“You were thinking that you should have been knighted for finding the Lost Cornerstone?” Bjorn asked knowingly. “I have to agree with you there. Koren, you gave the entire realm hope again! I overheard Royal Army soldiers talking, they were telling each other that now we have the Cornerstone again, we can defeat Acedor. The legend of the Cornerstone may only be a story, I don’t know, but while it was missing, many people never truly believed in their hearts that Acedor could be destroyed, that we could ever end this war. You gave us hope! You!” He stared at the boy in wonderment. Not only was the boy secretly, unknowingly a wizard, he had been at the very heart of critical events in Tarador. That could not all be a coincidence, and Bjorn had to ask himself whether his own part in Koren’s life was also not any kind of coincidence. Bjorn had been there when King Adric Trehayme died and Ariana became queen-in-waiting. Two people who had been present during events that shaped the current realm of Tarador, brought together without previously knowing or even having heard of each other. That could not be a coincidence, could it?
“I should be a knight for that! Or at least,” Koren threw up his hands, “a medal, or something. Some gold coins would have been nice.”
“Gold coins are always nice,” Bjorn agreed. “So, that’s two times you should have been knighted. First, for saving the princess, then for finding the Cornerstone. What’s the third time? You said you should have been knighted three times.”
Koren realized he did not actually know the criteria for granting knighthoods. He supposed someone needed to perform a spectacular act of bravery, or do something especially, vitally helpful to the kingdom. But for all he really knew, a princess could grant a knighthood to someone who served her a particularly tasty bowl of soup. The ways of royalty were, after all, a mystery to Koren. “Oh, that. When Lord Salva was attacked by enemy wizards and the Royal Army was stuck on the wrong side of the river, I went to find the wizard and help him. He was trapped in a ruined keep and the enemy-”
“Koren?”
“Yes?”
“Could you tell me the details later, when we’re not clinging to the side of a cliff?” Bjorn suggested. They were not exactly on the side of a cliff, but the seldom-used track they had been following had almost disappeared, and they were having to hold onto roots, shrubs and rocks to stop themselves from falling. Ahead perhaps a quarter mile, the land opened and there was a nice flat trail to walk on, until they reached that blessed spot Bjorn was watching where he placed every footstep.
“That’s a good idea,” Koren agreed, and they didn’t speak until they could walk normally again. Once they did not need all their concentration to avoid falling to their deaths, Koren told Bjorn about how he had killed an enemy wizard with an arrow, and how he had barely escaped after sending Lord Salva safely away on Koren’s own horse. Bjorn remained silent, so Koren told him everything, all the way to when they met again so unexpectedly.
“You saved the life of Lord Salva, and you expected a knighthood for that?” Bjorn asked when Koren was done telling his tale.
“Yes!” Koren said with indignation. Well-deserved indignation, he thought. “Instead, the Royal Army wanted me arrested as a deserter.”
“That was not their fault, as far as the Army knew, you were a deserter. I’m sure if you had stayed in Linden, it would all have been cleared up soon enough. The Royal Army can be a big clumsy bureaucracy, but they are not in the habit of punishing people who act with courage. Hmm.” Bjorn scratched his beard. “Koren, have you ever considered that, you being a wizard and all, that the things you did; saving the princess, finding the Cornerstone, rescuing Lord Salva, are merely what is expected of a wizard? That maybe you weren’t granted a knighthood because, well, you just did what wizards are supposed to do as part of their duty?”
It was good that Koren was walking on flat ground at the time, because his feet wobbled. “What?” He asked, thunderstruck. “I didn’t deserve any honors, because I acted as a wizard should, even though I had no idea I was a wizard?”
Bjorn made an exaggerated shrug. “I never said life was fair, Koren. And I was only guessing, no, I was throwing out crazy ideas. No less crazy that a wizard who doesn’t know he’s a wizard,” he added under his breath.
“They lied to me about being a wizard, then acted like I knew all about it?” Koren’s face turned red.
