“I’ve read of them in mythology books as well, sir,” Ronald said. “Their wood is too hard to work, their sap poisonous, and nothing grows around them. They are a cancer in the wood. The old people didn’t understand their parasitic nature and so they made up stories. Any that remain should be rooted out.”
Elias took a casual step toward Ronald, stopping at the edge of the striking distance of his rapier. “Then if I find this tree further damaged I know who to come looking for.”
“I’m here now, sir,” Ronald said weakly, his choice of words stronger than his voice, which trembled. His friends fanned out giving him space.
Elias stepped closer, bringing himself fully within range of Ronald’s rapier. He felt Bryn sidle up to his side. “Your grip is too loose and your elbow too stiff,” Elias observed.
Ronald’s eyes flashed down to his sword arm and then back up to Elias. Sweat beaded on his brow. “I have been instructed by the best Galacia has to offer, sir.”
“I’m afraid, sir, that you have been misinformed.” The courtiers laughed and Ronald’s color rose. “A sword is like a bird—hold it too tight and you choke it, too loose and it flies away.”
“Learn that from your mother too?” Ronald said to the pleasure of his chorus.
“No. My father. Padraic Duana. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. He forgot more about the sword than most of Galacia’s best will ever know.”
Ronald swallowed. “I’ve heard tell of him. They say he was a good man.”
“The best,” Elias said around a smile. “I could show you some of what he taught me.”
“What?” Ronald and Danica said as one, both incredulous.
Elias laughed. “Just because your cousin is a bully it doesn’t mean that you have to be one as well. The queen’s court already has enough pricks.” Elias cast a pointed glance at the three youths standing behind Ronald and began to walk away. He looked over his shoulder when he reached the edge of the clearing. “I’ll be at the Redshield’s practice field tomorrow at nine for some exercise if you’d like to join me. And tell your friends to leave the wytchwood alone. The Fey that live in these woods won’t take kindly to children of men cutting up their friends.”
No one perceived the hidden presence that watched from the boughs of the wytchwood.
Once they were out of earshot Bryn said, “Sometimes you say the damndest things, Duana. Wytchwood? Children of men? And I can’t believe you offered to teach that snot how to fight. He’s the queen’s enemy, for God’s sake.”
“It feels like I’ve seen that tree before somewhere. I mean there’s one in the Lurkwood. I saw it as a child, and again on the day I fought Slade, but that particular tree seems familiar. There’s a tree remarkably like a wytchwood in the palace gardens, but the bark is too light. It’s a sycamore, I think.”
Elias felt Bryn lag behind and he turned to face her and saw that she had come to a stop and was glaring at him. “That kid is hardly the enemy. He’s just a misdirected youth wanting for a little attention. His relation to Oberon is hardly his fault. If we judged each man on his merit and not his ancestry the world would be a far less bloody place. Now let’s be on. You have to brief me about my meeting with the Prelate. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
Bryn heaved an exaggerated sigh but walked toward him. “Elias Duana,” she said, “that’s one thing you’ve never needed any help with.”
“Coming from you, I’m tempted to take that as a complement,” Elias jibed before turning to lead them back toward the horses when Bryn’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“Wait a moment,” she said. “I have something for you, and now’s as good a time as any. It’s just a trifle, really—one that I was sorely pressed not to use on Ronald.” Bryn met Elias’s eyes briefly and then passed him a small bundle wrapped in a linen cloth that she produced from a riding boot.
Elias took the proffered parcel, and not knowing how to respond said, “I’m always amazed by what you manage to stuff in those boots.”
Bryn arched an eyebrow. “Go on then.”
Elias unwound the linen cloth to reveal a long dagger in the style Bryn preferred, almost the length of his forearm. The emblem of house Denar was embossed on the cross-guard and the hilt was finished in moleskin and platinum wire which wound to a pommel capped with a teardrop diamond. Elias drew it from a scabbard bejeweled with sapphires and rubies.
“Careful,” Bryn said. “It’s as deadly as it is comely. Like me.”
