by P. S. Power
This time he was growled at. By Erold.
“I won’t neglect my duty again. I was just to be married, the last time, so couldn’t go with you. Hiding away in the castle...” He frowned. A thing that seemed almost angry. “There is talk already that I might be too weak or fearful.”
Farad smiled. A thing that felt ancient, no matter how it looked to these others. He’d had students, after all, if not children of his body. Many of them had expressed such things like that to him, at various times, over the course of his life. That the worst thing about being a keeper of times story was that others thought them weak, or afraid of life.
“Ignorant fools might say such, but none who know you.”
The King nodded though and stroked his bare chin.
“That is wisdom. Still, you mentioned having him ride out first. We could send him with you, Master Brolly? There is no real need of it, but your presence there will be noted, which is perhaps, enough, for the time being. Then, later, if you must ride, we can simply not let you have any of the current information for some months first. What do you think, Robarts? That could work for you as well.”
The older Prince laughed then.
“That... isn’t a poor idea. This caravan leaves in five days? I’m not packed for it.”
The King simply clapped.
“There we go, you three shall go, collect the information that is needed and return as rapidly as possible. We can sell it as bolstering the troops. Why don’t you go and make ready, Erold? We should be able to let you go as well, Master Brolly. Let us oldsters work in peace for a moment, without all your youthful carrying on and shouting.” There was a wave, which had Anders standing, still breathing just a bit hard.
Then, that wasn’t going to stop until he lessened the load on himself, magically speaking.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed, using second courtly, his right foot sliding back, as he bent low over a quarter bent lead leg. It was uncomfortable, but looked good enough, when he’d seen others doing it. There was a nod from the man, as Prince Erold stood and bobbed a bit in place. The move. Or lack of a proper bow to the King, got a frown from Master Belford. No comment came, however.
There was a wave from the Prince, as Anders backed out of the room. The spearmen at the door opening enough to let him out without touching, as he moved backwards. It took some skill on their part, given that they didn’t turn around to look at him coming. They used the sides of their eyes. That and the fact that Prince Erold had walked through first. He was given a wider space than Anders was.
After turning around, walking normally, his friend fell in beside him, almost instantly.
“This is fun then! I hadn’t thought to be allowed to do anything until next spring, if at all. Will it be dangerous, do you think?”
The other man sounded young suddenly. Filled with excitement and vigor. It wasn’t a horrible thing, so Anders didn’t do a lot to try and scare him or anything.
“We’re heading to the front, so, yes. The last time I was there it was, anyway. We’ll need to hide who you are, at least in your clothing and all that. Just enough so that the enemy won’t know to capture you. Robarts is... We should dye his hair or something like that. Capturing the Heir would be too good for them not to put everything into trying.”
Given that, it was foolish to send the other man. They could handle it however. He was going to need to free up some magical energy first, however, in order to get anything like that done. It would mainly just need to be an alteration of clothing and perhaps hair color. There was no reason that he couldn’t do that, he realized. Really, he simply needed to be able to note hair as separate from the skin or other materials around what was being changed. He wouldn’t even require a word for hair itself. Not just to change its coloration.
“I’ll handle that part. Do you have armor and weapons?”
That got a nod. A fairly happy seeming one.
“I do. Are we expected to see combat, do you think?”
He thought for a second, then shrugged.
“Honestly? Almost certainly. Probably not on the trip out, though we need to be watchful then. Bandits are a thing and keeping supplies from the troops is a time-honored tactic of war. Once there, we’ll be on the front. Even if you’re held back with Robarts in some remote camp, it’s still a dangerous position.” He added that part, not to tease, but to get the boy ready for the realities of what he was going into.
There was a smirk then.
“We’re going to order Robarts to hide in safety while we go to the front, proper?”
He grinned then.
“It will probably work about as well as what I just tried with you, but yes, if we can. Now... I need to do some work before late meal. You’ll join me in the low hall for that?”
They’d been friends for their entire lives. Anders had been at the high late meal once in that time. Prince Erold had been to the low hall not even once. In fact, he wasn’t certain that the other boy knew where it was, even.
His friend didn't even bat an eyelash.
“I’ll be there. See you then.” There was a nod that was nearly as polite as he’d given the King, his father, before the young man moved off down the hallway, headed deeper into the castle. Toward the halls where Anders didn’t go. Not often. He would need to check in on Princess Mathia in a few days, but for the time being, unless sought out, there was no real reason for that to happen.
What he did need to see to in the moment was simpler than that. A single word that would allow him to release any spell he indicated. He picked a word, almost at random. Rotha. By the time he got to his room, he had a basic sigil, which was a single, broken line, and a feeling for it, which was the mental image of a magical tingle fading away.
He still had to drive it into his memory, in a way that his very soul would breathe it, in a single utterance. The fastest way to do that was, naturally, to slow down. To spend time on the images, sounds and feelings that created the magical construct. To that end he entered the hall of magic, in his mind. A plain black tunnel, marked with a glowing haze at the front. A place he entered so often that when he closed his eyes he found himself floating in front of it.
