“Slevoic decided to let loose fifteen of them in Rabbit’s room, sir,” Suiden said. “After abduction, poisoning, assassins, and a sabotaged sword didn’t work.”
Vice Admiral Havram’s eyes seemed to start from his head. “That wasn’t in the dispatches!” He looked at me, angry. “What did your Uncle Maceal do when he found out, lad?”
No one said anything.
“I see,” Havram said, slowly. He turned his head to look out the window.
“Right now, though, I am more concerned about Sro Faena saying that the translations happened because we were in the Border embassy,” Suiden said, looking away from the vice admiral.
“Perhaps whatever Rabbit did could only have happened in the embassy,” Javes said, picking up Suiden’s cue.
“Perhaps,” Suiden agreed. “But if so, that still was only part of the truth—and while the cat may not lie, he does seem able to pick and choose which part he will present.”
“Or perhaps he truly believed that it was because of where we were, not what was done.” Javes frowned, trying to remember. “He did say, rather emphatically, that no spells were cast to translate us and was quite clear that we only did so because it was what we were already.”
“Yes,” Suiden agreed once again. He looked back at me. “I’m also concerned about how hard the rune rides you, Lieutenant.”
I was a little worried about that too. I continued to work my hand, now just a little tender. “Yes, sir.”
“You may find yourself in a place where the truth would get you—or us—killed.” He frowned again, staring out the window on his side of the carriage for a few moments. He then sighed. “I shall have to talk to the cat about it.”
I suddenly was a lot worried. “Uhm, yes, sir.”
“In the meantime, Lieutenant,” Javes said, “please try not to turn us all into a zoo, eh?”
We eventually broke out of the dimness of the park into the sunlight, the horses setting themselves for the final ascent to the castle. Facing backward I could not see the actual castle as we approached, but saw its outline on the ground as we passed through its shadow. The ground finally leveled somewhat, and I could hear the change in the sounds of hooves and carriage wheels of those ahead of us. A few moments later, we too rolled over a different surface and, glancing down, I saw the water-filled moat beneath us as we crossed the drawbridge. With a rattle and thump we entered the gate and looking up I noted the portcullis above us, and then we were through and into the bailey of the castle.
As we passed through the gate Uncle Havram returned from wherever he’d gone. “We’ve arrived,” he said. His mouth quirked at my blink, and he once more looked like my da. “Aye, I know. A statement of the obvious. But we’re strangers here—even you, Rabbit—in a place that is, if not exactly hostile, then not overly friendly. I think the advice you gave the chancellor is excellent: Speak only when spoken to and step lightly. I would only add that we all keep our heads down and our eyes open.”
“Yes, sir,” we all said.
The carriages reached the gate in the interior wall and we passed through it into the courtyard. The cavalcade stopped with a shout; there were approaching footsteps and me door swung open, held by an elfin soldier at attention. Vice Admiral Havram climbed out first, followed by Captains Suiden and Javes. They all glanced at the soldier, but he just stared through them.
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered to myself and exited the carriage. Jeff joined me and we stood looking about the large courtyard, taking in the mosaics and patterns in the paving stones while waiting for direction, which came almost immediately.
“If you would please follow me, honored Faena?” the Eorl Commander said to Laurel. The rest of us reckoned that included us also, so we fell in behind the cat and followed the eorl up the steps leading into the keep, past guards, and through the thick, beautifully carved doors.
“Wood, lad,” Havram said just ahead of me, his voice soft.
“It was Gifted, sir,” I murmured back. “Given by several trees—and precious for the rarity of it.”
We went up marble stairs, bright against the grim stone of the keep’s walls, the way lit by slit windows just high enough for an archer to comfortably use. Eorl Pellan turned at the top of the staircase and headed for another pair of carved wooden doors (a flaunting of wealth), open this time, with another set of guards staring through us, and then we were in the audience hall filled with elfin lords and ladies in attendance, and a rune circle on the floor that was the double of the one in Ivers Palace. Beyond them Loran, the Fyrst of Elanwryfindyll, sat on a throne upon a dais, his family’s great sword large and gleaming on the wall behind him, the banners of his line and others sworn to him hanging from the high, vaulted ceiling.
