The Queen of Mages (56 page)

After a moment, Iris breathed in sharply. He
stepped back, almost stumbling, then bowed hurriedly and strode
from the hall. Amira watched him go. She bore a faint smile.

“You cannot make everyone dance to your
tune, m’lady,” Katin said.

Amira shrugged. “Warden Iris was born to
dance to someone’s tune. Better mine than Edon’s. He will come
around.”

Back in the great hall, Razh and Dardan
watched Amira as she settled back down. Katin could tell they were
deathly curious, but Amira instead began to speak of the
weather.

The footmen had just brought in the second
course when the house major came in and signaled to Patric. The
valo
lumbered to his feet and went outside with the major
for a moment, then returned, moving with haste. “My lord, forgive
the interruption,” he said. “The city guards bring news. A force of
armed men is approaching the city along the west road.”

Katin’s pulse quickened. She rose to her
feet, unbidden, and saw Liam do the same.

“Do they bear banners?” Razh asked.

Patric nodded. “The eagle of Relindos.”

The passing wind chilled Amira’s face. Pale
morning sunlight glowed through thin clouds above, softening
shadows and giving the city of Elland a flat aspect. Amira was on
her mare, racing for the west gate. Dardan followed close behind;
their
valai
had fallen back a ways. Amira was no great
rider, but her urgency pushed her ahead.

The city’s west gate came into view. Whoever
manned the gate had had enough sense to close it against the
approaching army. An army of a thousand men or more, Amira guessed,
after she climbed the stairs to the top of the wall and looked out
over the rain-dampened grasses. The unmistakable standard of
Relindos stood tall among the mass of soldiers a few hundred yards
from the gate. Some other travellers had become trapped between
them and the city, a small array of carts and wagons belonging to
farmers and merchants. Some of them had begun to skitter along the
wall, perhaps searching for a gate still open, or even just to
escape before the approaching army encircled them.

The exertion of riding and climbing the wall
had made Amira’s chest tight. She gulped cold air and tried to will
her pulse to settle. The presence of Relindos banners did not mean
Edon was there for certain—Wardens Iris and Penrose had carried
such banners in Stony Vale—but Amira had no doubt in her mind. She
glimpsed silver sparks among the mass of soldiers: mages, turned
for a moment so that their silver light was visible even at this
distance.

“Is it him?” Dardan asked. He bulled aside a
city guardsman and leaned against the wall. The guardsman opened
his mouth to object, then thought better of confronting two
agitated nobles.

“It must be,” she said. “There are mages out
there, at least. A lot of them.” It was hard to count the flashes
of silver light, but she’d seen at least a dozen so far.

Liam and Katin came up just then, and a few
moments later Razh and Patric followed. Count Razh gazed out at the
soldiers. “By the Caretaker! How many do you think there are?” he
asked Amira, his breath frosting a little in the morning chill.

“A score. Two. Maybe more. I don’t
know.”

“We knew it might come to this. Which of our
students do you think could handle battle?”

Amira clenched her jaw. The thought of her
students, facing Edon and whatever mages he’d brought, sickened
her. “Garen, Francine, Sophie, Emma, Cora, Vincent for certain.
Jeffrey. The two of us. Benton. Edith. Maybe a dozen altogether.
The others…” The newer mages would never survive a battle. Even
those who had good control over their power had been farmers,
apprentices, laborers. All of them young—mage power seemed to only
come upon those who were nineteen or twenty years of age. None of
the male mages had ever been in worse than a malthouse brawl, and
the girls not even that.

None save Garen and Amira. Razh had been
trained in martial matters the same as any count’s son, but there
was a black chasm between learning about warfare and practicing
it.

She had no choice. “We need everyone up
here, except the newest. Anyone who can block at all.”

Razh nodded at Patric, and the old
valo
rushed down the steps.

He hadn’t yet returned by the time two
riders detached from the army and cantered toward the city. When
the man leading the pair angled around a dip in the land, Amira saw
the telltale silver flash. Was this Edon, come to demand surrender
again? But this man had darker hair and was slight, built not at
all like Edon. He wore a rich scarlet cloak and polished black
boots. He reined to a halt a scant handful of yards from the wall.
Any half-blind archer could pick him off from here, but he
displayed no fear, only a haughty confidence.

“Good morning,” he called out. “I bear the
words of His Majesty Edon Relindos, King of Garova. He bids the
audience of Count Razh Bahodir and Countess Amira Tarian.”

“A bit more polite than last time,” Liam
muttered.

