A Dark Reckoning

by J. R. Rasmussen

  Wardin shook his head. It hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t know, but he supposed it made sense. She’d been running and hiding all this time. “He isn’t dead. Wounded. Ill. But not dead.”

  “How can that … I stabbed …” Erietta drifted off, looked at Arun, and frowned. “We ought to have more shields than this. I hear the Harths have a lot of longbowmen. Do you know how to make a shield?”

  That was the last they spoke of the failed assassination for some time. By the time Erietta was sufficiently balanced and enough herself to have a proper conversation, she immediately put it off by insisting on a bath first.

  “Fine,” said Wardin. “But you aren’t seeing your friend Iver until after you’ve dealt with Arun and me. Or until we’ve dealt with you, I should say.”

  Her eyes flew wide. “Iver is here? How … what happened?”

  “He got here two days ago.” Wardin grinned at her. “Apologies, but I’m afraid we can’t possibly tell you about it until you’ve had a bath. You smell awful.”

  * * *

  As it turned out, Erietta did get to see Iver first. By the time she came to find Wardin nearly two hours later, he was in the keep with the Dordrine king, Restan, Pate, Quinn, Arun, and the headmagisters Eldon and Alaide. Even Baelar was there, though he seldom attended war councils, preferring to focus on training the soldiers while leaving the larger decisions to others.

  All in all, far too many people to punish the archmagister in the presence of.

  While she’d been having her bath (or hiding, more likely), Pate had returned from his recruiting journey in the west. Wardin winced at the sight of the commander’s gaunt, haunted face. Erietta wasn’t the only one he had unresolved business with.

  Quinn had come back from the south the day before, fairly bursting with the wondrous news that the Dords had taken Corghest. (He was plainly disappointed to find that Wardin already knew this.) With Erietta’s return, all of Wardin’s trusted advisers were back at Pendralyn, and Iver wanted to discuss their plans for Narinore without delay.

  “Ah, and here is Erietta at last.” Iver rose to greet her, waited until she completed her curtsey, then extended his arm. They gripped each other’s wrists.

  As soon as she withdrew her hand, Erietta crossed her arms. “I certainly hope the King of Dordrin did not just use the words at last to describe my arrival.” She smiled at Restan when the big man laughed, then looked around. “Where is Desmond?”

  Her face fell as they explained the reason for Iver’s lengthy delay, and what had happened to Desmond. Wardin knew by the set of her chin that she was trying to keep it from quivering. Most of them had long ago presumed Desmond dead, but Erietta had continued to insist he might be alive. And she was no doubt remembering that it was she who’d chosen him to go to Dordrin in the first place.

  “He acquitted himself well,” Eldon said. “We should remember him with a song. I’ll set one of the magisters to composing something, shall I?”

  “Yes, Eldon, thank you.” Erietta chose a seat, cleared her throat, and looked back at Iver. “I trust Lira is well?”

  “She is,” Iver said. “Or she was, when I left her, and I see no reason for that to have changed. She has the command of Corghest at present. Wardin was kind enough to send a sage, so we should have more news soon.”

  “Or no news, more like,” said Restan. “No doubt the Harths have been quiet. I hear their king is gravely ill.” He winked at Erietta, who bit her lip.

  “A most fortuitous advantage for us. We ought to be grateful for such luck.” Iver gave Wardin a firm look. He was much more disposed to be lenient with Erietta, despite being a monarch himself. His reaction to what she’d done had been practical as well as amused. One monarch’s death, he said, was preferable to the deaths of thousands in a prolonged war. “We should attack as soon as may be, while they’re still demoralized. Preferably while they’re still in confusion, perhaps even wondering whether Bramwell will die. I’m told Tobin is an ineffectual leader.”

  “We shouldn’t get overconfident,” Wardin said. “Perhaps Radley of Aldarine is a better one.”

  “He isn’t.” Iver reached for the platter of honey cakes that had been set conveniently close to his place at the table. They’d already become a great favorite of his. “In fact, I’d wager a good bit that Tobin is the better man of the two. Radley’s idiocy is extraordinary, even for an Aldar. Foolish and cruel, that one.”