“Bryn, it’s beautiful.”
“Just a little token for saving my life, twice. May this blade return the favor one day.”
“I’m touched.”
Bryn rolled her eyes. “Don’t go getting all soft on me now. Just make sure you don’t lose it on our race back to the stables.” With that, Bryn ran off down the deer path toward the horses. Elias, laughing, followed after.
Chapter 22
A Strange Encounter
The two guards glared stoically at Elias as he waited outside the Prelate’s audience chamber. The guard’s breastplate featured the sunburst that was the insignia of the One God—the symbolic image of the One God as the first proto-star that created all life in the universe—even though the Church’s regulars, the Knights Justicar, had been officially disbanded when Elias was but a child.
A thin man with an angular face opened one of the ponderous cherrywood double doors that led to the Prelate’s chambers. “The Prelate will see you now, Marshal.”
Elias followed the man down a swath of scarlet carpet which bisected a room easily twice the size of his dining room at home. The cherrywood paneling and flooring gave the chamber a warm and inviting aspect, deep in contrast with the cold marble corridors of Lucerne Palace. The Prelate stood stooped over the fireplace. “May I present, Marshal Duana, Father,” said Elias’s escort.
The Prelate turned from the fire with a kettle in hand. He wore a simple linen tunic and brown breeches. With a nod he indicated a couple of oversized arm chairs set across from a tea table laden with an impressive assortment of pastries, biscuits, and other dainties. “Please, Marshal, have a seat,” Sarad said as he walked toward the table. “I hope you forgive my attire, but it is my understanding that this is something of a social call, so I thought it permissible to eschew the ponderous vestments of my office. Tea?”
Elias nodded. “Thank-you.”
Sarad took a biscuit and chewed on it thoughtfully. “I can never resist the urge to indulge in these when I have guests. I’ve developed something of a sweet tooth during my time in Galacia. We don’t have much access to sugar in Aradur.”
Elias took a sip of tea and asked, “Do you miss your home?”
“I don’t mind telling you that I don’t miss the climate. Aradur is an arid land with large stretches of desert between cities and oases. Yet Aradur boasts architectural feats of surpassing beauty. The ancients of the deserts were perhaps the most skilled wizards of all time and they used magic to raise and bolster their structures. There are palaces and ancient temples whose age we can only guess at, but surely measure in millennia.”
“Do you know much about the arcane?” Elias asked casually as he set his cup down. The porcelain clicked noticeably in the pregnant moment of silence.
Sarad sat back and took a sip of tea. “It’s interesting to examine how men of faith view magic, for no two clerics seem able to agree on its origins and how it fits into God’s plan. Many of my brothers view wizards as little more than alchemists, bending natural law through formula. Others feel that magic is drawn from trafficking with demons and spirits, or from the pit, and the Lord of the Fallow Field has seduced men with the arcane. They say that is why the faithful can heal and wizards can destroy, because God heals and his twin, Lord Fallow, destroys.”
“What do you think?”
“I think that the One God created all that is and the universe has an order. If magic exists it is because the One willed it, either for the benefit of mankind or as a lesson to teach his chil
dren forbearance and the judicious use of power. Either way it is a gift.”
“It is an interesting perspective.”
Sarad smiled. “Yet, you are no stranger to the arcane, are you Marshal? You single-handedly saved the queen. As I recall you anticipated the attack before it even came. Are you gifted with prescience as well?”
Elias ignored the question, unsure of the Prelate’s tone and the glint in his pale blue eyes, though his expression remained neutral. “Not quite single-handedly, sir. We are in your debt for saving Lady Denar. Your actions were like something out of the One Book.”
Sarad sighed and grinned sheepishly. “I can see you are as curious as my fellow clerics and the entirety of the capital for that matter, and rightly so. The truth is that I understand what happened little more than you. I acted on impulse, moved perhaps by the spirit of God, and am glad that my instinct served me well.”
“As am I, yet I must confess that I am as curious about your abilities as you are mine.”
