EXILED Wizard of Tizare

by Matthew J. Costello

The Dancer smiled, and returned to her troupe.

  “I’ll be glad,” Caissir said, “to be back inside the city walls.”

  So will I, thought Falon. Except why doesn’t it feel like I’m moving to safety?

  He shrugged, and grabbed his heavy pack off the ground.

  •

  The gates to Tizare were, if anything, even more crowded this time than last. It was night, and enormous torches dotted the city wall, sending a flickering light down on the great crowds of mrem who waited to enter the city.

  Obviously word was getting around about the disturbing raids in the countryside.

  Many of them were being turned away. Groups trudged past Falon, grumbling, cursing in the many strange dialects found in the countryside.

  What city now? some yelled at each other. A few talked about making their way to the south, to the great sea. Perhaps passage could be booked to some island sanctuary. Others talked with growing enthusiasm about seeking refuge in the north, and for the first time Falon wondered whether his own clansmrem were in danger.

  Everyone who passed had the same word on their lips.

  Invasion! ,

  “I hope we get inside without a problem,” Falon joked to Taline.

  She didn’t laugh. The scene at the gates disturbed her.

  “This is not good,” was all she said, quietly.

  They neared the winding line of hopefuls seeking entry. The Dancers went to the end of the line.

  “No,” Taline said, her voice sounding strong. “I will move us through more quickly.”

  And she strode down the line, leading the way quickly to the platoon of blue-armored soldiers guarding the gate.

  It was, Falon knew, now or never.

  “Taline, I’d like to see the book ... before we—”

  Her hand went to her sword. The suddenness of the movement startled Falon.

  “No one sees the book. No one! Save my father.”

  It occurred to Falon that he hadn’t seen Taline in action, using her sword. And he didn’t want to now.

  “Fine,” he smiled. “I was just asking. Just curious.” He held his hand open. “A family trait.”

  She relaxed.

  They were almost to the guards when Paralan stopped. “I’ll stay out here,” he said quietly.

  Taline gestured for the Dancers to stop. “What do you mean, you’ll stay here?”

  “There are no raiding bands within those city walls. Those I seek,” he gestured out, across the rolling hills that surrounded Tizare, “roam free, out here.”

  She walked up to him. “Yes, they roam free. But they are coming here, coming to Tizare, Paralan. And you can be here, ready to help fight them, ready to defend the city.”

  He seemed to think this over, shifting a bit uneasily.

  “Yes,” Falon added. “Come with us. It would seem to be a time of great danger for the cities. Together, we may help.”

  As if to seal the issue, Ashre scampered over. “I will help you,” he said to Paralan meaningfully. “Together we will find them.” The kit grabbed at Paralan’s massive hand.

  “Very well, then. But I’ll not loll around the castle and courtyards waiting for something to happen.”

  It was a prediction, Falon later reflected, that would come only too true....

  •

  Taline made quick work of the guards, navigating past the gates and into the crowded city. The head of the White Dancers thanked her, and invited them to come to the main square the next night for an important performance.

  Taline then led the party through the streets of Tizare, quickly, down narrow alleyways, through arcades and tunnels, taking a route that she knew would be less cluttered.

  The city was filled with mrem. An air of carnival prevailed, with much drinking, laughing, selling, and buying going on. Once again Falon was overwhelmed with the richness of the city. There were stalls filled with bolts of shimmering cloth, a luxurious- material that begged to have hands glide across it. There were foodstuffs of unrecognizable origins such as sea creatures with many eyes. Falon nearly ejected his last meal when he saw a merchant dig out one eye and offer it as a sample to a potential customer. And once again there were the females, filling the warm night air with the delicious aroma of promised pleasures.

  At times, Ashre had to give him a gentle shove to get him moving.

  But all too soon, Taline had them at the side gate to her father’s castle, striding matter-of-factly past the bowing guards, who kept their eyes down as she hurried past. She wasted no time moving the group to the upper floors of the palace, to a grand suite of rooms that Falon assumed must belong to her.

