A Clash of Magics

by Guy Antibes

  “What does the woman do with all the tax money?” the first man said. “It doesn’t get spent on roads or bridges or feeding the poor.”

  “I heard Tarviston castle is becoming more tattered. It’s madness. It almost makes you want to have King Henry back.”

  “Almost,” another said. “At least my daughter can learn some magic.”

  “How is your daughter doing?” one of the merchants said.

  The conversation turned to personal matters, and the stew came, forcing Trevor’s attention back to Win.

  “This isn’t bad,” Win said, slathering some bread ripped from a loaf with butter from a crock placed on the table. “Try the butter. It’s salted and seasoned with herbs.”

  Trevor did as Win suggested. The bread was fresh, and the butter and gravy-soaked bread was just the thing a traveling soldier would appreciate, he thought.

  They had their fill and helped themselves to more ale. Trevor watched the merchants leave the pub as the serving maid came for their empty stew bowls.

  “It looks like you appreciated the cook’s work,” she said. The woman pushed back a stray strand of brown hair going gray.

  “We have newly arrived from Viksar,” Trevor said. “I overheard the men at the next table complaining about your queen. Is there something we have to watch out for when we go to Tarviston?”

  “Why would you go to the capital?”

  Win shrugged. “We were mustered out of the Viksaran army after fighting in Maskum.”

  The server put her tray down on the table and sat down. “Maskum. What is that like?”

  Trevor smiled and told her about Khartoo and the magician’s enclave.

  “We cleaned out the magicians who have been messing about with every ruler in the world,” Win said.

  “Don’t you have to get back to work?” Trevor asked.

  “Look around you. The place is emptying and won’t fill up again until suppertime and beyond. I own the place, anyway. Tell me more. I’ll bet Queen Hyra is under the influence of some evil wizard with the hodgepodge of taxes and proclamations. I don’t know how her daughter puts up with it. Every outrageous tax eventually gets canceled by Princess Lilith, but not until the queen has squeezed more money out of us citizens. It almost makes one cry; it does,” the woman said.

  “I’ll be sure to tell Queen Hyra,” Trevor said with a smile.

  The woman laughed and slapped Trevor on the shoulder. “You do that!” She patted Trevor’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to touch you, but you seem like a regular person.”

  Win leaned forward. “He’s really the duke of Listenwell in Brachia,” Win said playfully.

  Perhaps Win hadn’t been as fully domesticated by Siranda as Trevor thought. “The merchant who sat next to us complained about a shoe leather tax.”

  “He runs the bootmaking factory in town, but we’ve all been hit by something. About six months ago, I had to endure a head tax.”

  Win’s eyebrows went up. “You collect heads?”

  “I serve people with heads. Without a head, how would you eat or drink?” She said with a grin. “It almost put me out of business, but the tax only lasted a month. I ended up not paying a penny. There was no way anyone could verify how many heads stepped through the door. There isn’t a way to verify who comes in here. The queen would need hundreds, maybe thousands, of tax collectors in Presidon, and that would cost her more than any tax.”

  “How come Princess Lilith has so much influence over the queen?” Trevor asked.

  “Queen Hyra made Lilith her regent, but she retained her original power somehow. It is a legal loophole, one of my customers told me. Lilith runs most of the country, but the queen mucks up the works all the time, and she has enough power, so any taxes that she levies go to her rather than the royal treasury.”

  Trevor nodded. “The agreement must have stipulated what comprised the royal tax base, and Queen Hyra finds ways to circumvent the regency agreement.”

  “All I know is that none of the taxes lasts that long,” the server said.

  “So, there must be a mechanism to stop them, and it takes time to get it done. Meanwhile, Queen Hyra collects the taxes and does what she wants with the money,” Trevor said.

  “That is diabolical,” Win said.

  The process seemed too devious for his mother, but did he ever really know her?

