An Unexpected Apprentice

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “Oh, you looked so handsome!” cooed an ancient aunt, pulling his head down to her for a kiss. “That girl of yours is a fine one. You’ll have many pretty babies together.”

  “Thank you …”

  “Congratulations, my lord.”

  “Best wishes for the future. I bet you wish the wedding was tomorrow!”

  “I cried. That’s a good omen, is it not?”

  Magpie thanked everyone, accepted hugs and kisses and slaps on the back, all the time trying to get closer to the huge window, but it was like fighting his way upstream.

  Soliandur and Lottcheva came from the crowd on the left to embrace him with dignity. “You did well,” Lottcheva said.

  “What was all the stumbling about?” Soliandur demanded. “You’ve known that rite all your adult life!”

  “Father, I saw—” Magpie began to explain, then realized he was the worst person to tell.

  “Now, my lord, he was nervous,” Lottcheva said playfully. “Weren’t you, on that day?”

  “Well …” The king gave his son a sharp look. “You will be better practiced for the wedding.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Magpie said, bowing. He was grateful as his father turned away. A stroke of luck, he was making way for Lord Halcot! He would understand. “Sir!”

  The Rabantavian king came over to clap him on the shoulder. “You looked well, at any rate. Must learn to speak up. Those of us only a few rows back could hardly hear your responses.”

  Magpie moved close to him, and kept his voice low. “My lord, can you send a message to Master Wizard Olen? I must go along with the arrangements for the rest of the day, but you are at leisure. As my ally, sir, can you do it?”

  “What? A message to Olen? Why?”

  “The mountains moved, sir. The book must be there.”

  A roar of laughter burst out behind them, drowning out Magpie’s words. Halcot strained to listen. Magpie repeated himself, but Halcot just raised his eyebrows.

  “What? Of course the mountains moved! It’s a betrothal! The Creators are pleased to see you joined, boy. Congratulations!” He slapped him on the back. “Here come your friends. Father knows what they’ve got in mind for you. Best of luck.”

  “My lord, won’t you arrange for a messenger?”

  Halcot was already moving away, allowing the next well-wisher to make his compliments. He had not understood. Magpie realized he was the only one who comprehended the threat in what he had seen. The cluster of young lordlings who had dressed him that morning gathered him up and bustled him out of the temple door toward where the horses were waiting.

  A grim-looking rider in long boots and a mud-stained cloak swung into the courtyard as Magpie went to mount his white stallion. The rider scanned the crowd, and his eyes rounded with recognition as he spotted Magpie. He slid off the splattered horse’s back and slid to his knees at Magpie’s feet.

  “Prince, I bear a message from the wizard Olen.”

  “Olen!” Magpie exclaimed. “But how could he know?”

  He couldn’t. Magpie broke the seal and read the scroll’s contents. He could almost hear the old man’s voice: “My scrying tells me that you and the Great Book will surely cross paths soon, but only if you act resolutely. Do what you must! History will forgive you, for without your efforts, no history will be written hereafter.”

  “Thank you,” Magpie told the messenger.

  “I serve willingly,” the man said. He tipped his hand to his hat, and leaped back into the saddle. He clattered out of the temple environs under the curious gaze of the betrothal guests.

  In a worried haze Magpie bestrode the white stallion and trotted back toward the castle in the midst of a crowd that seemed to have swelled to include the entire population of the city. People were laughing, throwing garlands of flowers over his saddlebow, pressing gifts into his hands. Magpie waved and smiled, but his mind was two hundred miles away.

  “All right!” Ganidur boomed out, as they reached the castle doors. He held up his long hands to halt the crowd. “He’s got to go change now for the feast. Everyone let him be!”

  With a grateful look at his brother, Magpie fairly ran up the empty stairs to his chamber. He shed his finery onto the bed, with little care for the precious fabrics and fine handiwork. He called for a page.

  “My lord?” inquired the tawny-skinned young man in the eagle livery who appeared at the summons.

  Magpie scribed down everything he could think of about the odd scene he had just witnessed, and sealed it into a packet. “I’m sorry to rob you of attending tonight’s feasting, but this message must go at once to Lord Wizard Olen, in Overhill.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Olen?”

