The Queen of Mages (28 page)

“Sir,” Amira pleaded, “if we could perhaps
speak with—with Duke Gulhin, or his lady mother the Dowager—”

“No!” Elmer Brahim shouted at them. “You
will not taint this family! I now know it was a mistake to even
give you this audience, would that I’d known that before. Guard!”
The door flew open and the guard who had escorted them in burst
through, sword half-drawn. “Escort these two out of Thorncross.
Away
from Callaston.” He looked at Dardan one last time, as
if that last command had been a favor to them. “See that you do not
return here.” He stood glaring at them, white-knuckled hands
gripping the edge of the table, as the guard put a hand on Dardan’s
back and prodded him out the door.

Their escort was mounted even before their
own horses were brought, and they were taken along a side road away
from the market, east toward Tyndam County. The guards watched them
with keen eyes, and though Dardan’s stomach rumbled, he did not
dare ask to buy bread at the market. Amira too watched the market’s
stalls slip by, but said nothing.

Dardan shook with anger as they rode.
Weren’t dukes responsible to help their subject counts? He
understood that House Arkhail too had suffered at Edon’s hands, but
were they all simply supposed to all roll over at Edon’s command?
What good was a king who terrorized and murdered his own
people?

The guards said nothing to them, and after a
few hours let them loose and turned back toward Thorncross. They’d
been taken well past Thorncross’s outlying farms, perhaps to
discourage Dardan and Amira from bothering the commoners. The road
here carved through deep, dense forest. Dardan waited until the
guards were well away, then took his horse off the road and into
the trees.

He found a clearing a hundred yards into the
woods. The terrain here was no different from Hedenham or Caswick,
thin aspens and black poplars clustering everywhere they hadn’t
been cleared for farms. The clearing was in a little glen between
two low, stony hills.

Dardan dismounted and sat on a broken tree
stump, not bothering to hobble his horse. Amira rode up to him and
slid down as well. “Are you all right?”

There must have been grief written on his
face, despite his attempts to maintain control. House Arkhail had
forsaken them, and he had no other plan. All their travel through
the wilderness had been for nothing. Dardan pinched the bridge of
his nose to keep tears at bay, tears of grief and outrage and
confusion. “We may as well give up,” he muttered.

“Don’t say that! We will find some way out
of this.”

He barked a bitter laugh. “How? Our own duke
won’t help us. We can’t return home, or go to Callaston. My father
might have other resources to call upon, but I have no idea what to
do.” The admission was like a splinter tearing through his flesh.
He’d always prided himself on knowing how to use what his father
had taught him, how to deal with tricky situations.

That was the old world of prescribed forms
and behaviors. Even in the bitterest disputes between the barons of
Hedenham, there had always been an expectation that some resolution
could be achieved. Now people were trying to kill him. He felt
plunged into the unknown.

He was surprised to find Amira kneeling
before him, her hand on his chin. “Dardan. Listen. We
will
get through this. I don’t know how, but I will not give up, and I
know you won’t either. We are stronger together than alone.”

Dardan stared into her eyes. How could she
be so certain? But the sight of his betrothed kneeling there,
showing such confidence, made him find a little strength of his
own. He nodded. “Yes. You’re right. We just… We need to keep
moving.” He stood up, and she followed. They held hands now, a tiny
gesture that made him feel anchored.

“Where is there that we
can
go?”
Amira asked. “There must be somewhere…”

Dardan thought. A few minutes ago, it had
seemed hopeless, but if he took the view that there was indeed an
answer… “We can go east. Tyndam Town. Count Barnard Kirth is the
lord there. Our families have known one another for many
years.”

Amira’s face closed up a little at this.
“After that rotten old seneschal…” But she stopped herself. “Yes.
Of course. As you say.”

There was still daylight, so they mounted
again and rode east along the road for a ways. Dardan stared
resolutely ahead, glad that they had a destination, and worried
that they might be doomed no matter what path he chose.