Eorl Pellan led us past the Fyrst’s court, stopping short of the circle, and bowed. “Your Grace, I have brought you Laurel Faena.”
The Fyrst nodded and shifted his gaze to Laurel, who also bowed. “Welcome, honored Faena. I trust that your journey went well?” Looking us over, his eyes lit on me, started to move on, then snapped back, snagged on the covenant feather. A slight crease appeared between his brows, which deepened as he took in Honor Ash and Basel, still in stag.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Laurel said. “It was in some respects most satisfactory.”
“Good. Well, I suppose that we should take care of first business first.” His Grace signaled and a guard opened a door. And out walked Magus Kareste with nine other mages. “Here he is, Magus Kareste,” the Fyrst said, his light voice as cool as if he were returning a lost dog. “Your runaway apprentice, brought back by Laurel Faena. As he promised.”
Chapter Fifty-eight
For most of my soldiering career I had managed to avoid serious injury—my hurts being mainly bruises and skinned knuckles. But once, while righting mountain bandits, I was badly cut by one of the outlaws who believed in keeping his sword very sharp, opening my leg up to the bone. I felt like that now: an icy numbness, but no pain. That would come later, when I would finally grasp that the blood splashing all about was mine. I held myself very still as I stared up at the Fyrst, vaguely aware that Suiden and the others had surrounded me.
His Grace the Fyrst looked back down at me, his face calm and remote. “I suggest you take him away, Magus, before he or his fellows are tempted to do something foolish.” There was a flash and the metallic taste told me that the talent had been worked. I tried to move my head and found it restrained. Without conscious thought I brushed the binding aside and turned to face the Magus.
The years had not been kind to Magus Kareste. They hadn’t been unkind either. He looked the same as he did when I left, his close-cropped silver hair and beard bracketing a thin, pale face that looked as though it had never seen the sun. Light gray eyes stared out at me from under silver brows in a way that reminded me of Obruesk—except instead of burning, they were ice shards. They glittered now at my shrugging off the binding he and his fellow mages had just tried to put on me. Then the Magus’ gaze moved to the feather. His brows drew together and he snapped his head to look at the Fyrst, his lips thinner than usual as he held in his protests.
“What have you done, Laurel Faena?” the Fyrst asked, his voice remaining calm. “When you set out, you were expressly forbidden to interfere with the apprentice’s indentures.”
“I haven’t done anything, Your Grace, that would keep the Magus from claiming his own,” Laurel said. He lifted his paw, the truth rune glowing.
Magus Kareste’s lips were now gone in his effort to hold in all the words that must have been clamoring to get out. His Grace ignored him. “Yet he wears your feather and is surrounded by ghosts.”
“The feather is just a meal covenant, honored Fyrst,” Laurel said, “and I had nothing to do with the moon folk.”
“And the rune on the apprentice’s hand, Faena?”
The Fyrst made a gesture and Eorl Pellan came over. Reaching between Suiden and Javes, he caught my hand and held it up, palm turned to
wards the Fyrst.
“I feel its power even from where I sit,” His Grace stated. “What do you say about that?”
Kareste’s lips gave out. “Your Grace, this is intolerable!” The Magus’ voice reminded me of cold places in the Upper Reaches as it blew through the hall. “The Faena has broken his word—”
Mutters and hisses broke out, though it wasn’t clear whether they were aimed at the Magus or at Laurel. The eorl allowed my hand to drop as the Fyrst tapped a finger on the arm of his throne and the room immediately became quiet. His Grace looked back at Laurel. “Well, Faena? How do you answer these charges?”
“Rabbit came into his full power after I found him, honored Fyrst,” Laurel replied, “and the rune was necessary to keep him from harming himself and others. But neither feather nor rune should keep Magus Kareste from claiming him.”
“Do you know what is preventing it?” the Fyrst asked, his brow raised.
“Three times Rabbit has sworn to another,” Laurel said.
