“Do you think I like what I am forced to do?” he cried, smashing his fist sideways against the wall. The blow must have hurt him considerably more than it hurt the stone, but he gave no sign of pain. “Do you think I like impaling a pregnant woman or a newly born child? I want to move beyond such necessities. I want to be a twin King to your father. I want some life other than the damned empty peace of Cassio’s Island. If I am not allowed the thrill of war, I want a wife. And Betony Hoad would be happy to entertain me with one or the other. Or both!”
A long silence fell. Dysart didn’t know what to say. The structure of his world was going through further disintegration. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked at last.
“I want to tell someone the truth,” Carlyon said. “But there’s something more. I’ve watched you over the years, just as I watched your brothers. One of you tried to replace me. We know about that. And Betony Hoad wants to be as close as he can to being a god. He wanted to take on the power of the Magician, but the Magician has escaped and lost himself in Hoad, or so Betony tells me, and I think he is telling the truth. He may have the Magician tucked away somewhere, or it may even be that the Magician is dead. I certainly wouldn’t put it past that brother of yours to have had Heriot Tarbas killed and cooked and served up as a meal in the hope of digesting him… absorbing the nature of a Magician. But what I want is what I think you want. I want you to be King of Diamond and to declare that the Hero can be a man, not a symbol, who can marry and own estates on the mainland and be chief among the Lords of Hoad.”
So much had been said. Dysart felt his thoughts twisting madly. “My father is still alive, and my brother is still the heir to the throne,” he mumbled.
“I think your father wants a reason to replace your brother,” Carlyon said. “He is determined to wring a possible King out of Betony Hoad if he can, or, failing that, he wants a reason to replace him. He has seriously underestimated your brother’s desperation. At this moment you are a hostage, and so are several others who are your father’s men. Lord Glass, for example, is imprisoned in rather less attractive circumstances than these. I think Betony Hoad would have had him killed, and I certainly think he would have enjoyed killing you… but at this stage hostages have a value, and he is enjoying his power. He can’t afford to alienate me. Most here in Diamond are deeply confused about where their duty lies. They are loyal to the King, but your brother is very much the sign of the King. They are puzzled by the forces I brought with me. But after all, I am also a sign of the King.”
Dysart felt rather than saw Carlyon shrug. He lay on his bed, obstinately staring up at the sloping stone ceiling. “Does my brother know you are talking to me?” he asked at last.
“I didn’t see anyone as I came up here, but I expect there were those who saw me. However, your brother wants my cooperation. Your father and his troop are on the way back from the Islands, and Prince Betony Hoad has sent a ship to meet them, and maybe to explain that he has taken you, along with Lord Glass and others, as hostages. Your brother and I want to negotiate for change in Hoad, and we think this is a way of getting your father to agree.”
“My father might set you free from the restrictions of being a Hero in a time of peace,” Dysart said, “but I don’t see how he can make Betony Hoad into a Magician, or any sort of god. Or even a King! Three Kings, counting you, might be too many even for Hoad.”
“There are many possibilities. Your father might enjoy embracing a hermit’s life out in the Islands,” Carlyon said easily. “And if you were your brother’s immediate heir, who knows? The Master of Hagen might change his mind about marrying his daughter into the Dannorad. And accidents can happen, even to men like Betony Hoad. You might become King rather sooner than seems likely at present. There are so many possibilities. Help me, and I might be able to help you.”
Dysart stared back at the Hero and saw for the first time that Carlyon was becoming much older than he had been. The huge complications of finding his own longings so entangled with those treacherous possibilities Carlyon was suggesting somehow reduced Dysart to a man without any power of judgment. “It’s all too much,” he said wearily, shaking his head on its thin pillow. “I don’t know what to do.”
Carlyon stood. “All you have to do is think about it,” he said. “Weigh one thing against another.” He moved to the door and turned the key in the lock, but didn’t open it immediately. Instead he turned back, looking down at Dysart. “Just don’t spend too long thinking,” he added, smiling. Then he vanished into the space beyond the door, and Dysart heard bolts being slotted carefully home again.
