and opened the door by simply turning the handle. Vailin seemed to find this even more amusing, and the two strode along the corridor and scurried down the staircase to the throne room, intermittently chuckling like a couple of school friends at a fair.
As Symon entered through the concealed door, Karryl looked up from the book he was reading. Seeing the magician was accompanied by King Vailin, he jumped to his feet and executed a hasty bow. Picking up the parchments lying on the table, the king studied Karryl’s signature.
“Thank you Karryl.” he said in acknowledgement, then handed the documents to Symon, who also checked the signature before rolling the parchments carefully and tucking them into a pouch concealed inside his robe.
The magician smiled at his apprentice. “Congratulations. You are now officially the Apprentice Royal Magician, owing full allegiance to His Majesty King Vailin the Second of Vellethen.”
Karryl seemed confused. “Don’t I have to take an oath or something...sir?”
Vailin smiled and nodded.
“That’s what the first document was. I hope you read it before you signed.”
Karryl gave his lopsided grin.”Yes I did your Majesty. I just thought...”
Vailin stopped him with an upraised finger, and turned to Symon. “Well, I think that’s all satisfactory. There is a guard outside the door, and he will accompany you to the entrance.” He turned to Karryl. “No doubt I will see you again soon.”
Karryl bowed again and Symon inclined his head respectfully as Vailin left them. The door closed with a resounding thump, causing Symon once again to wince at his monarch’s apparent ineptitude.
Karryl frowned as he returned his book to the shelf. “Does he always do that?”
Symon laughed out loud. “Goodness me, no! Our young monarch is quite an accomplished magician, as was his father before him, although it is not common knowledge. I think he does it just because he can.”
Karryl looked puzzled. “Well, if he can use magic, why does he need a court magician?”
Symon gave his apprentice a long-suffering look. “Think about it. You know yourself, magic needs constant study and practice, and is virtually a full-time occupation. Also, there are some narrow-minded ministers and members of the court who still frown on the magical arts, and it would not be in King Vailin’s best interests to use his skills openly.
“Had he not been destined to succeed to the throne, he would almost certainly have made an excellent physician-mage, for it is there that his natural abilities lie. However, it is, as I said, not common knowledge, so I trust you will keep this to yourself.” He looked meaningfully at the depleted table. “Now, I think we’ll be off, if you’ve had enough to eat.”
His expression rueful, Karryl regarded the devastation. “Well, I was hungry.”
The little magician patted him on the shoulder. “That’s alright. They weren’t put there to be looked at.”
He crossed the room, made a circular motion with his hand, and the hidden door opened quietly and slowly outwards. Resplendent in maroon and gold, a soldier of the Palace Guard snapped to attention as they stepped out into the corridor. At a slight gesture from Symon, the door closed smoothly and they followed the guard to the Mages’ Entrance without speaking.
Once they were outside Symon turned to Karryl. “I would like you to return to the tower on your own, as there is someone I have to go and see. I’m already halfway there, so it seems a pity to waste the opportunity. You know the way back, don’t you?”
Karryl nodded, looking a little disappointed, but Symon’s next words brightened him up considerably. “Do whatever you wish for the rest of the day, as I expect you will find it hard to concentrate on your studies. I should be back in a couple of hours. The frost has gone, the snow is melting and it promises to be a pleasant afternoon, so perhaps later we can spend an hour or two in the garden.”
Throwing his shoulders back, he drew himself up to his full five feet and took a deep breath. “Yes, some fresh air and relaxation frees the mind. Don’t you agree?”
Karryl grinned at the little magician’s zestfulness, and nodded in agreement. “It will be a change. I am getting a bit tired of studying.”
“Well, don’t forget.” said Symon, as they sauntered along the path, “You have a free day on your birthday next week.”
Karryl’s face lit up. “I’d forgotten about that! Having a free day, I mean.”
Symon held up a finger to put a check on his apprentice’s enthusiasm.”I had thought, that as there is only one day between your birthday and the week’s end, you might like to take that day as an extra little holiday.”
Karryl positively beamed. “Oh! That would be good. Thank you.”
To Symon’s great amusement, his young apprentice gave a little skip. Suddenly realising where he was, he stopped and, still grinning, lifted his hands and shrugged. Inclining his head, Symon smiled as he briefly recalled the impetuousness of his own youth. After walking a little further they arrived at the point where the paths converged, the one to the right leading around the rear of the barracks, the other into the city.
The little magician stopped and gestured to the right. “I will leave you now. There’s your path, and you can see the tower from here. Go straight back and I will see you later.”
Without further ado, he set off briskly down the gently sloping path towards the city, leaving Karryl to make his way back to the tower.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Just visible above its surrounding cluster of trees, the top of the tower gleamed dully in the wintry sunlight. Karryl was confident it wouldn’t take him long to get there, even though he was in no particular hurry. He followed the path until it had meandered its way round the end of the barrack blocks. From there it sloped gently downwards for a few hundred yards, before starting to curve quite sharply to the left. About to follow the angle round, Karryl let out a sharp yelp and hopped to one side. A small stone had kicked up into his boot and jabbed him in his heel. Standing on one leg and wobbling precariously, Karryl removed his boot and tipped out the offending pebble. A familiar sound reached his ears and he stopped to listen. Smiling with anticipation he hurriedly pushed his foot back into his boot.
