The Wizard King

by Julie Dean Smith

  “Master Hedric is teaching me my letters again,” he went on. “I can’t believe I ever knew how. It’s hard.”

  “You’ll get it, Nicky. Hedric is an excellent teacher—of all manner of things.” She offered him an encouraging smile as he turned back to his work, trying to smother the dull ache of sadness that came upon her every time she looked at him.

  “Has he made much progress?” she asked Hedric. She was far more tempted to ask about his seeming progress with Durek, but restricted her questions to Nicolas.

  “Quite a bit, actually. The compulsion spell is interfering with his ability to read and write; I’ve had to teach him his alphabet again, but he’s catching on quickly. I think being back home again is helping him to remember things more easily as well. That reminds me,” he said, his face growing troubled, “last night, he remembered taking some books from Rhodri’s library and delivering them to one of the Sage’s men. Do you know anything about that?”

  Athaya started to shake her head, but stopped abruptly. “Wait—Lord Gessinger mentioned something about books when he came to my camp last winter, but I was so worried about Nicolas that I forgot all about it. Delivering the books must have been part of the compulsion.” Athaya leaned against the doorjamb, suddenly in need of support. “I don’t like the sound of this. The Sage’s ideas are dangerous enough without his getting wind of Rhodri’s. Still,” she added, “the Sage hasn’t said anything about the books and doesn’t seem to be making any use of them. He obtained them before he was sealed, so maybe he’s forgotten about them by now.”

  Hedric shrugged mildly; it was as good a hope as any. “Is Jaren awake yet?”

  “He was, but only for a few minutes. He’s not too happy about staying behind, but I think even he realizes that the journey would do him more harm than good. He can barely sit up without feeling queasy, so the thought of three days bumping about in a coach wasn’t too enticing.”

  “We should be back in a little over a week,” Durek said to Hedric as he ushered Athaya out of the room. “I’ve told Captain Parr and the guard that if there’s any trouble from the Sage’s wizards while we’re gone, that they are to defer to your judgment and obey you as they would me.”

  While Hedric calmly inclined his head in acknowledgment—expertly suppressing astonishment, if indeed he felt any—Athaya almost stumbled over the threshold. “You said that?”

  “Yes,” Durek replied with a grimace, “and you can imagine the look he gave me. If he ever thought I was under one of your spells, he thought so then. But if we’re going to have this alliance, then I may as well make use of it. Even my capable captain has to admit he’s no match for the Sage; he found that out in Eriston. Now come,” Durek said, striding swiftly down the hall. “If we can get to Kaiburn before the Sage does, we might just have a chance to save it.”

  Chapter 12

  Blessed with fine weather and dry roads, the journey to Kaiburn took less than three full days. And good thing that was, to Athaya’s mind, since it was all the sooner they could part company with the disgraced Archbishop Lukin, who traveled in a separate coach behind them and was deposited at his townhouse in the affluent west end of the city without so much as a parting word from his king.

  “He’ll bear watching,” Athaya murmured, as the last of Lukin’s voluminous black robes swept indignantly through the townhouse’s richly carved front door.

  Durek motioned the driver to move on, then reclined into the cushions shaking his head. “I never dreamed he’d be so bold.” He stole a glance out the curtained window as if to assure himself that Lukin was not trailing them. “I didn’t know,” he added suddenly, turning to Athaya with something akin to entreaty in his eyes. “I didn’t have any idea what he was planning.”

  An odd feeling of reassurance trickled though Athaya’s veins. “I never thought you did,” she replied, as surprised to speak the words as Durek was to hear them.

  News of the king’s visit reached the city well before the king himself, and as the royal coach crossed the western bridge into the city proper, every window and doorway was clogged with people hoping to catch a glimpse of him—and, Athaya suspected, hoping to see the even rarer sight of his Majesty openly tolerating his sister’s company.

