The Queen of Mages

by Benjamin Clayborne

Liam’s eyes slowly blinked open. Faint, angular shapes lay scattered across the forest floor. As light crept back into the world, shades of gray awoke into color. The shapes resolved into fat, wet, brown leaves. Liam tasted dirt and blood in his mouth, and felt a growing ache in his lower leg.

  Only the buzzing of insects intruded on the silence. He heard a scraping sound, and turned his head to see a red blur that he eventually recognized as a fox digging in the dirt. The fox noticed him, and watched carefully for a moment before bounding away.

  There were trees all around him, a dense copse of witchwood. Liam sat up slowly, aching all over. When he shifted his right leg, his ankle screamed in protest. He shouted in pain and tried to hold very still, to avoid more agony.

  He was deep in the woods. As he tried to recall why, last night came back to him, the steel and blood and deafening crashes that rent the keep’s stone walls as easily as a child might smash a castle made of twigs.

  Once their sally party was past the gate, they’d broken into a canter toward Edon and his men, then wheeled left to try to race past them. There was another tremendous bang, and he heard a man and a horse scream behind him. In a moment of fury Liam had kicked his horse into a gallop and yelled “Hedenham!” as he charged at the edge of the formations of royal soldiers. Half of the Hedenham men followed him, but the rest hung back, and he thought he’d heard Asmus shout something. He knew he shouldn’t separate from them, but he’d seen himself in his mind’s eye, breaking through and leading them all to safety.

  But their charge had faltered before a line of mounted knights that swung around the edge of the king’s formation, and Liam’s group broke into splinters. Another group of knights came up the middle, pushing Dardan and the rest of the Hedenham men back toward the keep. Liam raced to rejoin them, losing men left and right to swords and spears in the dark. The defenders were weakened and disarrayed. If we hadn’t been cut in half by my stupid charge… He’d let his rage take control of him, that deep rage that welled up unbidden.

  Fighting a desperate retreat, he thought he’d seen Amira or Katin emerging from the moat near the ruined tower, but it had been impossible to be sure. Dardan had gone off toward whoever it was as Liam turned back to fight off one of Edon’s knights. The man was in plate head to toe, and Liam kept dancing his horse out of range, until there had been another of the startling thunderclaps, terrifyingly close, and rubble had rained down from the keep wall onto them. Liam’s horse had spooked, galloping frantically away from the keep and into the trees on the sideslope. Racing through the dark, he’d almost gotten the beast under control, when a branch had caught him in the chest, knocking him half off the horse, catching his boot in the stirrup—

  He poked gingerly at his ankle, which had swollen up, painful to the touch. Somehow he’d gotten it untangled and crashed to the ground without breaking his leg, or his neck, but the horse hadn’t been interested in stopping to check on his health. Liam pulled off his boot, trying not to scream.

  He felt half a coward for leaving the battle behind. He salved his pride by telling himself he’d been lucky to survive as long as he did, facing knights in plate. Being dead would do me no good. He wondered if Amira had gotten away, or Katin. That woman wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  A broken tree branch lay on the ground near him, freshly splintered at one end. It must have been the one he collided with. It was long and thick enough to use as a crutch. Now I have my revenge on you, branch, he thought, putting it under his armpit and letting it take his weight.

  The horse’s hoofprints remained as faint outlines in the soil. He figured out which direction he’d come from, and began to limp back toward Foxhill Keep. It was slow going with the crutch, and every time his right foot scraped against the ground, slivers of fire raced up his leg.

  When faint voices echoed through the trees ahead, he got down on his belly and wormed his way forward. Peering through brush, Liam could finally see past the edge of the trees onto the low grassy hill before the keep. Lines of tents surrounded one large purple tent that must be Edon’s. Sentries walked the edge of the camp.

  Liam watched for a while. The sun was above the trees, but only just. He waited as it rose and shadows got shorter. He was thirsty and hungry, but he’d suffered worse. He could wait.

  As it happened he did not have to wait long. After less than an hour, someone shouted an order and the soldiers began pulling down their tents and packing up to leave. Edon came out of his own tent and was immediately surrounded by a coterie of knights. They moved off while other men struck Edon’s tent. But it was not the last tent to be taken down; that honor went to a pair of small tan tents adjacent to it. When Liam saw why, he almost cried out.

