The Queen and the Mage

by Wilma van Wyngaarden

  Coltic disregarded her warning. “As we have said, the lodge needs a new caretaker. The rainy season starts soon, and fires should be lit against the dampness. And when we ship wine back to the castle, some gold can go along.”

  Mako contemplated the wall and what was behind it. “Perhaps the best place for so much gold is exactly where it is, with the wall fortified even more. What do you plan to do with it, Princess?”

  “I?”

  “It is yours.”

  “I do not want it,” Scylla said coldly. “If the kingdom needs it, we know where it is. I wonder if the castle treasurer knows of it?”

  “I will make inquiries… without providing details.”

  “I hear footsteps above. We have been down here long enough.” Coltic raised the candlestick to light their way back to the main section of the cellar. As he went, he snuffed out the many candles.

  Mako followed. “I no longer wonder why the king came often to the lodge… nor how he afforded all his whims. We can make decisions later, such as how much detail to report to the War Council. They should know of these reserves but the fewer who know specifics the better, as walls can have ears!”

  They returned to the foot of the stairs. It was not soon enough for Scylla, who felt as if her skin was crawling. She hoped no spiders had hitched a ride on her clothing along with the dust and cobwebs.

  Mako picked up two wine bottles and tucked them under his arm, giving Scylla a formal bow. “Please go ahead, Princess!” He raised his voice, although the footsteps above had moved off towards the rear of the building. “I will send the captain back later to list the wine stores for you. He will now be Captain of the Queen’s Guard and Wines.”

  “Haha,” Scylla responded coldly, starting up the steps. “Do not think I will inspect the wine stores again. I am interested only in the occasional sip at dinner.” She reached the first floor with a wave of relief. “I do not care to return to the cellar. And you may deal with these, Chancellor!”

  She held out the gold coins, dropping them into his hand as he came up the steps. Without waiting for him, she left the disorderly chamber, crossed the main hall, and returned to the bright outdoors.

  There she took a deep breath of fresh air and gave her clothing a shake. She sniffed her sleeve suspiciously as she sat down on the chaise. The damp, earthy smell and the stink of wine clung to the fabric. Spiders, dirt, weighty beams, and wafts of ancient air… what a nightmare. She was not surprised she had suppressed her childhood memory of the cave.

  “I will check on the tea,” Coltic called to her from the doorway. “And I will have some of that sausage and cheese packed up to take with us. It’s several hours to the castle.”

  Mako’s head pivoted to the road leading back to the castle. He raised his voice. “Soldiers—on guard! A visitor!”

  Several soldiers ran from the doorway on alert. But the newcomer was a comrade of the Queen’s Guards.

  “Zander!” Mako greeted him. “What have you to report?”

  “Chancellor! I bring a message to you.” He vaulted from his sweating horse as it came to a stop and beckoned Mako to him.

  Good Goddess! What now? Scylla sighed deeply. Jay sat on the grass, his pony still grazing some feet away. The sun lit the clearing so beautifully, and there was a deceptive air of peace about the building. There was no hint of the vandalized interior, the slaughter that had taken place a mere ten days ago, or the dark fortress-like cellar. Nor of the damp cave and its gold beneath the ground, not too distant from Scylla’s chaise.

  Soon she would be in the carriage, heading back to the comforts of the castle. Her castle, that was.

  She still found it ridiculous to think of herself, the reclusive princess, stepping into the gap left by her gregarious father. King Tobin had filled his days with pure excitement—horses, hard rides, hunting, competitive games, along with impulsive journeys and other whims she could only call foolish—and he had died by betrayal from within his own court. And stupidity, Scylla decided… his lack of wisdom had contributed to his own downfall.

  The aftermath had tossed Scylla into her new life as the new queen with no preparation at all. She now faced responsibilities she had never imagined and did not want—especially if war lay ahead.

  Tears welled up, and she resolutely blinked them away. How much of what she felt was grief at the loss of her father… and how much was anger, frustration and bitterness?

