The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  “The Nelvor,” said Sir Hulton, steel in his voice.

  “The deceitful blackguards!” roared Sir Nidden, brandishing a dirk that had appeared in his meaty hand. “I say we give them a draught of their own poison!”

  “Put up, sir!” Sir Hulton demanded, as the other vassals cried their alarm. “You shall not draw your weapon in our lord’s presence without his leave, save to defend him!”

  Sir Nidden scowled, but mumbled a curt apology as he drove the blade back into its sheath.

  “In any event, it’s folly to think we could attack the Nelvor, even if we had proof of their perfidy, which we do not,” said Sir Hulton. “Princess Grindasa and her Albrenian mercenaries have created a standing army that rivals Urlion’s own.” He turned to the wizard. “What would you advise, master?”

  Master Morgan directed his response to Whit. “You could increase patrols along your northern border with Nelvorboth to show them you will brook no more dispute over boundaries, and instate some sort of roving guard throughout Cardenstowe until after the Twyrn.”

  “Why only until then?” asked Sir Wren.

  “In the hope that while all his lords are confirming their fealty, Urlion will at last name an heir.”

  “Do nothing, you mean?” Sir Nidden snapped. “Only a cowardly discard would suggest that! I say—”

  “You will say nothing more at this table if you persist in this disrespect to Master Morgan!” said Whit, surprising himself as much as the gathered knights. “I am inclined to be guided by his counsel.” He looked into each man’s eyes in turn. “How say you, sirs?”

  “Aye,” said Sir Wren, and his affirmation was echoed by Sir Glewston and Sir Olin.

  All eyes turned to Sir Hulton. In the absence of Sir Alson, the grey-haired knight was the most influential of Whit’s vassals. After a thoughtful pause, Sir Hulton gave a curt nod. “Aye,” he said, and the remainder followed suit, although it was clear Sir Nidden did so grudgingly.

  “It is decided,” said Whit formally, and as he rose, he was pleased to receive Cortenus’s discreet smile of approval. Emboldened, he added, “Master Morgan, if you would be so good as to join me in my chambers, I would speak with you further.”

  The wizard inclined his head graciously. “With pleasure, Lord Whit. As it happens,” he added quietly, “I have a bit of private business to discuss with you as well.”

  Chapter 24

  In the end, it was the lure of magic that convinced Whit to agree to Master Morgan’s other “bit of business.”

  “Are you telling me the last elves still endure,” he said, disbelief and hope warring within him, “and you wish me to accompany you to them—to this Mithralyn?”

  “I wish it, and so does the High King,” said Master Morgan. “I’m not here by happenstance. It is Urlion’s wish, and that of the Tribus, that you come with me.”

  Whit flushed with pleasure. “Might Master Cortenus be allowed to accompany me?”

  After the slightest hesitation, Master Morgan replied, “I knew Master Cortenus’s uncle, Lulm Khabril, well. I trust the nephew of such an honorable man will keep Mithralyn a secret, so yes, he is welcome to come to keep up your other studies. And as a great scholar, he will delight in the elven king’s library, for it houses the largest collection of magical tomes in the Known World.”

  Whit’s pulse quickened. “Is that where the Chronicles disappeared to?”

  The wizard’s expression darkened. “You mean, is that where I brought it after I stole it?”

  Whit flushed. “I didn’t say that… only, the story goes that—”

  “I know the story,” replied the wizard, his voice tight.

  “I didn’t mean to give offense,” said Whit. “But… you saw it, before it burned—the Drinnglennin Chronicles—with your own eyes? Held it and read what is written there?”

  “I did.”

  Whit paced to the window overlooking the gardens. The bare branches of the trees swayed in the muffled wind. “I read that only a great wizard could unlock its cover. How was it done?”

  For a moment he feared Master Morgan would refuse to tell him.

  But after a charged silence, the wizard said, “There is an incantation.”

  “I would learn it,” said Whit eagerly.

  “I have no doubt you would,” said Master Morgan, “but it would be of no use to you. The book is lost.”