“It seems he knows I’m here,” Amira said.
“No point in hiding.” She leaned over the crenel. “You there. Who
are you?”

The dark-haired man sketched a bow. “I am
Lord Chyros Agari, son of Baron Roben Agari of Brookshire. Are you
Countess Tarian?”

“I am. If you are indeed Edon’s envoy, then
he has likely told you of the last time he demanded I produce
myself from behind a wall.”

Lord Chyros’s mouth quirked into a smile.
“His majesty has favored me with that tale, yes.”

“Why does he not come himself, as in
Hedenham?”

“Why does the king not draw his own bath, or
cook his own food? Besides, it is my pleasure to serve his
majesty.”

“Such does not speak well of you,” Amira
retorted.

Lord Chyros laughed, without scorn or
derision. “He told me you had a wit. Perhaps I myself might be
admitted to the city? I am only one man, and it would be more
pleasant, I’m sure, to treat face to face than shouting out here in
the cold.”

“You are only one
mage
,” Amira
corrected him. “And you have your
valo
with you.”

Chyros shrugged. “You can see that he’s no
mage. I daresay you have enough men in there to keep him contained
while we speak.”

Amira looked at Dardan. He watched the whole
scene with brow furrowed, concern written plainly across his face.
She felt a great deal of love for him, and only the faintest trace
of bitterness, from their arguments this winter past. Would that
have to persist forever? “He is indeed only one man,” Dardan said,
“even if he is a mage. I do not think Edon would send such a man to
assassinate you.”

“I know what Edon wants. Why treat with him
at all?” Amira said.

“To buy time. The students should be here
soon. If Edon attacks the city, we’ll need every defender we can
muster.” He addressed Razh. “How many guards does the city watch
have?”

“Two hundred or so. We have arms for maybe
twice that, and can conscript men if need be. I don’t know that
they’d be of much use unless Edon’s soldiers get into the city.
With our mages, we can prevent Edon’s from smashing through the
wall, perhaps indefinitely. But he can still besiege us, and I
cannot expect anyone would come to our rescue.”

“He hasn’t spread his forces out yet,” Liam
pointed out.

Amira shook her head. “He’s arrogant. He
still thinks there’s a chance I’ll surrender willingly.” She
realized her hands ached from clenching tightly on her skirt. She
let go and flexed her fingers for a moment. “I suppose it would not
hurt to listen to this Lord Chyros.”

Dardan nodded. “Yes, but we must be
cautious, even if he is only one man. How many mages would you have
with you to feel safe against him launching some sort of surprise
attack?”

“We’ve experimented,” Amira said. “Any two
mages can easily keep a third suppressed.”

“Then let us have four, in addition to you
and Razh, who will be distracted by talking to the fellow.”

Amira felt her pride tingle a little, and
she almost argued that they’d be fine—but he was right. Her pride
need not come before safety. And they did not need more bitterness
between them.

Dardan took Liam down the stairs to arrange
somewhere for the meeting to happen. Amira leaned out again.
“Forgive the delay, Lord Chyros. The gate will be opened for you in
a moment.”

Chyros sketched a deeper bow this time, then
turned aside to converse quietly with his
valo
. Amira pulled
away from the battlement, her chest heaving. She hadn’t realized
until it was quiet how loudly her heart thumped. She focused on her
ember. It was a warm comfort against the chill morning air.

They went down the steps and waited in the
square before the gate. Dardan had ordered the city guards to clear
the square. A variety of curious onlookers were gathered at the
roads leading deeper into the city, but they stayed well back.

After a moment, Dardan came out of a
counting-house on one edge of the square, and waved when he saw
Amira and Razh. “In here will do,” he said. “Master Coleman has
been kind enough to provide us with the needed quarters.”

Only a minute later, Patric came riding back
at speed with what looked like the entire school’s student body.
“Pardons, m’lady, but once they heard what was going on, they all
insisted on coming.” He looked faintly embarrassed behind his white
mustache at failing to manage a bunch of children, but Razh clapped
him on the shoulder and commended him for his quick riding.

Amira faced her students. “Emma, Francine,
Sophie, Cora. I need you four with me.” She explained their plan to
meet with Edon’s emissary. “The rest of you… I will not order you
to fight, but I can promise you that Edon will give you no quarter
if he does attack. We may be facing our deaths today. Those of you
who would see to our defense, please array yourselves along the top
of the wall.”