  “Queen Scylla!” Mako had that note in his voice. She heaved another sigh and opened her eyes: some formal report that she had little interest in, she suspected. But she was wrong.

  “What now, Chancellor?”

  He crossed the grass to where she sat on the side of the chaise and waited for Coltic. He appeared in the doorway with a tea tray, placing it on the end of Scylla’s chaise.

  “The messengers from Gryor that we expected have arrived at the castle,” said Mako, more to Coltic than to her.

  “The messengers—ewww…” said Scylla, experiencing a choking feeling not unlike what the high priest had inspired in her earlier that morning.

  “The marriage proposal? So our information was correct.”

  Mako nodded. “The castle steward has welcomed the messengers and given them the guest chambers to await our return. The leader is Gryor’s High Priest… he who acts as Protector to the young king!”

  “Good Goddess!” Coltic looked stunned. “Why would such a man make the journey here? It is three days by boat—and a miserable haul up through our delta, with all the insects and the risk of snakes climbing aboard!”

  “I do not find this at all interesting, Chancellor. Contain your excitement!”

  “Princess, this is a very bold move on their part! Or foolish.” Mako’s eyes gleamed. “I look forward to meeting this man. I have had information from several sources that he and his court are corrupt and foul.”

  “Really, Chancellor! Why then do you look forward to meeting him?”

  “To take his measure. He is not hiding behind the formalities of Gryor’s court. He has travelled here himself, with a handful of others… to see for himself the limitations of the kingdom he has meddled in. I suspect he believes the House of Rellant is ripe for the picking.”

  “Including Rellant’s mad and inexperienced seventeen-year-old queen,” she said acidly. “How arrogant!”

  Coltic was nodding slowly. “Possibly our best strategy at this point is to appear unwary and inexperienced,” he suggested. “On the surface, that is.”

  “You appear even younger than you are, Princess. In fact, you look like a waif. I could wish that you build yourself up to a more robust state of health.”

  “I do not regret looking less than robust, Chancellor. This gives me the excuse to require more time for… for negotiations. Or perhaps just more time.”

  “I know you are stronger than you seem. But last night’s adventure was not the best idea, especially without food. And now you face another journey. Do you not recall the hazards of traveling back to the castle?… just days ago!”

  “I have eaten some seed cake, which is very nourishing.” Scylla ignored his question. “Also two slices of that aged sheep’s cheese and two cups of tea. And may I point out the benefits of my adventure, as you call it—the trellet has now removed himself from our care and also, with the help of the Goddess and the green cat, the last two traitors are dead.”

  “And mine. And the dog.” She heard Jay’s mutter, but ignored him.

  “Your accomplishments are impressive, Princess. I hope the Goddess will continue to assist you!”

  “Then you had better start rounding up the feral children, Chancellor. The springs are waiting!”

  Coltic had not been listening. He appeared deep in thought. “May I interrupt, Princess?… Chancellor? We have the advantage of information gained from our sources and also the warnings we’ve received. And the leader of our enemy is now in our court—on our ground. If we can appear non-threatening, we will not alarm him as we continu
e to form our plans.”

  “Why not just kill him, if the chance arises?” Scylla pointed out, after a moment’s thought. “As he is in our court.”

  Mako said wryly, “He is also a sorcerer, and more accomplished than ours were, I suspect. And your trellet has abandoned you.”

  “Hmmm. I will keep my sword stick with me at all times,” Scylla mused. “Meanwhile, you can tell him I follow the old ways and make pilgrimages to the springs of the Goddess. I won’t entertain him for long, as I expect to travel to Zara’s village to inspect… that is, worship at her spring as well.”

  “Yes, why not appear to be on the simple side?” Coltic suggested with a grin.

  “This will be painful,” Mako interjected.

  “Meanwhile, not simple enough to raise his suspicions.”

  “I have heard some very unpleasant things about Gryor’s court and priests. Please do nothing to make him look forward to crushing you under his heel, Princess.”