What sort of life is it? thought Dysart. “What sort of life is it?” he muttered. “What sort of life is it?” he suddenly screamed at the stone walls. “What’s happening to me? I’m Prince, yet I’m a prisoner. I’m a Prince of Hoad, and Hoad is so much more than Diamond and Guard-on-the-Rock. It stretches out in all directions, and yet, right now, Diamond seems to be all that matters. And Linnet! What’s happening to Linnet out there in the wilds of Hagen… treacherous Hagen?”
But the walls merely turned his tormented questions back on him, until Dysart turned too—turned on his narrow bed and tried to bury his face in the thin pillow.
***
Two days later the King came home. Light caught the sails on the horizon, briefly at first and then more confidently.
“We’ll arrange a decorative reception,” Betony said to Carlyon, watching this approach from one of the balconies of Guard-on-the-Rock. “Of course my dear father will be expecting me, but he might be surprised to see you.”
“Not for long,” Carlyon said briefly. “He knows I am discontented with my heroic function and how empty I find it now that I am older. But I suspect the trap was laid for you and not for me.”
“Was it a trap?” Betony asked, smiling first at Carlyon and then at the wizard Izachel standing at his shoulder, also staring at the horizon, and gesturing in the air above his head.
“Oh, I have no doubt your father wanted to precipitate some crisis… something that would justify him in clarifying the succession. I think he was hoping we would do what we have done—define ourselves in some significant fashion. But I don’t think he expected anything like this level of extremity. I don’t think he anticipated that I might ride into Diamond bringing all the authority of the Hero with me.”
“Well, if he wanted to precipitate a crisis, he has succeeded,” said Betony in his most cordial voice. “We are Prince and Hero together. And”—he glanced at Izachel— “Magician, too.”
“There’s nothing there we can make use of in Izachel,” Carlyon said rather bitterly. “Heriot Tarbas saw to that at the time of your wedding. Any trickster down in the city markets could outdo him these days. He’s nothing but a ruin.”
THE KING RETURNS
In the beginning the ships were little more than flickers along the horizon. The wind was hounding them onward, and their sails winked in reflected sunlight. As they moved toward the long wharves at the mouth of the Bramber, a crowd edged out to watch them come in—a crowd made up of Lords and their small courts, men and women of Diamond, and lines of soldiers, the Hero’s own men interspersed among the men of Hoad. They ranked themselves, bringing order out of their confusion, with the men of Diamond looking sideways at the forces of Cassio’s Island, then stepping away from them as if they might contaminate one another.
Out at sea the advancing ships peeled away, swinging right and left, making way so the vessel with the glittering royal sign on its sail would be the first to dock. As it did so the musicians moved forward, coming into their own. The air rang with songs of welcome—both stately and joyous, songs that contrasted strangely with the mood of uncertainty surrounding the singers. A carpeted gangplank was carried forward in a ceremonious way and laid between the ship and the garlanded wharf. The King of Hoad, crowned and resplendent in blue and gold, appeared on the deck, then crossed from sea to land.
A cry went up, welcoming him, but once
again it was curiously restrained, as if those who cheered the King were uncertain about what would happen next, unsure if a welcome was appropriate, as if they thought the wrong judgment might bring incalculable retribution tumbling down on them. The King responded, facing his city and holding his arms wide in a formal embrace. For a moment he stood there, looking from Carlyon to Betony Hoad. Then music made yet another announcement, and, as if commanded even though he was the King, he moved forward once more, to place his hands on Betony Hoad’s shoulders and stare into his eyes.
“Dear son!” he said, but he said it in an entirely blank voice, entirely free of either dislike or love. Then he looked past Betony Hoad, studying the face behind him. “I would have expected Lord Glass to be attending you,” he said.
“Now, there’s a warm welcome,” Betony Hoad replied, as they bent toward each other, the King’s worn cheek touching the cool cheek of his son.
