The Free Kingdoms (Book 2)

by Michael Wallace

  “Rise, Nathal,” Collvern said. “You have done well.” He gestured to the man on his right. “The magistrate of justice tells me you’ve caught the old wizard, as well.”

  The captain of the knights rose to his feet. “Yes, my king.” He snapped his fingers and two of his men hurried from the throne room. Others pulled Darik and Daria to their feet. As Darik feared, the men led Markal into the room a moment later. Scree sat on one wrist. With his other hand, he rubbed his beard. He did not appear at all worried; indeed, he smiled and nodded at Darik and Daria when he saw them. He nodded also to the magistrate, then turned his attention to the king.

  Collvern sighed when he saw the wizard. “Markal, every time I turn around I discover you working at cross purposes.”

  “What cross purposes?” Markal asked. “I simply honor the vows of my Order. Kreth, at least you can understand that?”

  The magistrate pulled an amulet from around his neck, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger for a moment before his hands disappeared into the folds of his red robes again. “Yes, Markal, but which is your order?”

  Markal smiled. “The Order of the Wounded Hand, of course. The Crimson Path died with Memnet the Great. If I remember correctly, you stood by my side as we tried to keep the master alive.”

  “Which is why,” Collvern said, rising from his throne, “your actions distress me so much.” He gestured casually at Darik and Daria. “Outlanders, I can understand, but you? You are one of us. How can you forget our suffering? The destruction of Syrmarria, so that what? Outlanders could build on top of it, a shadow of Syrmarria’s greatness. I almost wished this Cragyn would have burned Balsalom to the ground, it is such an affront to our memory.”

  “If you hate Balsalom so much,” Darik said angrily as he lost control of his temper, “Why didn’t you burn it to the ground yourself? It wouldn’t surprise me if you fought alongside the dark wizard. You apparently work to his same goals.”

  “Quiet, boy,” the knight holding Darik growled. His grip tightened on the back of Darik’s neck.

  “What do you know of Syrmarria?” Markal asked, dryly. “Your grandfather’s grandfather wasn’t even born when the city fell. I daresay that Balsalom is nearly as beautiful as Syrmarria and its people not half so proud and boastful.”

  Angry murmurs went through the gathered knights, but none spoke openly against Markal. “You’ve become one of them,” Collvern said, shaking his head with a sad smile. “How you can travel through the Desolation and forgive their crimes, I don’t know.”

  “Because it wasn’t Outlanders,” Markal said. “It was mad King Toth himself, and he’s been dead nearly four hundred years. Even beyond the Wylde they rebuild, but the Aristonians stay in their cloud castles, nursing old wounds. And what will you do when the enemy completes the Dark Citadel in Veyre?”

  “We could sit here helplessly,” Collvern said, “waiting to be crushed by the dark wizard, or relying on the charity of others like the pathetic Selphan.”

  The Selphan, whose blue-turbaned people could often be seen in Balsalom’s souks, had held no country of their own for hundreds of years. Since the destruction of their city by invaders they had lived amongst the khalifates, most concentrated in the west and south. Still, Darik hardly thought them pathetic. Balsalomians at least, respected them as scholars and merchants, even if the Selphan still maintained their own communities, gods, and a language that was more closely related to the old tongue than to anything else spoken in Mithyl.

  “The charity of others?” Daria asked quietly. She looked the king in the eye. “You mean covenants between free peoples? Agreements to aid each other when attacked by a common enemy?”

  Collvern ignored her, as he had Darik, but neither did he order them silenced. “Come, Markal. I understand you own something that belongs to us.”

  Markal shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  The magistrate spoke again, his hands on his amulet. Darik wondered if it gave him some sort of prescience. He appeared to be a wizard of some kind, who had known Markal during the Tothian Wars.

  “The book, Markal,” Kreth said. “You have it, I believe.”

  To Darik’s surprise, Markal didn’t deny knowledge of the book. “I had it, yes, but alas, I ran into some difficulties in the mountains and I’m afraid it has passed from my hands.”

  “The dark wizard doesn’t have the book, or I would have felt him use it,” the magistrate said.