  “I’ll make sure I have a conversation with Princess Lilith, then,” Trevor said with a smile. “Perhaps the regency agreement needs a revision.”

  “There have been petitions,” the pub owner said. “Hey, you sound almost serious.”

  “It’s part of the game,” Trevor said, laughing.

  “You fooled me,” the server got up and grabbed the tray. Trevor rummaged around in his purse and gave her a few Jarkanese and Maskumite coins. “Just to prove we’ve been around. Not that you thought otherwise.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Why, thank you! Drinks are on the house the next time you stop by.”

  Win nodded to the woman as they walked out. “Was that instructive?”

  “If she told the truth, I believe so. She is a business owner, so that gives her more credibility than a regular citizen. It sounds like my mother is a handful and Lilith has the respect of the people. We know where some of her money goes.”

  “For assassins,” Win said.

  Trevor nodded.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ~

  T hey spent the next night in a village close to Tarviston. Trevor heard the same complaints about his mother and more praise for Lilith, although everyone wished more tax money would be spent on the people. Not everyone had recovered from the war of usurpation.

  Before heading into Tarviston, Trevor decided to disguise Snowflake with a coating of mud. It hadn’t rained, but Win and Trevor had some fun giving the charger a mud bath. In a way, it seemed like ancient times returning for a moment before heading toward something less pleasant and certainly more deadly.

  It was finally time to reenter Tarviston. It had been many months since Trevor passed through the southern gate, heading south to the Red Forest Garrison, his first posting as an army officer. Desolation Boxster was by his side for that trip.

  This time an older, more experienced, and wiser, Trevor admitted, Win Fenton rode at his side. Win was anxious about his mother. He had gotten one letter during his time in Viksar. Finding Win’s parent was their first step.

  There were many reminders of Trevor’s past life which he defined as pre-Boxster days before his father had finally cut him off from the rest of the family. To his right was the fence that bordered the training field that Trevor had spent all his time becoming an extraordinary soldier.

  They rode up the street to the entrance to the army’s practice fields and stopped for a train of supplies crossing the road into the military compound.

  “You look like a soldier,” one of the guards at the gate told Trevor as they waited.

  “I’ve spent some time in the ranks,” Trevor said, which wasn’t exactly true. The only time he would have been considered in the ranks was when he spent a few weeks as a mercenary in West Moreton.

  “There is a tournament this week,” the guard said. “You have the look that indicates you might do well.”

  Trevor leaned over and patted Snowflake’s neck. “I don’t have any armor to speak of,” he said.

  “Everything is provided. Why don’t you go in and report to the building on your left? If you are any good, you might make some prize money. If you don’t, the nonmilitary contestants get free board including meals and ale.”

  “When is the tournament?” Win asked.

  “Three days,” the guard said. “It’s the more, the merrier. You might even pick up a commission of some kind. Who knows?”

  Trevor raised his eyebrows and looked at Win. He could spend a few days under Queen Hyra’s nose before he tried to show up at the palace. He hadn’t checked with Win, but Trevor could use the practice after the long ride
from Maskum.

  They nodded to the guard who pointed out one of the training facility’s administration buildings. Trevor had been there once when he needed a new belt for his dress uniform. No one would remember him.

  “Here for the tournament?” the woman at a counter said.

  “They said there would be free room and board for the next three days. We thought we might save a little of our money and get a little arms practice in at the same time,” Win said.

  “That you can. The soldiers like outsiders to participate. King Henry used to draw knights and soldiers from all around. Our tournament isn’t so well attended since Queen Hyra rose to power, but you’ll find it a challenge.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Trevor said, thinking that Win and he could gather more information before the dreaded confrontation with his mother.

  “We have an empty barracks on the other side of the field.” The woman took their names. “You are Viksarans?”

  Trevor nodded. “I’m originally from Jilgrath, and Win lives in Jiksara. We fought in Maskum together.”

  “And we were dismissed from the army after we returned to Viksar,” Win said. “We thought we’d try our luck in Presidon.”