  Scylla’s blue eyes flashed. “I’m sure that is good advice, Chancellor. I expect you to do the same. Meanwhile, drink your tea! I cannot wait to return to the castle for my first look at our enemy!”

  “I ask you to heed my words. Could you take this first meeting in silence, as you did at the coronation feast? Saying only as little as possible… creating the illusion of an opponent of no significance.”

  “I may very well be an opponent of no significance! However, as I wish to go back to my gardens and live in peace—apart from the constant annoyance of your reports!—I will defend the kingdom however necessary.”

  “I did say ‘the illusion’ of no significance,” Mako reminded her. “I have the utmost admiration for you as Queen of Rellant.”

  She gave him her best queenly nod. “And I for you, Chancellor, and Captain Coltic too. Do drink your tea! A few refreshments… and then we will return to the castle from my pilgrimage to the spring of the Goddess! The pilgrimage, that is, of this insignificant, mad and waif-like queen with a mere week’s experience in ruling the Kingdom of Rellant!”

  “Has it really been only a week? Well said!” Mako held out his hand. “For now, Princess, I will hand over these coins to you.”

  “Why? I do not want them.”

  “They are valuable. We will place them in the castle vault. If they are on your person, they are guarded along with the queen herself. Note that I have returned all six coins to you.”

  “Curses!” Scylla snapped. “I have a very poor sort of pocket in this cloak, but I will do my best not to lose them. I owe one to young Jay for his excellent service. Jay!” She raised her voice.

  “I do not recommend…” Mako blurted. But Jay tugged at the pony’s lead and came over, the dogs trotting behind.

  “Yes, Princess?”

  “Here is your gold coin.” She held one out to him. Instead of taking it, he whisked his free hand behind his back. His eyes widened.

  “Princess… that is the biggest gold coin I have ever seen!”

  Scylla admitted, “It is the largest one I myself have seen. I wonder what its value is?”

  “It is too valuable to give to a farmer’s lad. Simply because he cannot spend it… unless he is buying a piece of land or an entire flock of sheep. As he is a lad, someone is more likely to kill him for it, or steal it.”

  “You may be right, Chancellor… What did you do with the other coin Mako gave you, Jay?”

  “Master Orwen is keeping it for me.”

  “Reward his loyalty with any amount you wish, Princess, but it would be more useful to give him a bag of smaller coins to spend as he wants, or which Orwen can hold for him.”

  “I suppose you are right,” Scylla sighed. “How heavy these are!” She tucked the coins into the pocket at her waist and hoped they would not fall out.

  A small child sat high in the ancient willow tree overhanging the riverbank, near the castle gardens.

  Known as Gabby around the village, she preferred the new name she had given herself—River. From her perch of interwoven sticks and branches she could look down into the water as it flowed by. She could see the castle garden and watch the kitchen door, while swaying branches screened her from sight. She could also see the top of the wall where Princess… no, Queen Scylla’s beehives still stood, although her garden boxes were gone.

  River still waited and watched, but she had looked in vain for the queen’s small, slight form for days. A boy appeared sometimes, feeding the gray cat that still lived up there. Queen Scylla, however, had not shown up since her return to the castle.

  At first River surmised that the queen’s injured ankle kept her inside. But after the peculiar episode she had witnessed… in which corpses awaiting burial somehow came back to life and threw lightning at the castle wall… she wondered whether her idol would ever show up again.

  She couldn’t—not while the walkway was boarded off or before the repairs were finished. Queen Scylla had ordered a turret built at the damaged corner, the villagers said. The scaffolding was under construction, and men had unloaded wagonloads of stones below. How long would the repairs take to finish?

  And then there was the gossip she had heard this morning in the market. Was it true? The blonde and cheerful Captain of the Queen’s Guard had ridden off yesterday with three soldiers, on an unknown errand. Then in the middle of the night, the queen’s second-in-command, Chancellor Mako himself, and more soldiers had dashed off down the road in the same direction. And that was after the chancellor had returned from his day-long foray somewhere to the north. No, he had gone west, others said. Rumors flew.