  “Who said anything about the dark wizard?” Darik asked. What kind of game was Markal playing? “We have other enemies, as you have so willingly proven.”

  Markal said, “No, an enemy doesn’t have it. But neither are the intentions of its current holder clear yet. We will soon see, I suspect. If, as your captain tells me, the khalifa has retaken Balsalom, she will either march or remain holed up behind her walls. Then, we will know.”

  “She has?” Darik asked, a fierce hope rising in his breast. “Balsalom is free?”

  The king’s earlier pleasure with his captain disappeared with a single glance. Nathal blanched under that stare.

  Kallia, Darik thought with admiration. Somehow the book had come into her possession. But Darik didn’t think she would hold the book from Markal and the other wizards of the Order. Would she?

  “She will side with the Free Kingdoms,” Darik said. “Why don’t you ally with us, as well?” he asked the king.

  “Who is your ally?” Markal asked. “And who is your enemy?”

  Collvern rose to his feet, face flushed, his patience wearing visibly thin. “We know our enemies. Outlanders, chief among them this wizard, this Cragyn, who dares threaten us. He is rebuilding the Dark Citadel to challenge the Sky Brother, and an army of dragons that will burn our castles and our homes, destroy the very clouds that we live on.”

  “Dragons?” Darik asked, sensing that he’d reached the limits of what would be tolerated, but needing clarification. “Don’t you mean dragon wasps? They killed the last dragon hundreds of years ago.”

  “Hah!” the king said, turning away like an angry child. “Listen to the boy. Now he’s an expert on dragons, too.”

  The captain of the winged knights said, “A dragon wasp is simply a young dragon, boy. When it turns a hundred years old, it gorges, then buries itself for many years, before emerging as an adult dragon.”

  “There are still dragons in Mithyl?” Darik asked. He imagined one of the huge beasts riding forth with the strength of twenty griffins and shuddered.

  “At least two, yes,” Kreth answered. The magistrate put away his amulet. “Else there would be no new wasps. These adults must have escaped the griffins during the Tothian Wars, being in chrysalis at the time. Somewhere these dragons are breeding wasps. We’ve been unable to find them.”

  Daria shook her head, clearly disturbed by both this news and the king’s outburst. “But I don’t understand. Isn’t that all the more reason to ally yourselves to the griffin riders, so together we can hunt down these dragons?” This time, Darik noted several murmurs, some in agreement.

  “Yes, why not?” Darik continued. “We fight the same enemy. And we can’t threaten you should our alliance sour. Why not ally with Balsalom and the Free Kingdoms to defeat the dark wizard?”

  “Yes, why not?” the magistrate asked in a soft voice.

  Collvern glared him into silence then turned to Markal, even though it had been Darik who’d spoken. “Do you remember what happened last time we fought alongside the Outlanders? They burned our villages, plowed our fields with swords, and destroyed Syrmarria, the greatest city the world has ever seen. This conversation bores me. Nathal, take them away.”

  “Kill them?”

  Darik swallowed hard. Daria stared straight ahead, but a tremor worked at her lip and he could see just how frightened she was. A slight smile played at Markal’s lips, but Scree flapped her wings on his arm and he had to reach up a hand to soothe her. Perhaps the bird sensed the wizard’s fear.

  The
king turned to the magistrate of justice. Kreth looked at Markal before looking at Darik and Daria. “No, release them.”

  “Release them?” Collvern asked sharply.

  Kreth said, “They mean nothing to us. We need the book.”

  “Then you believe him? That he doesn’t have the book?”

  Kreth nodded. “Markal isn’t strong enough to wield its power by himself. If he brings it back to the Citadel, he’ll be forced to surrender it to the Order. But Chantmer the Tall controls the Order. Markal and Chantmer no longer agree on the direction of the Order. No, I think he’s given it to the khalifa of Balsalom. There are wizards in the khalifates strong enough to use the book. Perhaps she is in contact with one of these wizards.”

  “But the law,” Nathal protested, stepping forward from his men. “They are Outlanders.”

  A look passed between Markal and Kreth. The magistrate said, “Markal isn’t an Outlander. These two are his guests and only children. Their crimes do not warrant death.”

