The Queen of Mages (27 page)

He’d left the armor by the fire and took off
his vest and shirt. He used the same rock Amira had, beating at the
clothes until they no longer felt stiff and oily. Then, still
mortified by the idea of exposing himself before his betrothed, he
waded waist-deep into the stream and struggled to take his trousers
off underwater. He only fell over twice, and arose from the stream
with a splash each time, shivering as the cold night air touched
the water on his skin.
This seems worth the trouble,
a part
of him mocked.

But he was resolute. He treated the trousers
to the same cleansing-by-rock and then, somehow, got them back on.
He emerged from the stream soaked head to toe. At least his
trousers no longer felt embarrassingly tight.

Amira stared into the fire, warming her
hands. Her shift had dried, but she had not donned her other
clothes, leaving her arms bare to the shoulders, and her legs…
Dardan virtuously plunked himself down on the other side of the
fire, laid out his clothes to dry, and bade her good night as he
lay on the spongy earth of the bank. How could he possibly think
such base thoughts at a time like this?

Yet it was the image of Amira sitting by the
fire that finally lulled him to sleep.

———

Dardan hoped that Duke Arkhail himself was
at Thorncross, though he might have still been in Callaston when
Edon returned. Arkhail served on the Greater Council, so he was in
the capital most of the time. If the duke himself wasn’t at
Thorncross, Dardan hoped that his family or seneschal would be able
to help them. They might have a better idea of what to do than he
did, and could take charge of the situation.

It was three more days’ slow ride through
the woods before they came to the farms on the outskirts of
Thorncross. Riding over fields would attract too much attention
here, so they had to risk going on the road. Dardan prayed that the
king had sent no men this way. Amira had proved she could kill
quickly and at need, but a few bandits were quite a different story
than a royal regiment.

But the only armed men they passed on the
road wore the gold and green of House Arkhail, and were thus the
duke’s men. They had watchful eyes but no words for Dardan and
Amira, just two travellers among the other traffic on the road:
farmers driving carts, shepherds driving flocks, traders and
merchants with their wagons full of goods, growing thicker the
closer they came to Thorncross.

The sun was high when they reached the town
itself. Thorncross Town was not large, but it was the dukedom’s
central market, and so its square was almost the size of the Great
Square in Callaston. It was ringed by wayfarers’ inns, and rang
with an endless cacophony of barkers and bargaining. Dardan had
been here a few times, shadowing his father when Asmus met with the
duke.

He made a silent prayer that Asmus was still
alive, and another for his siblings. His mother, he knew, needed no
prayers. The woman was indestructible.

The duke’s castle was a great gray lump,
rising up on a hill beyond the far side of the square. The sight of
it dissolved his anxiety almost completely. Soon they’d be back on
solid ground.

On the flank of the hill, Dardan could see
the great grove of honey locust trees that gave Thorncross its
name. They were beautiful at a distance, but up close one found
that they were covered in long, narrow thorns. The thought made him
glance aside at Amira.

She looked back at him and smiled. The
nights after the riverbank, he had wrestled with his conscience.
They would be married, and it was not right for a man to bed his
betrothed before the wedding. Dardan would not fool himself by
claiming that a riverbank was not technically a bed. Liam would
poke fun at him for being so righteous, even in circumstances such
as these.
Liam. How could I forget him?
He guiltily added a
prayer for his
valo
.

When had Amira become so important to him?
There was never any question in his heart that they would travel
together, even after she revealed her astonishing secret to him.
Perhaps the betrothal had done this to him. One did not wed unless
one was certain, beyond any doubt, that one would hold fast until
death. He would never let that deteriorate, never spend months
apart like his parents… No, this power of hers would not change his
commitment.

They
would
be wed, Dardan told
himself. Even if it had to be in some pitiful village temple, with
a drunken steward presiding and a cow and a pig to witness.

He realized he was staring at her, and
averted his eyes. “Sorry, my lady. I’m a bit distracted.”

“There are quite a lot of people about,” she
murmured, dancing her horse closer. Her leg brushed his, making him
tingle. “It would perhaps be best not to use terms of nobility
where we might be overheard. There’s no sense in advertising our
station.”

