The Congruent Wizard (The Congruent Mage Series Book 2)

by Dave Schroeder

  “Privacy sphere, now, for half an hour,” said the king. “Then get out.”

  The dark-haired wizard nodded, created a sphere large enough to include most of the tent, and left.

  “Now feel free to tell me what you think of my nature and ancestry,” said Túathal. “It wouldn’t do to air such phrases in front of the encampment. Tents have thin walls, you know.”

  Gwýnnett glared at Túathal and spun around three times on the balls of her feet. She could feel her toes squish inside her damp shoes but took satisfaction from the way drops from her long, wet hair sprayed across the king’s fine robes and face. Túathal wiped his cheeks and forehead with a green, bell-shaped, ermine-trimmed sleeve.

  “Everything out of your system now?” he asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Not at all,” said Gwýnnett. “Why did your soldiers have to drop me in the river getting me out of my boat? It’s undignified. And I’m wet.”

  “My apologies,” said the king. “That wasn’t my intent, or my instructions, but you have to admit, it makes the notion that you were taken hostage easier to believe.”

  Gwýnnett sniffed, then sneezed. Túathal took advantage of her pause in their exchange and continued talking.

  “I understand that your guards tried to fend off my soldiers with swords and spears,” he said. “You’re lucky the boat tipped over near the shore.”

  “You’re lucky my traveling chests are mostly waterproof,” said Gwýnnett. “I need a bath and time to change into something more suitable…”

  “And less soaked,” added Túathal. “The wizard who made the privacy sphere can heat you some water, but don’t keep her too long. I may need her.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Gwýnnett. She added an ironic curtsy and took off her coat, dripping more water across the tent’s canvas floor. “Far be it for your future queen to inconvenience you.”

  “Far be it,” said Túathal. He raised an eyebrow and Gwýnnett grimaced. She saw the sand table behind Túathal and walked closer to inspect it.

  “Don’t drip on my armies,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gwýnnett replied. She pushed her sleeve back so water wouldn’t drip on the sand and saw the small blocks representing the Tamloch army and the army of Dâron on the west bank of the Brenavon. The armies were almost equal in size and composition. Too many years of primarily fighting each other, she thought.

  Why would Túathal and Verro force battle with Dâron without overwhelming odds in their favor? she wondered. Then Gwýnnett saw the Bifurlanders’ dragonships to the south on the river and began to smile. The smile vanished when she took in the Occidens Province legions on the east bank. She frowned at Túathal. He moved to stand beside her at the sand table.

  “It’s not like you to fail to account for every contingency,” said Gwýnnett. “How do you plan to win if the Roma manage to cross the river?”

  “Remember, my dear,” said Túathal, “you and I can win, even if we lose—not that I intend to.”

  He reached below the sand table and came back holding a small cloth drawstring bag. He pulled square after square of dark-brown irregular infantry tiles representing warriors from the southern Clan Lands from the bag and positioned them on the west bank just down river from Dâron’s army.

  “Behold Verro’s surprise, my future queen,” said Túathal. “The army of Dâron will be trapped between Tamloch’s army, a horde of barbarian Clan Landers, and the Bifurlanders on the river.” One eyebrow arched up and he grinned. Gwýnnett felt a cold shiver go down her back. “I expect Dârio’s surrender by noon.”

  “And for your foes to accept your gracious offer to make our son high king of both realms by mid-afternoon?” asked Gwýnnett.

  “Precisely,” said Túathal.

  “What about the Roma?”

  “I’ve arranged a distraction for them,” said the king. “They’ll be turning around and marching back to Nova Eboracum as soon as they get word of my fleet’s movements.”

  “They’re blockading the Roma capital?” asked Gwýnnett.

  “Supported by the northern Clan Lands’ warriors sweeping their way south,” said Túathal.

  “You are a devious man. I thought you were waiting to consolidate Tamloch and Dâron before taking on Occidens Province.”

  “Once one stone falls there’s no reason not to encourage an avalanche,” said Túathal.

  Gwýnnett smiled. “I admire a man with ambition,” she said. “I also like the sound of Gwýnnett, Queen of All Orluin.”

