The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic

by Emily Croy Barker

  Nora shook her head. “Oh, no—”

  Aruendiel broke in: “Mistress Nora has been a guest in my household for some months, ever since she fled from the Faitoren.”

  Now Hirizjahkinis did look surprised, her eyes widening. “You escaped from the Faitoren, Mistress Nora! Well, that would explain something Ilissa let drop yesterday.”

  “What was it?” Aruendiel asked.

  “Not worth repeating,” said Hirizjahkinis. “But you obviously managed to provoke her, Aruendiel.”

  Aruendiel made a sound deep in his throat indicating a lack of concern with Ilissa’s displeasure. “I want to talk to the king as soon as possible. Where is he?”

  “At this hour, I imagine he is still engaged in the morning’s ceremonial reveille. You could go and join in, as a peer of the realm.”

  “Thank you, I have no desire to help my sovereign pull on his breeches.”

  “But you could talk to him without Ilissa being present. You might not get such a chance for the rest of the day.”

  “Is she spending so much time with the king?”

  “As much as she can. He does not seem to be averse to her company.”

  “Very well,” he said reluctantly, with a twist of his mouth. “I’ll go now, and hope His Majesty does not ask me to demonstrate my loyalty by washing the royal buttocks. But we need to find a place to stow Mistress Nora, out of Ilissa’s way,” he added. “The easiest thing to do would be to turn her into a buckle or a necklace or some other small ornament, and one of us could wear her for the rest of the day.”

  Nora stared at him, incredulous. “No! Absolutely not.”

  “Do you want to fall into Ilissa’s hands again?”

  “No, but I don’t care to be transformed into anything, either.” It would be so easy—and convenient—for Aruendiel to forget to change her back.

  “Perhaps the Kavareen could watch her for a few hours,” Hirizjahkinis interjected. “Ilissa wouldn’t dare try to get past him.”

  At this suggestion, Aruendiel looked even more irritated. “It’s absurd that you’re still carrying that thing around with you,” he said. “You don’t need it—you have plenty of your own magic. And, you know, it’s not entirely safe.”

  “He’s been a good servant, very useful at the most unexpected times. Right now, for instance.”

  Aruendiel seemed ready to dispute further, but then he checked himself. “As you like. There’s no time to argue. You will join me in the king’s presence as soon as he is washed and dressed, Hiriz?” At her nod, he went out of the room without another word.

  “Well,” said Hirizjahkinis to Nora, “let’s find a comfortable place for you to wait.”

  “Excuse me, but what is the Kavareen?”

  Hirizjahkinis unfastened the gold clasp that held the leopard skin around her neck, and then shrugged the hide off her shoulders. Carefully she spread it on the floor. The black-spotted fur had a rumpled, worn look, as though Hirizjahkinis had been wearing the skin for many years. The eyeballs in the dead cat’s head gleamed a dark yellow—glass, or some semiprecious stone like topaz, Nora thought. Hirizjahkinis stepped quickly onto the hide and then off it.

  The leopard skin quivered, collected itself, and then got to its feet with a hiss. The hide was obviously covering a body—a leopard-shaped body—but in the gaps where the skin didn’t reach, Nora had a glimpse of roiling darkness, shadow that churned like thick smoke.

  The resurrected animal stretched lazily, curving its back and flexing its claws, and then hissed again, looking up at Hirizjahkinis. Its eyes looked just as glassy as before.

  “This is the Kavareen,” Hirizjahkinis said.

  “Was it—is it a leopard?” Nora asked.

  “No. He happened to look like a leopard when I killed him,” Hirizjahkinis said, a hint of pride in her voice. “He has been with me ever since, as my slave.” She spoke to the Kavareen rapidly in a singsong language, and the animal responded with a snarl and a lash of its tail. Hirizjahkinis spoke again, more sharply. The Kavareen snarled a second time, not as loudly. It stalked a few steps away and settled into a watchful crouch that reminded Nora of how her cat Astrophel used to sulk when feeding time was delayed.

  “Don’t mind his crankiness,” Hirizjahkinis said.

  “Um, did he say something?”