  Whit pounded his fist in his hand. “How was this allowed to happen?” he cried in frustration. “Surely the book was safeguarded?”

  “Of course it was!” the wizard thundered. “It was secured within a dome of crystal by the most powerful magic. Only those who served on the Tribus had access to it.”

  Whit remained silent, for he knew Master Morgan was the only member of the Tribus at Drinnkastel the night the great book burned.

  Master Morgan rose stiffly. “You will find many other tomes in Mithralyn to satisfy that clever mind of yours. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m off to my bed.”

  Whit was so surprised at the wizard’s abrupt departure, he forgot that he hadn’t dismissed the man until the door closed behind him.

  * * *

  Whit was eager to set off for Mithralyn the very next morning, but he knew there would be obstacles to this plan—particularly his mother. He had just been named Lord of Cardenstowe; how could he now up and leave, especially in the wake of this perfidious attack? As tedious as the whole process of managing the estate and all the duties of lordship would be, he had an obligation to the people of the realm. For they were his people now. The thought filled Whit with dismay.

  As he expected, his mother required considerable persuasion. “It’s out of the question!” Lady Rhea protested, when he and Master Morgan presented her with as much of their plans as the wizard felt it wise to reveal. “You say you can’t even tell me where you’re going? You’re the lord of Cardenstowe now, my son, and your duty lies here! We bury your father on the morrow, and I’ve barely the strength of heart for this. What of this dreadful news of the Helgrin attack? And there’s your—I’ve sent for…” Her voice trailed off, and a tear ran down her pale cheek.

  “Mother,” said Whit, kneeling by her side, “you know I can’t bear to see you weep.” He looked beseechingly up at Master Morgan.

  “My dear lady,” said the wizard, “it’s all been a terrible shock, to be sure. Let me provide you with something to help calm your nerves.” He drew a small vial from his cloak. “Rest assured that all will be properly seen to with regard to your late lord’s interment. As for governing Cardenstowe, Sir Alson and Sir Hulton can advise you until Lord Whit’s return. For his safety as well as yours, it’s imperative he come with me.”

  Whit flashed the wizard a quizzical look. The old man hadn’t mentioned anything about danger—to himself or his mother. Perhaps he was merely hinting at this to convince Lady Rhea of the necessity of their departure.

  “Oh, I don’t know what to think!” his mother moaned, but she accepted the potion from the wizard and dutifully drank it down. “I need Gastineau!” she said, laying her hand on Whit’s sleeve. “Could you find him for me, my son?” She dabbed at another tear. “I’m sure he’ll agree yours is a preposterous proposal!”

  “Excellent idea!” said Master Morgan heartily, drowning out Whit’s protest as he drew him into the corridor.

  “Why on earth would she think Gastineau wields any influence in this decision?” Whit seethed once they were alone.

  “He’s a comfort to your mother,” said the wizard, ushering him a few steps down the hallway. “Once I’ve further explained the circumstances, I promise you Lady Rhea will be happy to see you away from Cardenstowe. Now, please do as your mother has asked. There’s a good fellow!”

  And to Whit’s indignation, the wizard slipped back into the chamber and left him standing alone in the hall.

  * * *
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  A short time later, Whit stalked back into his mother’s chambers with Gastineau on his heels, the big man wringing his hands in a delirium of anticipation. They were equally surprised to find Lady Rhea in high spirits, sharing a glass of her finest malmsey with Master Morgan.

  “And then Lady Esre made a most hasty exit,” the wizard was saying, “but unfortunately—”

  “She forgot her fan!” they both said at the same time.

  “Oh, my!” said Lady Rhea, smiling up at her son and the steward with flushed cheeks. “I haven’t enjoyed myself like this in ages. Gastineau, Master Morgan has just told me the most deliciously scandalous tale about Lady Esre!”

  Whit looked at his mother in astonishment. Whatever had been in that potion had worked a charm. Here was powerful magic he would learn!