  “Not planning to allow Dârio to marry?” asked Túathal.

  “Don’t spoil my daydreams,” said Gwýnnett. “I know Dârio must marry, and his wife will be queen, but grant me a moment to enjoy the title without adding an adjective describing my age.”

  “Yes, Gwýnnett, Queen of All Orluin,” said Túathal. He gave Gwýnnett a mocking bow. She stroked the heavy ring on her left hand that bore the Dâron dragon carved into a sapphire and gave him a regal nod.

  “When it’s over, I’ll have Queen Carys eliminated,” said Gwýnnett. “And her personal wizard, too, if Verro can manage it.”

  “I assumed you would,” said Túathal. “You won’t want either of them stirring up trouble for you back in Brendinas.”

  “Don’t let them put up a statue to her,” said Gwýnnett. “I’d hate to see it when I left the palace.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Túathal. “If one must be erected, I’ll have it placed above her tomb. You’re not likely to spend any time there.”

  “Thank you,” said Gwýnnett. “Do you have anyone picked out?”

  “Picked out for what, my queen-to-be?”

  “Dârio’s bride, of course. I assumed you’d want to marry him to a Tamloch noble’s daughter to cement the alliance between the kingdoms.”

  “Perhaps I’ll have him wed the daughter of Quintillius and Laetícia to strengthen the hold I expect to have on the Roma.”

  “She’s only five,” said Gwýnnett.

  “I didn’t think you were in a hurry to be the new Old Queen?”

  “I’m not in a hurry, but keeping Dârio from marrying for ten years might be stretching my influence over our son.”

  “I’m sure suitable candidates can be found when the time is right,” said Túathal.

  “And I’m sure the time is right for me to get out of these wet clothes,” said Gwýnnett. “Do you have your knife?”

  She turned her back on Túathal and waited. He stepped behind her with his personal blade to her neck and his arm around her waist.

  “Don’t tempt me,” he whispered. Gwýnnett felt his breath on her neck.

  “Slash my laces, not my throat,” said the princess. “We still need each other.”

  “Yes, my queen,” said Túathal.

  Gwýnnett felt her gown’s laces part as Túathal ran his dagger up her back. She’d have a servant re-lace it after it was cleaned and dried. She shrugged her shoulders and the gown slid down to the tent’s canvas floor. The princess was dressed in a wet linen shift that revealed her figure.

  “Are you sure I can’t talk you into another exceptional performance to give Dârio a younger brother or sister?” Gwýnnett asked.

  “I think not,” said Túathal. “Once was enough.”

  Gwýnnett turned to face Túathal and stretched her body like a cat. She put her hands on his chest, then ran them sensuously down toward his waist and beyond. The king was unaffected. Gwýnnett started to kneel in front of him and licked her lips, but Túathal sheathed his dagger and pushed her away.

  “You’re embarrassing yourself,” he said. “I said it would only happen once.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Gwýnnett. “If that’s the way it has to be.”

  “Good,” said Túathal.

  “Fine,” said Gwýnnett.

  “I need some tokens to convince Dârio you’re our hostage, my dear lady,” said Túathal. “A lock of your hair. A ring, like that blue dragon signet you’re weari
ng.”

  “Not that ring, this one,” said Gwýnnett, pointing to a smaller band with interlaced knotwork. “Dârio knows Crown Prince Dâri, the man he thinks is his father, gave it to me. It will have more sentimental value.”

  “As you wish,” said Túathal. He took the ring Gwýnnett offered and cut off a larger section of her hair then she appreciated. Gwýnnett knew Túathal had only done it to annoy her, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d succeeded. The privacy sphere ended, and they could hear sounds from the encampment again.

  Uirsé, the dark-haired wizard, came back to see if the king wanted the privacy sphere renewed. Túathal glared at her and left to enter his personal sleeping chamber. She saw the princess shivering in her wet shift.

  “Follow me,” she said to Gwýnnett. As Uirsé left, she took great care not to let on that she’d seen the dress with split laces puddled on the tent’s floor.