  “Yes, the khalifa,” Collvern said as if he hadn’t heard the argument between the magistrate and the captain of the winged knights. “I didn’t think her strong enough to retake Balsalom on her own. But if she had the book…” He gave a dismissive wave of the hand. “As you wish, magistrate.” He turned to Nathal. “Captain, let them go.”

  Nathal led them to the green. Others brought Averial and Brasson a few minutes later, nicely groomed, with wounds bandaged. Nathal had kept his promise to care for the griffins, even when Darik and Daria had attempted an escape. The sun rose in the sky, clearing the rain and clouds. Brasson eyed Markal and gave an inquisitive squawk. Scree shrieked and struggled against the wizard’s grip. Markal leaned down and whispered in the falcon’s ear and this soothed it. He climbed onto Brasson’s back behind Darik.

  “You know the way?” Nathal asked.

  Daria nodded. “I do. Thank you for caring for Averial and Brasson.” Her eyes narrowed. “I wish I could thank you for something else, but I simply can’t think of anything.” She turned to Averial. “Ska!”

  Darik followed her lead with a grin at her spirit. They soared past the windmills, now motionless, then dropped over the edge of the cloud toward the city.

  Balsalom was gone. Simply not there. They’d flown on the breeze, windmills turned off, probably all through the last day and night. The mountains were east, not where he’d expected. To the west, farms and towns and cities, and green everywhere. Eriscoba?

  Frowning, Daria pointed to the ground and they dropped. When they landed, Darik asked Markal, “Where are we?”

  “Meadow Down,” Markal said. “A pleasant little kingdom. I lived here for about sixty years once, had a wife and raised hogs.”

  Daria frowned. “Good thing they didn’t keep us in the tower any longer or we might have floated right over the edge of the world.” She studied the mountains. “That must be Mount Rachis.”

  Darik asked Markal, “Why did you give the book to the khalifa? And when did you see her?”

  “What book?” Markal asked.

  “What do you mean, what book? The steel tome.”

  Markal grinned and reached inside his robe. He pulled out the book. “Oh, this book? I almost forgot I carried it.” He scratched his head. “Now why did I think that Kallia had it? I can’t remember.”

  Darik laughed. He hadn’t thought he could carry anything in those robes, let alone the bulky tome with its steel leaves. “Didn’t they search you for weapons before they brought you before the king?”

  “Exactly so,” Markal said. “And since they searched for weapons, I found it simple enough to turn their attention away from anything else I might be carrying. As for Kreth the Sage, he suffers from the same ailment that afflicts most Aristonians. Arrogance. And arrogance causes blindness.”

  “How do you mean?” Darik asked.

  “He simply could not imagine holding the Tome of Prophesy and not using it. If I had read the book recently, he would have seen me.” Markal smiled. “Fortunately, I lack that same arrogance. I am only too aware of my own faults and weaknesses, perhaps because they are so numerous. I tried to read the book once, failed, and put it away.”

  “But wait,” Darik said, his thoughts turning uncomfortably to his own attempt to read the book. “Is Kallia in danger?”

  “Not if she stays in Balsalom or rides with her army. Collvern wants the book, but nothing has roused Aristonia to open battle since the fall of Syrmarria. He’ll set his wizards to discover where she hides it, and since she doesn’t hide it anywhere, they will fail.”

  Darik asked, “What now? Do we go for the Citadel or return to find Whelan and Daria’s father?”

  Daria looked back toward the mountains. “I know a pass we can fly and be home by evening. I hope Averial can make it that far with her injuries.” She gathered Averial’s tethers then glanced back expectantly at Darik and Markal.

  “Daria, you return and find them,” Markal said. “Darik and I will press on to the Citadel.” He slid from Brasson’s back.

  Darik didn’t like that plan. “It’s too dangerous for Daria to travel alone with so many winged knights and dragon wasps in the sky. I’d better return to the aerie with her.”

  “Brasson and Averial will be strong enough protection. Daria, thank you for your help. Come on Darik, we’ve got a long way to travel.”