  “Yes. Ask for a fast horse, and tell Covani I told you it was urgent.” He felt in the purse still on his hip, and gave the boy a gold coin. “You’ll have more people grateful than you can count. Go, lad, go!”

  “Yes, my lord!” the boy said, agog at the generous tip and the commission. He hurtled out of the room. Magpie heard him clattering down the servants’ stairs toward the stables.

  He locked the door of his chamber, not wanting to be bothered by valets or courtiers. He could dress himself. Over his head went the fine shirt and the chemise, and he stepped out of the silk socks and black trousers. He examined the finery that had been laid out for the evening’s feast. It was all made of silk, too, in slate-blue, white, and gold, the colors of the eagle, with an apparel depicting the white-headed bird in flight in the center of his tunic front. Everything was well made and looked as though it would be a pleasure to wear, handsome and comfortable, though not for a long ride.

  He chided himself the moment the thought came to him. He must not leave. What would Inbecca say?

  But he might be the only one in the world, save for the thief, who knew where the book was at that moment. He had to locate it at once, and get word to those who could recapture it. Sending servants was out of the question; he had no right to put them into the kind of danger he knew existed there. If he succeeded in locating the thief, he must send alone to Olen, or seek where Edynn and the searchers had gone. They had to know. He had to know. His country, his world, and his ladylove, much as the action he was about to take would anger her, were all in the gravest danger. The power of the book, unleashed, could destroy everything he held dear. He must stop the thief from exercising it.

  Putting aside his ceremonial garments, he found where the launderers had stowed his humble travel clothes and put them on. The money he would take, for he might need it, knife and sword. There was little time. Soon others would be looking for him, to serenade him down to the feasting hall, from which there would be no escape.

  Hastily he made for the storage room, and ran down the stairs behind the secret door.

  Inbecca would be angry, no doubt about it, but the book must be returned to its place. If that task fell to him, then so be it. He would find a way to wrest it away from its creator and bring it back to Silvertree.

  He pulled his hood over his head as he entered the stable yard. The grooms were busy with hundreds of horses and dozens of carriages. With the sun high, his hood cast a deep shadow over his face, and no one troubled to look closely. He found where Covani had stabled Tessera. The mare nickered at him as he threw a cloth and a saddle over her back. He sneaked her out of the yard and into the pasture behind the buildings. Fortune was with him: no one recognized or challenged him. As soon as he was out of sight of any of the servants he knew, he hopped on her back and began to canter over the meadow toward the northern road.

  Behind him, he heard hearty music join the din of voices and clattering hooves and boots. The feast would be beginning soon.

  He had better be a long way away when his fiancée discovered he was missing.

  “Forgive me, Inbecca,” he said sadly, giving one final glance over his shoulder at the brightly lit castle.

  The polished head table in the center of the grand hall was laid for two, but only one person sat ther
e. Inbecca, in a gorgeously embroidered gown that had been begun for her the moment she reached her womanhood, and jewelry that could ransom a dozen nobles, sat beside an empty chair and half a trencher. She was annoyed and very puzzled.

  The coarse wooden dish was a throwback to ancient ways, serving to show that the betrothed couple would hereafter dine together on whatever life brought them. At past ceremonial feasts, Inbecca had thought it to be a rather touchingly quaint tradition. The peasant’s dish had been ladled high with cooked beans and grains, with an onion for flavor—the basic nutrition in their earliest state of civilization. At that moment, its ugliness and indigestibility were further insults to her wounded dignity. It was such a terrible contrast to the grand room, hung with priceless embroideries of blue, gold, and white that had been made over ten centuries. She felt as though the statues in the curtained alcoves around the grand chamber were all looking at her, judging her unworthy of consideration, from their historical perspective. She was further humiliated to have to look at the spotless white brocade tablecloths on all the other tables, which glinted with crystal glassware, gold and silver candlesticks, porcelain plates encrusted around the rims with gold and gems, all filled with the most dainty foods, cooked to perfection by Soliandur’s storied chefs. Under the feet of even humble guests were gleaming, betassled carpets woven from a hundred colors of silk, whereas beneath her slippers was a matting of husks. Where was the one who was supposed to share the awful meal with her? Everyone kept glancing at her, their eyes full of pity. Eremi’s habits were well known, and she saw many people whispering to one another. She could guess what they were saying, but she knew that they were wrong. He loved her, and he was devoted to their future.