  Wardin tensed, his stomach twisting as it always did when he thought of Bramwell’s niece Mairid. She’d once been his favorite student, one of the few bright and good things he could find in the house of Lancet. But Bramwell had long since poisoned her mind against her former adept with lies.

  She’d been betrothed to Radley to seal the Harthian alliance with the Aldars. Wardin couldn’t bear the thought of her marrying someone worse than Tobin. If such a thing were even possible.

  “My fleet can breach the river gate and get us into the city,” said Iver. “But the ships are not impervious. Particularly to fire. It would be best if a second force attacked another gate at the same time, and helped keep at least some of the enemy occupied.”

  “Dividing them is a good strategy anyway,” Pate said. “Fighting in a city is by its nature chaotic. We can take best advantage of that by making sure they’re scattered, unable to communicate, always wondering what’s happening elsewhere.”

  “You, of course, will have sages to protect you from the same disadvantages,” said Eldon. Though he of course did not mean himself. The headmagister rarely left Pendralyn, and had no taste for violence.

  “If they can cast spells, which is unlikely,” Wardin said. “And Bramwell may have sages, too. He had one last autumn, and now that Heathbire is so firmly on his side, Hodge likely makes a pair of them.” He saw Pate flinch, and looked down at his own fidgeting hands. “Still, attacking multiple points is the best approach.”

  “Breaching a second gate might be easier than you think,” said Arun. “Pate has long maintained that the people would rise up, if we attacked Narinore. I think he’s right.”

  Wardin raised his brows, surprised to hear Arun agreeing with Pate on any matter. Perhaps he, too, felt sorry for the commander. “We’ve been skeptical of that in the past.”

  “Yes,” Arun said, “based on the attitudes of the people I know there. Under the present circumstances, I see those attitudes changing. I think it’s the right time to call on them. Perhaps they would help us, if you give me a bit of time to try to get them organized.”

  They’d only just finished working out the details of these plans when people began to trickle into the keep for dinner. “I believe that’s enough for now, then. You all know your assignments.” Wardin nodded around the table in dismissal.

  Erietta immediately rose, possibly trying to escape before Wardin or Arun could corner her. But her reckoning was to come from elsewhere.

  “Erietta.” Iver fixed her with his golden-eyed stare. “I suppose you’ll want to take the evening to recover from your journey, but perhaps we can begin our tour of the magistery in the morning? I’m most anxious to begin assessing what I’ll take back to Dordrin.”

  Erietta paled, her eyes darting to Eldon and Alaide.

  They didn’t know. Nobody did. Wardin had told only Arun about the pact with Iver. He couldn’t help but pity Erietta as panic flared in her eyes. He got to his feet to stand beside her. “Perhaps we can discuss this—”

  “What does he mean? What could he intend to take from the magistery?” Eldon’s voice was loud enough to carry to the tables nearby. A few magisters’ heads turned toward them.

  Erietta swallowed. “We haven’t had a chance to discuss the terms of our alliance with Dordrin.”

  Chin set, voice calm and dignified, she explained those terms. While she talked, whispers began to spread throughout the keep. By the time she finished—which took only minutes, as the terms were rather simple—a knot of magisters had gathered close.

  Wa
rdin watched their faces. Most looked outraged. Though not all. Some only looked shocked. Eldon’s frown was more pensive than angry.

  “You had no right.” Alaide’s eyes were the coldest Wardin could ever recall seeing them.

  “But I did,” Erietta said quietly. “I had every right. I am the archmagister, and I was sent to Dordrin to negotiate on behalf of my magistery as well as my kingdom. I was offered a bargain.” She gave Iver a brittle look. “I attempted to come to better terms, but this was the best I could do.”

  Though not the least bit apologetic, Iver’s expression was solemn and respectful. Wardin thought the king understood exactly what he’d done to Erietta, to all of them. He understood how much he was taking from them. He might not be sorry, but he wasn’t unsympathetic, either. And it was plain that he sincerely liked Erietta.

