The Singer's Crown (18 page)

“I was once called Jordan, your Highness.”

“Jordan, will you come with me to meet the king?”

“I will, and thank you for the meal.”

They gathered up the remnants of breakfast and left the little room, mounting the stairs to the upper levels. “If you have not met the earl, then I assume you would have no news of my sister either?”

“No, Highness.”

“She is at his keep on a Goddess Moon. Ignorance may serve better than knowledge to keep her safe from the earl—at least for now. I wish I knew why Kattanan was leaving there; it might tell me so much.”

“He was on foot, with only a small bag, and it was the middle of the night, so I doubt the journey was by choice. The brigands who assaulted him claimed to be the earl's own men. I was riding to the keep—I had heard that he was there but that his position was tenuous at best.”

“You and your associates have spies inside the keep?”

“There are those who bring us tidings.”

“Your associates are friends of the earl's.”

Jordan paused on the landing to look at the prince through piercing eyes. “You have a way of getting more from a man than he means to say, Your Highness.”

Wolfram put out his hands, palm up. “I try to listen very carefully. I certainly do not mean to put you on your guard against me.”

“I am always on my guard, Highness.” The ghost of a grin came upon his lips. “You speak to many wizards, don't you?”

“When I have to. I speak to as many people as I can. You are avoiding the question I have not asked.”

“I know, because I can't be sure of the answer. To the best of my knowledge, my associates have nothing to do with your father's illness. They do not have designs on the kingdom of Bernholt.” He watched the prince closely, and Wolfram narrowed his eyes.

“Yet they have knowledge of the wizard, and apparently the earl, but have volunteered nothing. You are wise not to trust them.” The prince looked him in the eye. “I hope you can trust them with Kattanan.”

“I hope so, too.”

“That was a less-than-comforting answer.”

Jordan joined him on his stair, then kept on. “Then you will understand why I would like to return there as soon as possible.”

Wolfram nodded. “This way.” They soon stood before the king's door, facing a file of armed guards as they were announced to the king. The steward returned in a moment and bobbed a brief bow.

“His Royal Majesty, Gerrod of Bernholt, requires proof of your claim,” the steward said.

The Liren-sha considered, gazing over the little man's head. “Ask if he has some enchanted trinket that he would not mind losing, something cursed by magic, perhaps.”

The man returned, this time with a small object in his hand: a toy soldier, worn with play, with a tiny crown that glowed in the daylight.

For a moment Wolfram squeezed his eyes shut. “Why that?” He sighed.

“The king said that this is mere sentiment, and worth little with or without the enchantment.” He offered it to Jordan, who glanced aside at the prince but took it without comment, then handed it back. The crown and glow had faded away, leaving just an old toy.

“Return this to your king, and tell him the Liren-sha awaits.” When the man had gone, Jordan whispered to the prince, “You do not look well, Highness.”

“That was all the magic a seven-year-old could afford. I loved that soldier, even more when he was crowned.”

“The king will see you,” the steward announced, standing aside from the door. Wolfram let his companion go first, both pausing inside to let their eyes adjust to the dim light. They bowed, and Jordan stepped a little forward.

“May I approach Your Majesty's bedside?”

“Unless you can dispel it from there,” the king rasped. He peered at Jordan from beneath heavy brows, coughing into a cloth. “Where have you come from?”

“The North Road. I hear your daughter has just gone that way.”

The old king smiled and gave a faint nod. “She is with a suitor, a strong young earl. Goddess willing, they'll marry soon.”

Jordan looked up from his study of the king to meet Wolfram's eyes with a small frown. “By your leave, Your Majesty, I will need to touch your head.”

“Come to it then. I have been needled and leeched by every physician and healer for miles around, and not one has even eased the pain.” He scowled, eyes focusing on the prince, where he waited off to one side.

Jordan knelt and pulled off his gloves, tucking them into his belt. He took a deep breath, and laid his hands on the king's temples. Their breathing synchronized, and Jordan shut his eyes. King Gerrod's eyes flew open wide, and he jerked away. “Light! Give me light!”

