Three days after Dardan left, Amira sought out Helen Walker, the blacksmith’s wife. They spent the day baking and gossiping, having become quite good friends. Amira had learned that the Walkers had no children, despite Orville’s best efforts; they’d accepted that it was simply not meant to be. Instead Helen kept a number of cats, who gathered at the kitchen door each morning hoping for saucers of milk. Today, Amira fed them and scratched at their ears for a while.
Helen was surprised that Amira had not gotten with child yet—Dardan, having no other outlet to channel his energies, had certainly been making his best effort in the evenings. “When the Caretaker wills it,” Amira said, not certain whether she really wanted it to happen yet or not.
She let slip that Dardan had gone off to Seawatch. Helen looked at her, perplexed. “Just like that? Leaving you here all by yourself? How dreadful! What was he thinking?”
“To tell the truth, he was upset with me.” Amira stood by as Helen kneaded dough. “My power… He’d made me promise to keep it a secret.”
Helen raised an eyebrow. “Well you hardly tried. Here I was terrified that Garen or Orville might let it slip, but you went right off and did it yourself. But, really! Leaving his wife here all alone! It’s not right.”
Amira felt ashamed. She hadn’t let herself realize it until now, but she missed Dardan terribly. Had she driven him away? What if he didn’t return? Valmir had been easy; the man had had next to no pride, and had merely smiled tolerantly whenever Amira had done something foolish. Her marriage to Dardan seemed to require a great deal more work.
She found herself thinking about her manse in Callaston again. It had felt like a real home to her, and she did miss it. But hadn’t she made something of a new home here in Stony Vale, and gained Dardan and Garen in the bargain? She wondered how she could bring them both back to Callaston, to return triumphantly to her manse. That will only happen if Edon is gotten rid of. Her hope of an easy resolution remained stubbornly out of reach.
She went to the village temple that evening, as she had many times since arriving in Stony Vale. The steward, Sendraj Dannial, was a half-blind old man who left her alone as she knelt before the altars and prayed. She went to them all in turn, wanting to assuage every part of her soul and not being in any particular hurry. She spent extra time before the altar of Sacrifice, with its empty box carved of seastone, and the altar of Terror, upon whose plinth sat absolutely nothing.
If the steward thought Amira was some sort of heretic or monster for her power, he kept it to himself. The Niderium was only interested in one’s spiritual welfare, and only if one sought their help. They kept to themselves otherwise. Amira was glad that there was someone in Garova who asked nothing of her.
By the next morning, Dardan still had not returned. Amira was walking toward the square just after sunrise when she began to perceive hoofbeats. She looked to the north and saw a cloud of dust lit by the morning sun. She shivered, wondering if today Edon had come to find her at last, but when the men crested the ridge just north of the town, none of them wore golden armor. Instead, there were two knights all in silvered plate, plus a score or so of royal soldiers in their dull mail. One of them carried a banner of the royal army, depicting the eagle of Relindos perched upon a mailed fist. All of the men were ahorse. A wagon brought up the rear, full of what must be supplies and provisions for the soldiers. At least the men didn’t whistle at her, but not one failed to look. Her beauty would be evident even at that range.
She realized with a start that the two men leading the pack each had a crest on their shoulder: a sword lain across balance scales. Not just knights, but Wardens of Aendavar. What are they doing here? She looked again as they went by, and realized that she’d seen one of them before. The one she’d taken to be older, with white hair, was on closer inspection clearly the younger of the two. She couldn’t remember his name, but she knew where they’d met: in the grand ballroom of Elibarran, at the royal summer ball. He’d paid little attention to her at the time, just about the only man at the ball who had done so. That she remembered.
The party rode past her to the town square. She knew it couldn’t be safe to gain their attention, but her feet carried her after them anyway. By the time she got there, they’d all dismounted, the rank and file seeing to their horses while the two Wardens strode over to the magistrate’s office. The older Warden, who had bristly black hair and a sour expression, pounded on the door until Constable Adams opened it, greeting the men with a startled expression on his face.
Amira leaned on the wall of Tim Thorn’s grocery and watched. The two Wardens disappeared inside with Adams, while the soldiers milled around, eyeing the town and its folk. The sun went up further as the day’s traffic thickened in the square.
Tim Thorn came outside to gawk at the soldiers. “Now what are the likes of them doing way down here?”
“There was a pair of Wardens with them, too,” she told him.