  As the coach approached the cathedral square, however, Athaya began to notice an unusual number of wagons and carriages sharing the cobbled streets, all of them heavily laden with trunks and baskets. These were not merchants with goods to transport, she quickly realized; these were people fleeing the city. Those with a place to go, she added inwardly, noting that most of those taking flight were the wealthier of Kaiburn’s citizens, most of whom would have a country house at their disposal. Occasionally, though, she saw someone heading toward the city gates with little more than a few clothes tied into a bundle, only wishing to be where the Sage was not.

  “It looks as if they’ve heard the same rumors Mason did,” she observed. “Or gotten wind of the scouting parties Adam Graylen saw near Halsey.”

  When the coach rolled to a stop in the cathedral square, Lieutenant Berns, second-in-command to Captain Parr, quickly informed Durek what his advance scouts had gleaned of the present situation. “The sheriff reports that roughly four hundred of the Sage’s men were seen yesterday near the village of Leaford, just south of here. He said people have been streaming out of the city ever since, afraid for their lives.”

  “Only four hundred?” Athaya said, turning a quizzical frown to her brother. “I don’t mean to flatter myself, but my camp probably has enough wizards to put up a decent fight against that many. If the Sage wanted to destroy us, why not bring his whole army? He must have thousands under his banner by now.”

  Durek shrugged uneasily. “You always said he was an arrogant sort. Maybe he just underestimated your numbers.”

  Somehow, Athaya doubted the answer was so simple, but said nothing as Durek alighted from the coach and waved greetings to his subjects. As he reached back to hand her down, Athaya was acutely conscious of the stares and whispers of the crowd, feeling much like an oddity on display at a village fair. But the eyes of the people were warmer than on her last visit; today they looked upon her with admiring curiosity—she was the king’s friend and ally now, not a felon to be condemned, and so the populace was content to wave kind greetings to her and not toss rotten fruit and insults as they had done before. Her appearance certainly helped matters; Athaya was not clad in a tattered and ink-spotted kirtle this time, but matched her brother’s understated grace in a flowing gown of pale gray silk trimmed with silver. A delicate white veil framed her face, giving her the look of a penitent novice rather than a one-time traitor and excommunicate.

  Durek’s guardsmen cleared a path for them to the cathedral steps, forcing back the crowd. “Just let me do the talking, all right?” he advised. His tone was surprisingly light; dryly sarcastic, but not angry. “As I recall, the last time you addressed the people of Kaiburn, a riot broke out.”

  He mounted the steps and turned, the rubies in his coronet sparkling like a thousand tiny fires in the blinding midday sunlight. Two guardsmen stood on each side, each holding one end of a silken canopy to shield the king from the sun’s unforgiving glare.

  “People of Kaiburn,” Durek began, lifting his hands to ask for silence. “I come to you with the gravest of news.”

  The square grew hushed, as if preparing to be led in prayer, and Durek’s words carried effortlessly to the far edges of the square. Athaya didn’t hear much of her brother’s speech, however; he had already rehearsed it with her in the coach, so she let her attentions wander, scanning the faces before her to gauge their mood. All were anxious for a savior—that much could be seen in their eyes. They desperately needed someone—anyone—to protect them from the advancing army of magicians against which they had little defense. Fortunately, Athaya sensed that they thought well of her presence at Durek’s side, more than willing to accept her aid if the king would.

  “But Caithe has endured war be
fore,” Durek was saying when she turned her attentions back to him, “and will so again. I will protect this city with men and arms and my sister will do so with wizards and magic.”

  Athaya ascended the steps to join him and, to the delight of the assembly, took his arm.

  “With your courageous help,” he concluded, “we can drive this intruder back to Sare where he came from—perhaps even destroy him altogether. Athaya and I will defend you even unto our deaths, if need be. This we promise you.”

  Durek offered his sister a chaste kiss of friendship, pecking each of her cheeks lightly. A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd as Kaiburn accepted the king’s gesture as proof that his unlikely alliance with his sister was no farce.

  Athaya’s hand lingered on her brother’s arm as Durek led her down the cathedral steps and back to the waiting coach. It had not been a long speech, nor was it the most important address his Majesty was to make that day, but the citizens of Kaiburn thought well of it and cheered their acceptance, shouting wishes of long life to their king. A handful of more adventuresome souls passed the same wishes on to Athaya.