  Katin and Calys were brought forth from those two tents. Each of them had their hands bound, but Calys’s bonds were cut almost at once. She was put on a horse and escorted away by a pair of knights, down toward the Hedenham road.

  Katin was put into the back of one of the supply wagons, and tied to its railing. Liam felt that deep fury start to rise in him again, but he could do nothing. Katin was surrounded by royal soldiers on all sides. He wouldn’t make it twenty paces before someone saw him and put a sword through his heart.

  He waited, letting the fury wash over him. Interminable minutes later, the knights and Wardens and Prince Edon—I’ll never call the man king, Liam thought bitterly—mounted and rode off, followed by wagons and the infantry. Katin’s wagon was in the middle of the pack, and several soldiers walked alongside her. Liam had had a fantasy of sneaking to it and breaking her free, but it would have been impossible even had his ankle not been injured. He realized he was pounding his fist uselessly into the dirt, over and over, scratching the skin of his hand on roots and rocks.

  When the last of the army disappeared from sight down the Hedenham road, Liam still waited another five minutes before he stood. His legs cramped, and he had to lean against a tree for a few more minutes, massaging the blood back into them. When he could limp again, he went out onto the field before the keep.

  A great rent had been torn in the keep wall between the ruined gate and the crumbled tower. What in the name of Chaos made those blasts? It had frightened him beyond all reason. It was as if Edon had summoned thunder out of nothing.

  As he moved into the open, he began to realize that what he’d taken for a refuse pile was in fact a shallow mound of corpses. He came close to it. It did not smell yet, but fat flies buzzed around, landing on the rivulets of drying blood.

  Liam recognized most of these men. The Tarian guards all seemed to have their tabards on, still; the rest were townsmen, folk he’d known for years. He walked around them, keeping his distance. Not that there was any threat from the dead, but he didn’t want to retch.

  When he came to the other side of the pile, he cried out. There he saw Asmus Tarian, with a huge straight gash down from his shoulder to his stomach. Blood and fabric clogged the wound. His eyes were open. Liam could not stand the idea of getting near enough to close them.

  He turned away and heaved up what little remained in his stomach. After a while he went back to the pile. He pushed some of the bodies out of the way, hoping beyond hope that he would not find what he feared.

  But neither Dardan nor Lady Amira were there. Neither, oddly, was Old Ban. It had been near-impossible to keep track of everyone in the dark. Edon had, it seemed, captured only Calys and Katin. So where were Amira and Dardan?

  There was no way he might track them now. His horse was gone, and his ankle raged. He went into the keep and found that all the rest of the food they’d brought with them was missing. The soldiers must have taken it when they searched the keep and found Calys. At least the cistern was still mostly full; he cupped his hands and took several blessedly cool gulps of water. That would sustain him for now.

  He limped down to the Hedenham road, his good leg aching and his bad ankle burning. It was barely over a mile back to the manor, but he dreaded every step as his muscles throbbed. He
eyed the manor with blessed relief as he approached, hoping old Gerald had stayed safe—had he come to the keep? He didn’t remember seeing the man.

  He came to the stone arch at the edge of the Tarians’ estate where it met the Hedenham road. He had seen no one since leaving Foxhill Keep. His desire to get inside and rest was sidelined by a sudden burst of caution. He peered around the arch and saw a small party of royal soldiers waiting at the top of the long gravel path to the manor. They couldn’t see him, but if he crossed the arch they might. He cursed quietly. How long would they be there? Had Edon stationed them there in the hopes that Amira or Dardan might foolishly return to the manor? It might be hours or days before they left.

  He had to find shelter somewhere. An isolated farmhouse would do, if he could find one whose owner would let him in… but then Edon might have men patrolling around here as well. In the town there were far too many homes for Edon’s men to watch. He’d have a better chance there. Maybe he could rest at the inn.

  Liam went back along the road and cut across a potato field to reach a small stand of woods that led to more fields, and then to the edge of Hedenham Town proper. His injured ankle wasn’t getting any better, and his good leg was growing ever more fatigued. He’d have to cross through the whole town from here to get to the Copper Kettle, but it was too likely to be watched. He’d have to find somewhere else.

  His whole body felt beaten as he limped into the town. The sun was high now, and growing hotter. Few people were about, which suited him; the fewer who knew he was here, the better. He went until he came to a high hedge on a narrow lane, and followed it around to the manse that fronted it. He found himself pounding on a door, barely able to stand. After a minute the door cracked open a hair, and a gaunt eye peeked out at him.