Wolfram drew aside the curtains, letting in a stream of light dyed blue and gold by stained glass. The king cackled and clutched at Jordan's arm. He took deep breaths then, and laughed again. Struggling to push himself upright, though, he growled darkly. “What is this? I am still weak as a child!”

“Sire, the magic is gone. What you feel is the result of your treatments; it will pass.”

“I should banish those fool physicians.”

“No,” Jordan replied, “they did all they could for you, but the sickness was not of the body. There was nothing for them to cure, Your Majesty, but the semblance of sickness.”

“This wizard is a master of illusions,” Wolfram added, moving a little closer, joy and pain warring on his face.

“You know so much about wizards,” the king scoffed.

“I have been learning, to try to find a way to help you.”

“Learning! I should have known. Steward, some ale, I think. Take away this drugged wine. I have no need of it.” Gerrod looked back to Jordan. “Any reward shall be yours, beginning with a feast in your honor as soon as I am well enough to attend.”

“I cannot stay, Your Majesty. I have other matters to attend to.” Jordan tried to rise, but the king held his arm.

“I have said you will stay.” His grin stopped as his eyes burned at the Liren-sha. “I have a mind to grant you knighthood if you do not have it already.”

“The offer is most generous, but I must leave.” With a supple twist of the arm, he released himself from the king's grasp and moved quickly out of reach. “It is probable that you have not heard the last of the wizard. The prince will know how to reach me, if you have further need of my services.” He bowed and turned, but Gerrod bellowed, “Guards!”

In an instant, three men crowded into the room, effectively barring the door, swords drawn, eyes flashing. “What is your will, Sire?”

“This man has lifted the sickness from me, and I, by right of birth the King of Bernholt, require him to stay. He is far too useful to go so soon. Give him every luxury.”

“Your Majesty,” Jordan began, gritting his teeth, “I do appreciate your offer, but my business is urgent. I will leave instructions with Prince Wolfram—”

“Am I not king in my own castle? You are my subject.”

“Father, please, this man came of his own will to aid you—”

“I will have silence!” the king roared, breathing hard. “And I will have my crown.””

Wolfram fell to one knee and took the crown from his head, offering it with lowered eyes. Gerrod snatched it away and clapped it to his silvering hair.

With a flicker of a glance to the prince, Jordan sighed, “Very well, where am I to stay?”

“The steward will appoint you one of the finest rooms, and my men will stay nearby, should you have need of them.” The king's head was raised, his gaze steady and his smile fixed.

Jordan inclined his head, and turned on his heel to follow the guards. Before Wolfram had even emerged from the chamber, Jordan broke from the guards and streaked around a corner toward the stairs. Taken by surprise, the guards stampeded after him, weighed down by armor. Jordan careered down the stairs and slammed into a chambermaid. They fell in a heap, and her face shifted and changed.

“Bury you, Wizard's Bane,” muttered the Wizard of Nine Stars.

“Wizard!” shouted a guard, and they were on the move again, hauling both up from the floor. A small cask of ale spurted out its contents across the stairs beside a fallen tray.

“I'd swear that was Hallie a moment ago!” the guard in front exclaimed, pointing at the ragged woman. “She was to bring the king's ale.”

“Bury you in stone!” she hissed at Jordan. “If not for you, I could have slipped past.”

“What are you doing here?” Jordan demanded.

“Guess!” she snapped, turning away.

“Tell me how you are called,” the guard captain ordered, sword at the ready.

She bared her teeth at him, but could not escape the command. “The Wizard of Nine Stars.”

“Treason!” the other bawled. “To death with you, wizard.”

The wizard snaked out a hand and caught Jordan's sleeve. “If they kill me, all of my spells are undone. All of them, and we don't know what your precious Kat will be doing at the time.” Her eyes bored into him, thin lips set in desperation.

A groan of anguish escaped him. Jordan looked at Wolfram, who had joined the group on the landing.

“So this is the one responsible for the king's ailment,” the prince said, studying her.