“And Lord Carlyon. I certainly did not expect to find you here on the wharf,” the King went on, holding out his hand to the Hero, who clasped it warmly. “What a pleasure!”
“I couldn’t hold back from being here to welcome you,” Carlyon replied, smiling. “Diamond is not Diamond without a King.”
The King’s eyes were running over the guards and soldiers lined up behind them. “You have come well escorted,” he said at last.
“Very well escorted,” Carlyon said. “These are only a few of the men I have brought with me. Prince Betony Hoad has been most hospitable.”
“I have rather fallen in love with the kingly function,” Betony Hoad said, and as he spoke he saw a sudden change of expression in his father’s face.
“Where is Lord Glass?” the King asked. “Where is Dysart?” There was something approaching emotion in his voice at last. He looked at Izachel, standing behind Carlyon. “Where is my Magician?” Betony Hoad glanced sideways at Carlyon.
“Lord Glass and Dysart are both very healthy,” he said. “And well protected. But we can’t discuss all that has happened while you have been traveling, not standing here in this irritating breeze. Let us advance grandly and allow Guard-on-the-Rock to take us in.”
***
And in due course they stood, just the three of them, in the King’s golden room in Guard-on-the-Rock, where the carved faces smiled slyly down from the high stone arches. The King peered briefly up at them with a moment of something approaching ease. They, at least, were giving him a welcome he recognized, something he could rely on. Then, his face hardening once more, he turned to his son and the Hero, gesturing at the chairs before the throne. But Betony Hoad and Carlyon were both already seated, staring at him with the confidence of men who know they are in charge of the world.
“Well, have you enjoyed your time ruling Diamond?” the King asked Betony Hoad.
“Not particularly,” Betony replied. “But I have enjoyed undermining the arid tradition we represent. I have indeed felt like a man remaking the world, and I thank you, dear Father, for giving me the chance.”
“The world is not readily remade… not against its will,” the King said.
“But it longs to be remade,” Betony replied.
“And it must be remade,” Carlyon continued. “It is unnatural for any world to stand still. Lord King, I want the Hero to be more than an empty symbol banished to Cassio’s Island, only coming into Diamond to be waved like an old banner. Lord King, I want to be part of the active life of this city. I want to be your true twin… a true King… ruling beside you.”
“It is not possible,” the King replied. “You must know that. I am the King, first, last, and only.”
“First but not last,” Carlyon said. “My soldiers are spread throughout Diamond. And Prince Betony Hoad and I have your youngest son, along with Lord Glass and some of your loyal followers, in our power. We would hate to do them harm, but…”
“I wouldn’t in the least mind doing them harm,” Betony put in. “I long for some extreme entertainment, and watching experts harm Lord Glass would certainly have its pleasures.”
“Your men may be spread through the city,” the King said, ignoring his son and looking directly at Carlyon. “But I have men of my own. You may even have the support of some of the Lords, but I know I have the support of others. And in any time of rebellion, I don’t think Betony Hoad would make a warrior King.”
“But I would,” said Carlyon. “I may be older and less skillful, for times of peace don’t encourage my particular talents. I am rather out of form, but I am still the Hero of Hoad. It is my chosen vocation. Lord King, are you prepared for battle? Are you, the man who forced peace on this city—a city molded by conflict, a city whose very foundation is war—are you really prepared to give up your dream of an artificially peaceful world and allow a more natural one to flourish?”
“After all, dear Father,” said Betony Hoad, “you knew when you went away that things would be changed. You hoped they would. You challenged Fate but failed to imagine that Carlyon and I would join against you. Even you have your limitations.”
“What do you want for yourself, Betony?” the King asked. He didn’t sound as if he was prepared to consider any proposal; he merely sounded curious. “Lord Carlyon has made his position clear.”
