The Wizard King (35 page)

In an unexpected gesture of respect, the Sage retreated to the sitting chamber, allowing them to speak in private.

Athaya crept to the bedside, each step an effort, as if her shoes were weighted with lead. She pulled up a stool and clasped his hand, running her fingers lovingly over the labyrinth of veins that bulged beneath paper-thin skin. Once, these hands had cast spells she could only dream of; now, they were white and bloodless and cold.

“Master Hedric, can you hear me?”

With only those scattered senses not imprisoned by the seal, she brushed against his mind, recoiling in horror at the widespread destruction there. His paths were all but gone, the once-majestic caverns reduced to crumbling bits of rubble from which his magic trickled steadily, hemorrhaging, unable to be stopped.

“God, what has he done to you?”

Hedric’s eyes fluttered open. When he spoke, every word was a labor. “He did nothing, Athaya. This was my own doing. Although, I did not expect either of us to survive it. His experience in repelling the corbals must have given him enough strength to turn aside my charm. Sadly, I had no such strength remaining.”

Athaya squeezed his hand, as if to give some of her own life-force over to him. “Charm? What charm?”

Hedric’s eyes closed again; keeping them open was too taxing. “Ask Jaren later. He took the king to safety. Do not fear for them.”

Athaya bowed her head in a quick prayer of thanks.

“The Sage has sealed my power,” she whispered. “If you can release me, I can take us both to safety.”

Alas, I cannot
, he sent, no longer able to rouse the strength to speak aloud.
My power is dead. As will I be… very soon.

Athaya strengthened her grip. “Don’t talk like that. Why, you’ll begin to sound as dismal as I do and Jaren always chides me for it.”

Hedric managed a crooked smile.
I have lived long, my dear. I bear the Lord no grudge for taking me home. I only wish that I could have been with you on your day of victory, rather than having to watch it in Kelwyn’s company. And Tyler’s, too. They are watching even now, Athaya. Be certain of it.

A cold shiver snaked down Athaya’s back. Somehow, although it unsettled her to think on it, she knew it, too.

Do not grieve for me,
he sent, though his voice was becoming as faint as the errant vibrations in the air around them.
I
can think of nothing more honorable than to die so that other wizards after me may live. But
…
do ask the Sage if he would let me rest in Reyka. It is my home.

Athaya bit her lip hard; she would not cry—not yet. “I will ask… I will demand it.”

You will defeat him, Athaya. Dameronne did not foresee everything… I know that now.
He struggled for another breath and Athaya felt a trickle of strength flow through his grasp.
The Sage calls himself God’s greatest servant,
he told her,
but at this time in history, Athaya, that honor is yours, in part, perhaps, because you would never dare to claim
it for yourself

Athaya took little pleasure in the accolade; how could she, when the man responsible for setting her on that path was dying? “Master Hedric, please don’t leave me—”

But he was already drifting away and she did not think he heard her anymore.

Finish your journal,
he admonished her by way of benediction. He opened his eyes, taking in one last glimpse of his beloved protégé, and then, with a contented smile, sank deep into her pillows. Vision swimming in tears, Athaya bent down and kissed his cheek; the flesh dry as parchment against her lips. Just as she drew back, he gasped once, eyes wide with awesome wonder, and then his breath was expelled for the last time and his eyes closed upon the world, even as they opened to another.

The Sage was at her side shortly thereafter. His hands had stopped trembling and a sense of normality was returning to his demeanor. He gripped a glass of wine in one hand, however, and Athaya suspected that it was not his first.

“He wishes to rest in Reyka,” she said, too paralyzed with grief to cry just yet.

The Sage nodded, and for once his benevolence was not tainted with insufferable superiority. “He was an honorable foe. I shall grant his request.”

Athaya rose to her feet, surprised that she had strength enough to stand. “Where… where is Nicolas?” she asked, hoping to distract herself from the sorrow pressing down upon her by busying her mind with other problems.

“Elsewhere in this castle,” he told her evasively, “but alive and under my protection. And I shall keep him so, as long as you do not trouble me. Now come.” He set the empty glass aside and extended a hand to her. “We must go.”

“If I’m to be your prisoner, I’d rather be held in my own rooms. The dungeon is cold and damp.”

