by R. K. Thorne
She was a vision as always, statuesque in beauty, with a face as elegant and hard as marble. She waited in the doorway for him to speak, but he let the moment pass just a little longer. Some women would think he admired them, and in this case, that was at least partially true. Others would grow anxious in the silence. Either effect was useful to him.
“Princess,” he finally greeted, though he decided not to rise. “Please, join me.”
She glided forward smoothly. A serving mage pulled out her chair and pushed it under her as she sat. She did not acknowledge the mage even slightly.
“Please, call me Evana.”
He smiled warmly. Ah, that was a good sign. Of course, she wanted his help. So this should not be an uphill battle. He hoped.
“Evana. And you, of course, can call me Daes.”
She nodded curtly and took a sip of tea. She was all business, and that was a game he knew how to play.
“I’ve given much thought to your proposition. And our next steps against the Akarians. I appreciate you meeting me privately today.”
“Why the secrecy?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s not exactly secrecy. It’s the carefully timed dissemination of information. I will share my plans with the other Masters, just not yet. I’d like to share with you the role I envision for you before I share everything with the others.” In truth, he had not yet decided if that day would ever come. If Seulka kept giving him vicious looks, he might have to include revenge on her as part of the plan.
“Forgive my foggy knowledge of your history here, but can you remind me—who put you in charge again?” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
He met her gaze flatly with no hint of a smile. “I did.”
Evana lifted her chin just slightly. A relaxed interest pricked around her eyes. She was pleased, he thought, although her mouth betrayed no emotion. “I’m listening.”
“Help yourself to this food, and I will share my thoughts. Shall we?” She nodded. “All right then. I still believe we can draw the Akarians into war on our lands—”
“Why on your lands? Won’t the damage be worse to your property?” she asked. “The farms and villages I passed on the way here were only mildly fortified, although they’d made some very minor preparations.”
He nodded. “Skirmishes on the border were once frequent, before the Dark Days, and even more common in the centuries before the Akarians united. Having the Akarians on our terrain will certainly do more damage to our people and land. But it will give us much-needed advantages. We will have local supplies, while they’ll be easier to cut off from their food supply and reinforcements. Much of Akarian terrain is rugged—hills, mountains, forests—compared to the flat and open land our soldiers are used to. And equipped for, unfortunately. Not to mention the value of drawing the Akarians away from their own fortifications. They’ll also have to leave forces behind, while we can mass our forces much more easily with less risk. With the addition of mage forces, I think we may have enough of an advantage to actually win.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Mage forces?”
“You saw them training yesterday. The forces grow more every day, in both size and skill. But I’m going to need more. A lot more.”
“I thought Nefrana frowned on mages taking up arms.”
He smiled and spread his hands as if helpless. Did she really believe that? Nefrana seemed to be against whatever the priests—and perhaps the king—wanted her to be against. The rules seemed to have far less to do with ethics or dogma than politics. But until he knew her better, he would stick to religious reverence, at least while she was around. “Think of the story of the shepherd and the farmer. The shepherd let his flocks wander as Nefrana willed and paid them little mind. The farmer worked long and hard to till the land, never asking for Nefrana’s—”
“I know the story.” She waved it aside. “Silly, as most parables are. I always felt any decent shepherd wouldn’t have ignored his flock.”
“True. But the story teaches us that we must use all our resources to defend Nefrana, that we must not leave our fate solely in her hands. Our priests have guided me to use every tool and weapon at my disposal to counter the mage threat. The mages are the greatest weapon I have. Doesn’t that change things? If we can stretch our borders across Akaria and perhaps even into Takar, then many more mages will be captured and bound to our will, not running dangerously wild, endangering people’s souls. Isn’t that worth temporarily arming mages who can be utterly controlled and easily ordered to stop at any time?”
“Perhaps.” She looked far from convinced.
“So that brings me to the first point where you are concerned. I want more mages.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What does that have to do with me?”
“You know how to identify mages, yes? You have Devoted stones?”
She nodded. “I don’t carry them, but my squires do.”
“And you have friends or colleagues who may be pursuing their holy mission?” Friends seemed like the wrong word. He was not sure a woman like Evana had friends of any kind.
“I know other knights. Of course. What does it matter?”
“And you knights sometimes capture mages and sometimes kill them, do you not?”
“It is up to a knight’s preference, possibly the monastery where they trained. Different groups have different standards. I prefer to solve a problem completely when I encounter it.”
“Ah, but what a waste of valuable resources.”
“Your captives seem fairly well treated. I hadn’t expected that.” She eyed a mage who waited in the corner for any requests from them. “Is that why?”
“Oh, they get their share of beatings. Not everything is worth a specific compulsion. And I am but one Master. I strive to keep the others… prudent, but I don’t always succeed. But yes, I consider them valuable property. Do you leave your bow in the street to be stolen? Swords out in the rain to rust?”
She narrowed her eyes again but said nothing.