Having followed the path onto lower ground, he could no longer see Symon’s tower. With the barrack blocks now at his back, and the path angled off to his left, Karryl glanced quickly round to get his bearings. He then began to search for an accessible route to the source of the irresistible chuckle of flowing water. Directly in front of him the ground dipped sharply, covered in a low tangle of frost browned bracken, stunted gorse bushes and dying grasses, their spent, pale buff seed-heads shimmering and sighing in the light breeze. After taking a quick look round to establish no one was watching, Karryl pushed his way through a small gap between a clump of bracken and a gorse bush, the latter poking its spiteful winter-hard spines through his clothes.
He stopped, rubbing his arm and frowning, thinking that perhaps this wasn’t such a bright idea after all. Then he spotted what he thought might be the overgrown remains of a path. Taking a couple more steps forward he scraped at the thin, coarse covering of half dead grass with his foot. A patch of compacted gravel and a couple of mottled grey cobblestones confirmed his suspicions, but his relief at finding a path was short-lived. Another step further on, and it was clear that the path had, at some time, fallen away. Karryl found himself standing on the edge of what was now a long, rather steeply inclined escarpment, from the bottom of which the bubbling sound of a fast flowing stream clearly reached his ears. In front of and below him, the fallen rock-strewn earth lay in a series of lumpy tiers and terraces, a natural staircase carpeted with shorter grasses, dying broad-leaved weeds and tangled growth. The temptation was too great. After barely a moment’s thought, Karryl started picking his way backwards down towards the hidden stream, steadying himself with his hands against the sloping bank.
With the noise of the stream growing progressively louder, Karryl turned sideways to check how much further he had to go. There it was. About seven feet below him flowed the stream, sparkling in the dappled light piercing the cover of the overhanging trees on the opposite bank. Turning to face the stream he sat down carefully amongst the dry grasses, letting his legs lie on the downward slope as he leaned back on his elbows and took in the scene before him. The remaining few feet of bank fell in a much gentler incline, the shallow water rippling and swirling against a narrow strip of shingle at its edge. Barely breaking the surface, several large flat rocks lay across the stream, their tops festooned in long hair-like growths of shimmering dark green water-weed, drawn out into waving tendrils by the water’s swift flow.
Karryl felt the excitement beginning to well up inside him. This would be a perfect place to come fishing, if there were any fish, and if not, he could spend hours exploring. It would be his secret spot. In a sudden warm rush of nostalgia, he recalled how he and his school-friend Joel had spent the long summer days fishing. Pulling his mind back to the present, with an equally warm rush of righteou
s resolve he decided that he would at least mention it to Symon. The little magician would doubtless know where the stream came from and where it went, and more important, if there were any fish to be caught in its clear waters.
Nodding to himself in satisfaction, Karryl looked up from the mesmerising flow and let his eyes drift along the opposite bank. Clothed in undergrowth and foliage, it sloped more gently up from the water’s edge, a complete contrast to the one on which he now sat. Large Alder trees leaned out over the water, surrounded by an understorey of dark shadowy evergreens. Among those which still stood resplendent with hanging bunches of colourful berries, woodland birds jostled and chattered in competition for the ripest fruit. Feeling at peace, Karryl allowed his gaze to wander further downstream to his left.
Something caught his eye. With a little gasp, he pushed himself off his elbows and leaned forward. Partly hidden among the shrubs and trees, there seemed to be a building. He rubbed his eyes, then carefully pushed himself to his feet to look hard again at the same spot. Now he was standing he could see part of a tiled roof, some of the ridge tiles broken away to reveal the heavy timbers beneath. Gaps in the dense foliage offered tantalising glimpses of weathered masonry, as the leaves and branches rustled and jostled in the early afternoon breeze.
Curiosity overcoming caution, Karryl slithered and stumbled the last few feet down to the shingle, only just managing to arrest the momentum which threatened to throw him head first into the cold clear water. Now he was at the stream’s edge, the first large flat stone looked much further away, and nothing of the building was visible. He crouched, warily dabbling his fingers in the stream. Despite the morning’s frost, it didn’t seem to be all that cold. Without further ado he removed his new boots, tucking them under the edge of the bank at the back of the shingle. With his trouser legs rolled up above his knees, he picked his way gingerly over the pebbles and took a couple of tentative steps into the water. He sucked in his breath as the cold bit at his ankles. After a moment’s hesitation he began to wade forward, his face set in a grimace of determination, arms outstretched to the sides to maintain his balance. By the time he reached mid-stream the water was swirling round his knees, the increased force threatening to topple him over as it rushed between two of the large stones.