  “Please… I’m Lord Dardan’s valo… I need…” He collapsed, sliding down onto the front stairs, banging his ankle again and nearly passing out from the agony.

  He sensed motion as he flickered in and out of consciousness. Once he thought he was floating. His legs dangled. He fell onto something soft. Water splashed on his face and trickled into his throat, and then he slept.

  ———

  Liam’s eyes opened in darkness. He was warm, and all was still. He turned his head toward flickering candlelight. There was a slight gasp, and a shape—a girl?—stood and raced from the room. “He’s awake!” was all he heard.

  He struggled to sit up a little. His ankle still hurt, but not as badly. He saw that it was raised on a stack of pillows, a cool cloth draped over it to help the swelling. Someone had undressed him, he realized. He was in a bedchamber, small and bare, a lone candelabrum providing the only light.

  The shuffling of footsteps snapped him back awake. Through the door came a woman with wrinkled, pale eyes beneath a cap of silver hair. The Dowager Baroness Dyane Ulmic, ancient and frail, settled into a velvet-upholstered chair not an arm’s length from him. He blinked at her and vainly tried to sit up a little more. “M’lady,” he muttered, his throat dry.

  Dyane’s vala, Polly, who was equally old but substantially taller, stood by. She held a cup of water out to Liam, and he drank deep.

  “Good evening, young sir,” the baroness said. “You seem to have met with some difficulty.”

  Liam coughed. “Yes, m’lady.”

  “Rumors are flying now,” she said. “Tales about what happened at the old keep.” She waited.

  “I was there,” Liam said. “Count Asmus—this may shock you, m’lady, but Count Asmus is dead.”

  He thought her jaw set a little, but otherwise her deeply lined face showed no reaction. “A tragedy,” she murmured, glancing down at her hands. Her skin was like fine parchment, white and translucent. “Tell me what you can.”

  It took him the better part of an hour to explain it all. He kept drowsing, and once fell asleep entirely, mid-sentence. He had no reason to hide anything from her; Baroness Dyane had been friends with the Tarians since before Liam was born. And what worse could Edon do to them than what he had already done?

  The enormous explosions that had torn holes in the keep’s wall were the hardest to explain. He likened them to thunderclaps striking very nearby. He grew angry when describing how Katin had been taken roughly away, and felt that deep rage clawing at him again. Baroness Dyane showed little expression at any of it, listening intently, her hands clasped on her lap.

  “I remember Lady Amira’s vala,” she said when he was done. “You love her, it is plain, and ache to go to her.”

  Liam was taken aback. “No—no such thing is true, m’lady.”

  “Hush, boy. I have seen more lovesick young men in my lifetime than you can fathom. The way your eyes unfocused when you spoke of her, how your cheeks reddened when you said she’d been taken.” She flicked a finger, a tiny gesture dismissing a thousand young men like him.

  It peeved him. “Well what does it matter, unless m’lady knows where she is?”

  “If that disagreeable whelp Edon took her, I imagine she’ll be accompanying him back to the capital.” She eyed him. “You’re likely to do something rash when your strength is returned, and I hope you will listen to sense before you do.”

  Her bluntness angered him, but he could not throw her hospitality in her face and storm out. Or limp out. He bit his tongue and looked away.

  Dyane clucked her tongue. “It is so hard to reach them,” she murmured to her vala. Polly nodded knowingly, and stared down at Liam like a cat considering a mouse.

  “What would you have me do?” he said. “The count is dead. Lord Dardan is the count now, I imagine, unless Edon attaints him. And I haven’t the foggiest notion where he is.”

  “Since you did not find his body at the keep, I imagine Lord Dardan has escaped into the woods with his betrothed. That Edon did not pursue, and instead has headed back toward the capital, means that whatever great need he had to find her, there is something even more important.”

  “Keeping his throne,” Polly said. “He’s only been king a short while. The dukes will be sniffing for weakness. Edon will have his hands full getting them in line.”

  Dyane nodded. “That gives you some freedom, my boy. It seems to me that you have three paths before you. You can head off to find Lord Dardan, but unless you are a skilled tracker you have a slim chance. He and Lady Amira will likely be fleeing with all haste and have quite a head start. Assuming, of course, that they still live. Your second choice is to go to Callaston, and follow your beloved.”

