The Wizard King (29 page)

Without a word, Durek crossed the chamber to the window, passing into Athaya’s view. She studied her brother’s profile carefully. He looked as if he had been given a gift he knew he did not deserve and was fumbling for a suitable response. He felt embarrassed and awkward—definitely in need of someone to rescue him.

“Ah, here you are,” she said, striding into the chamber as if she had just arrived. “The coach and escort are ready. It’s time we left.”

Durek was quick to agree. “Yes. Yes it is. I was just… that is, I came to see Nicolas before we left. See how he was doing.”

Athaya nodded obligingly, careful not to betray her suspicions that Nicolas was not the real reason he had sought out this chamber. Absently, she wondered if this was not the first time that Durek had spoken privately with Master Hedric, perhaps seeking out his advice where he was too proud to ask for hers. If he was, it would be the best of all possible signs that he was slowly trying to comprehend her people, just as Kelwyn had—if with admittedly more enthusiasm—so many years before.

To her right, Nicolas was tucked up on a stool before his writing desk, clad as befitted a prince but for the pair of fine leather shoes carelessly tossed to one side. The tip of his tongue protruded slightly as he scratched a series of letters onto a sheet of parchment, taking special care not to blot the ink.

“Hello, Athaya,” he said, looking up. She was startled that he knew her, but the vacant expression in those upturned eyes told her that the greeting was not so much a result of his true memory coming back as it was that he’d simply been taught to parrot her name.

“Master Hedric is teaching me my letters again,” he went on. “I can’t believe I ever knew how. It’s
hard.
”

“You’ll get it, Nicky. Hedric is an excellent teacher—of all manner of things.” She offered him an encouraging smile as he turned back to his work, trying to smother the dull ache of sadness that came upon her every time she looked at him.

“Has he made much progress?” she asked Hedric. She was far more tempted to ask about his seeming progress with Durek, but restricted her questions to Nicolas.

“Quite a bit, actually. The compulsion spell is interfering with his ability to read and write; I’ve had to teach him his alphabet again, but he’s catching on quickly. I think being back home again is helping him to remember things more easily as well. That reminds me,” he said, his face growing troubled, “last night, he remembered taking some books from Rhodri’s library and delivering them to one of the Sage’s men. Do you know anything about that?”

Athaya started to shake her head, but stopped abruptly. “Wait—Lord Gessinger mentioned something about books when he came to my camp last winter, but I was so worried about Nicolas that I forgot all about it. Delivering the books must have been part of the compulsion.” Athaya leaned against the doorjamb, suddenly in need of support. “I don’t like the sound of this. The Sage’s ideas are dangerous enough without his getting wind of Rhodri’s. Still,” she added, “the Sage hasn’t said anything about the books and doesn’t seem to be making any use of them. He obtained them before he was sealed, so maybe he’s forgotten about them by now.”

Hedric shrugged mildly; it was as good a hope as any. “Is Jaren awake yet?”

“He was, but only for a few minutes. He’s not too happy about staying behind, but I think even he realizes that the journey would do him more harm than good. He can barely sit up without feeling queasy, so the thought of three days bumping about in a coach wasn’t too enticing.”

“We should be back in a little over a week,” Durek said to Hedric as he ushered Athaya out of the room. “I’ve told Captain Parr and the guard that if there’s any trouble from the Sage’s wizards while we’re gone, that they are to defer to your judgment and obey you as they would me.”

While Hedric calmly inclined his head in acknowledgment—expertly suppressing astonishment, if indeed he felt any—Athaya almost stumbled over the threshold. “You said
that
?”

“Yes,” Durek replied with a grimace, “and you can imagine the look he gave me. If he ever thought I was under one of your spells, he thought so then. But if we’re going to have this alliance, then I may as well make use of it. Even my capable captain has to admit he’s no match for the Sage; he found
that
out in Eriston. Now come,” Durek said, striding swiftly down the hall. “If we can get to Kaiburn before the Sage does, we might just have a chance to save it.”

Blessed with fine weather and dry roads, the journey to Kaiburn took less than three full days. And good thing that was, to Athaya’s mind, since it was all the sooner they could part company with the disgraced Archbishop Lukin, who traveled in a separate coach behind them and was deposited at his townhouse in the affluent west end of the city without so much as a parting word from his king.