“Koren, I don’t know why they would have lied to you, there doesn’t seem to be any point to it, if you ask me. Maybe if I were a wizard, a properly trained wizard, that is,” he hastened to add, “it would all make sense. But they must have planned to tell you the truth at some point.”
“Why bother?” Koren demanded, fuming mad. “When it is so much easier to continue lying to the stupid farm boy!”
“Because,” Bjorn said gently, “eventually, it would not be easy to continue the lie. You discovered the truth, and you didn’t even talk with a wizard.”
“Frieda knows about wizardry,” Koren objected.
“I’m not talking about Frieda,” Bjorn explained. He reached in his pack and pulled out a honey-soaked cake they had bought from the dwarves. Breaking the cake with his hands, he gave half to Koren. They had hard bread, hard cheese, dried strips of meat for their long journey, and a few small apples. The food in their packs was not sufficient for walking all the way to Linden, for if they had to walk the entire way, Winter would be upon them before they reached the capital of Tarador. “I’m talking about what you’ve seen with your own eyes. You have unnatural fighting skill. Even as a boy, before Lord Salva supposedly cast a spell on you, when you shot an arrow, you never missed. Never?”
“Never,” Koren agreed. He did not like where the conversation was going.
“You said the bear that attacked Ariana was thrown backward when you held out your hand, without even touching it. When you fought those two enemy wizards to rescue Lord Salva, you shot one with an arrow, and the other wizard threw a fireball at you, but the fire flowed around you.”
“It did, and I thought that was Lord Salva’s doing!” Koren defended himself.
“Was Lord Salva there when the flaming bomb from that pirate ship missed you, and missed your ship entirely? Koren, the sailors on that ship suspected you are a wizard, the ship’s captain certainly knew something was odd about you.”
“And I didn’t,” Koren’s shoulders slumped. “Damn it all, I am an idiot. You are right, Bjorn, I should have known.”
“You’re not idiot, but, perhaps you are not as aware of yourself as you could be. Whether you met Frieda or not, eventually, likely soon enough, you would have seen the truth. It couldn’t be hidden forever. Lord Salva deceived you, for whatever reason I cannot guess, but the court wizard is not stupid. He must have known you would realize the truth, so he must have planned to tell you at some point.”
The next morning, cranky, exhausted and sore, Regin was up before sunrise, early enough that chief guard Captain Temmas was not yet in his office when the duke arrived. Temmas was warned by his people, and hurried up to his office, still buckling on chainmail as he came though the outer door. Palace servants, not even the head of the entire guard force, did not keep a duke waiting, especially when that duke was a guest of the princess in the palace. As a sign of each man’s irritation with the other and mutual lack of sleep, the exchange of pleasantries was brief. Within minutes, Temmas had assigned a pair of guards to accompany Duke Falco to inspect the second and third floors of the palace, and the duke left with two very unhappy guards.
By late afternoon, having taken only a brief luncheon break, Regin declared he was satisfied with security in the residence area of the palace. While the crown princess remained within the residence, she would be safe as she could be without restricting her movements to an impractical level. The unfortunate pair of guards were warily pleased to hear the duke’s praise of security measures within the residence. “But,” Regin glowered, “all that is well and fine, until the princess leaves the residence, as she must in performance of her du
ties. While I would prefer the mother of my future grandchild treat her own safety as her paramount concern, I fear,” he faked a dismayed smile, “she is far too conscientious about her duties to hide inside the residence. Her devotion to duty is a blessing to Tarador, and a burden for us, eh?” He said with a wink.
The guards, weary from tramping all throughout the residence and being on their best, most formal behavior around the duke, were taken in by Falco’s apparent offer of comradeship. “Yes, Your Grace, it is a trying task.”
“Hmmm,” Regin pretended to consider where to go next. “Oh, blast it,” he threw up his hands in a show of frustration, “the public areas of the palace are too extensive to cover in one day,” he looked out a window to judge the position of the sun. “Tell me this; if the princess were threatened while she is in a public area, for example during an audience in the great hall, where would she be taken for safety?”
The guards shared a look of mild surprise. Surely the duke already knew the answer to his own question? “To the Citadel, Your Grace.”