  “It was not very polite. He didn’t appreciate being awakened, and he’s a little hungry. But don’t worry, you’ll be fine with him. He is under strict orders to keep you safe, and I have told him that he may eat Ilissa if she makes any effort to take you.”

  When the Kavareen had snarled, through its open mouth Nora had again seen that agitated blackness, coiling in secret currents. Now it came to her that the interior of the beast was larger—perhaps much, much larger—than its exterior would indicate.

  “I thought Aruendiel said he wasn’t completely safe,” Nora said.

  “Aruendiel is my dear friend, and when it comes to natural magic, he knows more than any other magician alive,” Hirizjahkinis said. “But, if you haven’t noticed, he does have very strong prejudices. He doesn’t trust ghosts or demons. Cannot abide them!”

  The amused incredulity in her tone implied that Aruendiel’s view in this area was one of those incomprehensible eccentricities that one tries to overlook in one’s close friends—the way that Nora used to tolerate Adam’s ridiculous aversion to tomatoes. On ghosts and demons, however, Nora felt that Aruendiel was on solid ground. “He doesn’t?” she said politely.

  Hirizjahkinis shook her head emphatically. “No! He thinks it’s a lazy way of doing magic, summoning spirits to do your work. Come along, I must find a safe place to leave you.”

  Outside in the corridor, Hirizjahkinis commandeered one of the red-and-gold-liveried servants, who, after a cautious glance at the Kavareen, led them by a circuitous route to a small room where several divans, covered with brightly colored pillows, made a semicircle in front of the fireplace. Over the mantel hung a tapestry that showed a young woman riding on the back of the two-headed animal that Nora had seen on the city gates.

  “This is the unfashionable end of the palace now. No one will stumble across you here,” Hirizjahkinis said to Nora. She addressed a few more remarks in the singsong language to the Kavareen, who merely yawned, and then she followed the servant out of the room.

  Nora sat down on one of the divans and watched the Kavareen move restlessly around the chamber. She couldn’t help wishing that Hirizjahkinis had picked a bigger room, so that the Kavareen would not pace endlessly like a zoo animal in a too-small cage; she thought about how cats hated to be told what to do and wished that Hirizjahkinis had happened to kill the Kavareen when it was in the shape of a wolf or, better yet, a dog; and she wondered exactly how hungry the Kavareen was and what it usually ate and what happened to the things that fell into its dark interior.

  She was trying to imagine exactly how Hirizjahkinis might have killed the creature, and whether it could be killed a second time, when the Kavareen came over and stood directly in front of her. Its dead golden eyes stared into hers. She sat very still while it sniffed her knee. And then suddenly, with a light jump, the Kavareen was on the divan with her, its head level with her own. Nora gasped. The creature made a half turn and lay down on the cushions, curling its lithe body tight against Nora’s.

  “Aw,” said Nora, in spite of her fears, remembering how Astrophel used to settle down to sleep in exactly the same way. Whether it was a ghost or a demon—or both—the bulk of the creature was warm and solid. She raised her hand to stroke the spotted fur, and then thought better of it.

  After a while, the Kavareen began to snore.

  Chapter 14

  We’re making no headway at all,” Hirizjahkinis said.

  “Worse than that,” said Aruendiel with a sort of dark satisfaction, as though he enjoyed having his worst suspicions realized. “The more we argue against the alliance, the more deaf the king seems.”

  They were standing in the middle
of a colonnaded courtyard, next to a pool where a bronze statue of the river god Semisl sent fat jets of water into the air. Although it was technically forbidden to work magic in the palace without permission from the chief royal magician, Hirizjahkinis had cast a discreet spell to amplify the sound of water splashing as a precaution against eavesdroppers.

  “It would help if you could keep your temper. Your king didn’t appreciate being called a fool and a puppet.”

  “I didn’t call him those things. I only said that one would have to be a fool to even contemplate an alliance with Ilissa, and that his grandfather was no Faitoren puppet.”

  “I think your meaning was very clear. You should be more careful, Aruendiel. They’re trying to provoke you. It was dangerous to say that you would never, under any conditions, support a Faitoren alliance.”

  “It would be a lie to say otherwise.”