Once inside he had to move past all of the other sigils, the words coming to him as he passed them. At the end, he created there a stone pedestal, then formed the broken line over it. Floating in air, as if by magic. Then he caused it to glow, a bright red, the feeling of magic fading happening over and over again as he looked at it. Knowing, deeply, that it would remove any spell indicated.
Inside he whispered one word, a hundred times. A thousand.
“Rotha.”
Then, when he had it and it was locked into place, he moved back, letting himself forget the word, the sigil and the sense of it. Then moved in and did it again.
Repeating it all, knowing, as deeply as possible, what he wanted, indeed, what he required, the word to do for him.
After a little more than an hour, still in a trance state, not noticing his breathing at all, he rose, moving to his feet, and walked, seeking Sir Daniel, the knight. He was already in a trance, so simply focused on the man, listening in the silence for his location. The magic didn’t take him to the man’s room at all, but rather outside, where he found the very fellow, dressed in armor, doing his own gasping, as he worked against another man, who was in similar style. They were behind the horse barns, the stables, working where prying eyes wouldn’t easily see them.
He simply waited, unnoticed for a long while. Sir Daniel was clearly too weak to be doing what he was. It was obvious, since Sir Humphrey kept yelling that at him.
“You’re like a newborn babe, Sir Daniel! I mean that, too. Your blows barely even connect with me.” The man didn’t sound happy to be saying it, but the words still came. The sick man kept going though, exchanging blows, and working hard. There was a bit of gasping, but it came from both shining suits of armor, not just the one.
Finally, after some minutes, they stopped, with Sir Hum
phrey noticing he was there.
“Master Brolly! Have you come to cuff this one here on the ear for not staying abed?” He wasn’t being teasing at all. He actually felt that his friend needed to be resting.
Which was probably true. At the very least, he needed to be doing a bit less than swinging a sword around against a knight in full armor.
“Nothing like that. I need to check on his progress and see if he can handle being out of the effect of my spells now. It should work, but just in case, I thought to try it on him first, instead of any of the servants.”
The ill man, looking gaunt and pale, removed his helmet then. His mouth was set, though he didn’t seem angry. It was more of a thing a child might do when caught stealing an extra biscuit after the meal.
“As punishment for escaping my room? There were guards. I bribed them. It wasn’t truly their fault, given that.”
Farad and Anders both disagreed with that, except that Sir Daniel just needed rest, not to be kept prisoner. At least he was almost certain that would be the case.
“Not as a punishment. I should be able to set half of you free now, without the symptoms coming back. I figured to try you first, because you’re the strongest of them, inside. The others might be fearful and panic if they start to feel ill again. We’ll start with the fever spell, since, if you get too hot, you’ll just be a little uncomfortable for a few minutes.” Not that he wasn’t hot already. His face was covered with sweat.
There was a nod of understanding, so Anders didn’t wait, just doing the work right there, behind the stable. The brown building was clean on the outside, but there was a constant cacophony from inside.
“Fevren neg rotha-fen.” He pointed at the correct knight, and monitored the spell, to make sure the correct one released.
One of them did, which he could tell. There was a lack, after a few moments, leaving two objects that weren’t there, yet which he could feel, over the knight. Then he stood there for a bit, finally nodding.
“Well, you didn’t suddenly burst into flames from the returned fever. Let me...”
He did the other two, with breathing going first. Then he stood there, waiting. The other men did as well, with Sir Daniel fidgeting a bit.
“Are you suddenly uncomfortable?”
The fellow sighed.
“It’s not sudden. This armor feels ridiculously heavy. I’m shaking like a leaf, and no offense, Sir Humphrey, but it isn’t in proper fear of you. I wager that I can’t ride out with you in the next days. It’s shameful to be this weak.” There was a feeling of true misery over that fact, which Anders could feel. Along with the shaking the man was doing.
Anders shrugged at the idea, which got him glared at by Sir Daniel. He let the younger man speak first, however.
“You can ride out, but you’ll be at a disadvantage for the first two or three weeks if anything happens. Be mentally prepared for that. Rest as you can and make certain you have enough food for your healing needs. Now, if this is working, I need to go and find some of the other people, who don’t really need my aid anymore. Good. I’ll see you at the late meal?” He meant Sir Humphrey, but Sir Daniel grimaced and then nodded.
“I don’t truly wish to eat, but I’ll be there. In the high hall?”
Rather than explain himself, he shook his head.
“The low. We’re working over the meal, so be prepared for that.” Then he walked away, wondering what he meant. It was clear that it felt correct, but he didn’t understand why he’d said the words. Leaving prevented questioning, so he used that old trick and made his way back inside. His breathing almost normal again.
The servants were easier to find and all seemed to do well after releasing them from his constant efforts. Not all of them were let go, since some were still sick. Alice Cook actually looked at him when he walked in, her face still ruddy from the rash, a bit of a sassy expression on her lips.