Liam could reach Callaston in only a couple
of days if he pushed, but he had only the one horse and could ill
afford the silver to buy another. Staying at inns each night would
also eat into his funds, so he camped in fields and woods to save
money.
At least once I reach Callaston, I can find a proper bed
at the Tarians’ manse.
Besiana would be able to help him rescue
Katin, he was sure of it. In the meantime, he still needed to eat;
hunting took too long, and inns along the way provided easy meals,
though they used up precious silver.

Callaston’s gates were still closed when he
reached the city. Hundreds of merchants, farmers, and traders
camped outside the Festival Gate, waiting for Edon to order it open
once again. To kill some time, Liam made acquaintance with a
merchant from Hedenham. He’d never met the man before, and so Liam
gave the name Will instead, but they were both familiar with the
county and got on famously once that fact was discovered. The
merchant let “Will” sleep under his wagon when an evening storm
rolled in and drenched them all.

The merchant told Liam that there had been a
near-riot when Edon’s little army had returned a few days earlier,
and the gate had been opened just long enough to admit them. All
the merchants waiting outside thought this meant they’d be let in
too, but when the gate slammed shut after the last soldier, the
drivers and traders became enraged and started pounding on it.
Archers atop the gate had let loose a few warning arrows, and the
crowd had had a sudden change of heart, hurrying out of range.

The morning after Liam’s arrival, the gates
were flung open to cheers and an instant struggle for a place in
line. The gate guards still had to inspect every wagon and
traveler, and it was half the day before Liam made it through the
gate. By then the guards were so tired of examining spindles of
fabric and crates of lettuce that Liam, a lone man mounted, was
waved through with barely a glance.

He headed straight for Willbury Street as
the afternoon sun slid downward. It was still hot, but there was
plenty of shade in the streets. The Grainway was busy as ever, and
Liam sighed with relief to leave the traffic behind as he turned
onto the street where, he hoped, Besiana Tarian’s manse still
stood.

And there it was, unchanged from his
previous visit, but Liam cursed quietly when he saw two soldiers
standing before it, wearing purple and blue. One sat on the steps,
and the other stood by, chatting and bored, not paying much
attention to anything. Liam forced himself to look away, and rode
past feigning disinterest.

Well that’s a damned pisspot.
He’d
been counting on Besiana’s help, or at least on being able to ask,
even if there might not be much she could do. Were the soldiers
there to keep someone out, or in? Was Besiana even there? He would
have to investigate without attracting attention.

Liam rode along to the Grainway and crossed
it to a white-fronted little building next to an alley. He tied up
Bandit to a post outside, glanced around to see if anyone seemed to
be watching him, and went into the grocery.

The long tables inside bore baskets that
would normally hold lettuce, squash, cheese, bread, beans, and all
the other sundry goods needed for a well-stocked kitchen. But the
baskets were mostly empty; the closed city gates had taken a toll
on the available produce. Hopefully things would return to normal
now. Liam had heard of the horrific things that happened inside
cities during an extended siege.

Besiana’s chef came here twice a week, but
Liam had never been in here. Just now, only one other man stalked
the aisles. Probably some noble’s chef; he wore an apron and
consulted a scrap of parchment.

A bell had tinkled when Liam opened the
door, and in a moment a burly, ruddy man came out through a curtain
behind the counter. His hair was thinning and he had a great red
mustachio obscuring his mouth. Liam scratched absently at his own
face, where sandy brown whiskers had started to grow in. He’d
stopped shaving, figuring that a beard could prove a useful
disguise in a place where he might be a wanted man.

“What kin I do fer ya, sir?” the burly man
asked. He had the accent of the northern river valley, the
Icerift.

Liam strode over and held out his hand.
“Will White,” he said. “Might I have your name, sir?”

“Bryan Lightfellow,” the man said, shaking
hands. “Not sure I’ve seen ye ’round here afore.”

“No, perhaps not. Is there somewhere more
private we can speak?” Liam asked, nodding toward the curtain. “I
have a matter to discuss.”