“Once when he joined the Royal Army, once in reaffirmation of his offices, and once in the elfin rune circle in the palace of Morendyll, now called Iversly. All three times to the king of Iversterre—an elfin king, Your Grace, as dark as you with gold in his eyes. So Rabbit swore and the rune circle lit up, as bright as the noon sun.” Laurel showed his eyeteeth at the Magus. “Without my prodding, without my explaining, without my saying anything, Your Grace. By his own free will he so swore. Fiat!”
“Faena,” the Fyrst said, and Laurel turned away from the Magus with a rumble. “So we have an apprentice who has broken his indentures but refuses to be claimed by his lawful master. What shall I do? Allow him to go free? What then about all other disaffected apprentices who manage to slip their bonds? Shall I allow them to roam free also?”
“That would be chaos, Your Grace,” Eorl Pellan put in.
“Yes, it would,” the Fyrst said.
“Rabbit has not cast off his master—” Laurel began.
“No?” the Fyrst asked. “It looks remarkably like he has, Faena.”
“He has just changed one for another, Your Grace.”
“Setting aside whether this new master could accomplish the apprentice’s necessary training, Faena, should I then declare the very legal contract his parents signed null and void? Again, just because he is disaffected?”
“By your leave, Your Grace,” Laurel said and, at the Fyrst’s nod, reached into his side pouch, pulling out a small sack. He walked over and handed it to Eorl Pellan, who peered inside. And blinked.
“From Dragoness Moraina’s hoard, Your Grace,” Laurel said as the eorl climbed the dais steps and handed the sack to the Fyrst. His Grace upended the sack, a spill of gems flowing into his hand.
“Each one chosen by her,” Laurel said. “There should be more than enough to purchase Rabbit’s indentures.”
“So there should,” the Fyrst said, putting the jewels back in their sack and setting it down on the chair arm. “Assuming the Magus desires to sell them.” He held up his hand as Laurel opened his mouth. “I cannot force him to do so, any more than I can force someone to sell me a horse whose action I like.” A cool smile came and went. “It is against the law, Faena.”
“Even if the horse is abused, Your Grace?” Laurel asked.
“Abused?” The Fyrst turned his head to Kareste. “Was there abuse, Magus?”
“No, Your Grace.” Magus Kareste’s wintry voice once more blew through the hall. “My apprentice was not harmed by me in any way, form, or fashion.”
“Is this true, apprentice?” The Fyrst looked at me.
“There was a bird, Your Grace,” I said, distantly marveling at my voice’s steadiness.
“A bird,” the Fyrst repeated, his brows slightly crooking at my nonanswer.
“Yes, Your Grace. The Magus sent it to King Jusson of Iversterre with a message asking for my return. The bird died in the king’s hand.”
The hall went still and the Fyrst leaned forward in his throne. “Why did it die?”
“Because the bird was bespelled to neither eat nor sleep until it reached the king, Your Grace.”
The Fyrst’s dark eyes narrowed. “Is this true, Magus?”
“Your Grace, I but laid an enhancement on the bird that shouldn’t have harmed it.” The Magus raised his brows. “Did my apprentice actually see the bird die?”
“Well, apprentice, did you see the bird die?” the Fyrst asked when I said nothing.
I slowly shook my head, wondering if I looked down, would I see blood on the marble floor.
“As you see, Your Grace, mere hearsay,” the Magus said. “As the honored Faena assures us that he did nothing to interfere with my apprentice’s bindings, I also assure Your Grace that I did nothing to cause the bird’s death.”
“Please tell His Grace, Ambassador Laurel, that I saw what happened,” Lord Esclaur said across the cat’s low growl.
“Oh?” the Fyrst asked, not waiting for Laurel’s intervention. “And what did you see, human?”
Esclaur bowed his head. “I was present when the bird arrived, Your Grace. It was nothing but feathers and bones, its heart giving out just as His Majesty pulled the message off its leg. King Jusson has a feel for—for magic, and sensed it on the bird.” Head still bowed, he gave me a sideways glance. “Just as he felt it when Lord Rabbit came into his power. There were thunderclaps on a clear day, Your Grace, all over me city.”
“Why should we believe this person—” Kareste began.
“As Rabbit stood in the Witness Circle in the king’s palace to swear the truth of his allegiance to King Jusson—” Esclaur paused, took a deep breath and continued. “So I will do here, to swear to the truth of my words, if Your Grace so wishes it.”