  “Do well in the tournament, and I’m sure you’ll be able to get an invitation to join Presidon’s army,” the woman said. She made a notation on a ledger and handed them cards with their names and her signature.

  “Take this to the quartermaster’s office in the building across the practice field.”

  Trevor frowned as they left the administration building. “I’ve been there before,” he said. “Someone might recognize me.”

  “Not with that beard,” Win said. Neither of them had shaved since they left Jiksara.

  Trevor rubbed the long stubble. “Maybe not.”

  “You never missed a day shaving,” Win said.

  Trevor shrugged as they mounted and trotted across the training grounds. No one recognized Trevor as they handed the cards to the quartermaster. Trevor had met the man before, but the quartermaster barely looked up. “You can share Room seven on the third floor.” He gave them both a few papers. “Keep the registration page on you at all times, or you’ll be asked to leave the training grounds.” The man waved them away.

  “My heart is touched!” Win said after their encounter with the brusque quartermaster. “I suppose we are merely fodder to show off the capabilities of Presidon’s best.”

  “Boxster and I were Presidon’s best,” Trevor said as they trudged up the stairs and ended up in a tiny room with two beds just far apart enough to put a single chair. A double shelf ran above each bed, and the lock on the door didn’t have a key. “Not the most comfortable of beds,” Trevor said as he pulled back the covers revealing dirty sheets. “First, we will wash these so they can dry out before nightfall.”

  They carried the sheets downstairs and asked where they could wash them. There were a tub and some soap by a well at the next building. After washing the sheets, they hung them from the shelves and closed the door.

  “Time to see your mother,” Trevor said.

  They were on the side of the training grounds closest to Win’s old house. Trevor had been to Win’s mother’s house a few times, but most recently, they had been on the run from the queen’s forces. They reached the house on foot. If there were any problems, Trevor could teleport them out of harm.

  Win walked up the steps and wiped his hands on his trousers before knocking on the door. A strange man answered.

  “I was looking for Marin Fenton,” Win said. “My father asked me to look up his cousin.”

  Trevor could tell that Win was shocked by the stranger.

  “She moved a few blocks away when she lost her job in the castle. I’ll write down her address.”

  The man gave a slip of paper to Win and closed the door. Win stared at the paper. “She lost our house,” Win said.

  Win knew the street, but it was a long one. They walked through the city until they came to a building of flats. No one cared about them or gave two scruffy men a second look. Win looked down at the address and up at the building. “Second floor, Flat one.”

  They climbed up the stairs and stood at the door to Flat one. Win knocked on the door, and he looked anxious as the door opened.

  “Win!”

  Win leaned over and hugged his mother for a long time before she ushered them into her flat. Marin Fenton had shoved a houseful of furniture into the flat, but the woman looked well.

  “I wrote,” Win said. “You should have said something.”

  Marin Fenton looked at her son, but Trevor could see shame in her eyes. “I didn’t want to worry you. I made enough money on the house to live comfortably for five or six years. I cook at a local restaurant in the evenings. You can both stay here,” she said. “Who is your friend?”

  There wasn’t room for three people in the flat. “We have accommodations elsewhere,” Win said. “Sit, and let’s talk. You may not believe it, but this is Trevor.”

  Marin’s eyes grew wide. “It is Trevor! You shouldn’t be in Presidon. Everyone knows the queen wants you dead!”

  “I was attacked by her assassins on my wedding night less than a week ago,” Trevor said. “My wife was injured, and I vowed to put a stop to her viciousness.”

  “But to come to Tarviston!”

  “I’ll find a way,” Trevor said. “You and Win have some catching up to do. I’ll just make myself at home and try not to listen,” He smiled at the former royal cook.

  Win spent the next two hours talking with his mother. It wasn’t enough, but the woman had to get to the restaurant.

  “I can feed you,” she said.