  The coach rolled slowly out of the city—a far more leisurely departure than that of a year before, when Kaiburn had erupted into a frenzy of burning and looting—and headed northeast, toward the sprawling Forest of Else. Durek was conspicuously silent during the brief journey. His words to the people of Kaiburn had come with relative ease. His next speech, Athaya suspected, would be the most difficult he had ever given.

  The king’s entourage halted at Athaya’s signal, in a tranquil expanse of meadow tucked between a ramshackle sheepfold and the western edge of the wood. Above them was an ocean of cloudless blue sky, broken only by a single hawk circling idly over the fields below. It had grown hotter as the afternoon progressed; Athaya’s gown clung stubbornly to sweat-soaked skin, and her veiled hair felt sticky and damp. The cool shelter of the trees would be welcome indeed.

  Durek stepped down from the coach and looked uneasily about. “Should we let them know we’re here?”

  “They already know,” Athaya replied. “We post sentries at the edge of the wood—the moment the coach came within sight, word would have been relayed back to the main camp. Besides,” she added, “I sent word last night that we were coming. I used my ‘cursed globe,’ as Lukin calls it.”

  Durek winced at the name as if the very thought of his once-trusted archbishop gave him pain. He turned toward the forest, peering into its depths but making no move to approach it. As a royal hunting preserve, the Forest of Else was technically his property, but he was profoundly reluctant to enter its bounds, knowing there were those within that would not welcome him as easily as had the people of Kaiburn.

  “Very well, then,” he said awkwardly after a time, aware that his men were patiently awaiting orders. “Let’s go find this camp of yours.”

  Athaya took him aside, a short distance from the others. “It might be wise to leave your men behind,” she suggested softly. “My people are understandably skittish about soldiers and could interpret the presence of guards as a sign you don’t trust them. No one will harm you—not as long as you’re with me. I… can’t make any promises for what might happen if you wander off on your own,” she admitted, “but…”

  “No, you’re right,” he said, as if he’d never considered any other alternative. “I’ll go alone.”

  As alone as you have ever been, Athaya thought as she watched him pass a hand across his brow to scrape off the sweat, not all of which was caused by simple heat. And perhaps as courageous a thing as I’ve ever seen you do.

  Not surprisingly, the king’s guardsmen were unanimously appalled at Durek’s pronouncement that he would enter the forest alone with Athaya, all of them certain that he would never emerge again. But none would dare to forcibly restrain their king; in the end, they could do little but watch him go, their eyes burning Athaya’s back with warning of what would happen if he did not return safely… and soon.

  Glad to be away from the oppressiveness of both Durek’s watchdogs and the sun, Athaya led her brother through the blessed shade of the forest, following the rune trail that led to the camp. Thin beams of sunlight snaked their way through the twists of pine and oak branches to spot the forest floor with gold and the majestic silence was only sporadically interrupted by the rustle of leaves as a bird took flight or a rabbit darted from one hiding place to another. As they walked, Athaya felt as if she had crossed into another world—a realm like the between-place of translocation, not bound by the normal passage of time—in which she and Durek were the only human inhabitants. When, she wondered, was the last time she had been alone with Durek and they had not been quarreling? When had he ever trusted her enough to put his very life into her hands? When had she trusted him?

  Athaya snapped a leaf from a low-hanging maple branch. When, exactly, had they stopped being friends?

  It was long before her magic was born, that much was sure. Her power—and most importantly, her decision to accept it and not submit meekly to absolution—was only the catalyst that had driven them even further apart than they had been before. Perhaps she had always been envious of the attention he merited as the eldest, destined to rule after Kelwyn, while she and Nicolas were relegated to the gallery—herself farthest of all, worth only what she could bring to Caithe as a royal bride. And perhaps, she mused, Durek had envied her, too, in his way; wishing, despite his protestations of duty, that he could set his responsibilities aside at times and go exploring in shadowy coves for a pirate’s long-forgotten treasure, as his younger siblings had often done.