“I cannot allow her death, Highness,” Jordan whispered. “If she dies, Kattanan may be in great danger.”

“She cursed my father, the king of this land,” Wolfram responded, eyes dark.

“Do you think I have forgotten that?” Jordan looked at her and at the ground. “Chain us together.” He met the prince's gaze then, and spoke louder, “Chain us together. As long as I am present, she can make no magic.” He turned to the circle of guards. “I am the Liren-sha, Wizard's Bane. You need not kill her now. Would it not be more fitting to prepare a public execution, so that all may see the reward for treason?”

The captain nodded slowly. “So ye'll be staying.”

“If this is how it must be, I will.” He fastened his fingers around the wizard's wrist. “I suggest we stay right here until your man returns with the shackles.”

“Jordan, don't do this,” Wolfram hissed urgently. “I don't know what hold she has over you or Kattanan, but she is a traitor, and it is only a matter of time until she is killed.”

“I know, and I need every minute, Highness. I cannot let her die, you cannot let her live.”

“If it were anyone other than this wizard—” The prince let his hands fall.

“This wizard has every intention of staying alive, thank you,” she snapped, leveling her yellow eyes on him. She darted glances to the floor and ceiling and down to where the guard returned, chains dangling from his hand. She pulled urgently against Jordan's grip, but the iron band was clicked shut about her wrist. He let go then and pushed back his sleeve, offering the scarred wrist to the guard. Hesitating, the man glanced at the scars, then up at him.

“Have done with it,” the captain commanded, and the soldier complied, stepping back from the pair. “Best disarm him as well, take no chances.”

Wolfram looked to the swords at Jordan's waist, at his bound right hand hovering near the hilt, and said nothing.

“Go tell your father, Highness,” the Liren-sha murmured. “Let him hear from you that the wizard has been captured.”

Sighing, the prince nodded and started to turn, but the wizard lunged forward. She snatched one long sword from the astonished guard and slapped it before the prince's neck. “We are leaving, and the prince is coming along.” Her voice trilled with dangerous power; her hand holding the sword twitched it ever so gently under Wolfram's chin as she knotted her off hand in the back of his tunic.

“Don't do this!” Jordan cried.

“You weren't getting us out of this, Bane, so shut up. Down the stairs, Prince.”

The guards shifted, swords wavering, but finally moved aside.

Wolfram stumbled on the first step, and a silky drop of blood crept down his neck.

“Back off, wizard,” Jordan growled.

“If you weren't dragging me, this would be much easier.”

Stumbling, running when they reached a hallway, the wizard urged on the awkward trio.

“There'll be archers at the gates,” the prince breathed carefully.

“Back gate, I have a horse,” Jordan said.

They slipped to the servants' stair, crashing into a laden page.

“Clear the way, or your prince dies!” She twitched the blade, and Jordan's hand caught it over Wolfram's shoulder as the page scurried off.

“Do not play with this man's life,” Jordan muttered.

The wizard glowered. “You're cutting your hand.”

His expression froze, the hand did not move.

“How did you plan to get us out of here?”

“Not by taking this man's life in my hands.” Still, Jordan released his hold on the sword, letting his hand hover there as they hurried on.

They burst into sunlight, startling doves off the roof.

The wizard yelled, “Open that gate!”

Scrambling down the stairs, the guard emerged, fumbling the keys. The gate squealed, and he leapt aside as they plunged through.

Flinging Wolfram away from her, the wizard rushed forward, but Jordan held them back a moment.

The prince, on his knees, clapped a hand to his throat. “Get out,” he gasped.

“Come on!” the wizard snarled. “They'll follow us!”

“There is no map to where we go,” Jordan said, locking his eyes to the prince's, then he ran down the path. Despite his long strides, the wizard kept pace fiercely, brought up short by the chain when he paused to look toward the river. “Bury it! Where's my horse?”

“If you weren't so cursed clever,” the wizard panted, shaking the chain at him, “I could be there by now, horse or no.”

“We'll cross the river.” The pair trotted forward again.

“What? Here at least we have the trees.”