The Sage shook his head imperceptibly. “You will not be staying in Delfarham. Or in Caithe, for that matter. Holding you here would be risky; there would be a chance, however slight, that one of your allies might find a way to free you. They have shown themselves thus resourceful in the past. Now come.”

This time it was not a request, and with Nicolas’ life balanced on her response, Athaya knew she had to obey.

She turned to look upon Master Hedric one last time, so peaceful now, all his earthly cares concluded. He had set her to the task of restoring magic to the Lorngeld of Caithe, and now all of her work lay in tatters. As the Sage led her off to some unknown prison, Athaya could not help but think how twisted all of her dreams had become. For the first time in two centuries, wizardry had indeed returned to Caithe, but not at all in the guise that she had intended or foreseen.

That same night, far from the fires and bloodshed in Delfarham, Archbishop Lukin sat awake in the darkened solar of his Kaiburn townhouse brooding over his reduced fortunes. News of his disgrace had spread like a pestilence, and not even his successor Eldrid, Bishop of Kaiburn, had sent a note to welcome him back to his former see or offer him an honorary place at his supper table. Lukin drummed his nails on the armrest of his chair, glowering passionately. God’s breath, had the whole world been set upon its ear? How was it possible that Princess Athaya and her ilk continued to gain ascendancy in the land, while he—prelate of Caithe, no less!—found himself shunted out of court like a troublesome peasant. What was next? If the Devil’s Children could gain the king’s ear and bend him to their will, then there was no telling what sorts of havoc would reign in Caithe. Would serfs begin to tell their lords which crops to sow and where? Would laymen bless their priests?

“Your Majesty,” Lukin murmured, his voice little more than a dry scraping sound in the darkened chamber, “you grow as big a fool as was your father on matters of magic.”

A sleepy-eyed servant stumbled into the solar just then, knocking only as an afterthought. He scowled only slightly less earnestly than did his master, none too happy at being roused from his bed in the dead hours between midnight and dawn. “Pardon, Excellency, but you have a visitor.”

“What? At this hour?”

“He is a member of the King’s Guard. I told him to come back in the morning, but he claims his news is most urgent—”

“Bring him,” Lukin’s curt reply came. Perhaps the king had realized his error and sent a messenger to summon his archbishop back to court. Perhaps, Lukin considered sourly, but not damned likely. Not as long as wizards like Athaya ruled his every thought and deed.

The servant ushered in a tawny-haired young man in crimson livery and, yawning deeply, returned to his bed. Archbishop Lukin didn’t bother to rise to greet his guest, but merely cocked an inquiring brow at him. “And who might you be, disturbing me at such an hour?”

The guardsman’s bow was crisp and respectful. “Hugh Middlebrook, Excellency. I am truly sorry for the intrusion, but I bear the gravest of news.” He paused, curling his gloved hands into fists. “Delfarham has been attacked by the Sage of Sare.”

The news enticed Lukin from his chair quickly enough and he made rapid circular gestures with his hand, silently demanding details.

“When the princess learned of the attack, she and the king immediately returned to the city. Using magic,” Hugh added, shifting uneasily. “Every wizard of any skill has left their hidden camp for Delfarham, hoping to liberate the city. My squadron was to return in their company, but… I could not. I know it was against orders,” he confessed. “I saw them written in the king’s own hand—but the thought of associating with those
sorcerers
…” He shuddered, as if a rat had just scurried across his boots. “I slipped away as soon as I could. I felt it my duty to tell you of this calamity. Surely you, as God’s most favored servant, can find a way to stop this unholy invasion and free Delfarham from sorcery.”

Shaken by the news, Lukin poured himself a generous glass of strong wine and swallowed half of it in one gulp. He went to the latticed window and stared blindly at the moonlit spires of Kaiburn Cathedral.

“So Princess Athaya makes her move at last, it seems,” he said after a time, aware that Hugh was patiently waiting for his reply. “I have always suspected that this ‘Sage’ is only her hireling, paid to clear her way to the crown…” He turned his gaze northwest and squinted, as if trying to discern the distant turrets of Saint Adriel’s, wondering if they still stood.