  “But, because you said those words, it will be easier for them to paint you as a rebel and a traitor, if they wish.”

  He frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Do you think that is what they are driving at?”

  “I do,” Hirizjahkinis said slowly. “Both Ilissa and Bouragonr looked very smug after you made that declaration, and the king was colder. Think about it from your king’s perspective, Aruendiel. If the most powerful magician in the kingdom refuses to support him, Abele will have all the more need to ally with Ilissa.”

  “If he did ally with Ilissa, I would not hesitate to stand against him,” Aruendiel said matter-of-factly. “I have defied other kings for less reason.” After a moment he shook his head. “But how tiresome it would be. The game grows old, very old. Yet another greedy, dunderheaded king—”

  Hirizjahkinis’s mouth tightened slightly. “There doesn’t have to be a war, if we keep our heads.”

  “You’re right, though, they are baiting me. When Bouragonr had the temerity to suggest that my opposition to the Faitoren stemmed from personal hurt and animosity—”

  “But, my dear old friend, he was quite right.”

  “Ah, he doesn’t know the half of it!” Aruendiel said with a humorless grin. “But there’s plenty of other evidence to damn Ilissa and her people. Look at the record of promises broken by the Faitoren, the lands seized, free people enslaved, women kidnapped—which they are still doing, by the way. You should have seen that girl Nora in Ilissa’s hands. Enchanted to the ends of her hairs, brain like a cabbage.”

  “She seems normal enough now.”

  “Oh, she’s made some sort of recovery. The point is, if you can’t trust Ilissa to abide by the existing treaty, it’s supreme insanity to enter into an alliance with her.”

  “Here comes Bouragonr’s secretary. The king must be back from his ride, ready to receive us again.”

  “This is going to be an utter waste of time, do you realize that?”

  “Just don’t let them push you too far.”

  “And how far is that?” Aruendiel demanded, but the secretary was already within earshot.

  * * *

  Ilissa was the last to arrive in the chamber allotted for the discussions, a long room with a wall fresco showing the sea battle that had placed the current king’s great-grandfather on the throne. It had been painted some years after the fact; Aruendiel, who had been present at the battle, had given up trying to count all of the historical inaccuracies. The others were already seated—the king in the canopied chair at the head of the table, waxy-faced but resplendent in a scarlet robe; Bouragonr at his side, his hair streaked with gray, his cheeks purpled with a network of fine veins (Hiriz was right, Aruendiel thought, the court magician was not looking well); Visonis, the king’s chief military adviser; on the other side, Hirizjahkinis and Aruendiel. Hirizjahkinis had taken the seat immediately opposite Ilissa’s, on the theory that it would be imprudent to let her face Aruendiel directly.

  While they were waiting for Ilissa, Visonis spoke lovingly of the advantages to be gained from an invasion of the Meerchinland—how easy it would be to seize the Lower Meerchin River—how the Pernish could be distracted with a second, Faitoren front. Aruendiel offered up a series of counterarguments, citing the Autumn Campaign of the Third Pernish War, but the king listened with a perfunctory air, as though his mind were already made up.

  After half an hour, Ilissa arrived, with a rustle of trailing white silk and a delicate furrow of concern in her otherwise flawless brow. “I am devastated to be so late, Your Majesty,” she said. “I was detained by some urgent family matters.” There was a throb of unusual emotion in her low voice that was impossible to miss.

  The king did not miss it. He turned his pale broad face toward Ilissa and regarded her carefully as she took her seat. “I hope there is nothing wrong, my lady,” Abele said.

  “It is probably nothing at all,” Ilissa said. “Only, I had expected to hear from my son before now. He was due to arrive at Semr last night. He has probably been terribly careless and simply forgotten to let me know that he has been delayed, but you know, as a mother, I can’t help but worry.”

  “It is very unlikely that any harm would come to your son in our kingdom,” said the king, “especially if he stayed on the main roads.”

  Ilissa nodded, with a quick, worried smile. “I know, Your Majesty. But he was traveling alone, and, you see, it has been so long since we have ventured abroad that I’m afraid he may have lost his way.”

  “We will do all in our power to see that he is soon found. The Royal Horse Guard will begin searching the roads around the capital. And my chief magician is at your disposal.”

