“That settles that,” Sir Hugh said. “Now, may we speak about the grey who has been rampaging through our kingdom for these past two months?”
“You, sir–” the king pointed to his nephew “–tread heavily on my patience. I will decide what we speak on and when.”
"You cannot allow Sir Hugh to go on the hunt," Sir Ivan said. "Not until we finish our fight." He slapped his own chest with his gloved fist, making the chainmaille clang. "I am owed retribution."
"Yes, yes," the king said. "Sir Hugh, apologize to Sir Ivan for your indiscretion."
"What?" his nephew said, sounding affronted. "But…"
"Careful," the king interrupted with a flinty-eyed glance. "The lady and her husband are present."
Sir Hugh looked as if he ground his back teeth in an effort to keep from speaking his mind.
"If you hope to ever hunt a dragon again," the king said, "you will do as I bid."
Sir Ivan nodded his head in approval.
Samara hid her grin by bowing her head and raising a hand to wipe an imaginary dust trail along the bridge of her nose. When she glanced back up, sure she had her facial expression under control, it was to find Sir Hugh’s glare directed her way.
Staring into those deep angry blue eyes, her knees took to twitching. What was the matter with her today?
"We are waiting," the king said.
After giving her one last warning glance and releasing his breath in a powerful huff, Sir Hugh turned back to Sir Ivan. "If I have offended you, sir, I beg your forgiveness.”
"Not enough," Sir Ivan replied.
"I agree," the king said.
Sir Hugh threw up his arms and retreated a few paces. "What do you want from me? If we must finish the fight, so be it. It will delay the hunt that much longer."
"No need for that," the king said. "I’ve decided what compensation you shall render Sir Ivan for your flagrant disrespect toward him and his family." The king waited for his nephew’s wary attention to return to him.
"This missive instructs that a knight is to accompany the boy and the princess back to the Sorcerers' Kingdom."
"NO!" Samara, young Jack, and Sir Hugh said at the same moment. All three looked at one another in surprise, and then back toward the king.
"Your Highness," Samara said, first to speak, "I do not need nor want a knight's escort. As you have already seen, I am adept at magic and am more than capable of guarding the boy."
"The suggestion is your father’s," the king replied, with some compassion.
A heated blush sprang up to her cheeks. Did her father doubt her ability to protect her charge? If so, did he have to make it so clear to the world at large?
"I don't want to go," Jack said in a teary voice. "I don't want to be a sorcerer. I want to be a knight, like my father, and slay dragons."
"You were born with a special talent, boy," Sir Ivan said. "What kind of a father would I be if I did not try to give you all the advantages you could have? This is your chance to become a great sorcerer."
“My lord, if the boy does not wish to go…” his mother began, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“The boy does not know what is best for him,” Sir Ivan said with a sharp gesture of his hand toward his wife. That ended the discussion.
Samara bit her lip to keep her own objections silent. It galled her that she was on this mission at all. Now to find out the boy wasn’t even interested in what fate had so generously bestowed upon him churned her stomach.
"If you wish to chastise me, Uncle," Sir Hugh said to the king, "you have succeeded. I admit to my fault at impinging upon Sir Ivan's honor. I will not do so again. I swear. Do not send me on a fool's errand when you need me to track that rogue dragon. Think of Sir Oliver, Uncle. Should his death not be redressed? He was my closest friend. You taught us both how to fight."
"I agree to this arrangement," Sir Ivan said before the king could reply. A broad grin of satisfaction spread across his florid face. "I, of course, shall be happy to kill the dragon on behalf of my liege in retribution for what it did to our beloved Sir Oliver."
"Uncle, you cannot…" Sir Hugh began.
The king cut him off. "It is decided." He gave his nephew a hard look. "Do not let me down again."
The monarch left the field, ending any chance of Samara dissuading him of his imprudent decision.
Her shoulders sagged with utter dejection. She couldn’t shake the thought that her father hadn’t even trusted her to accomplish this one, small duty. Did he believe she was incapable of governing their people, too? Is that why he so quickly latched on to the idea of a stranger ruling in his place instead of her?