  Liam started to protest, but at a glance from the baroness he quieted. What did she know of his feelings for Katin? Certainly he enjoyed her presence, though the vala took pains to scorn his every attempt for her affection.

  She was right about one thing: Katin would likely be taken to the palace, maybe thrown in a dungeon cell. Sneaking in and breaking her out would be impossible, not to mention getting past the city gates, which for all he knew might still be closed.

  “Your third choice is to take neither path. Seek another destiny.” Give up, she meant. Take service somewhere else, or work as a laborer. Well, he was lettered and schooled enough to avoid menial labor, that was certain, but the prospect still did not appeal to him. Besides, he had a duty to his lord. Dardan had not released him.

  He gathered what little scraps of humility he could find. “May I stay here a while?” he asked as politely as he could. “A day or two, to hear what news comes. Perhaps Dardan will return in secret, and it would shame me to not be here if he did.”

  “It’ll be longer than that before your ankle’s mended properly,” Polly warned him. “Don’t be a fool and make it worse by trying to walk on it.”

  Dyane nodded. “You may stay as long as you like, so long as you are useful once you are healed. I have little enough time left in this life, and care to spend none of it on layabouts.” She lifted one hand, and he saw now that she had a dark wooden cane tipped in gold. She thwacked him on his uninjured leg and he yelped. “Aside from your ankle and some other mild br
uises, you have no injuries. Polly here inspected you well.”

  “I hope she liked what she saw,” he quipped. The old vala laughed.

  Dyane ignored it. “You are young and will recover quickly. In the meantime, I will bring you any relevant news I discover, as a courtesy. I strongly suggest that you do not leave the house for now. If Edon’s men are still about, they may be searching for you.”

  Liam thanked her, and the old baroness stood slowly, hobbling out. Polly closed the door behind them, leaving him to his thoughts. How would he ever find Dardan, or rescue Katin?

  ———

  He took the old vala’s advice and stayed off his feet as long as he could tolerate it. His ankle began to mend quickly. Within two days he was able to walk on it for short periods. Polly still clucked her tongue at him whenever she saw him up and about, but Liam had always been quick to heal, and now there was no time to waste.

  Dyane invited Liam to luncheon, and told him that Calys had been returned unharmed to the family manor. With Count Asmus dead and Old Ban missing—no one had seen him since the battle—she didn’t know who Calys would turn to. Someone would have to run the county. A messenger had already been dispatched to Callaston, to inform the countess of her husband’s death. Liam did not envy whoever had to deliver that news.

  Ilya was unharmed as well; he’d gone to ground in town. Edon and most of his men had headed off toward Callaston the morning after the battle; the few patrols he’d left behind departed two days after that. Supposedly he’d left instructions with the local garrison to have Dardan or Amira arrested, should they return.

  Once Edon and his men were all gone, Ilya had come out of hiding and gone to his sister. Liam could not fathom the burden the boy had inherited. If Dardan did not return, or had died, Ilya was now Count Illadrin Tarian of Hedenham, at twelve years old.

  The bodies of the Hedenham men had all been retrieved from the keep. The townsfolk grieved for their lord and for their lost friends, family, and neighbors. A memorial service was planned, but Liam resolved at once not to even try to attend it. Not that Edon would be searching for him in particular, but it seemed plainly foolish to let so many people know he was still in Hedenham.

  Even though Edon’s patrols were gone, Dyane asked Liam to stay hidden within her manse for another day at least. He did, despite a constant itch telling him to get moving.

  Finally Dyane gave him leave to go, if he wished, but also offered him a permanent position, working in the stables at her family’s house out in the country. “The third option is always open, if you choose it. When I pass, my son the baron will inherit my personal holdings, though he’s twice your age if he’s a day. I will ensure that… what is your family name, boy?”

  “Howard,” he said.

  “Then I will ensure that Liam Howard may always here find a roof over his head, and work to fill his days, if he desires it.” She gave him a small purse of silver. “Either way you will need some funds at the least. I would not have you become a thief.”

  Liam stared down at the little pouch. He thought about Dardan, and Katin. A wave of anger overcame him for a moment, but he squelched it. “Why do you assist me so, m’lady? I’m just a valo.”

  Dyane stared up at him. She was a good foot shorter, but her gaze made him feel small. “House Tarian has always been good to House Ulmic, and to Hedenham County. I will not pretend that you in particular have earned much good will, but you served Asmus’s son, and for that alone you deserve help.”