Dardan’s cheeks burned even worse, and he
reflexively looked back to see if there was anyone following them.
So many people moved about that there could be half a regiment
hiding among the market stalls, and he’d never know.
I brood
over love while my lady is thinking of how best to protect us.
“Yes, of course, my—my dear.” He wondered what onlookers would make
of them. Amira wore her hodgepodge of stolen and borrowed mail,
leather, and wool. She had a sword now, looted from the bandits,
and her kettle helm. Anyone paying attention would know her for a
woman, but perhaps they’d be taken for hired swords. It was rare
for Garovan women to take such work, but not unheard of. It would
have to do.

They rode around the edge of the market,
keeping well clear of the stalls. Barkers shouted their wares: iron
goods, glass goods, sweet fruits, bread and pastries, eggs and
milk, chickens and pigs for sale. Dardan’s mouth watered; they
hadn’t eaten anything but wild meat and foraged nuts and berries
for days.

Amira was looking at the food too. “Perhaps
we should eat first,” Dardan suggested.

“We don’t have much coin.”

“It’ll only be a few coppers for a loaf of
bread and some butter.”

“Won’t the duke’s family feed us? We should
save our coin if we can.”

Dardan shrugged. “Maybe. Even if they can’t
provide any substantial help, at least they could do that. But
what’s a few coppers? We can get more if we have to.”

Amira narrowed her eyes at him. “How?”

He opened his mouth, but stopped. He had
been thinking like a noble, like someone with resources and
authority. Right now Dardan only had a small pouch of silver with
him. They had nothing else besides their meager possessions and
Amira’s ember. With her power, they could simply take what they
needed, but he would never countenance such a thing. “Fine. If they
don’t feed us, we can return and buy bread.”

Amira nodded and rode on. Dardan followed,
glad she could not see his embarrassment again.

The duke’s castle was no gussied-up pretend
palace, like Elibarran in Callaston. It was a true fortress, solid
and stark, with only one gate and one sally port. Thornstar, the
ancient Arkhails had named it. The gate was open, a colossal iron
portcullis drawn up by huge chains. A wooden drawbridge spanned the
moat, guarded by men in Arkhail gold and green. They stopped and
questioned all who approached.

To seem as unthreatening as possible, Dardan
and Amira dismounted before they came close and walked their horses
the rest of the way. The guards at the tip of the drawbridge waved
them to a stop. “What business here?” asked one, who wore a conical
helm and a bushy black beard.

Dardan stepped forward, butterflies in this
stomach. They had discussed how to approach the duke’s family. It
would be best if a few people as possible knew their true
identities, Amira had insisted, and between them they had come up
with a ruse. “I bring a private message from Duke Arturin Surroi of
Tidemere, for Duke Arkhail, or the duchess, or their seneschal.
Whichever of them is present. It must be given into their hands
only.” He patted his cloak, suggesting a hidden parcel, which did
not exist.

The guard took in his appearance. Dardan
hoped he didn’t look too disheveled from the days of travel. The
man conferred privately with his comrades, then told Dardan to
wait. He went into the castle, and many minutes passed as they
stood out in the hot sun, sweating. It would be unwise for Dardan
and Amira to converse, but he could not help glancing at her every
so often. The other guards had noticed her as well, and though she
was dressed similarly to Dardan and just as dingy, her beauty still
shone through. She drew her dagger and began picking at her nails,
casting dark glances at the guardsmen.

Eventually the first guard returned,
escorting a wizened old man hobbling along on a cane. He had a
kindly, round face despite his years. Dardan thought he looked
familiar; he’d seen the old man hanging about on the margins
whenever Asmus and Duke Loram met. The old man stopped on the
drawbridge and looked at Dardan. “Well, bring them in, I suppose,”
he said in a scratchy voice. “They haven’t the look of murderous
assassins.” The guard rolled his eyes and gestured inward.

The narrow castle yard curved around the
wall of the broad stone keep. A wooden guardhouse sat just inside
the inner gate, and the old man led them within, their horses
having been taken away by a stableboy.

