The Wizard King (31 page)

Tonia winced and rolled her eyes in mock-anguish. “Lord help us.”

Despite lingering feelings of awkwardness, the thought of staying for a meal was oddly appealing. Durek offered a slight bow to Tonia. “The honor would be mine.”

Honored or no, Durek stayed close to Athaya’s side as they waited for the rabbits to finish roasting—and a pair of deer, though his Majesty made no comment on poaching game from the king’s forest. Guardedly at first, he accepted the greetings of those who ventured forward to address him. Among them, Gilda brought her son to meet the king—a boy, Athaya quietly remarked to Durek, that would never have been born had Gilda been absolved. Girard offered cautious respects as well, not bothering to hide the hand whose fingers had been severed by a Justice’s blade or the story behind his injury. Durek accepted the tales with growing solemnity, each an added weight upon a conscience already disturbed by the forest chapel and the ghosts he knew still tarried there.

“Do you think they believed me?” he asked Athaya later, as they went to the spits to claim their share of meat. “What some of them have been through… it’s a wonder they let me come here at all.”

Athaya didn’t argue the point. She didn’t tell him so, but she was almost as surprised as Durek that her people had shown such benevolence “Well, they’re not all as mulish as I am.” Then, more seriously, she added, “You’re their king, Durek. And you were honest with them—no false promises or professed changes of heart. Frankly, I think it’s more than they expected. They may surprise you with their loyalty.”

Durek was able to relax even further as the evening wore on; he reclined near the bell tower with a second helping of venison, enjoying the informal supper in spite of himself. As Athaya prophesied, Ranulf had indeed begun to sing, and she even caught Durek’s lips moving along silently in time to a bawdy drinking song she had no idea he knew.

It was an hour before midnight when Tonia came up behind them with a grave expression on her face. “Jaren’s opened a panel to you in the chapel,” she whispered to Athaya, not wishing to disturb the others’ revels. “I’d think you’d better come quickly. Both of you.”

Durek followed at her heels as Athaya made her way across the clearing, deftly dodging tent stakes and strings of laundry. The silvery panel stood just before the altar, framing Jaren neatly within it like a life-sized portrait. Instantly, she knew the pallor on his face was not the result of his recent fever. He was calling from the king’s council hall, and behind him, almost out of the panel’s range, Athaya glimpsed Master Hedric and Captain Parr engaged in openly hostile conversation. Hedric pointed urgently toward the panel; Parr, refusing to look, sniffed with disdain and stalked away.

A handful of other men huddled in the rear of the chamber, all of them sharing the same deeply troubled expression. Athaya fumbled at her purse, cursing as she frantically searched for the proper ward key. It was extremely rare for the council to still be in session so late; the news must be grave indeed.

Finally, she found the proper key and applied it to the panel’s frame to complete the link, opening her side with a lightning-flash of white. “I’m here, Jaren. What’s the matter?”

At the sound of her voice, the king’s councillors turned toward the panel in unison, eyes wide and pleading like a flock of frightened children. “Majesty, we are undone!” one cried, seeing Durek’s image in the panel just behind Athaya. “This is terrible. Terrible!”

“You’ve got to leave Kaiburn now,” Jaren told her, ignoring the clucking councillors behind him.

Athaya felt her supper churn unpleasantly inside her belly. “Why? Is the Sage ready to attack?”

“No, Athaya. He already has. Kaiburn was just a ruse; the Sage’s entire army just launched a massive assault on Delfarham. They haven’t reached the castle yet, but we can see the fires from here.”

Durek tensed beside her. “But hundreds of his men were seen near here just yesterday,” he protested, “at Leaforth. The sheriff saw them…”

“Did he?” Jaren countered. “Or did he only see an illusion? A decoy? Mason himself proved how easy it is—he used the same trick to get out of Kilfarnan. And remember what he said about using mirrors? Chances are good that the ‘hundreds’ of men your sheriff saw were only a dozen wizards casting decoys. Mason is furious with himself for not seeing through the ploy—”

“It’s not his fault,” Athaya said quickly. “Hell, none of us saw through it either.”