The Fyrst folded his hands together, his forefingers against his lips as he stared down at Esclaur. “Your king senses the talent,” he said, ignoring me lordling’s offer, “in a land that says the talent does not exist. Or, if it does, it is evil. And your king acknowledges that he can.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Esclaur said. “He’s been to Veldecke and has felt it there, so he knew what it was when he touched the bird.”
“He can also thought-scry, honored Fyrst,” Laurel murmured, “and has admitted that too in front of witnesses. An elfin king, Your Grace, as dark and gold as Lieutenant Falkin here is fair and northern.”
The Fyrst turned his head to stare at the first lieutenant.
“And kin to Rabbit—whom he openly called cousin, even as Rabbit evidenced his power,” Laurel said.
“The bird was just enhanced, Your Grace,” the Magus said in the silence. “I did not work its death—”
The Fyrst made a gesture and the Magus shut up. He then picked up the sack of jewels, hefting it a couple of times before handing it back to the eorl. “Give this to Magus Kareste, Commander Pellan. Compensation for the indentures of his apprentice, the human male named Rabbit, son of Lark and Two Trees. Let it be noted in the Acta that all bindings therein are declared dissolved by my order. Fiat.”
The Magus’ face was like an ice storm, all sharp angles and frozen needles. “Your Grace—”
“Silence, mage!” For the first time the Fyrst showed emotion. “You tread perilously close to being banished for sorcery, for in your arrogance you killed using your talent.”
“Your Grace, if the bird did die, it was unintentional—”
“I don’t know if that isn’t worse! That you didn’t care as long as it got you what you wanted.” The Fyrst settled back into his throne, glaring at the Magus. “For the bird’s death, you will lose what you turned the world upside down to gain.”
The Magus’ face congealed even more. “I then appeal this decision, Your Grace, to the High Council.” Gasps and whispers shot around the hall. “As is my right.”
“As is your right, mage,” the Fyrst acknowledged. He tapped once more on the throne arm and the whispering died down. “Until then, I think it’ll be best if you retire until yo
u are over your understandable disappointment of my ruling going against you.” Magus Kareste opened his mouth, but the Fyrst spoke over him. “Rabbit, son of Lark and Two Trees, will remain with me until the Council’s decision. Let that be written into the Acta. Fiat.”
There was nothing Magus Kareste could do, except bow and agree—especially since the Fyrst’s guards were standing at his elbows ready to escort him and his companions out of the hall. The Fyrst waited until the door shut behind them before gazing at me, his face once more emotionless. “It seems that you’ve acquired some powerful friends, young human.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” I murmured.
“You’ll need them, as you’ve also acquired a powerful enemy.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“But thunderclaps in the sky, is it?” The Fyrst propped his chin on his fist, ignoring Berle’s smothered exclamation at his sudden likeness to King Jusson. “Perhaps you’re strong enough on your own not to need hedges to hide behind.”
I said nothing.
“He stopped a djinn storm, honored Fyrst,” Laurel said, stepping into the breech, “that came upon us with no warning.”
“A djinn storm?” the Fyrst repeated, his dark eyes not moving from mine. “Then it’s no wonder the Magus is so anxious to get his apprentice back.” He gave a little sigh as he settled back into his chair. “I suppose I’ll have to see to his disposition, as I cannot have him wandering about, blundering into things with his talent.”
“As I have begun his training, Your Grace, I ask that he be given to me.”
The Fyrst’s brow rose. “To you?” A sardonic look passed over the elf’s face and was gone. “I do not think you’re his favorite person right now, Laurel Faena. What if he takes it into his mind to leave you too?”
“There is a covenant, Your Grace,” Laurel said. “He will honor it.”
“So there is.” The Fyrst shrugged. “Well, if you want him—Let it be written into the Acta that the human Rabbit, son of Lark and Two Trees, is given into the charge of Laurel Faena of the Black Hills Weald until the High Council’s decision. Fiat.” He dismissed me and looked back at Laurel. “Now, honored Faena, tell me about this djinn storm—”
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