  She stripped off her filthy kilt and throat armor.

  A servant stood at attention awaiting her order. “Bring food, wine, and nurses to attend to our wounds,” she snapped.

  She stood naked, in front of them, unabashedly beautiful.

  Will I ever get used to city ways, Falon thought?

  She hurried into another room, and Falon heard water. “What’s that for?” Falon asked nervously.

  “Showers,” Taline said. “To wash off the stink of desert and liskash.”

  Ashre hid behind Falon, while Caissir busied himself examining, with a practiced hand, the furnishings. Paralan studied the immense murals that filled the walls.

  “You first, Ash. Then the rest of us.”

  “N-No,” he stammered. “Water is for fish and fools.”

  She walked over to him, her fine fur glistening beautifully in the candlelight. “And it’s for you, Ash. Because you’ll not stay in my house smelling like a street kit.”

  She looked at Falon, giving him a warning glance should he also decide to protest.

  Taline reached out and caressed the small ears of Ashre. “Besides, how will we ever know what wonders you have stored in these”—she ruffled the kit’s ears—“unless we clean them out?” She smiled at him, and led him to the room filled with the ominous whoosh of water.

  The yells and screams of Ashre turned Falon’s blood cold.

  He gave a quick glance at the door.

  But before he could weigh the merits of leaving versus a shower, Taline was there. “Now, we’ll clean you up, and my personal nurses will tend to your wounds.” She pulled at one of his bandages, and bits of Falon’s fur stuck to the dried mixture of cloth and clotted blood.

  “Ouch!” he yelped. He looked down at his chest wound.

  Nasty, but it was nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t help repair. Taline reached out and pressed her fingertips against it.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked, biting at her lower lip.

  Only when you touch it, he wanted to say. But he was so thrilled just to have her pressing close against him that he kept his mouth shut.

  She looked up at him.

  “I’ll shower with you,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips, “to make sure that the wounds are properly washed out.”

  “But—”

  Suddenly, the room was filled with a small-squad of maids and nurses, some bearing trays of fruit and flasks of wine, while others carried bundles of bandages and containers of what Falon imagined to be ointment.

  Taline ordered one of them to remove Ashre from the shower and dress him in clean clothes.

  “And now, it is our turn,” she said to Falon lightly. She gave him a gentle push in the direction of the shower room.

  She leaned up to his ear.

  “And when you’re good and clean, we’ll take the book to my father.”

  As he entered the doorway, Ashre plopped out, his fur wet against his body. But he wore a strange sort of grin, half surprised, half stunned.

  “It’s not so bad ...” he said, laughing.

  HER FINGERS traced lazy circles over his aching body, gently working the soap into his wo
unds.

  He yelped a few times, responding to the sting of the water and soap. And he hated the feeling of the water cascading down upon him, pressing his hair flat against his body, darkening the swirls of color. It was a perfectly miserable feeling …

  But Taline’s hands ... they were wonders, kneading his muscles, creating balls of lather on his pelt, then rinsing them away with a cloth and the torrent of water.

  And he knew that if it wasn’t such an uncomfortable, perverse feeling, this being wet, he would surely be aroused.

  Taline seemed to be enjoying it, humming low to herself, pressing against him, moving her small tight body against his.

  Her intentions were clear, even to an inexperienced fool like himself.

  But then a gaggle of her maids burst into the steamy room. “Lord Rhow wants you and the highlander to come to his private chambers now.”

  Taline backed away, heaving a small sigh. “Yes,” she said. “As soon as we’re dry, and dressed.” She grinned at Falon. “We’ll be right along.”

  She pushed away from Falon, and turned off the water. “We must,” she said, a big smile on her face, licking at her wet lips, “do this again sometime.”

  And she walked out of the stall, wrapping herself in an enormous fuzzy cloth.