“One man’s problem is another man’s opportunity,” he said. “What I’m getting at is—I want more mages coming to Mage Hall. I want more slaves as quickly as we can make them. And I thought that you and some of your Devoted colleagues could perhaps be counted on for that? Perhaps to capture instead of kill for a few weeks?”
“You’re prepared to pay the increased bounties?”
“Of course.” He hadn’t cleared that with the other Masters, but he didn’t care. When the mages showed up, the other Masters would hand over the coin. The three of them celebrated the acquisition of new slaves even more ardently than he did.
“Where do you suggest we find so many mages?”
He shrugged and sipped his tea. “I thought perhaps you could figure that out.”
The cold expression on her face told him she didn’t like that answer.
“But we receive few mages from Hepan. I hear magic is perfectly legal there. Akaria is barely a day’s ride. And I’ve heard of a mage school in southern Detrat, although how you transport a large group of captured mages—or capture them in the first place—is not something I have any particular insight into.”
She nodded sternly, although he noted she hadn’t exactly agreed to his plan. She wanted to hear more first.
“And then there is still the matter of the mage prince. And the Akarian royal family.”
“And your renegade slave.”
He nodded, scowling. “Indeed. I did not forget.” He stopped for a moment to calm himself. A bit of toast, a taste of tea. Better. Let the wave of rage pass. “I’ve hired professional assassins this time, sent a few mages to help him. No asking the king. No kidnapping feints or fakes. The goal is to kill him, and the brothers too if possible, rather than simply start a war. The threat of star magic must be completely and utterly wiped out. Estun is a hard target, though—heavily fortified and stuffed to the teeth with loyal Akarian soldiers.”
“And if the assassin fails?”
“Estun might be
a tough target, but they cannot be safe everywhere. I’ve initiated a plan to force them out of Estun one way or another.” Several plans, actually, but all those details didn’t matter here. One plan would suffice for her. “I’ve bribed a member of their Assembly to call for a vote.”
“A member of their Assembly—impressive. Who?”
“The lord of Gilaren. I forget his name. A young whelp, encouraged by enticements of trade deals and discounts and spurred on by the coin in his pocket.”
“Gilaren? You must be joking.”
He shook his head with a rueful smile. “I know, I thought it would require some kind of underhanded, arm-twisting tactic when the initial offer of money failed, but apparently not.”
“Certainly that’s the first land you hope to seize in this war of yours.”
“What war?” He grinned. “No war has started, if you hadn’t noticed, mostly to my chagrin, but it helps me in convincing the Gilaren lord. But yes, of course. I can practically spit on his territory and Anonil from here. There’s no way to acquire Akaria without capturing his territory first.”
“Or perhaps later, if you have them pacified?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. I see you have a strategic mind behind that pretty face.”
Where Seulka or another woman might have smiled, Evana glared at him. He didn’t understand why, but he preferred her reaction. Maybe he just liked women who weren’t so eager to please.
“And that is hardly surprising for a woman of your skill and intelligence,” he said quickly, feeling some need to smooth over the situation. Her expression eased. “Of course, I have other activities in motion. I am sending a small team of mages to Estun to cause some trouble and force the Akarian royals out, and perhaps give our assassins some opportunities. A dozen new squads will start training the day after that. If only I had more mages, there’s so much I could do with them.”
She sighed. “And that is where I suppose I could best help. I will see what can be done, contact a few… friends.”
“Were you hoping to charge into battle right away?”
She shrugged. “I suppose I was. But this is a logical plan. Storming into Estun with my bow drawn would be foolish—and most of all, ineffective. It’d be more likely to get me killed than the prince. I will help you. Tell me, when will you tell the others? Or will you tell the others? Will your king know of these plans?”
“Does it matter to you?” He left his expression blank, a bit cold. He didn’t want to tell her more than he had to, or reveal whom he might be withholding information from. She might use it against him.
“I must understand to whom I can speak of these plans, of course. If secrecy is required, that suits me perfectly. I just want to know what resources I have and how best to utilize them. If the king should not know… it’d be best that I not mention it to him then, eh?”
“And are you regularly in the company of the king?” It was Daes’s turn to narrow his eyes.
“No. But we wouldn’t want to let a little bad luck spoil your carefully laid plans, now would we?”
He sighed. He supposed she had a point. “Obviously, the other Masters know of my training the mages for war, and you need not hide your plan to increase the number of mages in their service. I will tell them we discussed it. I am less certain when—or if—I will tell them of any of my designs on Estun and assassinating the mage prince in particular. I cannot afford their interference this time. They are too easily frightened, poorly trained in either tactics or strategy or both, and above it all, our king is an idiot. The whole court is more interested in wine and gossip than in their own kingdom’s safety. The other Masters may be slightly less drunk, but they’d still prefer to be navel-gazing.”
“It is a good thing they have you then,” she said with an edge to her voice. He caught her double meaning—she meant both that this was likely true, but also that those he criticized would probably not feel the same way.
“It is good they have me,” he replied in earnest. “Look at this prince—a star mage, after all these years. They insisted the magic was long forgotten.”