“Everyone else gets to go out, but I’m literally under guard? What did I do to you to make you hate me, Anders?” She was about seventeen, and oval of face, with a long nose and a gap between her teeth. It wasn’t the best look for a woman in the world, but also wasn’t the worst.
He waved that away, smiling at her.
“It isn’t everyone and it’s just a matter of timing. You have to wait seven days after you started showing the illness, or else it can spread. You know that. How are you feeling, other than as if your freedom has been curtailed?”
She mock glared at him, then shrugged.
“Fine. I’m without fever and that awful headache is gone. I’m all over red, of course. I’ll be well enough. I wouldn’t go and make anyone else sick though. I feel horrible that I gave it to Countess Rainly. I didn’t know what was wrong and I was asked to take a tray to her from the kitchen, then stay until she finished with it. That was a bit strange.”
Anders could see that as being odd, actually.
“Oh? Who asked you to provide that level of service?”
The girl, who was sitting up, wearing night clothes, but who was also under two thick blankets, just stared at him for a moment. As if he were being dense.
“It was Lady Harriet. Why do you ask? She just wanted to make certain that the Countess got what she was due. That was what she said anyway. A good friend, don’t you think? No one has ever done that kind of thing for me.”
That got him to grin, suddenly, even as he drove the name into his memory. Lady Harriet.
“Haven’t they? Why just today the King himself placed two guards in the hallway here, just for you. By name, too. He didn’t put them there for someone else, or everyone, just for Alice Cook. That has to trump one mere serving woman being forced to cool her heels for an hour. Plus, you got to have Wedra looking out for you and the others. Some people didn’t have anyone at all.” That fact was kind of sad, really.
Sir Daniel probably would have been attended to more closely if he would have asked, but requesting aid was too weak for him. So he’d suffered in silence, nearly dying from it.
That got a grimace, instead of a proper smile.
“I suppose that’s true. You came to help me, too. All of us. Even before the Countess and the other high folk. That’s something, isn’t it? I should learn magic. Then I could do more than serve food and clean floors for the rest of my life.”
That was probably true enough, really.
“You’ll need to be tested then. Send a note to Depak Sona, in a week, and see if he can tell if you have the basic ability or not. Then you’ll have to find people to train you, but if you don’t ask, no one is going to make that real for you.”
For some reason, the girl in bed froze.
“I can’t just send letters to high folk like that!” There was white around her eyes then.
Anders locked eyes with her, from where he was standing by the open door. That way the guards could make certain he wasn’t taking advantage of the woman in her sick bed. He made a point of not looking away before she did.
“Can’t you? It’s a note. Tell him that Anders suggested magical testing for you, since you’re interested. Then, if you have it, ask if he’ll help you find training. Really, send a note about the topic to Master Belford first, so he can guide you in penmanship and what to say. If you want great things, you must be prepared to do mighty tasks.” The girl rolled her eyes at him, which he could see her doing. After all, he was a small boy, telling her about grand truths.
After that he needed to find the other ill people, which meant he could let two of them go, spell wise. Not Countess Rainly, who actually was willing to see him, even if she was in her bed, without any makeup on her face at all. That meant her age was showing. She was around five decades or so, though it could be less than that. Unlike Alice, the lady was actually decently attractive, under her rash. That was a bit odd, since day to day, when they’d met before, she was less attractive than she was at the moment. As if she downplayed her own looks for some reason.
That, or someone else did it for her.
“Good afternoon, Countess. Are you feeling well today?”
The woman placed both hands in front of her, on the light blue sheet that covered her. There was a small fire in the hearth, and the room had heavy tapestries over all the walls, to help maintain the heat.
“I am! Thanks to you, Master Brolly. Now, what may I do for you, this fine day?”
He smiled, holding the trance he was in, feeling her thoughts as he spoke. She was merely being pleasant, but seemed mildly impressed with him. That wasn’t just because of his nice new gambeson, either. Under that, she was going over who might want her dead. She was aware that Lady Harriet had sent the girl, Alice Cook, to stand in the room with her, which would have infected her.
If she hadn’t already been ill at that time. She suspected her own coven for that. A conspiracy, designed to get her out of the way, so one of the others could take her place.
“You could tell me, who does your makeup, day to day?”
She looked baffled for a moment.
“Lady Martya. Why do you ask?” She seemed baffled by the words, since young men didn’t generally concern themselves with that kind of thing. “Do you think she infected me? She regularly touches me, so had access that way. It would take great skill to do that and not infect herself at the same time, but I’ve heard of such being done.”
That got him to shake his head.
“It isn’t that, though I’ll go and check on her that way, just to be certain. It’s simply that...” He looked away then, since there was no way for him to share the idea without sounding like he was being flirtatious.
“You normally wear a lot of makeup, in the court style, but it makes you look less attractive than you are underneath it. By enough that it is either to your own plan, or hers. If it’s that last one, you might ask her to stop? I don’t want to stir trouble, since she’s a friend of my mother’s and polite to me when we meet, but it’s there.” He tensed, getting ready for anger.