Jaren nodded wearily, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand; he looked exhausted already and the battle was barely under way. “None of that matters now. We need your help, Athaya—and the help of every wizard you can bring with you, if it’s not already too late. The council and the Guard are in an uproar—orders or no, Parr refuses to do what Hedric tells him, much less listen to a word I say. Mason and his contingent are out in the city doing what they can, but their efforts will only slow the Sarians down. At this rate, it won’t be long before the Sage reaches the castle itself.”

Durek slammed a fist against the back of a pew in frustration, heedless of the pain. “Even if we rode without stopping, it would take almost two full days to get back to Delfarham!”

“Not for all of us,” Athaya replied, a knowing glimmer in her eyes. “I can’t very well bring an entire army with me,” she resumed into the panel, “but I can come back right now and do what I can. Maybe…” Her words trailed off for a moment as she pieced together a plan. “Find out where Kale is keeping that pouch,” she said vaguely, careful not to mention the corbals specifically. Not only was it best that only a very few people know of her newfound ability to channel power through the corbals, but she seriously doubted the extent of the council’s loyalty to her. If one of them were taken during the assault, they might blurt out her most valued secret in an effort to buy back their freedom. Even worse, the inconstant Captain Parr might decide for himself that this heretofore-unknown ability made her a worse enemy than the Sage could ever be and, ally or no, deliberately betray her. The last thing any of them needed was for the Sage to learn of her only trump card and discover a way to counter it.

“Bring the pouch to the council hall. Maybe I can use it to whip up a spell the Sage hasn’t seen before—or any of us, for that matter. It might surprise him into retreating long enough for reinforcements to arrive from the camp.”

Jaren didn’t bother to hide his opinion of the plan. “Athaya, that’s damned dangerous and you know it. Hedric said it could kill you.”

“Only if no one’s there to cover them up if I can’t stop my spells. That’ll be your job. Now, are we going to stand here arguing about it or do we give it a try? I haven’t got any better ideas and you said yourself that we don’t have much time.”

Jaren’s mouth formed a firm line of disapproval, but he didn’t debate the matter for long. “All right. Just hurry. And send as many wizards as you can.”

He closed the panel abruptly, leaving behind only a doorway of smoky mist. When Athaya touched on her ward key to shut down her side as well, the silvery oblong vanished. Then she took Durek’s arm and hustled him down the leaf-strewn aisle. “I’m sorry I have to desert you like this, but I’ll have someone guide you back to your men—”

“No,” he said, wresting his arm away and rooting his feet to the flagstones. “I’m going back with you.” Durek didn’t even pause to consider what he was asking: to travel by ways that few wizards ever see, much less other men. He only knew that he had to get home.

Athaya stared at him, aghast. “Don’t be a fool—the Sage would like nothing more than to capture you and parade you through the city in chains as his prisoner. Like it or not, this camp is probably the safest place for you. And besides, we need magicians for this battle, Durek. You can’t help.”

“Damned if I can’t! You heard what he said.” Durek jabbed a finger at the spot where Jaren’s panel had stood. “The guard and council won’t listen to wizards—we both need to be there to hold this alliance together. And I have to let the people know I haven’t deserted them!” He cut off her next word with a sharp gesture. “Athaya, I have the greatest obligation of anyone to be in Delfarham right now. I won’t launch into another speech about family duty… but don’t you see?” He set both hands upon her shoulders, holding her firm. “I’m not speaking to you as your brother, but as your king. I command you to take me back to Delfarham. Now.”

Athaya almost refused. But it only took an instant to realize that her refusal would be an irreparable betrayal of trust; a betrayal that would shatter the fragile trust upon which their alliance was built. She had sworn to obey him, and obey him she must.

Durek waited for her answer, likewise aware that her answer would prove her commitment—or lack of it. He let out a thin sigh of relief when she offered him a reluctant nod. “Then come along,” she said, “there’s no time to lose.”

They had only gotten as far as the threshold when Athaya skidded to a stop and clutched her forehead; yet another complication had reared its ugly head. “Wait—what are your guardsmen going to think when you vanish from here without a trace?”

“Damn! I’d better warn them. They’ll attack this place if I don’t come back—assuming they can find it,” he added dryly. “Have you ink and parchment?”

“In my old room… but wait! Why don’t we send them all back together?”