  “No,” Win said. “If we are seen together, someone might figure out who Trevor and I are. I’ll try to come about the same time tomorrow if that is okay.”

  “Of course.” Win pressed a purse into his mother’s hands. “I do not lack for funds. Take this, but don’t spend it all at once.”

  Marin opened it and gasped. Trevor knew Win had put gold in the purse. She could probably live another ten years in the flat with what Win gave her. “I can’t take this!”

  “When this is over, I’ll take you for a visit to Jilgrath. That is where I’ll be living with Siranda.”

  Marin nodded and clutched the purse to her bosom. “I’ll keep it safe.”

  “You do that,” Win said gently.

  They left a weeping woman and returned to the training grounds. Someone had taken their clean sheets and replaced them with dirty ones. “Welcome to the barracks,” Trevor said. They walked to the quartermaster’s office and exchanged their dirty sheets for clean ones.

  “Had I known that was how it worked, we wouldn’t have had to wash the old ones,” Trevor said to Win after they returned to their room. “The officers don’t wash their bedclothes.”

  They woke up and walked to the same commissary where Trevor had eaten hundreds of meals during his years spent training with the military. No one bothered to give Win or him a glance, but Trevor recognized a few of the officers and enlisted men with whom he had trained in the past. He sat with his back to the refectory at a table next to the wall.

  While they ate, Trevor looked at the tournament events listed on a handout. “Archery, swords, spears, and magic,” Trevor said. “My father is no longer king.”

  “No jousting?” Win asked.

  “A rich man’s pursuit,” Trevor said. “The army wouldn’t have jousting or melee with full armor.”

  “What suits your fancy?” Win asked.

  “Magic would be the perfect misdirection, but I only have one trick, and it’s too lethal for a tournament.”

  “The rod?”

  Trevor nodded. “I can do archery and swords, but neither of us should win.”

  Win laughed. “You will let someone defeat you? Where did you learn that kind of humility?” Win asked.

  “I do what I must do,” Trevor said, but he smiled. “I didn’t say I couldn’t move up a few ro
unds, did I? We can’t give Viksar a bad name, can we?”

  Win grinned. “I don’t suppose we can. I’ll sign up for spears and magic. In addition to writing music, I often choreographed fights on the stage, and that meant a lot of practice.”

  “Magic. You could wear a silver-edged collar in Viksar,” Trevor said.

  Win looked pleased. “I did from time to time, especially if Siranda and I went to the market. It helps keep the pickpockets away.”

  Trevor remembered his first encounter with Manwell Arcwin. The green magician wore a silver-edged collar, but it didn’t help Trevor’s relation at all in the end.

  They ate the mediocre food that Trevor lived on for many years. “I’ll help you with spears. I suppose they will provide us with some in the armory.”

  They walked to the armory next door, and Win checked out two of the spears that were permitted for the tournament. After finding a patch of the training fields to themselves, Trevor warmed up by practicing Brachian sword forms with his Jarkanese blade.

  Win was almost better than Trevor with the spear at the start of their practice, but his previous training came to him as they practiced, and Trevor began to resurrect forgotten moves, giving him the edge to defeat his friend easily.

  “You are too good,” Win said, out of breath. “But then you always were. Your attacks are too fluid to be repressed in a tournament match.”

  Trevor accepted that for praise. “Then let me spend our time teaching you better technique and two or three trick moves.”

  They worked the rest of the morning and after lunch until it was time to return to Marin Fenton’s flat. Win and his mother spent another afternoon talking about his career in entertainment and his magical achievements. Before they left, Marin gave them food to take back to their barracks room.

  Trevor thought whatever Win’s mother prepared would be vastly superior to whatever was being served in the refectory. They reached the barracks in the late afternoon and decided to eat early and practice a bit more in the twilight.

  The food was terrific, but there was too much for the pair of them. A few other nonmilitary contestants walked past their room and stopped at the aroma of good cooking.