  Eremi’s big brother Ganidur, upon seeing his brother late for dinner, had gone in search of him. He had returned to his place at the royal table opposite Inbecca’s with a puzzled expression and raised hands. That meant that whatever had happened he had had no hand in it. Magpie had warned her that his family and friends were likely to play practical jokes upon him. Maybe he was locked up in a cupboard somewhere, to be allowed out in time for the speeches and dancing. Something had happened. He had been preoccupied at the ceremony, a matter she intended to take up with him in private at the earliest practical opportunity.

  In the meantime, she tried to make the best of it. She ate her half of the simple food, then pushed the trencher from her. A serving man whisked it away and another brought her a pottery plate with a large grilled fish upon it. She had little appetite for it. She took a bite out of courtesy. The servers kept coming along with dishes that grew daintier in character, and on successively more elaborate plates. Subtleties in spun sugar and carved chocolate appeared before her from time to time, and the white-coated pastry cooks invited her with entreating expressions to try some. Each of them was made in a shape that was meant to flatter her: a marzipan tiger with jelly-green eyes, a wise, spun-sugar owl to symbolize her sagacity and wisdom, a chocolate gazelle that inferred her beauty. She broke off a bit now and again, and put them to the side of her plate.

  It didn’t matter how pretty or how delicious the successive dishes were. She could still taste the onion. It matched the resentment growing in her belly. Whoever had chosen to play a trick like this would be in deep trouble when she discovered who it was. Few of the guests in the room would now meet her eyes. Inbecca kept her spine straight out of pride. She was angry, but she would not show it. Inbecca leaned back slightly to accept the service of a begemmed silver plate with a roasted fowl arranged upon it.

  “Where is your fiancé?” Sharhava asked, coming to hover beside her. She still wore the severe costume of the Knights, but in more sumptuous fabrics than her daily dress.

  “Detained,” Inbecca said calmly. “I expect him at any time.”

  “Hmph! I wouldn’t bother looking for him. He’s unsteady. He always has been. He’s undoubtedly ridden off again on some fanciful expedition.”

  “Surely not, Aunt.”

  Queen Lottcheva came sailing toward them, resplendent in dark slate-blue trimmed with silver and diamonds, with her long, light hair wound in braids under her crown. “Good evening, Cousin,” she said to Sharhava. She put a gentle hand down upon Inbecca’s. “How are you, my dear?”

  Inbecca gave her a pleasant smile that concealed her unhappiness. “I am well, thank you, good mother.”

  “Where is her groom?” Sharhava asked, in strident tones that must have been audible to the first three tiers of tables. “It is an insult that she should sit here alone, in the sight of all.”

  “Now, Aunt—” Inbecca began, then bit her lip. It was exactly what she was feeling. She should not stop someone protesting on her behalf.

  Soliandur approached, appearing very ill at ease. He inclined his head to her. “Lady, I apologize on behalf of my feebleminded son. Evidently he has forgotten the importance of appearing at dinner tonight. This is not uncommon behavior for him, I am sorry to say.”

  “My lord,” Lottcheva said, in gentle reproach. “All may not be as it appears. Why not send to his chamber to see what is keeping him?”

  “I had already dispatched Ganidur. He says the room is empty. No one he asked has seen him.”

  “Perhaps he was taken ill. Has anyone seen the Lord Chirugeon?” Lottcheva asked, looking about. She beckoned to a lady-in-waiting and gave her instructions. The young woman walked hastily out of the room. Inbecca watched her go. She had not thought of that. Magpie had not looked completely well at the ceremony. If he was struck low by some complaint she would be angry with herself for doubting him.

  King Halcot of Rabantae approached her table, and made an elaborate bow to her.