Athaya rapidly detailed her plan and then summoned Ranulf and Tonia to meet them in the dormitory. While Durek scribbled orders for his men, Athaya told the others of the surprise attack on Delfarham. “Ranulf, I want you to be in charge of finding as many wizards as you can to join up with Durek’s men—they’re waiting for him right now near the sheepfold. You’re all to return to Delfarham together.”

Ranulf grinned roguishly. “Well, won’t that be an amiable journey?” he remarked, arching a bushy red brow. “I’ll wager the fighting will start long afore we reach the enemy.”

“See that it doesn’t,” Durek said sharply, handing over a folded sheet of parchment. “You’ll outnumber my men easily, so they shouldn’t trouble you unless you goad them to it. At least I hope you’ll outnumber them,” he added, biting his lip in concern. “I suppose I’m about to find out just how effective my speech was.”

“Once you get there,” Athaya continued, “do anything you can to help free the city. I don’t know how yet… try to contact one of us when you arrive. Maybe we’ll have a plan in place by then. As for you, Tonia, I need you to stay here—at least for now.”

Tonia expelled a shallow sigh of resignation. “Aw, I figured you’d say that.”

“I know, but someone has to look after the newcomers whose spells aren’t under control yet. And if the Sage does send a force here, I need someone with your skill to defend it. Gilda’s good, but she’s not a Master.”

Once everything was settled, Ranulf and Tonia set off to patch together an army, while Athaya quickly told Durek about the spell of translocation and what he should expect from his journey back to the capital

“You might be frightened by the place we pass through; even the Overlord of the Circle was rattled when I took him through it. Just don’t let go of me, whatever you do.” Without going into grisly detail, she told him what would happen were he to release her during the spell. Durek paled a bit, but his resolve to go was not shaken.

“Just don’t expect me to be of much use right away,” she warned him, as she motioned him to the center of the tiny room. “This spell takes almost all of my power.”

“But I thought… I mean, when you came to see Nicolas the night he got sick, you said that it didn’t anymore—”

“That was before the sealing spell started wearing off. It’s all a bit complicated to explain right now. Just know that I’ll need at least an hour’s rest before I can work any real magic.”

Durek nodded mutely.

“Ready?”

Durek swallowed, wiping slick palms across his surcoat. “What do I do?”

“Just hang on tight. And remember—don’t let go.”

Athaya reached out to fold him into a tight embrace; the first time, she realized, that she had embraced him so snugly since offering congratulations at his wedding to Cecile five years ago. Relaxing as much as she could, Athaya rested against Durek’s chest and conjured a vision of the council hall in her mind, focusing on every detail: the leaded glass windows, the enameled table, the cushioned throne. And then, just before whispering the words that would send them hurtling through that between-place, she added one more piece of advice.

“And pray, Durek. Just pray.”

Like crickets silenced by an approaching storm, the din of frantic voices was abruptly extinguished when Athaya and Durek winked into existence before the crimson-cushioned throne in the council chamber at Delfar Castle. Durek reeled for an instant, shaken and speechless at the manner of arrival, and braced himself on the arm of his throne to keep from toppling ungracefully to the floor. With Jaren’s prompt assistance, Athaya staggered to a chair at the council table and rested her head atop folded arms, woozy and drained by the effort.

In striking contrast to the peacefully merry evening she and Durek had left behind in the forest camp, the council chamber at Delfarham was fraught with dread at the advancing battle. The great lords of Caithe whickered like restless horses preparing to bolt from a burning barn, sensing impending doom. Outside, the night sky flickered angrily with distant lightning while thunder rolled continuously, as if a legion of children were rolling empty barrels up and down the city’s cobbled streets. Fat drops of rain pelted the latticed windows, eerily ineffective against the arcane fires dotting the cityscape. The briefest of probes was enough to tell Athaya that this was no natural storm, but one of the Sage’s making.

She gave Durek a sluggish nod to assure him she was light-headed but otherwise fine, and then the king got down to the serious business of saving his capital city.

“What’s our situation?” he asked of Master Hedric. Across the room, Captain Parr bristled at not being asked to report first, but the danger of losing everything was all too real and Durek was unwilling to waste precious time keeping his servants’ feathers smoothed.