Tim clicked his teeth together, an annoying habit that Amira had learned meant he was thinking. “Now that’s even odder. Anything to do with you, d’you think?”
Amira smiled. It wasn’t a hostile question, just the obvious one. Everyone in town knew about her power. “I hope not,” she said. “Wardens do tend to travel to odd places.”
“Well, they’ll be craving better food than their rations, or I’m in the wrong business.” He fetched a basket of apples and carried it over toward the loitering soldiers.
Amira’s discomfort grew as she watched the soldiers and wondered when the Wardens would come out of the magistrate’s office. She hadn’t seen Baxter yet; perhaps he’d already been inside.
Well, standing out here staring was doing her no good. Besides, she had come to the square intending to breakfast at the inn. With Dardan gone, Amira didn’t feel like making a whole meal just for herself. And she still had plenty of the coin that Count Barnard had gifted them.
She had just tucked into a plate of eggs and ham when the inn’s door swung open and the two Wardens came in. Four soldiers were with them, all armored. The entryway of the Giant’s Foot had become quite crowded. The younger Warden, the one with the white hair, led the way into the common room.
Amira was the only patron this morning. She put down her fork and folded her hands in her lap, waiting. I should have left with Dardan, her conscience said. She ignored it. Instead she thought about trying to charm the Wardens. It might make them easier to deal with. She let her face relax into a smile.
“Ma’am,” the young Warden said, bowing slightly. “I am Warden Mason Iris, of the Virtuous Order of the Wardens of Aendavar.” He tilted his head at the older Warden, the one with dark hair who looked inexplicably angry. “This is Warden Jack Penrose.”
“How do you do,” Amira said. She wondered if Warden Iris recognized her from the summer ball, but he gave no indication one way or the other.
“We are here on the orders of his majesty. King Edon has ordered us to seek out those who have developed a certain special ability.” The words came out by rote; clearly the young Warden had practiced this speech many times. Had he been delivering it in common rooms the realm over? Or were these Wardens seeking Amira specifically? Warden Iris’s simple words provoked so many questions, but Amira made herself stay silent.
The young Warden went on. “According to the town’s constable, you have evinced such an ability over the past several weeks. His majesty the king invites you to come to the capital of Callaston, so that you and others with your ability may learn from one another.”
All her other questions vanished in a flash of anger. “The king invites me?” she snapped. So much for charm. “And what if I refuse?” She wondered if these men knew who she really was. If Edon had sent them, he might have warned them about Amira Estaile, and perhaps Dardan as well. She belatedly recognized that beneath her anger lay fear.
Warden Iris smiled. He had a kind smile. Amira felt herself wanting to believe him, and she tried to fight down the impulse. “I’m afraid his majesty d
oes insist that all who have this power attend him in the capital. As I’m sure you’re aware, this power can be quite dangerous, and his majesty would like to avoid letting things get out of hand.”
“Out of hand?” Amira stood up, enraged. “Did his majesty tell you what he did at Foxhill Keep?”
“Watch your tone,” Warden Penrose blurted, stepping forward and resting a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Watch yours,” she bit back at him. “You speak to a noble lady, Warden.”
“A commoner or a countess,” the Warden said, “I speak the same.”
“A—what?” Amira’s rage ground to a halt. Countess?
“You are Countess Amira Tarian,” Warden Penrose said. “Count Asmus Tarian is dead—I believe you said something about what his majesty did at Foxhill Keep.”
Amira reeled, putting a hand on the back of her chair to steady herself. So it was true. She could feel tears coming, and blinked them back.
Warden Penrose barely paused. “Later, as we learned, you and Count Dardan were married in Tyndam Town. That makes you the countess of Hedenham.” He dismissed all that with a wave of his hand. “In any case, you are still his majesty’s subject, and he would have you come to Callaston.”
“I… I will need to think on it.” Her throat was strangely dry. She wanted this to end.
She made to move for the door, but Penrose stood in the way and did not budge. “There is no thinking to be done. His majesty commands that you accompany us.”
Amira stared at the brusque Warden. “Did his majesty tell you what my ‘ability’ is capable of? I suggest that you move aside.”
After a moment, he said, “I want your answer within the hour. You will not leave the town without us.”
“Fine,” she said, just to appease him. The Warden leaned aside enough to let her squeeze past.
The rest of the soldiers still loitered out in the square. Amira forced herself not to run as she made her way to the cottage.
