Spell Fade (18 page)

“Um,” Logan interrupted from behind Aliet. “I’m feeling the overwhelming desire to vomit. Anything you can do about that?”

Dartan frowned as he pulled away from Aliet. He opened his mouth to respond, but Logan put up a hand to stop him. Logan put his other hand over his mouth, and swallowed hard.

“Nevermind,” he said. “Too late. Maybe next time.”

Aliet rolled her eyes as she moved away from Dartan. “Shouldn’t you and your new slayer friend be swapping stories about … ,” she scratched her head a moment. “What is it that you guys actually do?”

“Very funny, especially coming from the one person in this group with no special talent at all,” Logan shot back.

“Well,” Dartan interrupted, “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

Aliet’s eyes widened and cheeks flushed as she turned back to face Dartan. “Now that’s an impressive power,” Logan said with a laugh. Dartan could only reply with a small shrug, feigning innocence.

Aliet let out a small huff and turned back to Logan. “I’m sure you had a reason for coming back here,” she said. “What was it?”

Logan was still smiling. “Kinsley is just through those trees. We’ve arrived.”

Chapter Seventeen

Farnir’s family home was simple, but comfortable. At least, it was for about an hour. After that, Logan began to grow restless.

“What could possibly be taking so long?” he asked on one of his many trips through the kitchen. The rest of them sat at the table in front of the fire. It was Farnir who answered, as it had really been directed at him.

“I told you, the council doesn’t make any decision lightly. It may take a while.”

“And we’re stuck in here until they do?” Logan demanded to know, to which Farnir merely nodded.

Logan expelled a loud, frustrated exhale. “Honestly, what could they possibly need to decide that would take this long?”

“Whether or not to let you live?” Farnir offered.

Logan stopped in mid-step. Marcus straightened in his seat and placed a hand firmly on his sword.

Aliet stood and spoke directly to Farnir. “They do realize he’s the heir to the Pavlorian throne, don’t they?”

Only Dartan looked calm, and even had a small smile when Farnir replied. “I didn’t say it was likely they were discussing it, just that it was one possibility.”

Logan charged towards Farnir, arms raised. “Why you little,”

“Logan!” Dartan stopped him, but just barely. Logan still had his arms out as he turned towards Dartan. “Remember,” Dartan said, “he’s just a kid who doesn’t know anything about what goes on at those meetings.” Logan opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, throwing his hands down in disgust. He stomped to the table and dropped down into a chair.

“My father would have beat me for acting like that,” Logan muttered. “And I would have deserved it,” he added as he glared at Farnir. Dartan moved next to the smiling Farnir and leaned in close to his ear.

“You think it’s funny to get him so riled up?” Dartan whispered to Farnir.

“Come on,” he replied with a grin. “He’s a pompous ass and you all know it.”

“Don’t look so amused with yourself,” Dartan said. “You’re well on your way to being just like him.” The smile dropped from Farnir’s face, and Dartan picked it up as he headed back to the table.

“What did you say to him?” Logan asked as Dartan sat down next to him.

“I just told him that as he thinks about what kind of man he wants to be, he should look to you as an example.” He managed to say it with a straight face, but he heard Aliet snort, nearly choking on the ale she was drinking.

“You’re right!” Logan replied, oblivious to Aliet’s coughing fit. He sat up a bit straighter in his chair. “A lot of the slayers in this town could learn a thing or two from watching me,” he said as he nodded his head.

“Indeed,” Dartan agreed, unable to hide his smile now, but not worried as Logan was too absorbed to notice. Laughter, however, would be harder to ignore, and Dartan was finding his hard to contain with Aliet behind him.

“Help … can’t … breathe,” she quietly gasped in between her cough covered laughter.

“Is she alright?” Logan asked casually as he stood and crossed to the window on the far side of the room.

“She’s fine,” Dartan had barely enough time to answer before Logan continued.

“There’s definitely a lot of power here,” he said, peering into the street. “I can feel it, just below the surface, but it’s like they’re afraid to use it.” His frustration was evident, and being essentially trapped in this house was not making things any better. He raked his fingers through his hair and grunted. “Honestly, how long can it take the council to make a decision?”