  •

  Taline left instructions for Caissir, Ashre, and Paralan to be attended to, and led Falon, book in hand, to the private chambers of her father, Lord Rhow.

  It was a dimly lit, great expanse of a room, dominated by an enormous bed. Taline fell to her knees upon entering. Such an unlikely gesture, Falon thought—but he followed suit.

  Lord Rhow sat up on his bed, supported by a raft of pillows, a silver goblet in his hand.

  “Please rise,” he said gently to his daughter.

  She approached the bed, The Song of the Three Moons held tightly in her hands. She passed it to Lord Rhow almost reverently.

  “You’ve done well.” He fondled the book, running a hand along its rich hide cover. Then he looked up, and arched his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, of course, about Anarra.” Now he fixed his gaze on Falon. “And I thank you, highlander. Your help ... your trust has been invaluable.”

  Falon nodded.

  Rhow put down his goblet. “Now, let us see what we have here.”

  They stood there, he and Taline, while the lord flipped the crinkly pages of the book, muttering, “Yes,” and “Aha,” as if the contents of the manuscript were not quite unknown to him.

  And Falon wondered if he was now going to learn what was in the book. He shifted uneasily on his feet. He still wanted nothing more than to rest.

  Finally, after what seemed like a tremendous time, Lord Rhow snapped the book shut and laid it down beside him.

  He refilled his own goblet with a purplish wine that poured thickly from the flask. “Would you care for some wine?” he asked.

  Falon shook his head.

  “But you would like to know,” Rhow smiled, “What’s in this book?” He looked at Taline, then back to Falon.

  Falon nodded.

  Rhow swung his legs off the bed, standing up, his flowing robe glistening in the flickering light. “Oh, I know that you must both be very tired. But I want you to understand what’s in this book. Especially,” he said, striding right up to Falon, “yes, especially you, highlander.”

  He turned away from them and looked up at the battle scenes that surrounded his room. “Old King Talwe had a consort, Sruss, beautiful but headstrong.” Rhow turned, giving a knowing glance at Taline. “But when he sent her to supervise the reconstruction of Cragsclaw, he took Feila, young, beautiful ... fertile. Feila was infatuated with the cult of Gfaar, but that was of no consequence to Talwe.

  “But when she became with kit, Talwe banished Feila to a barbaric kingdom to the North. This book tells her story, of Talwe, and the proud but jealous Sruss. Of Feila’s slaying of the barbaric king of the North, and her own bloody death.”

  Rhow paused, looking right at Falon. “And, preserved by the cultists of Gfaar, it tells the story of King Talwe’s kit ... and the sad story of Mineir of Tizare, the usurper of that city’s throne.”

  “Usurper?”

  Rhow nodded. “Mineir has always been a lackey of the Eastern Lords.” The lord spit out his words.

  Rhow was at the wall, his hand touching one of the massive paintings, feeling the ancient, thickly encrusted paint.

  “This,” he said, gesturing at the central figure of the painting, decked out in splendid blue armor, dotted with ribbons and medals, “is a painting of the proud, foolish King of Tizare ... just before he dies mysteriously and turns his throne over to the Eastern Lords.” Rhow took another sip of the wine.

  Despite his terrible fatigue, Falon found himself totally absorbed by Lord Rhow’s story. It was as if parts of it he knew, somehow, perhaps spoken of by the village she-mrem.

  “But Talwe’s kit is alive, a strong, mottled mrem whose fur bears the obvious swirls of someone descended from royalty.” The lord looked right at Falon, the beginning of a smile creasing his lips.

  “That book documents the strange story. It doesn’t tell the rest, though. No, there’s nothing there about the kit growing up, so different, among villagers who knew nothing about who or what he was. It says nothing about his high-strung nature, his fast temper, and his prodigious appetite for females….”

  Falon’s whiskers twitched.