Elias circumspectly fingered his father’s badge as he adjusted his duster: cool as a mint julep on Midsummer’s. He frowned inwardly, for the tingle crawling up his spine whispered that Mirengi had lied, but for his badge which remained inert. Little did Elias know that the myriad wards wrought in Sarad’s chambers worked to blunt foreign magic, including arcane artifacts.
Elias cleared his throat and took a sip of tea, offering Sarad an apologetic smile. “They say that you have performed other miraculous feats like healing plague victims and making statues weep tears of blood. Were those acts of instinct as well?”
“They do talk, don’t they? No, the case in the throne room was unique for in those other instances I merely prayed and, as I believe, the One God answered. That’s all.” Sarad took another cookie and offered the plate to Elias who absently selected a dainty at random. “Am I under investigation, Marshal?” the Prelate asked with a broad, easy smile.
“Of course not. I am only curious because when I use the arcane I do it out of instinct as well.”
“Ah. Well, God answered my call, perhaps he’s answered yours as well and that is why you have been gifted such abilities. As the book says, for he shall ward the corpus in its entirety of the childer whose heart is just and true. What you call magic and I call an act of faith may not be as separate as man has always assumed, for all that is originates from him who made us.”
“Forgive me for being frank, Prelate, but you sound more like a mystic than a cleric.”
Sarad laughed, a clear bright sound. “There you have it. My ideas are somewhat different than classic church cannon, but the Holy Father is open to new interpretations of God’s will. The Church has been stagnating since the end of the great war. A new age of reason is dawning, of science and alchemy, which is exciting, but it has also meant that some men feel they no longer require religion to light their way in the dark. If times are changing so must the church if it wishes to remain a viable entity in the future. It is not the One God’s will that men be chained by dogma but set free through enlightenment.”
“The Shining One must be pleased, for you have certainly won over the court here in Peidra. Rumor has it that Lord Ogressa suggested the queen make you an advisor to the council.”
Sarad arched an eyebrow. “Rumor, I imagine, is all it is, although Vachel can be a little…enthusiastic at times, as men who have regrets often are.” Now it was Elias’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I’ll say no more,” Sarad smiled apologetically, “for it is a necessary requirement of my vocation to keep confidences.
“Tell me, Marshal, are you a spiritual man? I find with men at arms there isn’t usually any middle ground but one of two extremes: either they are very pious, presumably because they know they may meet their maker on any given day, or they deny religion and live in the moment. So tell me, which are you?”
Elias considered the Prelate’s question. The man had presence and charisma, of that there was no doubt. Perhaps he had been hasty in his judgment of him, for he seemed genuine, yet something still tugged at the back of his mind, like a memory that he couldn’t quite recall but that he knew was paramount. “I suppose I am one of the rare individuals who inhabit the middle ground. My father cautioned me against extreme ideals and advised me it is usually best to take the middle path.”
“Your father was a philosopher as well as a swordsman, then. He is still close to you.”
Elias felt himself involuntarily stiffen. “My father is dead, sir.”
The Prelate offered him a gentle smile. “I know, but still he is close to you, in spirit. You feel this to be true, yes?”
Elias grew still and felt his breath catch in his chest. The conversation had taken an abrupt turn, and he sensed it to be significant, although he wasn’t sure why. He chose his next words with care. “In a manner of speaking, yes. His values and memories will be kept alive in me, and my sister.”
The Prelate’s smile turned crooked. “A thoughtful answer from a thoughtful man. I’m quite sure your father is proud.”
Elias searched the Prelate’s expression and tried to guess at the other man’s thoughts. “You are most kind.”
They fell into an idle conversation and after about a quarter of an hour Elias said, “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time. I sought this meeting so that I could thank you for your actions on the night of the banquet. The queen and Lady Denar send their regards.”
The Prelate rose and took Elias’s hand his own. “I’m glad you did. Will I see you at services this week?”
“I will try to make it if my duties allow.”