“He’ll bear watching,” Athaya murmured, as the last of Lukin’s voluminous black robes swept indignantly through the townhouse’s richly carved front door.

Durek motioned the driver to move on, then reclined into the cushions shaking his head. “I never dreamed he’d be so bold.” He stole a glance out the curtained window as if to assure himself that Lukin was not trailing them. “I didn’t know,” he added suddenly, turning to Athaya with something akin to entreaty in his eyes. “I didn’t have any idea what he was planning.”

An odd feeling of reassurance trickled though Athaya’s veins. “I never thought you did,” she replied, as surprised to speak the words as Durek was to hear them.

News of the king’s visit reached the city well before the king himself, and as the royal coach crossed the western bridge into the city proper, every window and doorway was clogged with people hoping to catch a glimpse of him—and, Athaya suspected, hoping to see the even rarer sight of his Majesty openly tolerating his sister’s company.

As the coach approached the cathedral square, however, Athaya began to notice an unusual number of wagons and carriages sharing the cobbled streets, all of them heavily laden with trunks and baskets. These were not merchants with goods to transport, she quickly realized; these were people fleeing the city. Those with a place to go, she added inwardly, noting that most of those taking flight were the wealthier of Kaiburn’s citizens, most of whom would have a country house at their disposal. Occasionally, though, she saw someone heading toward the city gates with little more than a few clothes tied into a bundle, only wishing to be where the Sage was not.

“It looks as if they’ve heard the same rumors Mason did,” she observed. “Or gotten wind of the scouting parties Adam Graylen saw near Halsey.”

When the coach rolled to a stop in the cathedral square, Lieutenant Berns, second-in-command to Captain Parr, quickly informed Durek what his advance scouts had gleaned of the present situation. “The sheriff reports that roughly four hundred of the Sage’s men were seen yesterday near the village of Leaford, just south of here. He said people have been streaming out of the city ever since, afraid for their lives.”

“Only four hundred?” Athaya said, turning a quizzical frown to her brother. “I don’t mean to flatter myself, but my camp probably has enough wizards to put up a decent fight against that many. If the Sage wanted to destroy us, why not bring his whole army? He must have thousands under his banner by now.”

Durek shrugged uneasily. “You always said he was an arrogant sort. Maybe he just underestimated your numbers.”

Somehow, Athaya doubted the answer was so simple, but said nothing as Durek alighted from the coach and waved greetings to his subjects. As he reached back to hand her down, Athaya was acutely conscious of the stares and whispers of the crowd, feeling much like an oddity on display at a village fair. But the eyes of the people were warmer than on her last visit; today they looked upon her with admiring curiosity—she was the king’s friend and ally now, not a felon to be condemned, and so the populace was content to wave kind greetings to her and not toss rotten fruit and insults as they had done before. Her appearance certainly helped matters; Athaya was not clad in a tattered and ink-spotted kirtle this time, but matched her brother’s understated grace in a flowing gown of pale gray silk trimmed with silver. A delicate white veil framed her face, giving her the look of a penitent novice rather than a one-time traitor and excommunicate.

Durek’s guardsmen cleared a path for them to the cathedral steps, forcing back the crowd. “Just let me do the talking, all right?” he advised. His tone was surprisingly light; dryly sarcastic, but not angry. “As I recall, the last time you addressed the people of Kaiburn, a riot broke out.”

He mounted the steps and turned, the rubies in his coronet sparkling like a thousand tiny fires in the blinding midday sunlight. Two guardsmen stood on each side, each holding one end of a silken canopy to shield the king from the sun’s unforgiving glare.

“People of Kaiburn,” Durek began, lifting his hands to ask for silence. “I come to you with the gravest of news.”

The square grew hushed, as if preparing to be led in prayer, and Durek’s words carried effortlessly to the far edges of the square. Athaya didn’t hear much of her brother’s speech, however; he had already rehearsed it with her in the coach, so she let her attentions wander, scanning the faces before her to gauge their mood. All were anxious for a savior—that much could be seen in their eyes. They desperately needed someone—anyone—to protect them from the advancing army of magicians against which they had little defense. Fortunately, Athaya sensed that they thought well of her presence at Durek’s side, more than willing to accept her aid if the king would.