“Ah,” Regin nodded slowly. “Of course.” He pretended to consider for a moment, then, “let us go there.”
“Your Grace,” a guard said with a pained expression, “we are not allowed to open the inner door of the Citadel unless-”
“Unless the door is opened to admit a royal person who needs to be brought within the Citadel for protection. Tell me, if an enemy threat was imminent, where would I be directed to go?”
“The Citadel, Your Grace.”
“Clearly, then, I am authorized to access the inner door,” Regin noted, his expression again unfriendly.
As a credit to their training, the guards sent a request back to Captain Temmas, who quickly granted permission for the duke to enter the inner Citadel, accompanied by the guards. The two men feared the duke would want to poke around every nook and cranny of the Citadel tower, but to their surprise, Falco seemed satisfied merely to go through the heavy iron-clad door and ascend the first flight of stairs. “Oh,” he rubbed one knee with an exaggerated grimace, “all this tramping around is making an old battlefield injury flare up on me. I am no longer young like the two of you. Go,” he waved a hand dismissively, “look around the upper levels, I will remain here.”
Without questioning the duke, the two guards scurried off up the stairs, eager to finish the task and hopeful the duke’s weariness meant the aging royal would soon give up for the day. When they returned, they found Falco standing beside the heavy door, tapping a foot impatiently. The duke insisted on swinging the door closed behind them by himself. “Uh,” Falco grunted, “this door is impressively sturdy.” He needed to lean backward and use his weight to get the door moving on its well-oiled hinges. After the door closed with a solid ‘thunk’, Regin rapped his knuckles on it appreciatively. “Well, in a crisis, I could do worse than to be secured behind such a substantial fortification.” His experienced eyes took in the massive stones in which the door was set, with the hinges on the inside. Once the door was barred from within, there was no way to get it open from outside.
“We will be certain to get Your Grace to safety is needed,” a guard bowed slightly to the duke.
“Hmmm,” Regin grunted. In a crisis, the very last place he wanted to be was inside the Citadel with the princess. “That is enough for today, I am famished.”
The knees of both guards sagged ever so slightly with relief. They had escorted Duke Falco long past the scheduled end of their duty shift, not daring to mention that detail to one of the most powerful men in the realm. The prospect of leaving the duke after walking back to the residence with him was tantalizing, and monopolized the attention of the guards as Falco intended. With thoughts taking off boots to rest their aching feet, food and possibly a well-deserved mug of beer dancing in their minds, the two guards could perhaps be forgiven for not noticing that Duke Falco’s jacket was fastened a bit tighter, as if he no longer had a package hidden inside the jacket.
Like a dog with a tasty bone, Koren could not let the subject drop. He was obsessed with understanding all the misfortunes that had happened to him, so he continued the discussion as soon as they resumed walking after an uncomfortable night sleeping in a forest. “That all makes sense, and it’s a nice happy story, Bjorn, but tell me this: why, then, does the Royal Army have orders to kill me?”
“How do you know they do?”
“I,” Koren halted in his tracks again. “I overheard soldiers, no. I overheard stablehands talking, one of them said the army had orders to kill the wizard’s servant, because they thought I was responsible for an attack on the princess.”
“Mmm,” Bjorn grunted. “You didn’t hear it direct from a soldier, then, nor did you see their written orders? Koren, what you heard was a rumor, and rumors spread far and fast when they are sensational. People who like to gossip know to embellish the facts, to make a better story. You won’t know the truth until you ask a real soldier about it.”
“And if the soldier responds by killing me?”
“Um, good point. If, when, we meet soldiers, I will approach them to ask about it. You can stay back until we know the full truth of the situation. Oh,” a thought hit Bjorn as he saw the crestfallen expression on Koren’s face. “Well, I’ve gone and done it, then. You were all filled with righteous indignation, ready to march into Linden and take vengeance on those who wronged you. And now you’re feeling let down?”