  ———

  A horse she could not give him, but with Edon’s men truly gone, Liam did not hesitate to go to the manor and ask Calys for one.

  She relented in the end, but at first she begged him to stay. “My brother will come back!” she insisted, as they sat on the wide couch in the sitting room. Clara sat next to them, arms crossed and watching Liam with narrowed eyes. “You must be here when he does!”

  “He may, yes, m’lady,” Liam agreed, “but I do not know when, and I have no idea where he’s gone. I cannot help look for him from here. He does not know that his father—your father—”

  “Don’t!” she shrieked. “Don’t say it. I cannot bear to think about it.” She turned away, stifling sobs, but that ended quickly, and she stood up. “Go, then. Take a horse. Find my brother, or don’t, I don’t care. Ilya and I will have to rule this county in the meantime.”

  Clara sighed, repeating what must by now be a common refrain. “Neither of you are of age, m’lady. Your brother will need a surrogate to carry out the county’s affairs for the next few years.”

  Calys planted her hands on her hips. “Yes, yes, someone with experience will help, but my brother and I may be all that is left of the Tarians, for all you know. We can send for—oh, I don’t know, Baron Yane or someone. He’s old, he’ll have some idea what we should do.” She turned to look at Liam. “What are you still doing here?”

  Liam bowed and left. It heartened him to see that Calys had regained her usual nerve. If the county was spared further trouble, she would become quite a formidable lady, never mind that her younger brother would be the count in name. Stronger men than Ilya had been controlled by overbearing sisters before.

  He found old Gerald in the entry hall. The house major seemed more somber than ever. They nodded silently at one another. Gerald cleared his throat and mentioned that Amira’s maid Sara had been hiding in Amira’s rooms ever since Edon showed up, too terrified even to come down for meals.

  “I suppose it would be cruel to just pack her off to Callaston,” Liam said, “even if the gates have been opened.”

  “I could not countenance such a thing,” Gerald intoned. “Count Asmus…” He seemed to deflate a little at the mention of his late lord’s name. “House Tarian would not harm such an innocent girl so.” He turned and shuffled away.

  Liam followed him to the stables. “Some of the horses came back in good condition, though there’s likely a few still wandering around in the woods,” Gerald said. “With the count… with the count gone, and Lord Dardan too, well, you have your pick.”

  Liam looked them over. He could not bear to take Count Asmus’s favorite horse, a pure white even-tempered palfrey named Cloud. Instead he chose a younger stallion, reddish-brown and with a bit of a temper. The horse seemed to match his mood.

  “What’s this one called?” he asked Gerald while feeding an apple to it. The beast bit it in two and gulped down the pieces, then bumped his muzzle against Liam repeatedly until he showed empty hands. The horse looked annoyed by this.

  “Bandit,” Gerald said. “On account of how he steals all the apples.”

  Liam laughed. “I think we’ll get along well,” he said, and helped Gerald with the saddle.

  The sun was high and hot as summer drew toward its close. Liam cantered Bandit around the yard a bit to warm him up. Gerald had packed up a camp roll and some provisions; Liam would be able to bivouac out in the wilderness and save silver. He took a sword, dagger, and bow, as well.

  He brought Bandit to a halt before Gerald. “Good luck, old man.”

  Gerald shrugged. “The watchword of the Tarians is duty, not luck,” he said, and went back to the manor.

  Liam rode down the gravel path to the road. He stopped and looked along it in both directions. There was no traffic just now, no farmers returning from market, no travelers. A cooling breeze came out of the east, ruffling his hair, and Liam put on his hat. He inhaled deeply, savoring the scents of grass and dust and nature all around.

  He reached into his pouch and pulled out a silver coin. One side showed the profile of the late King Viktor II. The reverse depicted the eagle of House Relindos. Looking at it made Liam angry.

  He knew his duty was to go after Dardan, but desire tugged at him. “All right, Bandit. Let’s see which way we go. Heads, it’s north to the keep to track Dardan. Tails, the capital and Katin.” Sunlight glinted off the coin as he flipped it high into the air.

  When Liam was a boy, his father had once told
him, “When you truly can’t decide between two paths, flip a coin. In that instant, when the coin’s in the air, you’ll know in your heart which side you want it to land on.”

  Liam caught the coin without looking at it, stuffed it in his pouch, and turned south toward Callaston.

  INTERLUDE:

  TAYA