Chapter 3
At sunrise the next morning, the group of knights who were to track the marauding dragon prepared to leave the castle.
Sir Hugh, dressed in a long brown tunic, leggings, and a sword strapped to his back, stood silently beside Samara as the men’s families gathered and tender farewells were exchanged.
Some of these men might not return from this hunt. Despite the fanfare and cheers ringing in the air as the knights rode out of the castle, the gravity of their quest suddenly sank into Samara.
Human life was so easily lost. Magic gave her people an immunity that these folks didn’t have. Perhaps that’s why they loved so quickly and often. For many, life was short. Who knew what tomorrow might bring?
Sir Ivan kissed his wife long and deep, no doubt for Sir Hugh’s benefit. Sir Hugh wore a sour look at that display.
The boy, Jack, hugged his father and pleaded again not to be sent away. Sir Ivan brought Jack to Samara’s side, along with his son’s belongings. Samara took the boy’s hand and held on tight while Sir Hugh gestured for his squire to take the boy’s belongings.
She and her charge were to travel to the Sorcerers’ Kingdom in the comfort of the king’s own carriage. Sir Hugh’s squire slung the boy’s things up to the top of the conveyance where the groom tied them down. Samara entered the vehicle first and Jack followed her inside, sitting across from her. Sir Ivan and Sir Hugh shook forearms, though neither seemed pleased with the pact the gesture symbolized.
Once Sir Ivan mounted his horse and rode off, three or four young women approached Sir Hugh one after another to bid him a tearful goodbye.
Including Sir Ivan’s wife!
Samara held in her snort of derision.
He wasn’t even going off to seek a deadly dragon fight.
Even if life was short for these menfolk, that didn’t excuse taking advantage of a woman’s affection. Each one of those women likely believed this man loved them best. While taking his pleasure with these females might be a game to him, every one of those women’s hearts would most likely be broken more than once.
Sir Hugh finally pulled himself up onto his horse. At his back, his precious ribbons from his courtly conquests were tied proudly around the hilt of his sword.
The courtyard cleared and Sir Hugh’s squire scrambled to climb up in front, onto the carriage’s high seat, to perch beside the groom. Their party then made a subdued departure.
Arms folded and body slouched, Jack kept his attention fixed on the passing scenery. After a while, he dozed off.
Samara observed him unobtrusively but with deep concern. His sleeping form seemed no different than any other ordinary child. No telltale sign that he was destined for great power. Could the foretelling have been wrong?
At mid-morning, Sir Hugh rode up and signaled the carriage to stop before he leaned down to inquire through the window, “Anyone wish to stop for a meal?”
“No,” the boy muttered, straightening up to stretch, before curling like a cat across the entire width of the seat. He promptly fell asleep again.
Samara, too, shook her head, preferring to carry on so they could reach their destination as quickly as possible.
With a curt nod, Sir Hugh instructed the driver to carry on and retreated to continue his rear-guard duty.
During the journey, Samara munched on bits of bread and roaste
d chicken the castle’s cook had kindly packed for them in a basket. After a while, Jack sat up and partook of the meal as well.
Three times, the carriage stopped, to change horses, to allow its passengers to stretch out cramped limbs, and to relieve themselves if they wished. By nightfall, they had traversed over a quarter of the way to their destination.
The rest stop for the night was an inn on the edge of the Forest of Noll. Upon their arrival, Samara stepped outside, glad to breathe in the cool, fresh air and be able to move about.
All around, giant trees loomed. Walking in any direction would lead her quickly into the thick of the forest with the nearest village at least five leagues away.
It must be a lonely existence for the innkeeper and his family. The inn stood on the path of a trade route, however, so custom must be good enough to keep this man in business.
“Are you coming in?” Sir Hugh asked, holding the inn’s front door open.
She shook her head. “Not yet. I’ll be in shortly.”