“Well,” a voice said from the doorway, “it took them just over a year to decide whether or not to allow our kind to join the council.” It belonged to a man who was obviously Farnir’s father. Their resemblance was unmistakable, even down to the mischievous grin.

Logan turned and his face instantly softened. Dartan had no idea what a slayer’s power felt like, but he could see there was a hierarchy here. Without speaking another word, Farnir’s father had Logan’s respect. What was it he had said about not having a choice about obeying?

“I’m sorry, sir,” Logan said, “but we don’t have that kind of time.”

“Not to worry,” he replied. “The council has come to a decision.”

“Really?!” As much as he complained, Logan was genuinely surprised. “Just like that? Without hearing anything from us? What about our side?”

“Logan,” Dartan interrupted. “Let him tell us what they’ve decided before you argue with him.” Logan stared at him for a moment, but he didn’t offer any more attacks.

The smile remained fixed on the man’s face, and he turned it now to Dartan. “You must be the heir,” he said, moving towards him with an extended hand.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Logan demanded from the corner to which he had reprimanded himself.

“Simply that you are obviously the slayer, and the other two are siblings, leaving just this young man to be the heir.”

“And he’s the one acting the most civilized,” Aliet added. Logan merely turned and found something interesting out the window.

“My name is Barson.” He introduced himself with a firm handshake, followed by a slight bow. “And you are the future king of Pavlora.”

“So I’ve been told,” Dartan answered meekly. He still wasn’t feeling anything like a leader, but it appeared to be happening whether he was ready or not.

Barson’s smile widened a bit. “Ah, humility. A fine, but rare trait in a ruler.” Logan snickered from his corner, but Barson ignored him. He leaned in close to Dartan as he spoke. “It just needs to be tempered with a bit of confidence, and you will find it serves you well.” He added a wink, and Dartan found himself grinning back, as if they were sharing in some secret.

“Thank you,” Dartan said quietly. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Barson nodded and stared at Dartan for a moment. “Yes,” he said finally. “You are very much as the wizard described you. It both surprises and pleases me.” He gave Dartan a small squeeze on the shoulder.

What exactly had Alain been telling them about him, Dartan wondered. Furthermore, what did the wizard think he knew about Dartan anyway? How much time had they spent together in total? A day? And now he feels he can just tell complete strangers about him? A heat was rising up his neck, but before it reached his lips, Logan interrupted.

“I believe there is some sort of decision you were going to tell us about. That you made all on your own, with no input from any of us.”

“Yes, of course.” Barson rubbed his hands together and turned to the rest of the room. “Three days,” he announced. “We will give you refuge for three days, hiding you from the Northern Kingdom mercenaries following you, and then provide you with supplies for your journey into the mountains.”

“Three whole days, eh?” Logan said. “How generous of you to put up with us for so long.”

Barson’s smile was immovable. “I’m fairly certain you’ll be quite anxious to leave here well before the third day.”

“I don’t know,” Logan answered. “I think Aliet may have had enough of sleeping on the ground.” Aliet shot him a glare, but remained silent.

“I didn’t say anything about the rest of your group,” Barson clarified. “I said
you
.” Logan’s eyes widened, and Barson continued before his mouth followed. “Come along, heir,” he said, headed out of the room, towards the front door. “The council wishes to speak with you.”

“What about the rest of us?” Logan finally managed to get out.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to stay confined to my home for now,” Barson called back. “At least until we can be sure of the whereabouts of the Northern Kingdom scouts.”

Dartan followed Barson out of the room and could only offer Logan a shrug. Logan answered back with a dismissive wave. From the hallway Dartan heard Logan sigh heavily and then ask, “Farnir, didn’t you say something about having a sister?”

Dartan pivoted on his heel, but Barson caught him by the elbow, spinning him back around. “My daughter will chew him up and spit out what’s left,” he said with a wink. Dartan took one look back, then shrugged. If Barson wasn’t worried, then why should he? “This way, my future king,” Barson said with a small tug on Dartan’s arm. “The council is anxious to meet you.” Dartan allowed himself to be led to the door and out into the narrow street beyond.