  “Now remember, my lady, you are sworn to secrecy,” chided the wizard, although his eyes twinkled as he rose from his chair. “Master Gastineau, please take my place. Lord Whit and I have some arrangements to make. My lady, I’ll send word to your reeve that the funeral for Lord Jaxe will be held following morningsleid tomorrow, and you can leave that other matter in my charge.”

  Lady Rhea held up her hand for the wizard’s salute. “Thank you, Master Morgan,” she said, as he bowed low over it. “Cardenstowe is forever in your debt.”

  “I desire only the secure future of your kingdom, my lady,” said the wizard humbly. Straightening, he took his leave, with Whit trailing after him.

  Out in the corridor, Whit demanded, “What was all that about ensuring our safety, and Cardenstowe being in your debt?”

  The wizard swept rapidly down the hall. “I’ll have plenty of time to explain while we’re on the road.”

  Whit laid a restraining hand on Master Morgan’s arm. “Why not explain now?”

  “Because,” replied the wizard, his grey eyes suddenly stern, “these walls do not afford us the privacy we require.” And to illustrate his point, he flipped up a tapestry to reveal the chambermaid huddling behind it.

  “By the gods!” thundered Whit. “What mean you, girl, skulking there?”

  The maid fell to her knees. “Please, yer lordship! I didna mean to disturb ye. I was only beatin’ the hangin’s ’ere, and then,” she cast a terrified glance at the wizard, “I heard yon sorcerer’s voice and I feared ’e’d give me the evil eye, so I nipped in ’ere, and…” She dropped her feather duster and pressed her palms prayerfully together. “Please, yer lordship. Don’t let ’im hex me!”

  Whit stared at her incredulously, but Master Morgan began to chuckle. “Have no fear, child,” he said, offering the serving girl his hand. “You’re in luck. As it happens, I never lay curses on Wednesdays.”

  The maid blinked up at the proffered hand and the old man’s kindly face. “Truly?” she whispered.

  The wizard laid two fingers across his heart, a child’s pledge she would recognize. With a tentative smile, she allowed him to pull her to her feet.

  “You may go,” said Whit curtly.

  With a hurried curtsey, she scurried ahead of them down the corridor, waving her feather duster as she ran.

  Whit flashed a look at Master Morgan. “Point taken regarding the walls. But how did that maid know who you are?”

  “How indeed?” asked the wizard.

  Whit frowned. “Now you sound like Master Cortenus. Do you always answer questions with questions?”

  Master Morgan regarded him levelly. “That depends on who’s asking and what they wish to learn.”

  “I want to learn all there is to know,” said Whit.

  The wizard raised his eyebrows. “An admirable objective. However, I must ask for your patience.”

  Whit’s frown deepened; patience was not one of his virtues.

  “This is surely a trying time for you as well, my lord,” said the wizard, “what with the loss of your father and the subsequent burden of your new duties. There’s much you must attend to before we depart. Will you allow me to assist you?”

  Whit released a grateful sigh. “I should be most relieved if you would, sir.”

  “I’m no sir, my lord. Master is title enough.”

  A bell rang in the courtyard, and the wizard brightened. “Ah, does that signal supper? With all respect, I hope you keep a better table than your late father, my lord. The last meal I shared with him consisted of a rather meager acorn stew. Very hard to digest, as I recall.”

  Whit shuddered, for he had been forced to eat the mealy stuff often. “My father viewed food only as sustenance, but my mother has recently given the menu planning over to Gastineau, who seems to have forgotten we’re a house in mourning. Last night we feasted on fig-stuffed goose, grilled rabbit, quince pie, linnet tongues, and darioles, washed down with pomegranate wine and hypogras.”

  “Ah! Delightful! I don’t suppose you have any Bergamont in the larder?”

  Whit grinned. “Aged for thirteen years, according to Gastineau,” he said, mimicking the steward’s plummy voice. He was surprised to discover his own appetite had returned. “Shall we proceed to the hall, master?”

  “Indeed,” said the wizard. “I’d like a word with Master Gastineau about that cheese!”

