The Congruent Wizard (The Congruent Mage Series Book 2)

by Dave Schroeder

  “I’ll say!” Dârio interjected. “I was tied up in the bottom of a scout boat and felt like I was almost baked alive.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a story to tell, Dârio,” said Doethan.

  “Later,” said Damon. “You’re sure about the Bifurlanders?”

  “Pretty sure,” said Nûd, “but remember—they found out about the legions from Occidens Province coming south on the east bank and spoke about testing their warriors against them. It sounded like they wanted to do it for fun, not profit.”

  “Bifurlanders,” said Damon, shaking his head. “They’re almost as bad as the hordes from the Clan Lands.”

  “But the Bifurlanders are more disciplined,” said Dârio.

  “Don’t believe everything you read in books, Your Majesty,” said Damon.

  “I got word to Mafuta and Felix while you two were otherwise occupied,” said Fercha, indicating Eynon and Merry. “They’ll get the legions to hang back and will try to avoid engaging.”

  Dârio handed Chee a cube of cheese and rubbed the raconette’s belly while he ate it. “I don’t want anyone hurt if we can avoid it,” he said.

  Merry turned her head and stared at the young king. She was still getting used to this version of Dârio. He wasn’t the arrogant fool he was reputed to be.

  Eynon’s eyes widened, as if from a sudden memory. He reached under his shirt and lifted an oval blue magestone in a silver filigree setting from his neck.

  “This is yours,” he said, offering the magestone to Fercha. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to give it back this morning.”

  Fercha nodded and smiled at Eynon. “That was perfectly understandable given the circumstances,” she said. Fercha reached out to take the offered magestone, but Damon’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  “Wait,” said the Master Mage of Dâron. “Are you saying you’re attuned with two magestones at the same time? The blue stone is helping you control the red?”

  “Uh huh,” said Eynon, not sure if he’d done something wrong. He held his head high, but looked left and right nervously.

  “If you hadn’t been distracted by the three Bifurlander wizards’ imminent attack, you would have been able to control your fireball?”

  “I think so,” said Eynon. “And the blue magestone is smart, somehow. It knows how to do lots of things already, so I can just do them without thinking about it and put the power of my red magestone behind them when I need to.”

  Damon turned his head to face Fercha.

  “Can you live without your old stone, do you think?” he asked. “I don’t want the lad to blow himself up and us along with him if he uses his red stone without something to constrain its power.”

  Fercha sat silently for a few seconds, then nodded.

  “I’ve lasted this long without it,” she said. “And my new stone is well on its way to being trained—but if not having my original stone gets me killed, I’ll never forgive you.”

  “I’ll never forgive myself,” said Damon.

  “Here, take it!” said Eynon. He shoved the blue stone and silver setting across the table toward Fercha. She didn’t move to accept it.

  “Damon’s right, Eynon,” said Fercha. “There’s never been a wizard with a red magestone in the history of Dâron. I think we’d all feel better if you have all the help you can get to control it.”

  Fercha pushed the chain and setting back across the table with the tip of her eating dagger.

  “Put it back around your neck,” she said. “We can discuss it later, after the war is won.”

  Eynon slowly reached out and took the chain, lowering it around his neck and positioning the blue magestone under his shirt, against his skin. He let out a deep breath, surprised at how glad he was to have his rapport with both stones reestablished.

  “Thank you, good wizard,” he said, bowing his head to Fercha.

  Merry caught Fercha’s eye and raised one brow, then silently mouthed a thank you of her own.

  Fercha nodded back to Eynon and Merry, then turned to Damon.

  “Do you have news from Riyas?” she asked. “Is the threat to Dâron over, now that the Bifurlanders won’t attack Brendinas?”

  “What do you think?” asked Damon.

  “I think that Verro is creatively devious,” said Fercha, “and King Túathal can be trusted to be untrustworthy.”

  “Right on both counts,” said Damon. “I just learned Verro has mastered making wide gates and Tamloch’s army is coming though one now. They’ll be between our army and Brendinas.”