  Chapter 49

  Back to Melyncárreg

  Eynon tried to focus when they led Rocky through the nearly deserted streets of Brendinas close to midnight. He followed Fercha as she wended her way from the Passant Tyger, the inn at the other end of the gate they’d just taken, to find the warehouse for the wholesaler who kept Damon’s castle and the Academy back in Melyncárreg supplied with flour, butter, and beer. Nûd walked beside him, talking softly to Rocky from time to time.

  Eynon asked Nûd a question, keeping his voice low so as not to attract any more attention than Rocky did by his mere presence.

  “What’s passant?”

  “What?” asked Nûd.

  “I think I know what dormant is,” Eynon continued. “That’s when an animal on a shield is sleeping, like the blue dragon on the tapestry.”

  “Oh,” said Nûd. “I’m surprised you never picked that up in your reading. Passant is when an animal has three legs on the ground and one up, like the dragon on Dâron’s royal arms. It’s usually the right front foot that’s raised.”

  Eynon nodded and rubbed his chin as he walked. He looked at Rocky, then at Nûd.

  “I guess that means wyverns can’t be passant then,” said Eynon.

  “Why not?” asked Nûd. “They’re animals.”

  “Yes, but they only have two feet,” Eynon answered.

  “There are books on heraldry in the library in Melyncárreg,” said Nûd. “We could look up the heraldic postures that work for wyverns.”

  “Later,” said Eynon.

  “Right,” said Nûd.

  “I’m glad you said it so I didn’t have to,” said Merry as she caught up to the rest after checking out the titles in bookshop windows along their way. She had a dim glow sphere above her head, but they were relying on light from Fercha’s sphere for navigation.

  Chee was above and behind the three young people, perched on top of Rocky’s head. The raconette was excitedly taking in all the sights and smells of Brendinas. He turned his own head from side to side, trying to absorb everything at once.

  “There it is,” said Fercha, pointing to a long, low wood-frame building on the river. Serendipity Suppliers read a sign above the front entrance.

  “Curious name,” said Eynon.

  Nûd smiled. “It’s a family joke.”

  Fercha frowned at her son but opened the door with a key from her pouch.

  Why would Fercha have a key to this particular warehouse? Eynon wondered.

  Fercha went through the door and a few moments later one of two wide doors farther down the block opened. Nûd rushed ahead to help his mother open the other one and Eynon, Merry, Rocky and Chee used the larger entrance to step into the warehouse. It was filled with crates, barrels, sacks, bottles, jugs and boxes of all shapes and sizes. They cast intriguing shadows in the light from Fercha’s glow ball.

  “The gate’s over here,” said Fercha, pointing to the left.

  “No, Mother, you’ve got it backwards. It’s on the right,” said Nûd. He moved in that direction and the rest of the party followed.

  “Sorry,” said Fercha. “I haven’t been here in decades.”

  “So long as it’s a mistaken memory, not impending senility,” teased Nûd.

  Fercha seemed ready to reply, but thought better of it. The gate was formed by two massive old-growth timber uprights, a crossbeam twelve feet above, and a sill-beam running along the floor from upright to upright.

  “Do you remember the trigger phrase, Mother?” asked Nûd. “Damon never gave it to me. I think he was afraid I’d leave his protective custody.”

  “I do,” said Fercha. “You know we only kept you in Melyncárreg for your own safety.”

  Nûd grimaced at her and put his hands over his ears.

  Fercha nodded at Nûd, then turned to face the gate and recited ten clear syllables. Eynon could see Merry working to memorize them, just as he was. Knowing how to operate a gate from Brendinas to Melyncárreg could be useful.

  “Is it active?” asked Nûd.

  Fercha turned and spoke.

  “It is,” she said.

  Nûd lowered his hands and stroked the side of Rocky’s neck.

  “Come on, boy,” he said. “It’s just another gate. You’ve been through lots of them lately.”

  The wyvern bent his head and rubbed the side of his scaly jaw against Nûd’s palm. Chee took advantage of his position to muss Nûd’s hair. Nûd grabbed Chee with his free hand and tossed the raconette to Eynon. Chee squeaked and settled into his usual spot on Eynon’s shoulder.