“To do what, m’lady?” asked Jeffrey. He was
tall, blond, with a sweet face that belied a deranged enthusiasm
that emerged whenever he got to use his power. He was loyal and
friendly, but seemed to like nothing more than blowing things up,
which sometimes worried Amira.

“To watch Edon and his army, and if they
attack…” She gulped. “Do what you can.”

Jeffrey nodded and exchanged uneasy glances
with the other students as they trotted off toward the wall.

Amira took Dardan aside a little ways. “I do
not want Lord Chyros feeling overwhelmed. There will already be six
of us in there, against only him.”

“He did not strike me as particularly
susceptible to intimidation,” Dardan said. “We should leave our
valai
outside, but I will not miss this meeting.”

Amira sighed. “Fine. But please, let me and
Razh do the talking. Lord Chyros will most likely want to converse
directly with us, since we are all mages.”

Dardan’s face closed up. “More mage-work. I
suppose I would have nothing to offer.” That last came out bitter.
Amira pursed her lips and made a silent prayer to the Aspect of
Despair that Dardan would let go of that feeling.

Once the guards atop the wall verified that
Edon’s army had kept its distance, the gate was unbarred and opened
just enough to admit Lord Chyros Agari and his
valo
. The
valo
glared suspiciously at everyone and kept his hand on
his sword, but Chyros ordered him to dismount and surrender his
weapon to the city guards. Chyros readily handed over his own sword
as well.

Only once he was thus disarmed would the
city guards let Razh or Amira come near the man. Not that the
guards were much of a threat to him, but that was their training.
Emma, Francine, and the others had kept their beads ready the whole
time, in case Chyros did attempt some attack. But he hadn’t even
summoned a bead of his own. He merely glanced at the other beads
with a contemptuous smile.

“My lord,” Amira said, bowing slightly.

Chyros, to his credit, bowed as deeply as
baron’s son should before a count and countess. “My lady. Count
Bahodir. Count Tarian. I know we are not friends, but perhaps you
could provide some wine while we converse? I’m unaccustomed to
riding so long through open country as his majesty has had us
doing.”

Amira caught Katin’s eye—her
vala
had
taken up station a few yards off, as Amira had instructed—and
nodded. Katin rushed off. “Have you been on the road long?” Amira
asked conversationally. She gestured toward the counting-house, and
Chyros led the way. City guards followed them close, clearly
hostile to their visitor. Amira hoped Razh had told the men to
behave themselves; it would not do to send Edon his envoy back full
of holes.

“A few weeks,” Chyros said. “An army as
large as ours does not travel at speed.” He settled into a
dark-stained oak chair behind a desk festooned with scales,
ledgers, inkwells, and papers. There were several other such desks
arranged around the edge of the room. The building had been emptied
of people, save for a pair of city guards stationed at the
door.

Half a dozen chairs had been arranged in
front of the desk. On impulse, Amira whispered to her fellow mages
to ask that they stand. Only she and Razh and Dardan would sit.
Dardan was probably right that Chyros might not be easily
intimidated, but it couldn’t hurt to have her mages looking down
upon him with hard eyes. They all knew what Edon had done; any
agent of Edon’s was no friend of theirs.

Amira and Razh sat, but Dardan stayed
standing behind Amira, his hands resting on the back of the chair.
It felt good to have him there, but she wanted to be able to see
his eyes. Clearly he wanted to feel, and perhaps look, protective
of her.

“Not to leave the pleasantries behind too
quickly, my lord,” Razh said once the nobles were settled, “but I
believe we should focus on the matter at hand.”

“Too true, my lord,” Chyros said, stretching
out his legs. “Well. His majesty, as I said before, wishes to meet
with the two of you.”

“To what end?” Amira asked.

Chyros leaned forward and put his palms on
the desk. “To discuss how we will all put the unfortunate events of
the past behind us, and move forward to forge a greater destiny for
all the mages of Garova. Ah.” His eyes lit up as Katin came in with
a tray bearing wine cups and a ceramic jar. She poured the wine,
eyeing Chyros all the while.

When she stepped back against the wall and
waited, Amira said, “Thank you, that will be all.” Katin gave her a
withering glare as she went out the door, but Amira ignored
her.

Chyros drank deep from his cup without even
stopping to sniff at it. Razh caught Amira’s eye, and she wondered
if he was thinking the same thing:
Lord Chyros fears no poison
from us. Do we really seem that harmless to him?
Perhaps it was
only a brave show on his part. Even if so, he was acting a great
deal braver than Amira felt at the moment.