The greengrocer raised his bushy eyebrows
and considered Liam for a moment, but nodded and led the way back
to his storeroom. He casually grabbed a broom, as if he might start
sweeping, but Liam noticed that the broom had an unusually thick
handle.
Clever.
Bryan Lightfellow was well-muscled, and Liam
had no doubt he could swing that “broom handle” with deadly force
if necessary.

The curtain fell back behind them, and Liam
spoke quietly. “I happened to notice some of the king’s men outside
the Tarians’ manse, down Willbury. Is the countess there?”

Lightfellow was silent for a few seconds, so
Liam drew a copper from his purse, flipping it casually into the
air. The grocer snatched it before it fell, but then placed it atop
a box of apples instead of pocketing it. “I’m not sure I kin take
yer money yet, stranger,” he said. “Why d’ye want ta know ’bout the
countess?”

“I’m an old friend of the family, and I’m
concerned. I’ve just returned to Callaston, after hearing the most
dreadful rumors. If the countess is in trouble…”

Lightfellow tapped a finger on the broom. “I
don’t know what interest his maj’sty’s got in th’ Tarians, but the
countess is hale, far as I know. Her chef still comes fer supplies,
an’ he ain’t said anythin’ about her bein’ unwell.” The grocer
waited a moment longer, then shrugged and pocketed the copper coin.
“The servants go in an’ out, but it’s plain as day the countess
ain’t got the freedom ta roam about, if ye follow.”

So Besiana was there, but locked up.
Infiltrating the manse wouldn’t be too difficult, if there were
only the two guards… but there was no way he could get to Besiana
without the servants knowing, and
they’d
all recognize him
and gossip their little hearts out.

He could probably get her a message, if he
left it with Lightfellow to give to Besiana’s chef when he next
came in. The Relindos guards probably weren’t searching the beans
and flour when he brought it back. But what would he say? What good
would it do to let Besiana know he was here? Even if she could
reply by the same mechanism, it could take days just to have any
sort of conversation.

And if the messages were somehow found out,
great harm would come to them both.

Liam drew a silver from his purse and handed
it to Lightfellow. “This conversation never happened,” he urged. “I
was never here.”

Out on the streets again, he resolutely
turned Bandit away from Willbury Street, frustrated beyond words.
There were others in Callaston that he knew, other nobles,
commoners,
valai—
but no one he trusted enough to try to go
against the crown. If he was going to rescue Katin from Edon—if she
was even still alive—he was going to have to do it alone.

———

Liam let the flow of traffic carry him all
the way north to the Great Square. He passed several malthouses,
and wanted badly to go in for a pint, but he had to watch his
silver.

The royal palace loomed above. Its huge iron
gate was closed; only a small sally port to the side let anyone in
or out. Liam let himself fantasize about scaling the walls like a
hero out of legend, but cruel reality kept intruding, and he saw
himself falling to his death after a guard shot him with a
crossbow.

Evening drew near and the vendors began to
pack up their wares. If Katin really was in the palace, he wasn’t
going to rescue her today. He tried to keep her in the forefront of
his mind, to hold the lurking rage at bay.

It was dusk when he found a public stable
down near the docks, and put up Bandit for the night. The stallion
whinnied at him, and Liam gave up his last apple. “I’ll be back for
you, I promise,” he said, patting Bandit’s muzzle.

He found a cheap sailor’s hostel even closer
to the docks, but the owner of the laughably-named Sailor’s Delight
demanded ten coppers a night for a cell that should have cost two
or three. Once in his tiny, dingy room, he counted his coins again,
and was dismayed to find how much he’d spent already. He wasn’t
used to having to manage funds so tightly. His perspective had been
ruined by years spent serving a lord who always had plenty of coin
at hand.

The next morning dawned clear and cool. Liam
was up early and rode straight to the palace. He called at the
sally port as soon as it opened, to see if the palace was hiring
servants. The man at the guard house just inside told him that
although the palace frequently needed new personnel, they had left
all their hiring to a business concern that specialized in
recruiting servants for nobles.

The clerk at the recruiter’s office,
however, took one look at Liam and said that he would be unsuitable
for even a minor noble household, let alone the palace. Liam hadn’t
thought he looked quite
that
travel-worn. Surely the
stableboys and scullery maids weren’t expected to be refined, he
reasoned, but the clerk rudely asked him to leave.