“I don’t know what I want,” Betony said. “But if you were to step back and allow me to become King in your place, I might have a chance to define my own ambitions. Our suggestion is that you go into voluntary exile on Cassio’s Island, which is an easy place to guard. And then Carlyon and I will rule as twin Kings in Diamond. He will be free to marry, and one imagines he would not have too much trouble fathering a dynasty. And me… I would try to become something beyond a King. I might even become a Magician. There must be a way one can learn.” He looked at Izachel as he spoke.
“Where is Heriot Tarbas?” asked the King suddenly.
A silence fell… just for a moment neither Carlyon or Betony had anything to say.
“He has chosen to leave Diamond,” Carlyon said at last, speaking rapidly, trying to suggest the moment of silence had been irrelevant. “He has deserted you.”
But there was something of a light in the King’s eye. “You’ve lost him,” he said.
“Not before I put my mark on him,” Carlyon said. “I think he decided the city was becoming rather too fierce for him. I think he decided to retreat. After all, he is a Magician, and they’re notable for trickery, not courage.”
A KEY TURNS AGAIN
Looking through the narrow slot of a window, Dysart could just see the ships coming into the port below. He imagined his father disembarking and being received by Prince and Hero, imagined him finding out that Diamond was no longer his own.
They’re going to kill me, thought Dysart. They’re keeping me so they can negotiate with my father. All these years and they still don’t know him. He lives by history… by signs. If it’s a choice between his peace and his son, he’ll find it easier to live without me. Turning away from the window, he didn’t so much pace around his small space as wander around it, pausing to touch the walls every now and then, as if, with a bit of luck, he might find a vulnerable spot, and the stone might crumble at his touch. “If I ever became King I’d watch out for the trap of the Hero,” he whispered to the wall, stroking it as tenderly as if it were the skin of the woman he loved. “But then you’d set other traps for me, wouldn’t you?” he asked, half believing the stones under his fingertips were in touch with every other stone in Diamond. “Wouldn’t you?” Then he asked, “What time of day is it? I know I’ve slept, but for how long? My father’s out there somewhere. Is he worrying about me? Betony Hoad, Luce, me… we’ve never been much more than chess pieces in a game he was forced to play, and the game’s taken him over. Now he’s a chess piece himself. What sort of man was he before he became King? I don’t know. No one knows. Well, Lord Glass, perhaps.”
Then he thought of Linnet. And for the first time in his last hour of distracted thinking, Dysart felt he became fully himself. He
stared down at his hands (my hands, he thought), flexed his fingers (“my fingers,” he muttered out loud), and was immediately pierced with an intense sadness and a certainty of doom… a feeling so fierce he had to sit on the stiff wooden chair, propping his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “I can’t betray my father. Of course, if my father was to go along with Carlyon’s wishes…” Alien forms of hope kept thrusting up through his thoughts, even when he was trying so hard to face implacable facts.…
There was a sound behind him. Someone was unbolting his door. Dysart didn’t turn when he heard that faint hush of the door opening, not wanting to gratify Betony and Carlyon by showing either expectation or hope… not wanting to betray the least interest in what was going on.
“Dysart,” said a voice. He swung around furiously, made violent by astonishment, but even as his chair tottered beneath him, before he had properly faced the door, he smelled wild grass and pine needles and found himself embraced and kissed… found himself kissing back.
“You’re alive. Alive!” she cried. “I came to warn you. Oh, Dysart…”
“Linnet!” he mumbled, but he was already looking across her trembling shoulder, to the shape of a familiar giant looming in his doorway… Heriot.
Heriot came into the tiny room almost shyly, followed by a Wellwisher. And though Heriot was definitely the man Dysart had known for so many years, yet he was that man transformed. His hair was cut short, his glasses were gone, and just as he used to do when he was a boy, he clapped his hand briefly over one eye in order to focus properly on Dysart. His clothes were rough and unraveling, so he was as shaggy as a bear in the King’s Zoo. But there was another, greater change. An unfamiliar power seemed to be spilling out from him, filling the room, almost as if he were giving off heat or light.
“She’s your true rescuer,” Heriot said, pointing at Linnet. “She set off riding through all the way from Hagen—”
The Magician of Hoad Page 27
