The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare

by April Leonie Lindevald

  Given the length and complexity of the ceremony, one might have expected young Darian to have become restless and impatient. But he bore up well through it, standing quietly tall, and still as he could manage, paying careful attention to every detail. He seemed to have a self-possession and a grace well beyond his tender years.

  As the room began to settle, Darian turned to face his subjects and lifted a hand, indicating that he wished to speak. Jorelial Rey’s eyebrows arched in surprise, but she stood back and let the boy take charge.

  “Now that I am king,” he began in a piping, child’s voice, and the room became hushed, “my first decree will be to make it a crime for wind and waves to overwhelm any traveler.” There was a very audible intake of breath from most everyone in the room, as they grasped the poignancy of that pronouncement. “As your king, I decree that all children shall have warm clothes, and places to live, and food, and places to play. And that everyone be kind to one another.” People in the crowd glanced around at one another, or lowered their heads, moved by the child’s naïve wisdom. “Those are my wishes and my dreams. But for now, I rely on my Lady Regent, and the ministers, and Lady Delphine, and all my tutors, who are helping me to learn a great deal, so that I might become a good king, and make my father and mother proud of me.” Darian gave a curt nod, indicating that he had completed his speech. The crown slipped to one side, and his pudgy hands flew up to make sure it did not fall. “Whoa!” he shouted, and a ripple of laughter ran through the noble assemblage, followed by applause, and sounds of approval.

  Jorelial Rey, an involuntary grin on her face, and moisture in her eyes, reached down to conduct the little boy to a seat, whispering encouragements to him as the crowd’s approbation continued. Darian, his little feet swinging back and forth beneath the seat of his rather stately chair, and all his attention now on tracing the ancient inscriptions embossed on the pendant around his neck, had spoken his mind without any coaching, and had won the hearts of his most powerful subjects. It was early in the game to know for sure, but he certainly seemed to have the makings of a fine king.

  It would have been grand to end on such a high note, but the rituals were not yet over. It was now the Lady Regent’s turn to answer questions of intent, to receive the promise of the masses and symbols of office. She too received a Scepter of Power and a Yoke of Responsibility, also a ring with the royal crest for her own frequent use. After Morelle offered a brief dissertation on the duties and privileges of regency, and Jorelial Rey stepped forward to publicly swear that she would faithfully discharge said duties, she was officially installed. Kneeling, she received her own circlet of silver with a single purple star, pressed upon her head. Another burst of music and cheering greeted her as she rose. Prayers were then offered for the new king and his Lady Regent, for good counsel and divine guidance, and for their wisdom and responsiveness to the needs of their people. Finally, a cry from Morelle of, “Long live the King and well may he rule!” was echoed first by the ministers, Lord Maygrew and Jorelial Rey herself, and then was taken up by the entire company assembled. The musicians began a cheerful little catch and the event was complete.

  As King Darian the third and his appointed regent made their way back down the center aisle, this time stopping to make eye contact with or grasp the hands of many well-wishers on both sides, Jorelial Rey sighed in relief that this piece, at least, was finally accomplished; the rightful king was installed in his office with reliable support put in place until his majority. Now, anyone who stood against him was officially committing treason, a daunting deterrent for most would-be usurpers. It had been an emotional, memorable ceremony, the attendees seemed happy and enthusiastic, and would of course be feted for the remainder of the day. By any estimation, there should be a peaceful pause now to rest and regroup before the next crisis. Jorelial took the king’s hand and smiled down on him, feeling that, for that moment at least, all was well with the world.

  It was time for the customary greeting of the citizenry by the newly crowned king, from the palace steps. For hours, a huge crowd had been gathering in the forecourt and across the lawns, anticipating a glimpse of Darian III and a chance to cheer his ascendancy. There were villagers and farmers, shopkeepers, crafts-men and -women, artists, fishermen and sheepherders, weavers and cooks. There were women with newborn infants hoping for a benediction, and families who brought their elderly for a look at a royal countenance. The atmosphere was festive and collegial, as they all waited for the climactic event. Later on there would be feasting for all, provided by the royal coffers, and fireworks were promised, along with mead and dancing far into the night. The people were joyful, and filled with holiday spirit, greeting each other and wishing good fortune aloud to friend and stranger alike. Palace guards were posted all up and down the great stone staircase, and at intervals throughout the crowd. Their presence was as much symbolic as precautionary, but they nevertheless kept a vigilant eye out for drunkards, malcontents, and the usual altercation that might crop up in the crowded courtyard.

  True to his word, Tvrdik, in his owl guise, was perched up on a stone scroll which protruded from the lintel above the main doors. From there, with his sharper owl’s vision, he could peruse the crowd, and had a pretty good view of the steps as well. He heard the great oak doors creak open, and looked down to see Steward Bargarelle and Lord Maygrew emerge onto the slate stoop, closely followed by the High Ministers of Defense, Justice, and Finance, as well as the Lord Mayor of Therin and several other influential lords. Four ceremonial guardsmen flanked the knot of dignitaries, who stood about looking self-satisfied. At last, the Lady Jorelial Rey appeared, along with the young king, his golden curls adorned with the small jeweled circlet of gold, which glinted in the sun. He let go of Rel’s hand and reached for his nanny, who had followed the notables out on the landing, and now took the extended hand firmly. But otherwise, Tvrdik thought, Darian seemed to be handling the long day’s demands and the noisy crowd better than one might expect of a four-year old. Jorelial, in her striking red dress, and the sunny-headed king stood dead center of the group on the stairs, waving to the crowd, easy to pick out at any distance.