  Skulking under a market cart, River listened unnoticed.

  “… would not leave the queen in the castle unguarded…” The Queen’s Guard, they meant. If so many had gone—first with the captain and later with Chancellor Mako—where was the queen?

  The castle steward, Herron, had claimed Queen Scylla was in the castle, with her ladies in attendance and the Queen’s Guard on duty. The young Prince Leon, nicknamed the twig, was there too.

  “… why is the queen—and the twig—left at the castle with so few soldiers?” The worried question went around the market. “What’s going on?… maybe the queen has been snatched away by the priests…”

  But earlier gossip had said the priests had burned to a crisp in a farmer’s shed. Bones had been pulled from the smoking remains, along with a scrap of a priest’s robe.

  “They came back to life once,” proclaimed one market vendor loudly. “Sergeant Brit saw them… and he saw them throw their magic at the wall. I know Sergeant Brit and I believe him! Maybe they’ve come back to life again!”

  I saw that, River said to herself. I saw one punch the sergeant right in the face and knock him down. She had watched from a tree. She had been hoping Queen Scylla would appear on the wall that morning. The view was not as good as from the old willow tree but, as the queen did not show up, what did it matter? Instead River watched idly as the soldiers dug graves and then went to the river for a break. That was when the dead priests woke up.

  But what exactly was magic? The feral boys had said it was written in books. So yesterday she had gone to the market in search of magic books, but the vendor who she asked had not been helpful.

  “The priests’ books should be burned—they’re dangerous. At any rate, I don’t think anyone can do magic without having a gift for it. Just follow the Goddess and leave the rest alone, child!”

  An elderly man with crippled hands had been listening, and he blinked down at River. “Magic? See here, good witches can do magic, too… good magic!” He fingered a small flat stone on a lace around his neck. “This was my grandmother Theoria’s amulet. She was a water witch… she found water with a forked stick!”

  “Found water?” River had repeated blankly. Why would someone need to find water when there was a whole river nearby?

  “Underground water!” the old man said impatiently. “To dig a well. I saw my grandmother do it many times… Take a forked willow branch an
d hold it like this,” he had mimed with an invisible crotched stick. “Then walk across the ground and watch where it pulls downward.”

  “Hey, hey,” the stall vendor said nervously. “Don’t teach the child witching!”

  “It’s a useful skill if she can do it. I never could!” his customer snapped.

  “I dunno… Child, you mind the Goddess and leave magic alone!”

  The old man stared at her with watery eyes, again fingering the amulet. Then he suddenly pulled the lace over his head and held it out. “Here, child! Take Theoria’s amulet!” he had said to her. “I don’t need it anymore. Come back and tell me if you can witch for water!” She snatched the smooth stone and ran away.

  But that was yesterday. This morning the gossip had continued. Listening, River put her hand inside her ragged tunic and fingered Theoria’s amulet, which hung from her neck as if it had always been there.

  “… the queen is not in danger… she has a trellet!” an old woman who made knitted vests had said in a hushed tone.

  “A trellet!” someone else brayed with laughter. “That’s nonsense, nothing but folk tales…”

  “Some of the soldiers saw the queen’s trellet! It went into the castle with her. My sister’s daughter, her husband’s a soldier—she said he saw the trellet. It’s a little gray stick man with a nasty temper…”

  “Folk tales!” jeered the other. “Sorcery… trellets… watch out, they’ll dunk you in the well for speaking of such things…”

  “It’s a very good omen for the queen to have a trellet…” came the defensive response as the knitting needles clicked.

  A little gray stick man, River thought. She had seen one of those in the willow tree some days ago. It had muttered about danger and how to get into the castle. And before it left, it had asked her name. “River,” she had whispered, the only time she had spoken her own private name aloud to anyone.

  This morning, River had picked up a fresh windfall apple in the orchard. She ate it under the market cart as she listened. She fingered the stone amulet on the lace around her neck, peering around the market. But the old man who had given it to her wasn’t there.