  God’s breath, there were so many things she should be saying to him! But Athaya’s tongue was strangely still, fearful of unraveling the delicate tapestry of friendship that had been woven these past few weeks. She gazed at her brother imploringly, wishing he would speak instead, but when he met her eyes, sensing the train of her thoughts, he awkwardly looked away.

  Durek made to circle around a tangle of brambles in his path, but Athaya caught his arm with a grin and guided him through the thorny mess. An illusion—and one of Ranulf’s best.

  “How… do you know the way?” he asked wide-eyed, peering back at the illusory brush, and then ahead at the maze of green and brown before them.

  “Marks. On the trees.”

  Durek frowned. “But I don’t—”

  “Only wizards can see them.”

  He nodded. “Ah.”

  And for the remainder of the hour they talked of trivial things; admiring the abundance of the trilliums, remarking upon the heady scent of pine, and estimating the number of deer that made their home in this royal wood.

  Before long, the trail opened into a clearing dotted with canvas tents, haphazard shelters of branches and pine boughs, and an assemblage of crumbling stone buildings. The king’s arrival was indeed expected, and as in Kaiburn, curious faces filled every doorway and window. The mood was not as accepting here as in the city—little wonder, Athaya reflected, as Durek and his clergy had been trying to exterminate the citizens of Kaiburn for almost two years—but while no one raised a cheer to their king, none spoke openly against his presence, following Athaya’s lead in offering him trust and friendship until he proved himself unworthy of it.

  Durek instinctively stepped back as a huge red-haired man, knife brazenly hanging from his belt, strode up to greet them. “Welcome back m’dear,” Ranulf said, sweeping Athaya up into a hearty bear hug of a welcome. He set her down and touched a meaty finger to her pearled chaplet and gossamer veil. “Haven’t seen you look so fine in a damned long time.”

  Athaya offered him a lopsided smile. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  “And you’re welcome, too, o’ course,” Ranulf added to Durek, though with an unmistakably vigilant glint in his eye.

  “Er, thank you,” Durek replied, equally vigilant.

  “Pass the word that his Majesty and I are going to rest for a few minutes before he speaks to them,” she instr
ucted Ranulf. “And could you have someone bring us each a mug of something cool to drink? We’ve had a long walk and I’m parched.”

  Ranulf gave a jaunty salute of obedience and then Athaya led Durek around the edge of the clearing toward the chapel where he could prepare his next address. He had known what to say to the people of Kaiburn all along, but to her following of wizards, Athaya suspected that, as yet, he had little idea of what words to offer.

  “This is where you’ve been living?” he murmured as they walked, sneaking glances at the compound and inwardly appalled that a Trelane would ever have to live in such reduced circumstances. Before she replied, Athaya quickly bade him duck before entangling himself in a line of freshly washed clothing strung across two trees.

  “It used to be a monastic retreat before King Faltil’s troops slaughtered all the wizards here.” She hoped her answer didn’t sound accusatory; it was simply a statement of historical fact. She took him inside the empty chapel, murmuring a brief apology for the debris littering the floor. No matter how often it was swept, leaves and twigs found their way inside daily, and Durek’s boots crunched on them like gravel as he walked up the narrow aisle to the altar. His fingers touched upon the various objects placed there—the bowl of a broken chalice, the curl of a silver brooch, an ancient, worm-eaten copy of the Book of Sages—all relics of the brotherhood that once lived and worshiped peacefully in this place.

  Durek sighed heavily as he lifted a fragment of colored glass to the sunlight; the gesture sent a bright red line slanting across the floor like a trickle of blood running from the altar. He was uneasy here; this sanctuary offered him no comfort. Perhaps, Athaya reflected, he feared that he had inherited far more from his ancestor Faltil than he had from Kelwyn, feeling himself a partner in the slaughter as he and his Tribunal carried on what the long-dead Faltil had started. For the first time, those deaths seemed to disturb him, as if he could sense the multitude of ghosts in this place, rebuking him for his callousness and naming him unfit to be king.