  As soon as the child king appeared, a deafening cheer went up from the crowd, and continued to roar for minutes without diminishing. Folks waved hands and handkerchiefs, held up babes in arms, and whistled and stomped their approval. Jorelial looked bright and poised as she waved to the crowd. On inspiration, Lord Maygrew lifted the little boy to his broad shoulder, which elicited a fresh wave of shouting from the masses, as many more of them caught a glimpse of their monarch. Sensing the spirit of the moment, Darian began waving his tiny hand in the air at his subjects, a gesture that instantly endeared him to young and old alike. It was a brave and glorious moment, perfect in every respect.

  Tvrdik gazed down with satisfaction at the idyllic scene on the steps beneath him. The next moment, an odd feeling shifted his attention. He would never know how, in the midst of all that noise, and in a veritable sea of waving arms, he caught the one motion that seemed out of place. It was far to the rear of the crowd, a small gesture that his owl eyes zoomed in on, a shape that did not seem to belong. And yet, for frantic seconds he could not put a name to it. His heart pounded as he strained to make out more. All motion slowed out of time; he was frozen in that eternal moment of question. And then he saw it all – the whole picture snapped into clean focus – the hooded man, bow held out before him and right arm drawn back at cheek level, a high-pitched twang, and the deadly arrow speeding over everyone’s heads, aimed straight at the heart of Jorelial Rey! There she stood, smiling and waving, oblivious to the mortal danger that bore down upon her with terrible accuracy. Swift as thought, the owl/mage raised his wings and leapt from his perch. Extending his claws, he plummeted to the center of the scene below, beating his wings directly in the Lady’s face, and then shoving his powerful clawed feet against her shoulder with all his might. Startled by the white tornado descending upon her, t
he Lady Regent instinctively ducked, and raised her hands in a protective gesture over her face. Then, caught off balance, she took the full force of the owl’s attacking claws and fell to her hands and knees on the stone floor. There were gasps and screams as those around her saw her go down. But before anyone could move, they were confronted by the vision of a large white owl, wings extended. The great bird hung suspended for a moment in midair, and then careened backward in a tumble of feathers, as an arrow pierced its left wing.

  In that split second of chaos, Lord Maygrew lowered the king to the ground and his nanny whisked him into her skirts. The guardsmen on the steps sprang forward to surround their leaders. The lords and ministers huddled in a tense knot, instinctively drawing together in front of the child to whom they had just sworn allegiance. The guards on the field dashed into the crowd, searching for the source of the offending projectile. The sounds of joyful celebration transformed into shouts, wails, and terrified cries. Rumors ran like flames through the courtyard. Families frantically tried to find each other, while many ran for cover, fearing some foreign attack was upon them all. Guards were pushing through the frightened mob in all directions. And then, above all the din, sounded a blood-curdling scream and the growls of some ferocious beast. A clearing opened near the center of the crowd, quickly widening as townsfolk scrambled to put space between themselves and the struggle happening there. The guards arrived to find a trembling, emaciated man in torn clothing, lying on the ground, bow by his side, pinned by a giant wolfhound, teeth bared and snarling. The man had his hands raised in front of his face, and was screaming and whimpering, begging for his life. A captain of the guard gestured for two of his men to take the bedraggled figure into custody, and he was dragged off into the palace, the huge dog following along behind, his stern brown eyes fixed on the captive.

  Meanwhile, on the steps, barely a moment after the fateful arrow struck, the great white owl had vanished. Crumpled on the ground where it had been a moment earlier was a pale young man in a cobalt blue jacket, one arm of which was pierced through by a wicked shaft. Jorelial Rey first looked to assure herself that the king was safe, then rolled over and was just getting to her knees when she saw him.

  “Tvrdik? Tvrdik!” she screamed, but there was no answer. Crawling to his side, she struggled to turn him over, and lifted his head and shoulders onto her lap. Her left hand came away covered in bright blood as she tried to cushion his head while avoiding jostling the awful dart. “Tvrdik, can you speak?” she asked him, then shouted, “Someone send for a healer.”

  Tvrdik raised his head to survey the damage to his arm, and seeing the arrow sticking out at a rakish angle and a bloody stain spreading, he winced and fell back with a groan of pain. Jorelial shook him a little, “Tvrdik, hang on. They are going for a healer now. Say something!”

  He winced again, then croaked, “Delphine will never forgive me.”

  Jorelial started, “What are you talking about?”

  “The jacket. It isn’t even paid for yet, and I’m afraid I’ve gone and spoiled it already.” He tried to smile, but it came out more of a twisted grimace.