The council met in the homes of its members, and this one looked very similar to Barson’s. The biggest difference between the room he had just left and this one was the occupants.

These are the type of men who should be ruling a country, thought Dartan as he looked at the dozen faces staring back at him. Barson appeared to be the youngest member, and at least half, he would wager, were slayers. There was something about them, he was beginning to realize, that gave it away. Beyond that, there was experience and a quiet confidence in all of their eyes. They had all earned respect from the residents of this town, and, in turn, were trusted with guiding it.

Almost reading his mind, Barson leaned in close and said, “Wisdom can be a strong ally to a king, but strength is needed as well. Unfortunately, with age, strength wanes.”

“And wisdom does not always prosper,” a voice from the group added, and was met with agreeing grunts and laughter.

“A truly wise leader then should take council from those more experienced than himself,” Dartan reasoned. There was another round of grunts and Barson gave him a slight nod and a wink.

“It did not take us this long to decide to give you refuge here,” Barson said. “What we have decided, although not unanimously-”

“No.” The interruption came from the eldest of the group. He stared hard at Dartan for a moment, then spoke again. “It is now unanimous.”

Barson nodded to the elder, and then continued. “We have unanimously decided to accept and embrace you as our new king.” He placed his right fist over his heart and fell to his knees before Dartan. The rest of the council followed his lead, pledging their loyalty.

Dartan felt his cheeks redden. “I am truly honored,” he said quietly. “But how can someone so far from royal be treated with such respect?”

“Far from royal?” The smile on Barson’s face faltered for only a moment, but was solid as ever when he spoke again. “Who do you think your parents are, my young king?”

Dartan looked down at his feet, thankful he was already flushed. His answer came out in a whisper. “I have no idea. My mother died when I was a baby, and my father sent me away to be raised by a servant.”

“I can’t speak to how you were raised,” Barson said, “but you can’t get any closer to royal than Queen Elainya.”

“The Virgin Queen?! My mother? How?”

“If anyone else would have even suggested such a thing, I would call it treason,” Barson answered. “This, however, comes straight from Alain.”

Something else the Great Wizard had neglected to share with him. But was it true? How could it be?

“What about my father?” Dartan asked. “Did he say anything about him?”

Barson lowered his eyes. “He did not reveal your father’s name to us, but he spoke as though he knew him well.” Add another item to the growing list of things he demand the wizard tell him. Dartan looked out over the kneeling men and felt a pang of shame.

“Please, rise, and give me counsel.”

“As you wish,” Barson said, rising to his feet.

“Will the rest of Pavlora be so willing to accept me?” Dartan wondered aloud.

“To be sure, there will be those who will not wish to accept the truth of your lineage,” Barson said. “However, with the proper papers, and the backing of Alain, there will be a larger number unwilling to oppose you.”

“And if something were to happen to Alain?” Dartan was thinking about what the Northern Kingdom might have planned. There was also the matter of Alain’s appearance. Each time Dartan saw him, the wizard seemed to grow older.

Barson nodded, as though reading Dartan’s thoughts again. “You would need his spell stone.”

“His what?”

Barson’s forehead wrinkled and his eyes squinted, although the smile remained frozen in place. “You are his apprentice, are you not?”

Dartan looked out at the small crowd of staring faces and swallowed hard. “Yes. Of course I am.”

“And you have not yet learned of spell stones?”

“Well,” Dartan said as he admired his feet. “Alain has been a bit preoccupied with other matters during our brief periods of instruction. I’m sure it has just slipped his mind.”

Barson answered with a grunt, which Dartan found hard to interpret, but was echoed by the others. Another item to add to the list, but should it go above or below asking about his father? Barson interrupted the thought. “If something happens to him, you will need his spell stone. I would make a point to ask about it.” So, above asking about his father. “I dare say it will be the most important thing for all of us should anything happen to the Great Wizard.” Right, top of the list then.

Now, what does that mean? Before Dartan could ask for an explanation, there was a quick knock at the door. One of the men opened it slightly and a pair of wide eyes peered in through the crack.