After the Marshal left Sarad sat a long time, lost in thought. He looked at the chair across from him that was lately occupied by Elias Duana and was currently occupied by Padraic Duana. The shade remained silent, peering at him with those same unnerving eyes as his son.
Duana was a hard man to read and Sarad could only guess at his motivations or insights, but it seemed that he could sense the spirit of his father, if only on an unconscious level. Occasionally as they spoke the Marshal’s eyes flicked to his father’s shade momentarily, only to flitter away again. At other times, when the Marshal was silent it appeared that he and his father were in telepathic communication. Surely if Duana could see his father he wouldn’t have any reason to suspect that Sarad could, which suggested three possibilities: one, that Duana didn’t perceive his father’s ghost on a conscious level, two, that he did but didn’t want to appear distracted or be seen interacting with people that weren’t there, or three, Duana somehow suspected that Sarad was a necromancer and summoned his father’s shade to try to draw him out by eliciting a reaction. As this last thought occurred to him, the ghost of Padraic Duana smiled.
“Suspicions he may have but I gave him nothing,” Sarad said. “I’ve been playing this game a lot longer than your son.” Even as the words left his mouth Sarad realized they weren’t really true, for he had attempted to draw Duana out by directing the conversation to his father’s immortal soul so as to read his reaction. The Marshal gave him nothing, while he tipped his own hand. The unassuming Duana was more clever than he had suspected, and potentially a great deal more powerful as well, for only two kinds of people could sense the spirits of the dead—a necromancer or an Innate. The question was, which one was Elias Duana?
Sarad had grown weary of sharing space with Padraic Duana’s shade. He pointed a finger at the spirit and with a litany of guttural words wove a charm of banishment. As he spoke a red symbol set inside a circle appeared in the air before his hand and as he uttered the last syllable of the spell it shot toward Padraic. When the symbol reached Padraic’s space it dissolved in a burst of golden light. Sarad stood up and backed away on shaky legs. “It cannot be.”
The power of the pit, of his masters, had never failed him before. Padraic continued to look at him with his bemused smile and depthless eyes.
Sarad rushed toward the door of his study. “Talinus!”
Talinus materialized in the door wa
y. “Yes, master?”
Sarad pointed to the sitting area, but as he turned back he saw only empty chairs. He shivered despite himself. “Follow the Marshal. Watch his every move. Learn what he knows of us.”
†
“What’re you saying—that you think the Prelate is the mastermind necromancer of the Scarlet Hand?” Bryn asked.
“No, of course not, but there is something off about him,” Elias said, feeling his ears burn as he looked at the faces of his companions around the table in the queen’s private audience chamber. The newest members of the Sentinels were all present, including Danica, Lar, Phinneas, and the queen’s uncle Josua, head of House Antares. “Mark my words, that man is hiding something. He may be in Oberon or Ogressa’s pocket.”
“I’m telling you, the man is clean. Everything about him checks out,” Bryn said. “And he did save my life, albeit it with your help.”
“It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to if he is against the crown,” Eithne said. “Surely Oberon or Ogressa would have been more than happy to see Bryn skewered as it would mean one less ally for me and a burr out of their saddle.”
“Save that acting the hero draws suspicion away from him,” Elias said.
“Except that he wasn’t under suspicion in the first place. If he’s as clever and artful as you fear then he wouldn’t risk exposure when he already enjoyed anonymity.”
Elias sighed. “A point well taken, Your grace. I suppose all I have to go on is a gut feeling.”
“All the same, Elias, I value your instincts—they’ve saved me once, as it were. Why don’t we keep an eye on the Prelate, his maneuverings and interactions. Satisfied?”
Elias offered her a tight smile. “Yes. Thank-you.”
“What of your other efforts, Sentinels?”
Elias sighed and exchanged glances with Ogden. “We still have yet to uncover any leads in the conspiracy against you, Your Grace,” Ogden said. “But we are remaining ever vigilant and Captain Blackwell has tightened security and rotated any men he can’t trust completely to the city guard.”
Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) Page 26