He shrugged, giving her a curious backward glance before escorting the boy indoors to procure a warm meal and arrange accommodations.
Samara went around the inn, placing wards to guard against unexpected intrusions. It was an old habit. Better safe than sorry, her father had always said.
She then headed into the woods. The darkness did not frighten her. She had journeyed through here on her way to Glinnia without mishap, and no matter what misconceptions plagued her father about his daughter’s capabilities, she did not require a knight to play nursemaid.
Besides, the next day would see them entering the Sorcerers’ Kingdom by twilight, and she felt a desperate need for a quiet moment alone to prepare herself for that momentous arrival.
Word must have spread by now that she was bringing this boy home to take over for her father. There would be celebrations and rejoicing. Was she ready to see her people cheer for someone other than her as their prospective ruler?
No, not yet, her sore heart responded.
Giant box trees, hawthorn, and elder grew thick and robust around this inn. On the ground, young seedlings fought for life among tall grasses, clinging ivy, and prolific fern. From amidst this deep bush, the evening song of a nightingale flowed out, its notes various and sweet.
Samara, strolling among the ancient yews with their low-lying branches, picked up a fallen twig and idly swiped at the seedlings.
What should she do when the prophecy came true and the boy’s powers proved him worthy of becoming the next Sorcerer King? What role could she then play in her land? A furious swipe of the branch and off flew a delicate frond of a newly sprouting fern. What use would anyone have for her?
From a very young age, Samara had helped her father run the Sorcerers’ Kingdom. She’d assisted in decision making, counseled him when the rabble that was their charge grew cantankerous, as sorcerers were often wont to do. She had learned at her father’s side how to placate the angry, calm the enraged, and soothe the troubled. She had the power to enforce order in a kingdom filled with powerful souls.
She was as strong, if not stronger, that any sorcerer or sorceress in her land. Yet, her father insisted that another must play the role for which she had been so meticulously groomed.
Where does that leave me?
Would she be relegated to continue her role as the king’s counselor? What if the boy disliked her guidance? Or chose another as his counselor? What then?
The nightingale’s song died. Samara’s steps faltered, startled by the eerie silence in the forest.
Not a squirrel or hare moved in the undergrowth. No crickets chirped in the grass.
With her back against the rough bark of a hawthorn, heart pounding like a runaway horse, she spread her sense in all directions, searching for what had alarmed the birds and animals. She sensed nothing but knew something watched her. It was close and very angry. Furious even. The emotions came at her in waves, surpassing even what she had felt after her father told her that she would no longer be queen.
A hot wind blew through the forest, bringing the scent of a charged carcass. Samara dropped her twig and broke cover, sprinting for the inn, legs churning fast. She burst into the clearing, felt a buzz as she crossed the protection of her active wards, and made straight for the safety of the inn’s front door.
Entering the hall, she skidded to a halt. Through a doorway to the left, she spied Sir Hugh’s relaxed form, and an overwhelming sense of relief rushed over her. His squire stood to attention by his master’s side while the boy, Jack, sprawled on an adjacent chair.
The knight saw her and jumped up. “What transpires?”
“Something’s out there.” She caught her breath, trying not to sound panicked as she approached him at double quick time. “Unsure what. I definitely sense danger.”
A maid passing by squeaked and dropped her tray. It clattered as it struck the ground. “Danger?”
Sir Hugh swore and strode past Samara, drawing his sword. “Keep everyone calm. I’ll see what disturbs us.”
Jack came to stand beside Samara. “What was it?”
Absently, she smoothed his soft brown hair, watching Sir Hugh bend his head to duck through the front door. “Nothing to worry about, Jack.”
She turned to the few men scattered about the room. “If there is something out there, Sir Hugh will dispatch it.”
She directed the boy back to the table and sat beside him. One of the men wandered to the door, saying over his shoulder to his companions, “I’ll check for us.”
“Stay within twenty feet of the inn,” Samara called after him. “I’ve placed wards out there. You’ll receive a burn if you try to cross that barrier.”