  How desperate he must be for magic.

  “The only alternative I saw was the destruction of Pendralyn by the Harths,” Erietta went on. “Under those circumstances, I did what was necessary to protect the magistery. It was the right choice, and I would do it again.”

  Several people began talking at once. None of them gently. Erietta stood still and accepted every harsh word, every glare, every condemnation. She shied away from none of it, and returned none of it in kind.

  Until Wardin, who was feeling far less patient, bent and slammed his fist against the table. “Enough! Everything the archmagister did, she did for this magistery.”

  “She did for you, you mean.” Joan. Of course.

  “For the kingdom!” Wardin hurled the words at her, at all of them. The crowd had swelled, since he’d last taken stock of it. “The same kingdom every one of us has been bleeding for for months. Because without Eyrdon to shield it, Pendralyn will fall. Magic will be lost. The consequences of failure are unendurable, and they leave us with no choice but to make sacrifices.”

  “Sacrifices?” Alaide scoffed. “No. I’m sorry, Wardin, Erietta, but this goes beyond sacrifice. Selling what we’re sworn to protect to buy yourself an army is a crime. It’s nothing short of treason.”

  You’re the traitor.

  Perhaps I am. But Erietta is not.

  “How dare you?” Wardin’s voice was soft now, but the violence in his heart must have been reflected in his eyes, because Alaide stopped cold, lips parted, as she looked at him. “You have done an admirable job of defending this magistery these past months, Alaide, but it has kept you sheltered. You haven’t been out there, not once. You didn’t watch Odger die.” He glanced at Pate, whose mouth was set in a tight line. “Or Corbin. Or untold others. Would you like to hear their names? I know every one.”

  Alaide’s eyes slid away. “That has nothing to do with—”

  “It has everything to do with it! In the face of all those lives lost, you stand here and claim the loss of books goes beyond sacrifice? How dare you imply that this is the greatest sacrifice we’ve made!” Wardin looked around, almost snarling. Nobody would meet his eye now. “The first person to tell me that any one volume of magic Pendralyn possesses is worth more than any one of its magicians will spend the night in chains.”

  Eldon cleared his throat. “The books can be copied. Some of them, anyway. Eventually.”

  “And as Wardin just reminded us, we are beset by those who would dearly love to burn every one of them,” said Pate. “Perhaps I’m the only one here who’s seen a magistery I loved brought to rubble. I don’t wish it on any of you. Magic has enemies. That won’t end with this war, win or lose. So it’s a bit foolish to keep all of it in one place, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would,” Iver offered. “And did, several times, while the archmagister was considering my terms.”

  Eldon shrugged. “The archmagister should have put it to a vote, certainly, but I would have cast mine in favor of this agreement. And if you take the time to think about it, I’d wager many of you would have done the same.”

  “But you didn’t have to,” said Wardin. “Instead you had the very great luxury of letting someone else do it for you.” His eyes locked with Erietta’s, and he nodded. “I’ve learned a bit about making impossible decisions. And I can assure you all, those of us who are obliged to go too far to protect the rest of you don’t like it one bit.”

  * * *

  Erietta came to see Wardin that same night, so late that even Rowena didn’t bother getting up. He let her into his chambers with a dry smile. “I was going to give you a reprieve until morning, you know, considering the day you’ve had.”

  “It is morning, if we’re being exact.” She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ve just come from Arun, or I’d have been here sooner. He says thank you, by the way.”

  Wardin pulled a chair back from the table. “Sit down. You look ready to collapse.” He waited until she complied before taking the seat across from her. “Thank me for what?”

  “A while back, I made him promise not to come to my defense when I’m having a disagreement with the magisters. It makes me look weak. He said it was all he could do not to break his word today, but that you made it easier by saying the things you said, not to mention looking like you might cut someone down where they stood.”

  “Do you think I made you look weak, then?” Wardin studied her pale, pinched face, the dark rings around her eyes. She was weak, at the moment. “Is this your way of scolding me?”