“And I’m sure you stand to gain nothing here but the protection of your lord and his ladies.” She eyed him.
Ah, so she was not above subtlety. That was good, especially when discussion of near treason was involved. There were a select few things that it was really best not to be blunt about. “I certainly stand to gain from this. I make no pretense of this being some kind of altruistic endeavor. Most primarily, all of my power at present comes from these mages I rule—”
“That you and the other Masters rule?” She grinned slyly.
He cleared his throat. “Indeed, yes, of course. As I was saying… I strive to protect my own power here, nothing more.”
“Really, truly?” she smiled sweetly. “Nothing more, at all?”
How much should he tell her? How much could he trust her? He hardly knew her. Did he hope for more power through a war with Akaria? He did primarily want to neutralize the threat they posed—but certainly a pleasant side effect was likely to be more mages to rule, more land, more credit for doing good for the kingdom. More deeds to encourage them to forget about the nature of his birth and focus on who he really was. So did he hope to grow in power by all his machinations? Of course. Did he even half hope to find a way to subvert the king, or perhaps weaken him a little? Well, how could he not hope for that? The man was weak, foolish, and irresponsible. But it was a long shot, and he rarely thought about it in the light of day, let alone spoke about it to anyone.
“I have found that everyone has layers of reasons behind what they do, Princess,” he replied. “You, though, seem to have nothing at all to gain from hunting down this mage prince. Why are you so ardent?”
She frowned, realizing the trick he’d pulled but unable to dodge the direct question. “It is my calling. I do not need a vocation beyond my family. They are willing to support me if they can’t marry me off. And yet, I have chosen a profession that is neither easy nor safe. Why else would I choose it other than that I had been called?”
So she was a zealot. No faking that. She had seemed rather smart and logical for a zealot, so he had wondered if it was a show. But no. He said nothing for a moment, taking a conveniently timed bite. He had eaten little so far and talked much. He left the burden of talk on her at this calculated moment.
She sniffed. “Well… perhaps there is another layer to it. I traveled to Akaria looking for a husband. I may have a vocation, but I had still hoped to rule something. Somewhere. To civilize a place like Akaria, with mages running wild. But I’d have to go far ashore for that at this point. It may not be worth it, to be so far afield on my own. The Akarian was the last unmarried prince in these great northern kingdoms. And it had actually seemed possible for a moment or two. But then—to realize that he was a mage. In hiding. Of all the trickery and deception…” She trailed off, lost in her own thoughts for a moment.
“Deception? He’s been deceiving everyone around him, no?”
“Yes. He’s not just a mage, but a liar to boot. But if I had married a mage… He would have never said anything. The possibility horrifies me.”
He nodded. He suspected the matter of the prince’s deception slight compared to the dashing of her dreams of conquest, of being a queen and having her own kingdom to rule, like her older siblings. But that was painful to think about, and a little foolish because it had probably been a slim chance for her anyway. Righteous indignation was easier to hide behind, had less sting and more fire. He could understand.
“Well, you shall have your chance to make things right. Small steps, but we will get there.”
She gave him a relieved smile as he pulled the topic away rather than drilling further. A small kindness, a peace offering. “I would rather my bow kill the prince than your assassin’s blade, I must admit. But I am a woman who puts results ahead of ego.”
“I find ego does little but get in the way.” Says the man who has fantasies abo
ut deposing the king, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. He waved the thought away.
“Indeed.”
“I shall send word to the supply master to give you whatever you need,” he said, “should your Devoted lords not be adequately supportive of your holy mission.”
She looked pleasantly surprised. “It is settled then. We will scuttle them out and skewer them like this potato.” She made short work of impaling the small roasted root vegetable on her knife and lifting it up as if in toast.
“So many to skewer, so little time. But first,” he smiled, “we will have this lovely breakfast—together.”
Alikar swept down the stone hallway and out of sight. At nearly the same moment, Aven’s brother Thel was returning to the king’s chamber with Miara at his side. Damn, when had they even left? Had she missed all that? Aven had thought she’d been right behind him. That she could have been pulled away so easily without him noticing was more than a little unnerving after that altercation. Had Thel heard Alikar’s assertion that he should be heir? His brother had to be expecting it, but he wouldn’t like it one bit.
“Well, that was a fine tussle, lots a grumbling, but the boy’s just a pup,” Devol grumbled. Murmurs of agreement and a few laughs flitted through the group, easing the tension a bit.
“Only slightly less so than our respected prince,” Lord Dyon said, an edge to his voice. Aven was barely a year older than Alikar.
“Ah, with comments like that, it’s good to be home,” Aven muttered, clapping Dyon on the shoulder.
Dyon narrowed his eyes at Aven’s hand but then shook his head at the empty doorway. “Serves them right for electing him just to get a privileged price on his ore.” Unlike Alikar, Dyon’s position was his for life. “He distracts us from matters of true importance. When do we ride on Kavanar? This affront cannot be tolerated.”