The innkeeper waved to show he’d heard her warning before he and the knight’s squire followed the other man out.
The maid who was picking up her fallen items whispered, “Can a giant or goblin get past them, miss? They like to attack inns or hide in the woods to grab at a maid’s leg and eat her. Or…”
“Shush, girl!” the innkeeper’s wife said coming over. She sent the servant swiftly about her work. “Bring some bread for my lady,” she shouted after her. Then she scooped a bowl of stewed meat from a pot that had been heating in the hearth and placed it in front of Samara.
“Thank you.” Samara inhaled the saucy scent of the stew and her stomach grumbled. “The knight will deal with whatever is out there,” she said, perhaps as much to convince herself as the innkeeper’s wife.
Samara set to her stew with jerky movements. It tasted bland but was warm and filling, soothing the hot tendrils of fear churning in her stomach.
Even in her kingdom, where all manner of wild beasts resided, she’d never sensed such malevolent fury before.
“Jack, finish your meal,” she called to the boy who had gone over to look out the window.
He returned, dragging his steps. Once seated, he ate sparingly, his glance flitting to the closed front door more often than it rested on his plate.
She had half finished her meal and was starting the sop up the gravy with the bread when Sir Hugh and his squire returned.
The innkeeper, too, wandered back with his other guest, both talking animatedly.
Once the knight took his place across from her, she asked, “What did you find?”
“Nothing. You should not have gone out in the dark alone.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Sir Hugh chuckled. “We saw how well by the speed of your return.”
Frowning, she returned to her meal. Something was out there. Perhaps it didn’t want to be found.
“I thought it might have been a dragon,” Jack said, eyes wide open.
“The grey was last seen far to the south,” Sir Hugh replied, disappointment deep in his tone.
Typical knight. “You’d have been pleased to find that dragon hunting us, I suppose?” she said in a scornful tone.
“This disruption is no more than a hare startled by the witch,” the knight said
to Jack, ignoring her.
“Witch?” He was worse than her father had become since he heard of the prophesy. “A witch is to a sorceress what a squire is to a knight. How would you like it if I referred to you as ‘Squire Hugh?’”
Jack giggled and then looked at the knight with the anticipation of a boy about to witness a magnificent quarrel.
“Try it,” was all Sir Hugh said, with a twinkle in his eyes that suggested he found her anger more amusing than upsetting.
“Anyway,” she continued, deciding to ignore the frustrating man and focus on Jack, “it was more than a hare. I sensed brewing rage.”
“How?” Jack asked, the first question he’d posed about magic since this trip began.
Samara weighed her answer. She wanted to say his new teacher, her father, would answer all his questions soon enough. Then, she remembered Jack’s distaste of his new future. After such a long day, why remind him of that before he went to sleep? Reality would bite him soon enough. Besides, his question showed the boy was curious about magic. That was a good sign.
“Quiet your mind,” she said in a soft voice. “Then listen with every part of you to every part that is not you.”
The boy’s forehead narrowed and then his eyes lost their focus as he tried to do as she explained.
“Close your eyes, that will aid you,” she suggested, thinking this might also show if this boy had the potential for substantial power warranting replacing her.
The knight raised his eyebrow and in the depth of his sardonic blue gaze, she caught a glimpse of surprise. Why? Because she taught the boy a sorcerer’s trick?
Had she truly been that inhospitable to the boy?
Could be. She’d been more inward focused of late. The shock of being deposed must have switched her sight from outward to in. Understandable, but self-pity was not a state she wished to wallow in, more than she already had. Recalling her temper tantrum at her mother’s graveside, shame cooled her cheeks.
Well, now she was aware of the problem, she could adjust back to normal. Fate had decreed what must happen next and she would make the best of it.
Her hand slipped into her pocket and gripped the scepter her mother had gifted this boy. She had yet to hand it over to Jack. She now felt ready to do so, but was he ready to receive it? Could he grasp the gravity of the gift? Use it wisely?
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