  Chapter 25

  The gravediggers were hard put to keep their labors from dissolving into a muddy pool, for it had rained incessantly all through the night. They’d had to erect a tarp over the hole prepared to receive the earthly remains of Lord Jaxe, and one man remained crouched in it now, tasked with bailing water.

  By the time the family had gathered at the graveside, the monters were already there. The acolytes of Blearc, the god who’d governed much of Sir Jaxe’s daily life, somberly intoned the prayers for the dead, ignoring the rivulets of rain streaming off their uncovered heads. Whit noticed their piety didn’t prevent them from shivering from the cold, and not for the first time, he wondered what sort of deity demanded to be revered in so much discomfort.

  His mother leaned heavily on his arm, as if her grief might topple her over at any moment. To his left stood his council, and behind them the remaining lords who had so recently sworn allegiance to him. Master Fewl, his reeve, and his chancellor, Master Blint, stood off to the right, their grizzled heads cowled against the deluge. The rest of the household stood to the rear.

  Whit ventured a look over his shoulder and spotted Master Morgan standing beyond the churchyard’s iron-grilled fence, his face obscured in the shadow of his hooded cloak. It was but a moment later when Whit turned again to discover the old man was gone. He experienced a thrill of pleasure—perhaps he too would learn how to disappear into thin air!

  He knew he should regret leaving his grieving mother, but all he could think about was the magic he would soon possess. This preoccupied him through the bleak proceedings, and by the time he’d escorted Lady Rhea back to her chambers to dress for the funeral dinner, he was deep in a daydream of magical prowess.

  “Sorry, Mother,” he said, when he saw her looking askance at him. “What were you saying?”

  His mother patted his hand. “We’re all distracted by our grief,” she murmured.

  Whit felt a pang of guilt, for he’d barely spared a thought for his father during the ceremony.

  Lady Rhea settled with a sigh by the fire. “I only said I’ll send Gastineau to your chambers with some of your father’s jewelry.” A slight frown puckered her brow as she gazed up at him. “Please don’t look like that. Gastineau only wants to help. Allow the poor man to assist you in selecting several pieces to wear for the funeral supper. He’s taken your father’s passing so much to heart.”

  Seeing her careworn face made Whit’s heart ache, and he suppressed his irritation and bent to plant a kiss on her cheek. “For you, I will.”

  She patted his hand. “You’re a good son, and I know you will do your duty by Cardenstowe.”

  “Of course I will.
” Then Whit went off to submit himself, resignedly, to the ministrations of the tiresome steward.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until a few days later that Whit realized the significance of that final exchange with his mother. But by then, Cardenstowe and Lady Rhea were miles behind him, and he was riding along a southbound trail with Master Morgan, Cortenus, and two of his knights. He’d informed his council that he had been called away at the High King’s behest, and instructed them to assist his lady mother to the best of their combined abilities. There had been a few raised eyebrows when he’d announced his plans for departure, but no questions were asked.

  By the time they set out, the icy rain had turned to snow, which was a welcome change after weeks of downpours.

  “Where exactly did you say this secret elven haven is located?” Whit asked quietly as he drew abreast of the wizard.

  “I didn’t,” said Master Morgan. “Say, that is. In any event, we’re not headed there.”

  Realizing he’d pulled his palfrey to a halt, Whit spurred it to catch up with the old man. “Not going to Mithralyn?” he repeated incredulously. “But you said—”

  “Yes,” said the wizard. “I know what I said. And of course, we will go there. Just not directly.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, Whit rashly attempted to reach for the roan’s bridle. He found himself abruptly on the ground, the wind knocked out of his lungs, with Master Morgan looking down at him.

  “Holly doesn’t take kindly to being handled by strangers,” said the wizard. “Do you need a leg up?”

  Whit scrambled to his feet, fuming. “No, I do not. What I need is to know where we’re going.”

  His knights, who had been riding some distance ahead, had seen their lord fall and reined in their mounts.

  Cortenus held his hands out for calm. “My lord—”

  Whit snatched up the reins of his horse and glared at the wizard. “I refuse to go anywhere until you tell me our destination.”

  “We ride to Trillyon, my lord,” said Master Morgan.