  Now that Eynon was more experienced with wizardry, he could detect the subtle channeling of power that marked an active gate. Someday I’ll have to learn how to create them, he considered.

  Chee seemed as fascinated by the gate as he had been by the sights and smells of the city. He leaned forward eagerly, ready to transition.

  “No time like the present,” said Fercha.

  They stepped through the gate, with Fercha continuing to lead the way.

  They came out through another blank wall at the end of a wide corridor in Melyncárreg’s labyrinthine pantries. Nûd stepped past his mother with Rocky and Chee behind him until they were in the castle’s commodious kitchen. Everyone else followed, taking care to avoid being inadvertently smacked by Rocky’s swinging tail.

  “Do we need to get Rocky outside?” asked Nûd.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Eynon. “He’s vital to our plan.”

  “Your plan,” said Merry, squeezing Eynon’s hand.

  Eynon looked embarrassed. Merry continued.

  “Eynon, you and Nûd and Rocky and Chee should gather small magestones to powder. You said you knew where to find some.” Merry took a breath. “Fercha and I will find a good spot to start building the wide gate.”

  “I will find a good spot for the gate—I grew up here just like Nûd, you know—and Merry will assist me in gate preparations,” said Fercha. She gave Merry a look that reminded the younger wizard of her mother’s expression when she needed to tone down her exuberance.

  “Yes, Fercha,” said Merry. She smiled at Fercha and Fercha grinned back. Merry reminded Fercha of herself as a girl, though with a more loving relationship with her father.

  “Would the second plateau above the castle work well?” Fercha asked Nûd.

  “That would be perfect,” he replied.

  “Excellent,” said Fercha. “It’s best you get flying. The sooner you’re back with magestone dust, the sooner we can pull our surprise and get back to Dâron.

  “Will you need to coordinate with Doethan at the other end?” asked Eynon. “I can loan you my ring if you need to connect with him.”

  Fercha held up her left hand, revealing several small gold rings. “Doethan and I have a connection in place already,” she said. “Get moving, and watch out for basilisks.”

  “Yes, Mother,” said Nûd in a voice more like his childhood self than his current adult status.

  Eynon laughed and guided Rocky toward the kitchen wall that led to the banquet hall and the outside wor
ld. He climbed on one side of Rocky’s back and fastened his new leather harness. Nûd did the same on the other side. Chee moved from Eynon’s shoulder to Rocky’s neck and held on.

  With a gesture, Eynon crafted a tasty magical sphere against the wall and Rocky launched himself forward to reach it. They transitioned into the banquet hall. Solidified sound constructs opened the outer doors of the hall and soon the four of them were flying northwest toward the field of geysers, hot springs, mud pots and magestones.

  Chapter 50

  Fercha and Merry

  “You’ve never been to Melyncárreg, have you?” asked Fercha. “It wasn’t a great place for me when I was a student.”

  “I have, actually,” said Merry. “Damon brought me here when we came back from Riyas, before we gated to his private quarters in the royal palace in Brendinas. I didn’t get to see much. We were only here for a few minutes.”

  “That’s still too long as far as I’m concerned,” said Fercha. “I’m only here now for the good of the kingdom and to stick it to Verro.”

  “Is there a particular reason you don’t like him?” asked Merry. “Besides him stealing magestones and attacking us?”

  “Yes,” said Fercha, “It’s a long story and not worth getting into. We have more important things to deal with.”

  “Agreed,” said Merry. “How can I help?”

  Fercha paused to lean on one of the kitchen worktables. Merry could see she was thinking so she kept quiet.

  “Blast!” said Fercha. “We need rope. I know Nûd said he’d just received some in a shipment of supplies, but I forgot to ask him where he stored it.”

  “Do you want me to use my ring to contact Eynon?” asked Merry. Then she remembered. She’d loaned her ring to Doethan.

  Fercha smiled at her. “I see you remember that’s not an option.”

  “Ah, well,” said Merry. “Let me help you search. I wonder where Nûd would store non-food items?”

  “Things that aren’t food?” asked Fercha. “They don’t make rope soup in Applegarth?”