“But Caithe has endured war before,” Durek was saying when she turned her attentions back to him, “and will so again. I will protect this city with men and arms and my sister will do so with wizards and magic.”

Athaya ascended the steps to join him and, to the delight of the assembly, took his arm.

“With your courageous help,” he concluded, “we can drive this intruder back to Sare where he came from—perhaps even destroy him altogether. Athaya and I will defend you even unto our deaths, if need be. This we promise you.”

Durek offered his sister a chaste kiss of friendship, pecking each of her cheeks lightly. A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd as Kaiburn accepted the king’s gesture as proof that his unlikely alliance with his sister was no farce.

Athaya’s hand lingered on her brother’s arm as Durek led her down the cathedral steps and back to the waiting coach. It had not been a long speech, nor was it the most important address his Majesty was to make that day, but the citizens of Kaiburn thought well of it and cheered their acceptance, shouting wishes of long life to their king. A handful of more adventuresome souls passed the same wishes on to Athaya.

The coach rolled slowly out of the city—a far more leisurely departure than that of a year before, when Kaiburn had erupted into a frenzy of burning and looting—and headed northeast, toward the sprawling Forest of Else. Durek was conspicuously silent during the brief journey. His words to the people of Kaiburn had come with relative ease. His next speech, Athaya suspected, would be the most difficult he had ever given.

The king’s entourage halted at Athaya’s signal, in a tranquil expanse of meadow tucked between a ramshackle sheepfold and the western edge of the wood. Above them was an ocean of cloudless blue sky, broken only by a single hawk circling idly over the fields below. It had grown hotter as the afternoon progressed; Athaya’s gown clung stubbornly to sweat-soaked skin, and her veiled hair felt sticky and damp. The cool shelter of the trees would be welcome indeed.

Durek stepped down from the coach and looked uneasily about. “Should we let them know we’re here?”

“They already know,” Athaya replied. “We post sentries at the edge of the wood—the moment the coach came within sight, word would have been relayed back to the main camp. Besides,” she added, “I sent word last night that we were coming. I used my ‘cursed globe,’ as Lukin calls it.”

Durek winced at the name as if the very thought of his once-trusted archbishop gave him pain. He turned toward the forest, peering into its depths but making no move to approach it. As a royal hunting preserve, the Forest of Else was technically his property, but he was profoundly reluctant to enter its bounds, knowing there were those within that would not welcome him as easily as had the people of Kaiburn.

“Very well, then,” he said awkwardly after a time, aware that his men were patiently awaiting orders. “Let’s go find this camp of yours.”

Athaya took him aside, a short distance from the others. “It might be wise to leave your men behind,” she suggested softly. “My people are understandably skittish about soldiers and could interpret the presence of guards as a sign you don’t trust them. No one will harm you—not as long as you’re with me. I… can’t make any promises for what might happen if you wander off on your own,” she admitted, “but…”

“No, you’re right,” he said, as if he’d never considered any other alternative. “I’ll go alone.”

As alone as you have ever been,
Athaya thought as she watched him pass a hand across his brow to scrape off the sweat, not all of which was caused by simple heat.
And perhaps as courageous a thing as I’ve ever seen you do.

Not surprisingly, the king’s guardsmen were unanimously appalled at Durek’s pronouncement that he would enter the forest alone with Athaya, all of them certain that he would never emerge again. But none would dare to forcibly restrain their king; in the end, they could do little but watch him go, their eyes burning Athaya’s back with warning of what would happen if he did not return safely… and soon.

Glad to be away from the oppressiveness of both Durek’s watchdogs and the sun, Athaya led her brother through the blessed shade of the forest, following the rune trail that led to the camp. Thin beams of sunlight snaked their way through the twists of pine and oak branches to spot the forest floor with gold and the majestic silence was only sporadically interrupted by the rustle of leaves as a bird took flight or a rabbit darted from one hiding place to another. As they walked, Athaya felt as if she had crossed into another world—a realm like the between-place of translocation, not bound by the normal passage of time—in which she and Durek were the only human inhabitants. When, she wondered, was the last time she had been alone with Durek and they had not been quarreling? When had he ever trusted her enough to put his very life into her hands? When had she trusted him?