  “And plan to crush the royal army of Dâron between them and the Bifurlanders,” said Dârio. “I’ve got to join up with the army immediately. They need to see their king.”

  “I’ll fly you north with me in a few minutes,” said Damon. “It will do more for morale to have you appear alongside the master mage of the kingdom.”

  “It will at that,” said Dârio. “Thank you.” He gave Damon a sly sideways smile. “And if you’re able to work that wizardry we discussed, the legions can cross the Brenavon and we can crush Tamloch’s army between our forces.”

  “Provided Bifurland’s fleet doesn’t decide to attack the Roma,” said Doethan.

  “Damon’s magic should handle that as well,” said Dârio.

  “There’s more,” said Damon. “My source…” —he paused to smile at Merry— “…says Verro has a surprise up his sleeve. It may involve the southern Clan Lands.”

  “What could it be?” asked Dârio.

  “An attack from our rear, I expect,” said Fercha. “Whatever it is, we’re not going to like it.”

  “We’ll have to stay flexible and be ready to cope with the unexpected,” said Damon.

  “Like in any battle,” said the young king.

  “You say that as if it’s easy, Your Majesty,” said Doethan. “I can assure you, when you’re actually in a battle, a surprise attack can be devastating.”

  “I’ll have to count on your network of spies to assure we’re not caught off guard then,” said Dârio.

  “Maybe we should be thinking about a few surprises of our own?” suggested Nûd.

  Damon nodded, then leaned down and spooned up the last of his dessert, licking honey off his upper lip. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long, low sigh.

  Damon thinks he’s getting too old for this, thought Eynon. My great-grandfather used to do the same thing before he stopped farming. I wonder who could ever replace Damon as Master Mage of Dâron?

  “Will the rest of you be heading north with us now?” asked Dârio. “Battle is sure to be joined in the morning.”

  “Nûd and I have to talk,” said Fercha. “We’ll meet up with you at first light tomorrow.”

  “Those two deserve a night alone together,” said Doethan, indicating Merry and Eynon. “They can do the same.”

  “If they get any rest,” teased Dârio.

  “I plan to get some rest,” said Doethan. “And I’d much rather sleep here in a real bed than on the ground or a cot in a military camp.”

  “You and me, both, my friend,” said Damon. “But we don’t all get a choice in the matter. Come along, Your Majesty.”

  “See you at dawn,” said Doethan. He dispelled the sphere of solidified sound protecting their privacy.

  “See you at dawn,” said Damon and Dârio.

  Chee waved goodbye and climbed up a post into the rafters to sleep where the air was warmer.

  He may actually get some rest, thought Eynon. It was getting harder to keep his eyes open.

  Eynon yawned. Merry poked him in the ribs with her elbow.

  “See you at dawn,” said Eynon.

  Merry helped Eynon up from the table and guided him toward the stairs.

  Chapter 39

  Nûd and Fercha

  Damon and Dârio left a few minutes later. The innkeeper gave each of them a small canvas sack with chicken and cheese between slices of the nutty dark bread prepared by her wife. Dârio wore a long blue wo
ol cloak over a white linen shirt and dark-blue canvas pants, all loaned to him by the innkeeper before dinner. The pant-legs barely came to his knees, but the ensemble was a major improvement over his earlier, bilge-water-soaked outfit.

  “Goodnight, Fercha. Goodnight Nûd,” said Doethan as he got up and moved to the stairs. “See you in the morning.”

  “Goodnight,” Fercha and Nûd echoed. They listened as his footsteps squeaked their way up the treads to the second floor.

  The innkeeper called to them from behind the bar.

  “We have to put the children to bed,” she said. “Can I get you anything before I leave?”

  “Two mugs of applejack, if you have it,” said Fercha.

  “Better make it three,” said Nûd, slowly shaking his head.

  “I’ll bring you a pitcher,” said the innkeeper. A moment later, she was as good as her word, putting a tray with two full mugs and a pitcher on the table between Nûd and Fercha. The rich aroma of fermented apples filled the air.