“Yes!” Koren admitted. “Even, even if,” he balled up his fists, “Lord Salva planned to tell me the truth eventually, he and the whole Wizards’ Council were supposed to tell me I am a wizard a long time ago! I should be training properly now, and, and my parents should be alive and swimming in gold coins! Nothing that has happened changes that fact.”
“Aye,” Bjorn could not argue with that point. “You have the right of it there. Lord Salva does have much explaining to do. I just do not think your best approach is to storm into Linden intending to beat the truth out of the wizard. We don’t even know if he is in Linden,” Bjorn chided his young companion, “and as you keep complaining to me, you don’t know how to use magic!”
Koren made an angry, dismissive gesture and resumed walking down the trail. Bjorn was right, his enraged daydreams of storming into Linden and making people pay for how they mistreated him, were nothing but an immature boyish fantasy. Koren’s father had taught not to wallow in self-pity, and Koren now saw how difficult it was to avoid feeling sorry for himself. It was difficult, because first he had to admit to himself what he was doing. Taking vengeance on Paedris would not bring his parents back. He could not bring his parents back, nothing could. What, then, did Koren truly want?
The truth. The whole truth, all of it.
He would confront the wizard, hear the truth, and then he would decide what to do next.
That was the right thing to do, he knew it then.
It just did not feel as good as the idea of making the court wizard, and everyone who had wronged him, beg for forgiveness. Damn it, Koren told himself bitterly. Why did doing the right thing feel so drearily dull, while imagining doing the wrong thing felt so deliciously satisfying?
Later that morning Bjorn called a halt. “Koren, wait.”
“Why?” Since Bjorn’s relentless logic popped the bubble on Koren’s savory dream of revenge, the two had not spoken for hours. Koren was lost in his own thoughts, mostly kicking himself for not realizing the truth by himself, much earlier. How could he have been such a fool? Giant bears were not frightened away by unarmed boys! He should have known right then that something was very wrong with what he thought he knew about himself.
“We should have met someone by now,” Bjorn announced with concern. For the past hour, they had been walking down what could almost have passed for a road in the dwarf lands. While they saw many footprints, belonging to dwarves, ponies and horses, even the occasional flock of goats, the land they walked through was utterly empty. By going back up the mountains and detouring north toward Westerho
lm before once again going south toward Tarador, they had hoped to slip around the invading orc army in the flatlands below. Bjorn expected to encounter dwarves coming up through the passes for the security of their mountain strongholds, or elements of the dwarven army marching down to fight the orcs. Instead, they had not seen a single person. The signs of heavy traffic having already gone up the mountain worried Bjorn, who pointed to wispy columns of smoke in the valley below. They could not yet see the valley, for a ridge of foothills blocked their view, but the entire area was covered with a low-lying haze of smoke. Was the smoke from dwarves burning supplies they could not move, to deny those supplies to the orcs? Or were the orcs already in control of the valley, and burning farms and buildings from the hateful spite that was the nature of orcs?
Koren was startled out of his reverie. “You’re right. I didn’t think of it, sorry.”
“I’ve been thinking it, ever since we reached this road. My expectation was that we would find slow going down the road, with all the dwarves moving their families and livestock up the road against us. That we haven’t seen anyone at all is worrisome.”
“What should we do?”
Bjorn considered for a full minute before he spoke. “If the orcs are in the valley already, they are likely to send a patrol up this road, hoping to find and kill stragglers among those fleeing from them. I say we get off this road,” he looked around. The land was mostly low scrub brush, dotted with groves of pine trees. There were no trails other than the sort of road they traveled, the only other paths appeared to have been created by wild animals. Bjorn walked forward, then off the road to examine a faint trail. “This is a deer print, and I think that print is from a goat. We need to get to the crest of those foothills, see what lays ahead in that valley, before we decide what to do. Koren, keep off this deer track for now, if orcs do come up this road, we don’t want them seeing our boot prints near the road.” He looked back at the road, the surface was so trampled down that signs of their walking down would only be noticed by someone looking carefully, and not by orcs running in haste after easy prey. Or so he hoped.
Deceptions (Ascendant Book 3) Page 4