Once inside, she slammed the door and burst into sobs. Why hadn’t she left Stony Vale? Why had she told everyone about her power? She’d felt safe here, or wanted to. Now Edon was knocking on her door. She slid to the floor and let the tears pour out.
Each tear carried away a little of the grief, and in a few minutes she could think again. Edon was gathering mages. It made perfect sense: any king, even one with Edon’s power, would want mages under his control. There must be even more mages out there than Amira had dreamed. But Amira would never go to him, not after what he’d done.
She considered packing her things and trying to sneak out of the town, but then Dardan might ride into the middle of this. And what about Garen? If Constable Adams had told the Wardens about Amira, had he told them about Garen as well?
Amira had barely registered the sound of footsteps outside when someone knocked on the door. She scrambled away from it in near-panic.
“Countess Tarian? It’s Warden Iris.”
Amira crept to the window and peeked out past the curtain. There he stood, splendid in his silvered armor. Two soldiers were with him, but they had stayed back at the little gate by the side of the lane. Only Warden Iris had come to the door.
If he was alone then he was no threat to her. Even if those soldiers came running, she could cut them down before they had a chance to harm her. The memory of the dead bandits roiled up again for a moment, making her feel ill.
She opened the door. Warden Iris sketched a quick bow. “M’lady. Allow me to apologize. Warden Penrose can be quite a… blunt fellow.”
“So you are the silk glove to his iron fist.”
Iris blushed a little. “Um… Might I come in, m’lady?”
“No,” Amira said, feeling a great deal of spite just at the moment. “I am content with you where you are.”
“Very well. Warden Penrose—”
“So Edon is collecting mages now, is he?”
Warden Iris seemed a little surprised by the question. “Um, yes. He dispatched us from Thorncross—but there will be time for all your questions later, I assure you. Warden Penrose has sent me to bring you to the village square.”
“Why? I must think, I… I must speak with my husband,” she said, grasping for any further excuse.
Warden Iris pursed his lips. “He will be gone for some days, I’ve come to understand. We spoke with the constable. I fear there is not that much time.” Now he seemed to be growing impatient. Good. Amira hoped he would trip up and reveal something, or at the very least get flustered and go away.
And yet his tone had become a little pleading. His voice quieted, as if to avoid being overheard by the men at the gate. “Please. Come with me. I fear worse may happen if you do not.”
“Fear? You fear… Warden Penrose?”
“Please,” he repeated.
She found herself feeling sorry for the man, and a little regretful for snapping at him. But it was curiosity that pushed her over the edge. “Fine. Lead on.”
———
Unease settled on Amira during the short walk back to the village square. She watched Warden Iris sidelong as they went. He seemed tense, and focused on the road ahead. He never once looked at her while they walked. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, as if he were concerned about some attack. The two soldiers followed behind her, but there was nothing to do about that.
When they reached the square, Amira became aware of several groups of people. Most of them were clusters of townsfolk, men and women she recognized, sparse along the edges of the square. They milled uncertainly, whispering and muttering and pointing at the soldiers who had come with the Wardens. The soldiers were split into two groups, one on either side of Warden Penrose, who stood in the middle of the square.
Amira’s heart skipped a beat when she recognized Garen kneeling on the ground before Penrose, his hands bound behind him and another soldier at his side, sword drawn.
“What is this?” she said. Warden Iris had peeled away from her and now stood apart, looking uncomfortable. He did not look at Penrose, or at any of the of townsfolk, who muttered angrily. A number of them held tools that could easily become weapons: shovels, hammers, kitchen knives, rolling pins.
“You will come with us to Callaston,” Penrose shouted at her. “As will your friend here. King Edon has commanded it, and I am in no mood to wait.”
Garen breathed heavily, looking terrified. He might have figured out, as Amira had, that he could not use his power to escape: setting off an explosion that would harm the soldier at his side would likely hurt Garen just as badly.
Amira could kill the man without hurting Garen—but Penrose was there, and a dozen other armed men within easy reach. She wasn’t confident enough in her power to use it to save Garen without triggering a bloodbath. The townsfolk did not look as frightened of the soldiers as Amira thought they should be.
“What do you want from us?” she cried, at a loss. She couldn’t go with him, go to Edon, be near that monster again.
Penrose smiled without mirth. “We will travel in two parties. You will be with half my men in the front group. The boy will travel with the rest of us in the rear. Far enough apart that if one of you tries to use your power, the other will certainly die.”