  The innkeeper and cook opened a door at the back of the kitchen and Nûd and Fercha heard their children’s high-pitched voices as they scattered grain for the chickens and pretended to be flying on wyvern-back. Then the door closed and the common room was dark and silent.

  Fercha cast a sphere of solidified sound so their conversation would stay private.

  “Mother,” said Nûd.

  “Nûd,” Fercha replied. “You don’t know how much I wish I could hear you say that word with even a hint of affection.”

  “Huh,” said Nûd. It was more an exhalation than a word. “I do love you, Mother. I just don’t like you very much.”

  “I suppose I deserve that. I did leave you alone with your grandfather in Melyncárreg for far too long. But I had my reasons.”

  “Do you know what it’s like to live with that old curmudgeon?” asked Nûd. Then he laughed and rubbed his forehead. Of course she did.

  Nûd and Fercha each drank from their mugs.

  “He wasn’t so cranky when your grandmother was still with him.”

  “That’s one of the things I wanted to ask you,” said Nûd. “Where’s my grandmother’s grave? I want to show my respects.”

  One corner of Fercha’s mouth turned up. “What makes you think she’s dead?”

  “You mean she’s not?” asked Nûd. “Damon always acts like she’s dead.”

  “He’s never forgiven her for leaving.”

  “Why did she leave? Where did she go?”

  “She left to watch my back,” said Fercha. “And her mother asked her to come home.”

  “My grandmother is in Brendinas?” asked Nûd.

  “Do you even remember her?” asked Fercha. “You were just a small child when she left Melyncárreg.”

  “I remember a kind face and auburn hair,” said Nûd. “She had a wonderful smile.”

  “That’s Seren,” said Fercha. She smiled and Nûd saw echoes of his childhood memories.

  “Is that why you keep your hair so short? You don’t want anyone seeing her in you?”

  “Yes,” said Fercha. “They’re so busy comparing me to a dandelion that they overlook the resemblance—not that there are that many people left in court now who remember my mother.”

  “What about all the statues?”

  “They never resemble their subjects,” said Fercha. “And they’re also twice life-size and plated with gold.”

  “That makes sense,” said Nûd. “Though you were always larger than life to me.”

  He smiled at Fercha and she smiled back. They touched mugs and drank.

  “Keep that up and you might make me think you like me,” said Fercha.

  Nûd shook his head. “Don’t get your hopes up. We still haven’t talked about the Bifurland mammoth in the room.”

  “Your father.”

  “Who was he, Mother? Is it Doethan?”

  Fercha laughed long enough for Nûd to feel uncomfortable. She drank twice from her mug, then wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

  “No, Nûd. Doethan’s not your father—though it might have made things easier for both of us if he was. He’s been carrying a torch for Princess Rúth of Tamloch for longer than you’ve been alive.”

  “Huh,” said Nûd again. “How did Doethan meet a Tamloch princess?”

  “After the battle at the walls of Nova Eboracum…” began Fercha.

  “When Damon froze the Abbenoth…”

  Fercha nodded. “Correct. Prince Dâri and Prince Túathal became good friends after standing side by side to defeat the commander of the city and his guards. For many years, Tamloch and Dâron were at peace. Prince Túathal and his brother and sister visited Brendinas several times. Prince Dâri and Princess Gwýnnett traveled to Riyas for state visits as well.”

  “They weren’t exchanges of hostages?” asked Nûd.

  “No, they were friendly visits,” said Fercha. “Too friendly, really.” She seemed lost in thought for a few heartbeats.

  “Poor Doethan,” Nûd mused. “In love with someone unattainable.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Fercha, her lower lip trembling.

  “Mother?”

  Fercha held her head in her hands. She seemed close to crying.

  Nûd stood and walked around the table. He sat next to Fercha and hugged her. Her body shook, but her eyes stayed dry. Nûd waited for her to stop shaking. Fercha took deep breaths until she regained her equilibrium.

  Nûd filled her mug with more applejack from the pitcher and Fercha drank it down. She took another deep breath and squared her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For what? Being human?”