  Darik frowned and climbed from Brasson’s back. Daria glanced at Markal and then gave Darik a wistful look. He looked to Markal, but the wizard smiled back obliviously. Could he really not see that Darik wanted a few minutes alone with her before she left?

  Daria looked away from Markal to Darik. “Will you come see me when you can? We can fly together again.”

  He meant to say something noncommittal, not knowing where his path led, but he couldn’t help himself. Picking up her hand and kissing it gently, he said, “I’ll come as soon as I can.”

  She blushed and looked quickly away when she saw Markal watching them. She picked up the reins. “Ska!”

  Darik watched the griffins fly east toward the mountains, Daria’s hair blowing in the wind. When they disappeared from view, he turned and glared at Markal. “You ruined that moment, thank you.”

  Markal laughed. “What moment? I didn’t see anything.”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Couldn’t you have given us a moment together? Just a few minutes alone?”

  “Life is long, Darik. Be patient.”

  “Maybe your life is long,” Darik said. “But mine is rushing by like a galloping horse. Just a couple of weeks ago, I worked in Graiyan’s kitchen. Not long before that, I lived quite happily with my father and sister. My life rushes by but never goes back. Maybe I’ll never see her again.”

  Markal shrugged. “A week, maybe two at most. You’ll see her soon enough.”

  Darik looked west. The sky was covered with cloud castles. While he watched, an army of winged knights flew from one castle to the next and this made him wonder. When he and Daria arrived, an entire cavalry had greeted them. How had the king’s cavalry been so prepared for the griffin riders? The answer was obvious: the Cloud Kingdoms already prepared for war. But with whom?

  Chapter Two

  Markal inspected the wound in Darik’s shoulder, then found a few herbs along the road which he pressed into the cut with a few simple spells to speed the healing. The throbbing faded immediately.

  Once Darik and Markal got underway, Darik turned to the wizard. “What happened? Why aren’t you with the others?”

  Markal eyed him with a look that was hard to read, but definitely not the man’s usual cheerful grin. “Maybe I’d better ask you a question first. Did I or did I not say that you weren’t to read the book?”

  Darik looked away. He wanted to protest that he hadn’t meant to read the book just look at it, and once he opened it, just couldn’t close it again. But no, the truth was, Markal’s instructions were clear enough. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I shouldn’t have done it
.”

  Markal said. “You’ll recover. The bigger mistake was letting the book out of your care once the dark wizard knew you had it. He went after it immediately.”

  Darik frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Markal said, “Fortunately, I reached it first. Alas, the enemy killed several griffins and riders trying to get the book.”

  A pall settled over Darik. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. “I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never touch magic again.”

  “Too late for that, boy. Once magic rears up and bites you on the ass, there’s no looking back. To answer your question, I found you through the book. For some reason, it’s chosen you to unlock its secrets.”

  “Me?” Darik said, disbelieving. “Whatever for?”

  Markal shrugged. “Who can say? Probably because you’re the first to have read it for so long. There’s no question, however, that you have wizardry in your blood.”

  Darik didn’t know what to think of this revelation. It disturbed him a little. “So what do I do?”

  “Time enough to worry later. Right now we have to reach the Citadel.” He shook his head, looking grim. “The enemy will be here in a week, two at best, and I fear for King Daniel.”

  It had been several days since they’d met with the other wizards on the edge of the Desolation, and Darik hoped they would reach Arvada to discover the king improving. “You don’t think he’ll die, do you?”

  Markal shrugged. “I fear the worst, and I don’t mean the king’s death.”

  “Worse then death? What could that be?”

  Markal said, “Have you ever wondered what became of the high khalif and his wife? Dead, but not gathered by the Harvester. Wights. Slaves of the dark wizards.”

  A shudder rippled through Darik, as he remembered the gibbering wights on the night they escaped from Graiyan’s kitchens.

  “Now,” Markal said, “we’ve got many miles to go on foot yet.” The wizard walked briskly, and Darik hurried to follow.

  Scree was jittery, struggling every time they made a sudden move. Markal had fashioned a simple hood from an old rag, and when he put it over the falcon’s head, this calmed her somewhat.