  “It doesn’t tell how the young mrem happened to dally with one of the females of a clan chief, how he fell into the taunting trap of the chief, how he struck first in the duel. ...” Rhow walked up to Falon, and rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “But then, you know that part of the story, don’t you, Falon?” And here Lord Rhow laughed, a great booming sound that echoed through the room.

  “I ... I don’t understand,” Falon said, even as he had the unpleasant feeling that he actually did understand.

  Impossible! he thought. I have a mother, a father. I’m not—

  “It is this mrem who, prophecy tells us,” Rhow said, “will save the throne of Tizare—even as his father saved Ar.”

  “But a king already rules—”

  Another laugh from Rhow, snide. “Not a king, Falon. Mineir is merely someone who manipulated the court to take control after the old king of Tizare’s death.”

  “But he has been ruling for years. Surely no one now has the right to depose him?”

  Rhow threw down his goblet. “Right? Did you say right?” He walked back and forth angrily, like a caged Rar in a zoo. “No, perhaps not,” he said, shaking a fist in the air. “Not to overthrow a good and loyal king. But this ‘king’ ”—Rhow spat—“is no such thing. He is merely the latest step in the plans of the Eastern Lords. Their raiding bands already litter the countryside.”

  Falon felt that he had to sit down. He looked over to Taline. She was studying him with those blue-green eyes of hers. “May I?” he asked gesturing at a chair off to the side.

  Rhow nodded. “This king is nothing more than an agent of the Eastern Lords. The big move against the city will be in two, maybe three days. You,” he said, pointing at Falon, “shall stop it.”

  Now it was Rhow who stood before the resting Falon. “Bring me the head of the king, and I will give you your birthright—your throne. Together, we will rule Tizare … make it a fortress against any incursions by the Eastern Lords.”

  “But how?” Falon said, shaking his head. It’s too much, he thought, too insane.

  “We have,” Rhow said, grinning, “a plan.”

  And he gestured at Taline.

  Had she known all the time, Falon wondered?

  She went to a hidden cabinet, sunken into the intricately carved woodwork of the wall, and removed an armful of heavy scrolls.

  “It’s Taline’s plan, actually, and with your help I’ve no dou
bt we’ll succeed.”

  She spread the scrolls out on a chest at the foot of her father’s bed, and stood there, waiting for Falon to walk over.

  Which, after a moment’s hesitation, he did.

  “The plan,” Taline said with sudden authority, “is really quite simple. You will have ten confederates—some of our best soldiers—plus myself, Paralan, Caissir, if he’s interested, and Elezar.”

  Falon was still trying to comprehend this improbable turn of events. The amazing thing is that it did, in fact, explain many things. He had always been treated as an outsider in his village. His markings had set him apart—nobody in the hills looked the way he did—but there had been other things that told him that he just didn’t belong.

  Now he was supposed to believe, and act on, the fact that he was the heir to the throne of Tizare.

  “Elezar ...” he said absently. “Who is Elezar?”

  “My most trusted general,” Rhow said, smiling. “Absolutely ruthless in his loyalty to me. And, when I so order, he’ll be equally loyal to you. He also has the uncommon military advantage of being quite smart. Just one small suggestion, though.” Rhow’s grin broadened. “Don’t make any comments about his rather large tail. He’s a bit self-conscious about it.”

  “The ladies like it,” Taline added.

  Falon looked down at the charts on the table. “What are these?” he said, fingering through the layers of heavy parchment.

  “These are the plans for the king’s palace—your palace. We will attempt to enter in three different places.” She jabbed at four locations on the map. “At each entrance we’ll create a diversion, something to confuse the guards ... just enough to get us inside the palace. From there, it will be a quick romp to the bedchambers of the king.”

  “Quick? Romp?”

  “I don’t imagine that we’ll face more than one, maybe two hundred of his best guards.”

  “With only fifteen of us?”

  She laughed. “Fifteen of us will try to get in. But I would imagine that at most five or six of us will actually get inside.”