  Erietta’s eyes widened. “Of course not! Perhaps I should have started by saying you have my thanks as well. They had every right and reason to speak their minds, and it was my duty to listen to them. But to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure how much longer I could have kept standing there. I suppose everyone needs a rescue once in a while. I needed one today.”

  “Well then, you’re welcome.”

  “It was nice to have you on my side, War.” She cleared her throat. “Which brings me to my reason for knocking on your door in the middle of the night. I decided I’d rather settle all my debts and make all my apologies at once, and get it over with. I started with Alaide hours ago. We’ve reached a peace of sorts.”

  “Apologies, is it?” Wardin put his feet up on an empty chair. “Answer me honestly. Are you really sorry?”

  “For stabbing Bramwell Lancet? Not in the least. I enjoyed it. I wouldn’t refuse an opportunity to stab him again. Or better yet, his son. Surely you wouldn’t mind so much if it were Tobin.”

  “Etta …”

  “Am I sorry for not being skilled enough in mundane poisons to kill him?” Erietta tilted her hand back and forth. “Not really. Incapacitating him seems to have worked out better. We still get an opportunity to strike the Harths, and you don’t have an assassination to deal with.”

  Wardin cocked his head. “What about for sneaking off in the dead of night? I seem to recall you having a different opinion of that, when I did it.”

  “Actually, my opinion of that hasn’t changed a bit. That is what I’m sorry for.” With a deep breath, she looked him in the eye. “I was convinced I was doing the right thing. And you really ought to consider whether you want to order me as the king, rather than ask me as a friend, when we disagree.”

  Wardin chuckled. “So far, this doesn’t sound very much like an apology.”

  “I’m just getting to that part. You were right: an assassination might have cast a shadow over your reign.” Erietta folded her hands on the table and looked down at them. “I was wrong to deny you a part in a decision that affects you so much. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” Wardin sat up and put his feet on the floor. “It’s not just me it affects. I’m not proud of some of the things I said to you. And I’m sorry for my part, too. Especially for that I-am-your-king business.”

  Her lips twitched, though she didn’t look up.

  “But as it happens, I am the king. This is a bit bigger than a personal disagreement. You could have hurt Eyrdon.”

  “You’re right. Hence the apology.”

  “Well, since the kingdom
appears to be no worse off, you’re forgiven.” Wardin leaned his head back and let out a long breath. “It seems neither of our mistakes have ruined it. We can surely take Narinore now, with or without magic.”

  “Without? I gather that means you’ve had no success in enchanting the sword?”

  “I keep feeling like we’re close.” He waved his hand. “I know, we’ve been hearing Arun say that for ages now. But it does feel that way, between both of our power, our two kinds of magic. You would think the same thing if you were in the room. It’s as though it’s hanging in the air. It’s so close. But then something is just missing.”

  Erietta twisted her braid for a few moments, then tilted her head to one side. “War, what if I’m what’s missing?”

  He blinked at her. “How so?”

  “Arun is the sage, and the closest one to an enchanter. And we know you need a battlemage to enchant a weapon. But there are three affinities for a reason, and that’s only two. Perhaps you need to complete the circle.”

  “You think contrivance can add something?”

  “Contrivance in general, or perhaps me in particular. When I made the potion we used against the Harths last autumn, I couldn’t get it to work by binding the ingredients to have a general effect, like you would any other potion. I had to infuse it with the spell I meant to use. A sort of echo of the specific trick. That’s basically what enchanting is, isn’t it? In the case of a potion, obviously, the ingredients do a lot of the work for you, but it’s still the same idea: making the spell and the object a part of one another.”

  “But the spell can change,” Wardin said. “Look what Arun did to my inkwell.”

  Erietta pointed at him. “What he did temporarily. That’s exactly the problem. In the case of the inkwell, he managed to undo it himself, but the cloak reverted on its own. Given enough time, what he did just wore off. With all of his experiments, over and over again, he’s affected things, but he hasn’t really changed them. Not what they are, not permanently.”