“Part of me thinks this is as the king deserves,” he mumbled to himself, “but that does not mean the rest of us should pay the price as well. As prelate of Caithe, it is my holy obligation to save us all from this madness. God would expect no less of me.”

“I will aid you in any way I can,” Hugh offered.

Lukin nodded amenably. “Then stay with me for a few days, Hugh; I may have need of you.”

“Gladly, your Excellency.” Grimly, he added, “There’s nothing to be gained by going back to Delfarham now.”

Lukin called for his servant to show Hugh to a room, ignoring the man’s grumbles at being awakened a second time, then settled back into the shadows of his solar. To his surprise, he was not at all fearful; he had faith that God would guide him to a solution. Perhaps his recent disgrace was only meant to humble him a bit in readiness for his great task.

And humility, he knew, was not something for which the Sage was generally known. Perhaps that, in the end, would be the fatal flaw that led to his undoing.

If it could be property exploited…

“The Devil has his own instruments, just as You do, Lord,” he said. He plucked his prayer book from the table and ran his fingers over the gilded cover. “But we shall prove ourselves the stronger. I swear it.”

* * * *

Athaya’s heart lurched into her throat as the journey came to an abrupt halt; she was rudely deposited upon a rush-covered floor, and promptly tumbled ungracefully to her knees. Unable to stop shaking, she dared not try to stand just yet, fearing for one unpleasant moment that she might lose whatever still remained in her belly. She took deep, bracing swallows of salt-laced air, trying—without much success—to block out the last minute of her life.

The translocation had been terrifying, and not, she suspected, because she was a mere passenger this time. She had never lingered out of the world quite so long; never brushed that close to the churning chaos of the between-place; that close to the gruesome death that awaited those who strayed from the magic path. The Sage was barely in control of the potent spell—that had been the most terrifying thing of all—and Athaya felt as if she had spent the last few moments riding in a carriage with a loose wheel as it careened along a cliffside road, frantically wondering whether she would reach her destination safely or plummet screaming to her death.

Beside her, Brandegarth of Crewe simply got to his feet and dusted himself off as if nothing had occurred. And perhaps to him, she realized, nothing had. That turbulent passage might have been the best he could do—enough raw power to send them hurtling across the world but not enough mastery to make the passage bearable.

“Here, you look in need of this.” Without any sign of dizziness, he strolled to a walnut sideboard and poured her a generous glass of Sarian whiskey.
Sare.
She should have guessed he would bring her here. “You have made such crossings before; you should not look so shaken.”

Athaya held back a caustic comment on his proficiency as she clambered to her feet. Let him think her spell just as deficient, her translocations just as turbulent. She accepted the glass of amber liquid with trembling hands, desperately in need of something to steady her after such a hellish ride.

“Breathtaking, is it not?” he said to her. His eyes shone, as if he beheld some invisible glory that she was blinded to. “We should be honored that God allows us to use His realm as a bridge to another part of our own.”

Athaya’s glass stopped halfway to her lips. “His what?” she asked, even while the truth of it stirred quietly inside her. It was an obvious connection; why had she not thought of it before? That Master Hedric had entertained such notions she did not doubt; Athaya recalled the studied reverence that had settled over him when, months ago, they had talked of translocation and of the mysterious realm through which it led. The spell, it seemed, was an even rarer and more priceless gift than she had realized.

The Sage took great amusement at her ignorance and laughed robustly. “You truly did not suspect?” He shook his head in mock pity. “And I thought Master Hedric said you were bright.” Chuckling, he sipped at his whiskey, gleaming like molten gold in the dim lamplight of the chamber.

A bedchamber, she realized, and then swiftly shoved the thought aside.

“Tell me, what does that place most remind you of?” The Sage addressed her in the same conciliatory tone of voice her childhood tutors often employed when they know full well she did not know the answers to their queries. “Your source of power, of course; that place within you where magic dwells. Did you never think how much alike they are? They’re linked, Athaya. Divinely so.” He rolled a sip of whiskey around his tongue, then swallowed thoughtfully. “Both are places of sight and sound, confusing to our narrow human senses—places that exist, but yet do not in any earthly sense. Within us—within our source—is all that we are, or were, or will be. That place…”