  “Of course, of course,” Bouragonr said, bobbing his head. “I will be happy to help.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m grateful for your thoughtfulness.”

  “We would be sad hosts indeed if we did not do everything in our power to ensure safe conduct through our domain for such valued guests,” the king said with a gracious nod.

  Aruendiel said calmly, “Allow me to set the Lady Ilissa’s mind at ease. Her son, the Lord Raclin, is half a day’s ride from here, just south of Lost River Lake.”

  “Excellent news,” the king said. “How do you know this, Lord Aruendiel? You met him on your journey here?”

  “I did,” Aruendiel said, with a long look at Ilissa. “He attacked me repeatedly, and my peasants as well. In our last encounter, since he refused to let me continue my journey in peace, I turned him to stone.”

  Ilissa stood up, hands flat on the table in front of her. “You did what to my son?”

  “I turned him to stone,” Aruendiel repeated.

  The king said nothing, but his face was as hard as though he had turned to stone, too. Bouragonr, with a glance at his sovereign, got to his feet. “Lord Aruendiel,” he said, “if this is true, it is a serious breach of the safe conduct promised to the Lady Ilissa and her party on their diplomatic mission to Semr. It is a serious embarrassment to the monarchy.”

  “A safe conduct granted to an emissary does not include the right to steal livestock or burn houses or launch unprovoked attacks—all of which Lord Raclin has done,” Aruendiel said.

  “As you may know,” said Ilissa, turning toward the king, “my poor son suffers from a debilitating condition—a very unpleasant transformation—during daylight hours. During that time, it’s quite possible that he might make a perfectly friendly overture that could be seen as hostile.”

  “Madame, there can be no doubt that Lord Raclin’s intentions were hostile,” Aruendiel said easily, leaning back in his chair.

  “Lord Aruendiel, we spent all morning discussing whether to form an alliance with the Faitoren. Why did you not mention these supposed attacks before this?” Bouragonr demanded.

  “I did not wish to introduce any personal animosity into this debate.”

  The king finally spoke, folding his hands on the table. “Lord Aruendiel, can this spell be removed?”

  “It can.”

  “Well, then, the easiest solution to this matter is for you to remove the spell and
restore the Lady Ilissa’s son to his previous condition.”

  “I will not.”

  “Would you defy a direct command from your sovereign?” Bouragonr asked.

  “Sire, simple prudence makes it impossible to agree to your request. I turned Lord Raclin into stone to save my own life and that of a fellow traveler. If I removed the spell—and I would have to travel back to the site to do so—Lord Raclin would only resume his attack. I would have to counter with another spell, possibly something that would cause even more harm to Lady Ilissa’s son.”

  Sinking back into her chair, Ilissa uttered a small, anguished moan and clenched a fist to her breast. “Lord Aruendiel, you are most unkind.”

  Hirizjahkinis spoke for the first time. “It’s possible that someone else besides Aruendiel could remove the spell.”

  “Why, yes,” Aruendiel said. “Most competent magicians could take it off.” He smiled mockingly at Bouragonr. “Of course,” he added, “there would still be Lord Raclin to contend with, but perhaps he would be better disposed toward another magician besides myself.”

  “And why, exactly, is Lord Raclin so ill-disposed toward you?” Bouragonr asked. “Perhaps because his wife is currently residing under your protection?”

  “Lord Aruendiel, is this true?” the king asked sharply.

  Before Aruendiel could answer, Ilissa broke in. “It is true. My daughter-in-law disappeared from my home almost three months ago. We learned that she was abducted by Lord Aruendiel’s magic and that she has been living in his castle ever since. I cannot tell you how my son has been heartbroken by this betrayal.

  “I did not want to mention this sad affair before now,” Ilissa added, casting her eyes down. “Since it involves a stain on my family’s honor. And as Lord Aruendiel himself said, it would be a shame to taint state business with personal animosities.”

  The king looked curiously at Aruendiel, taking in the magician’s battered face afresh and perhaps remembering the old stories that were still circulating around the court when Abele was a child. “Lord Aruendiel? What do you have to say about this?”