Grief and terror slipped their cold fingers over her. Why hadn’t she stayed quiet? First Dardan was furious with her, and now this, this utter disaster… She looked at Garen, helpless there on the ground, with no conception of what the hard men around him were capable of. It was her fault he was bound by hand and bound for the capital, for whatever ignominy Edon planned for them.
At least Penrose was not rushing her. He wore his satisfaction openly, knowing he had her trapped. Amira looked over at Mason Iris, but he would not meet her eyes, nor would he likely raise a hand to help her, not against his brother Warden and soldiers of the king’s army.
She had no choice. She prayed that someone would tell Dardan what had happened, that he would follow her—but then he might try something heroic and get
himself killed. What use could he be, alone against twenty men?
She could not think of it. She slumped a little and began to speak. “I will—”
A whoosh and a gurgle. The soldier next to Garen sprouted a red carnation from his throat. His sword slipped into the dust and he fell sideways onto Garen, knocking the lad half over.
Two more arrows sailed into the nearest group of soldiers, whose training asserted itself in response: they scattered, swiveling about to find their attackers. Amira glimpsed something out of the corner of her eye—there, atop the inn! Three men, wielding longbows, already drawing again. Amira gasped when she recognized Hugh Hamm among them.
Garen shouted and struggled to rise, and his bead raced out—there was an explosion near a group of the soldiers, tossing dust and clods of dirt into the air—he’d used his power in a panic, but missed. The men instinctively shied away from the blast. Unfortunately, this sent a few of them directly into a cluster of townsfolk, and somehow they got involved in the scuffle. This drew belligerent shouts from other townsfolk, some of whom began to advance on those soldiers. And then more soldiers moved to intercept the townsfolk. Amira cried out; the bloodbath was going to happen anyway.
“Garen, stop!” She started to run to him. But Warden Penrose kept his head. He drew his sword and grabbed Garen’s bound hands, yanking the young man the rest of the way to his feet and dragging him off toward the wagon the king’s men had brought with them. The man sitting on the driver’s seat was another soldier, and looked eager to leave.
Amira found herself assaulted by a trio of soldiers who stumbled out of the crowd. She reflexively flung her bead at them, one-two-three, disabling them with clumsy strikes at their legs. Their screams followed her as she ran after Garen and Penrose.
The Warden had almost made it to the wagon. Amira took a chance and flung her bead, but she missed by inches. Instead of the Warden’s head popping like an overripe melon, a chunk of wood on the edge of the wagon exploded into shards. Penrose flinched away, pulling Garen into a tight grasp and raising his sword to the boy’s throat.
“Try that again and we’ll see who survives, witch,” Penrose growled. Amira was only a few yards away, but her vision blurred and her pulse raced. She might hit Garen if she tried to attack Penrose again; the Warden might still manage to slit Garen’s throat even if she did hit him.
“Let him go!” she shouted. The sounds of fighting and screaming punctuated the silence behind her, notes of anguish in a dire symphony.
“Turn away and he’ll live,” Penrose said, pulling his sword tighter. Garen’s eyes swiveled madly as he tried to shy away from the blade.
A blade that came within a hair’s breadth of ending his life, for Amira gasped when she saw who crept up behind them, sword drawn. Her eyes went to him, too soon—Penrose noticed, and began to turn—
Dardan’s sword clanged against Penrose’s from behind, knocking it straight away from Garen’s throat. The Count of Hedenham kicked Garen in the back, sending him face-first into the dust, out of Penrose’s grasp. On the backstroke he dove in toward Penrose, pushing him away with a flurry of slashing steel.
Amira would have killed Penrose on the spot, but now he moved erratically, and Dardan was in the way. So she went to Garen instead. “Hold still!” she shouted at him, and grabbed his hands. With supreme force of will she made herself wait a moment to calm, and then used her ember to burn through the ropes that bound him. Still she went too fast, and the heat made the skin on both their hands turn red and begin to sting.
But Garen was free now, so she stood up again to see where Dardan had gone, praying Penrose hadn’t gotten the better of him. She saw Dardan climbing to his feet, holding his sword arm with his other hand, blood welling between his fingers. Penrose had somehow gotten mounted, and was already fifty yards off. She threw her ember at him, but missed. In seconds he was too far away for another attempt.
She ran to Dardan and shouted his name. He turned, and his face came alight, and he embraced her, sweeping her off the ground with his good arm and making the whole world fall away for a precious few seconds.
CHAPTER 29
DARDAN
The Queen of Mages Page 33