  “Oh, you ridiculous man,” the Lady Regent scolded. “Forget the jacket – and what did I tell you about swooping in to rescue me?”

  “Sorry,” he groaned, “It seemed a good idea at the time…”

  “Just rest here, don’t move,” she soothed.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. Awwwwfff…” Tvrdik couldn’t help moaning as his shock gave way to searing pain.

  “Where is that healer?” Rel shouted impatiently to no one in particular, but as she looked up, she saw the faces of Lord Corbin Maygrew, General Boone, and Bargarelle, their eyes wide, staring at her and her limp charge. She realized that, despite all the confusion on the stoop, they must have seen the mage’s precipitous transformation. She swallowed, and met Maygrew’s eyes. One brow raised, he broke the silence,

  “Jorelial Rey, do you know something about this…this remarkable occurrence?”

  She sighed, “I was going to introduce you as soon as the moment was right, but it seems the moment has been thrust upon us. Gentlemen, I would like you all to meet Tvrdik, apprentice to Master Wizard Xaarus. He has returned here after years abroad in order to offer his service. Friends, you may be looking at the last true wizard in the world, and I believe he has just saved my life.” Nobody said a word for what seemed an eternity.

  The first to venture into that uncomfortable pause this time was Tvrdik, who, with his signature crooked smile, managed to rasp, “Very pleased to make all of your acquaintances, I’m sure.”

  Maygrew blinked, then seemed to visibly pull himself together, “Guards, come and take this man within. Gently, now – watch that arm.” As soon as they shifted him, pain shot through the downed mage, and he cried out.

  “Careful.” the Lady Regent commanded, “Take him to my own chambers; they are the nearest. Someone tell the healer to meet me there.” They were already angling him through the great doors when he cried out again.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “My spectacles. Do you see them?” he was quite agitated.

  She felt around on the ground and found them, unharmed. She rose to her feet and placed them in his good hand, curling his fingers around the wire frames, “Here they are, just fine. Rest easy…”

  “I…I’m lost without them…” he mumbled, but let himself be carried without protest, pain and loss of blood beginning to crowd out all other sensations. At that moment, Delphine tumbled through the crowded doorway, closely followed by Mark. She grasped her sister’s arm, “Gods, Rel, what has happened? I just passed Tvrdik and he was bleeding and grey as ash! I couldn’t even get close enough to speak with him.”

  In a low voice, but with barely contained rage, the Lady Regent filled her sister in, “Someone tried to kill me just now – no doubt a message from Lord Drogue. Tvrdik put himself in the line of fire.” At Delphine’s expression, she hastened to add, “He was injured, but I think he will be alright. They apprehended the man; we will question him later and get to the bottom of this. The king is safe. I am fine, don’t worry. Delphine, could I impose on you to follow Darian and his nanny back to the nursery, and try to take his mind off all of this unpleasantness? Take Mark with you – you two are so good with him. I think we are all safe for now, but I don’t want to take any chances. Once he is calm, he needs to at least put in an appearance at the royal banquet. I may be delayed myself; can I trust you to get him there if I can’t?”

  “Of course, Rel. Whatever we can do to help,” Mark nodded, as his new bride went on, “Thank the gods you are alright.” Delphine gave her sister a quick, but firm hug to punctuate the sentiment, and turned back toward little Darian, who was looking confused in his nanny’s skirts.

  “Wait a moment,” the Lady Regent gestured for her sister to wait, and cast an eye over the milling crowd still scattered across the forecourt and lawns. Some had dispersed, some had run for home already, but the majority was still there, disoriented and uncertain in the deepening twilight. Not the best way to end this momentous day.

  “Lord Maygrew, would you boost him to your shoulder again, do you mind?”

  Taking her meaning, the big man approached and lifted the little golden boy high once more – a gesture that made the little boy laugh with delight. Jorelial Rey turned to face her audience, and projected her voice with as much authority as she could muster, “Citizens, subjects, and friends, I beg you raise your eyes and see truly that your King and his appointed regent are unharmed. While we are most grateful for your concern on our behalf, we wish for you to go on and enjoy the festivities prepared for your pleasure. Spread the word – the crisis is averted, all is well. We must not let the actions of one traitor spoil the joy we all feel today. Our thanks to you all for your support.” She smiled widely and waved again at the masses, standing tall and feigning more confidence than
she felt. It helped that the little boy was also smiling, enjoying his human ‘horsey ride’ on Lord Maygrew’s shoulder, the traumas of just a few moments ago completely forgotten. One could feel a collective sigh of relief pass through the entire assemblage, and gradually, arms around one another’s shoulders, in groups of two or three or ten, the citizenry began to disperse, headed for the places where food and fireworks had been promised.

  “Well done,” Lord Maygrew commended, handing off a sleepy young king to Delphine, who immediately disappeared into the palace with the boy, his nanny, and Mark. “So, that owl was no owl from the beginning, eh? I might have known. We owe him a great deal, that young man. You were right. I should have taken Drogue far more seriously.”