  “For keeping secrets,” said Fercha.

  “What can be a bigger secret than me being the rightful king of Dâron?” asked Nûd. “We both know I don’t want that job.”

  “Now you know why my parents encouraged me to learn wizardry,” said Fercha. “It took me out of the succession as Princess Seren’s only child.”

  “Too bad being a wizard doesn’t take an entire family line out of the succession,” said Nûd.

  “You know as well as I do that any heir who isn’t a wizard is still eligible for the crown,” said Fercha. “That’s part of the problem.”

  “What problem is that?” asked Nûd with a soft-voiced intensity. “The problem that you won’t share my father’s name?”

  “Why couldn’t you be a wizard?” asked Fercha. “That would have taken you out of the running and you wouldn’t need to live in secret.”

  “You and Damon showed me why I didn’t want to be one.”

  “Were we that bad?”

  “No,” said Nûd. “But you both are so caught up in spies and plotting that you’ve forgotten about the people of the kingdom. Eynon’s the only wizard I know who still seems to remember the farmers and cooks and innkeepers, the people who aren’t kings, or nobles or other wizards.”

  “You always did prefer the kitchen and library at Melyncárreg to the classrooms and workshops for wizardry,” said Fercha.

  “Wizardry is about power. I’m more interested in wisdom.”

  “From cooks and books…” said Fercha, looking at Nûd tenderly, but with a touch of pity.

  “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you,” said Nûd. “I’m not a powerful wizard. I’m not a wizard at all.”

  “Given your parents,” said Fercha, “perhaps that’s for the best.”

  “Who is my father?” asked Nûd. “Tell me!”

  “Verro,” said Fercha. She seemed almost defiant as she said it, then her shoulders slumped and she deflated.

  “King Túathal’s younger brother?” asked Nûd. “The Master Mage of Tamloch? He’s my father?” Nûd slapped his forehead, stood up, and paced along the length of the table behind Fercha.

  “Don’t tell me I’m the rightful heir to Dâron and Tamloch?”

  “No,” said Fercha. “You’re not. Dârio is the rightful heir to Tamloch.”

  “Wha
t?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Start talking,” said Nûd.

  “About Verro, or Dârio?” asked Fercha.

  “Start with my father, then the king.”

  “Twenty-three years ago, Verro came to Brendinas while I was at court. He swept me off my feet and we were married in secret. He was back in Riyas by the time you were born.”

  “Does he know about me?” asked Nûd.

  “No,” said Fercha. “I left court for Melyncárreg as soon as I knew I was pregnant. I returned four years later, without you.”

  “You never told him about me?”

  “I did it to protect you. Verro might have pulled you into intrigues in Tamloch.”

  “Just like you kept me in Melyncárreg to keep me out of intrigues in Dâron. I had to live in exile—for my own protection.”

  “Yes,” said Fercha. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why is Dârio the rightful heir to Tamloch?”

  “Verro and I weren’t the only ones forming interkingdom relationships…” said Fercha.

  “You mean Túathal seduced Princess Gwýnnett?”

  “It was more of a connection of mutual convenience,” said Fercha. “Gwýnnett had been trying to give Dâri an heir for years, without success. Her motivation was obvious. Túathal was playing a much longer game.”

  “That’s playing out now?” asked Nûd. “Dârio is king of Dâron, so let me guess. Túathal will lose to him so Dârio can be king of Dâron and Tamloch—and then be the power behind both thrones.”

  “I always knew you were intelligent,” said Fercha.

  “Maybe so,” said Nûd. “It remains to be seen if I’m wise.”

  Nûd stopped pacing and returned to sit across from Fercha again. He refilled his own mug and drank it down.

  “Why didn’t you tell the others about all this?” asked Nûd.

  “I don’t want them to know about Verro,” she said. “Or the fact that we still meet from time to time.”

  Nûd leaned back and stared at Fercha.

  “Are you a traitor, Mother?”

  “We never discuss matters of state,” she said. “And he is my husband.”