He found himself in a malthouse after all,
on the edge of the Great Square. The pints here were costly, but he
was starting not to care, and anyway he could nurse a single pint
for hours if he had to. The serving boy gave him dark looks every
time he passed, probably wondering when this cheap lout would free
up the table for more generous customers.

Evening had begun to creep through the
windows when Liam saw a familiar face enter the hall. The man had
bright apple cheeks and looked to be about twelve years old, but he
only appeared young: Pater Uxhart, who had been in Liam’s regiment
in the Royal Army, all those years ago. Pater hadn’t aged a day, so
it seemed. He was actually older than Liam, but the other men had
joked that he should still be holding his mother’s apron strings.
Pater had always taken it with good humor.

He came in alone and took a seat nearby.
Liam looked him over, and his heart leapt when he realized that
Pater wore a servant’s tunic, with the royal sigil on the breast.
If Pater worked in the palace…

Liam tossed back his ale for courage, and
waved down the serving boy. The lad’s face brightened a little when
Liam asked for another drink and a basket of fried onions to be
brought over to his new table. The boy ran off as Liam slid out of
the booth and sauntered over to Pater.

“Shouldn’t you be home with your mum?” Liam
asked, leaning on the edge of the table.

The man looked up, confused for a moment,
but then his eyes widened in recognition. “Liam! Liam Howard! Well
aren’t you the Aspect of Chaos, showing up out of the blue.”

Liam slid into a seat. “Fate makes strangers
of us all, I’m afraid,” he replied, smiling. “And look at you!
Working for the king, eh? What have they got you doing, wiping his
bottom for him?”

“Hah, don’t make japes about the king,”
Pater said, but still smiling. “He can hear mockery a mile away,
they say.”

“How’d a lout like you end up in the palace?
I gather you’ve got to be at least a noble’s bastard to have even a
chance at working in there.”

“I got lucky,” Pater said. “After you
left—your father pulled you out of the regiment, wasn’t that it?
Well, I got made corporal on account of the hole you left, and then
there was a new regimental horse captain a bit later, and we got to
be friends. He ended up the palace stablemaster, and hired me on as
his assistant when I mustered out.” He sipped his ale. “Can’t
complain, though serving nobles is a hundred times worse than
serving officers. At least officers got discipline. Nobles are all
like hummingbirds—this! No, that! No, do it this way! No, wait, I
can’t find my arse with two hands!” He guffawed, and Liam joined
in. “What about you? I thought your dad had taken you out back
east.”

Liam shrugged. “Ah, I ended up as some
noble’s
valo
for a bit, but… didn’t suit me,” he lied. “Dad
wanted me to be ‘better than that,’ meaning soldier work. But I
never had a better time than being in the field with you lot.”

“So what since then? I’m surprised you never
lit out for the hinterlands like you always swore, to see the
Skysilver Spire and all that. I suppose you wouldn’t be here if
things were still looking up, money-wise. You looking for
work?”

Pater was sharp, Liam had to admit.
“Anything’ll do. I can read and write, and keep books in a pinch. I
don’t suppose your master needs another assistant?”

“Nah, just me. I don’t even work with the
horses so much. Mostly I deliver messages for him and help with
counting and sums. He’s got a bunch of hostlers who oversee the
horses themselves.”

“Any openings there? I know a fair bit about
horses.”

“All full up right now, I’m sorry to
say.”

“Really! Even stableboys?” Liam felt
desperate, but he couldn’t let it show. He just had to be a man
looking for work.

“Well… they come and go more than any
others, but we’ve got too many right now. Although…” He looked
around and lowered his voice. “Rumor says the king’s going out
again, at the head of a
real
army this time. To ride against
Vasland.”

So that was it. As badly as Edon might want
Amira, if he really thought Vasland was becoming a threat again—and
for all Liam knew, it might be—war against them would no doubt be
more important. No wonder he’d come back to the capital.