The old man settled into a chair behind a
scarred wooden table. “These furnishings do nothing but irritate my
rear,” he announced, and dismissed the guard. The guard hesitated,
and the old man barked, “If you’re worried they’ll kill me, well!
It would be a relief after all these years of dealing with
mutton-headed young men like you. Out!”

Once he was gone, the three of them were
alone. There was only the one chair, so Dardan and Amira perforce
remained standing. “Well? I was told you have a message. This is as
much privacy as we’re like to get in this confounded place.”

“Er… might I have the pleasure of your name,
sir?” Dardan asked.

“You asked for me! I’d have thought you
already know it. Very well, then. I am Elmer Brahim, seneschal to
House Arkhail. Any message meant for the duke or his mother can be
entrusted to me.”

Amira spoke before Dardan could. “Please
accept our apologies, Mister Brahim,” she said sweetly.

“Lord Brahim,” he snapped. “Customary title
for the Arkhail seneschal.”

She bowed slightly. “Again, my apologies. We
mean no harm, I assure you, but I’m afraid we’ve undertaken a bit
of deception to see you.”

Brahim raised an eyebrow. “Oh ho, perhaps my
time has finally come,” he said. “Well, get on with it. Who are
you?”

Dardan cleared his throat. “I am Lord Dardan
Tarian, son of Count Asmus Tarian of Hedenham.”

Brahim stared at him. “So you say. Well,
what cause would I have to doubt you? Aside from the fact that
you’re dressed like a mercenary and you stink from what I guess is
days of travel. Counts’ sons usually manage to wash once in a
while.”

He listened as Dardan explained how Edon had
invaded Hedenham and attacked them. He even described the
explosions Edon had created, but left out any reference to Amira’s
power. Their journey north since then did not need much detail, and
he also left out the bandits. Explaining how the two of them had
overcome or escaped half a dozen armed men might raise awkward
questions.

“We had hoped Duke Loram—House Arkhail—would
be able to provide succor to us,” Dardan finished. “I’m afraid we
have nowhere else to turn.”

Brahim harrumphed at them. “We had the news
of the king’s death days ago, but you seem not to be aware that
Duke Loram too has been killed.”

Amira gasped, and Dardan froze in shock.
“What?”

“At the palace, when King Edon returned. You
said you had news of Edon’s return, didn’t you? Duke Loram and
Prince Edon never agreed on anything. While Viktor lived, my lord
was quite well-positioned. But Edon apparently considered him an
enemy. It is possible that Loram attempted to undo Edon, after his
patricide, and failed. One of Arkhail’s retainers raced to us with
the news, though we kept it quiet for a time. Loram’s son Gulhin is
the duke now, but the lad’s just sixteen. Of age, to be sure, and
of course he already knows everything there is to know about
ruling, as all young men do.” He smirked at Dardan. “Now, this
power you speak of, to make thunder, or whatever it is…” The old
man scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “It sounds preposterous,
but you seem sincere. And assuming you are who you say you are… you
do have Count Asmus’s look, I’ll grant you that. I’ve met the man
often enough, though apparently never when you were around.”

“I’ve been to Thornstar a few times before,
my lord,” Dardan put in.

“Yes, well, I don’t remember you. I’m sure I
had more important concerns than attending to some count’s
spawn.”

Amira spoke. “Lord Brahim, please, can you
help us? We’ve seen no hint of Edon’s men since we fled, but I fear
what he may have done to our friends in Hedenham. If Edon is
willing to kill dukes, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

Brahim barked a laugh at her. “You are
young, girl. What would you have me do? Duke Loram was a crafty man
and a good master, but if your story is true, there is no standing
up to Edon. A wise man would reaffirm his fealty and keep his head
down.”

Dardan’s voice gained an edge. “That is not
an option for us. Edon holds some grudge, and will likely do us
harm if he finds us. We must flee, or hide, unless we can find some
power of our own to oppose him.”

Brahim stood up. “You will not find such
power here,” he said. “Whatever malfeasance has gotten you in
Edon’s poor graces, we will not share in it. House Arkhail has
already taken a grave wound and I will not let it suffer
further.”