  “A fine afternoon for your happy event, my lady. My greetings, my brothers and sisters,” he said, offering them all a pleasant nod. “Where is Magpie? I thought he would have been here long since. We’re already on the third course. The subtleties are very good, by the way. You should rejoice in your makers of sweets.”

  “His name is Prince Eremilandur,” Soliandur said with some asperity.

  “Surely it is,” Halcot said amiably. “Such a lot of syllables in your names. Magpie is much easier to recall. I became used to it over the last few years. Eremil-what-have-you, it is. You know, he is a remarkable young man. I feel you and I would profit from a discussion of his qualities some fine afternoon.”

  “As you please, my lord,” Soliandur said, more wintry than ever.

  “I see experience has not mellowed you, my brother. A pity.” Halcot returned his attention to Inbecca. “Where has he gone?”

  “He is not here, Lord Halcot,” Inbecca said, surprised at herself for not bursting out into a fit of temper or tears. She was even more puzzled. How had Halcot and Eremi become acquainted? Hadn’t the two countries been at war? Did this have something to do with the long journey he had taken in the spring? Soliandur certainly seemed displeased about it. “I am sure he will be back any moment. I would be grateful if anyone can tell me where he has gone.”

  “Well, I doubt he’s in the healer’s room,” Soliandur said. “I would wager he’s gone down to one of the inns in town where he can get drunk with his low-caste friends.” At a gesture, a handful of courtiers in eagle tunics were at his side. “Go search out the prince. Bring him back here at once. This is absurd of him, and I will not tolerate it.”

  Lottcheva went into a modified flutter, offering confident assurances, yet managing to look like a wild bird pretending to have a broken wing to protect her chick. Inbecca felt sorry for her. Her mother and father came to join her.

  “Why, what is the matter?” Kaythira asked, putting her arm around Inbecca.

  “Eremi is not here,” Inbecca said simply.

  Soon, the young men in livery returned. “I have searched his room closely,” said one, a fine-skinned youth with dark red hair. “His betrothal clothes are there. His prized jitar is not where I expected to see it, but I cannot see anything else that is missing.”

 
“He’s gone a-minstreling again,” Sharhava said, gloating. “There, girl, he thinks as little of you as that.”

  “Oh, no, highness,” said another young man, a stocky fellow with thick blond hair. “The jitar is over there beneath a table. He asked me to make sure it was here for the feast. He had a new poem to sing to her ladyship.” He bowed to Inbecca.

  “How charming,” Kaythira said, after reading a desperate look from Lottcheva. “He means to serenade you.”

  “I am delighted,” Inbecca said delicately, “but an assurance like that does not put him here beside me.”

  “Find him,” Soliandur said furiously. “He has gone beyond decency this time.”

  “It might be his friends who are to blame,” Lottcheva said with a smile. “Let us be patient, my friends.”

  “Wait a moment,” Halcot said, tapping his fingers into his palm. “He said something to me at the betrothal. Yes, I understand his words now. Sounded like nonsense at the time. He told me about the mountains. He said ‘The book must be there.’ And he asked me to send a message to Master Olen. He’s no doubt gone to send a message. Yes, my lady, depend on it.”

  “He’s gone to send it, or take it?” Soliandur asked.

  “Not a nobleman’s job to carry a letter, is it?” Halcot asked offhandedly.

  “What about a book?” Sharhava said, picking up on his statement swiftly. Inbecca stared at the visitor with budding curiosity. “What do you know about a book?”

  Halcot seemed to take in the habit she was wearing with a guilty expression. “Nothing that would interest you, my lady. Council matters. I beg your pardon, but it is nothing I can discuss outside chamber doors.”

  “You are a poor liar, my lord.”

  Halcot’s face grew very red. “You presume much, my lady.”

  “I am an abbess of the Knights of the Word. I know what you are talking about. You do not have to disclose it to me. Where did he say it was?” Sharhava leaned forward avidly.

  “You are in on the great secret then,” Soliandur said in disgust, looking from one to the other. “A myth. A folly. It has nothing to do with my peripatetic son disappearing again. He has run away from his responsibilities again, as he has for years. This has nothing to do with legends.”