Warcaster (Mage Song Book 1)

by J. C. Staudt

  “You were the reason my life was in danger to begin with. Were it not for you and your meddlesome cohorts, Rylar Prince would not have escaped. Geddle would still be alive, and there would still be hope for our fight against the mage-song.”

  “My cohorts and I acted on behalf of my lady wife, whose safety was threatened.”

  “Lady Alynor’s imprisonment was your doing. It was your own treason which put her in chains.”

  “She was no less in danger,” said Darion.

  “And you were no less a traitor, before my pardon.”

  “I did what I believed was necessary for the realms. What more must I do to prove my loyalty?”

  “Obey me.”

  Darion wrestled with the prospect of serving such a man. He would never trust the king again, but he was convinced there was still some good in the man. “As you say, your majesty,” was all he could bring himself to utter.

  “Do not make me regret the clemency I have granted you, Sir Ulther. Times are dire. Something must be done about these northern usurpers.”

  “Your advisors have given you good counsel, your majesty,” said Darion. “You must free Rylar Prince. But you must also notify Rudgar King of your invasion of Korengad. He will not stay long once he finds out his kingdom is in jeopardy.”

  “Or perhaps he will crush Maergath in his vengeance. Who can say what that barbarian will do when he finds out I’ve deceived him?”

  “Send riders out to meet him before he arrives with his host,” said Darion. “Make him draw off his armies before we deliver him the prince.”

  Olyvard King leaned on his elbow and drummed the sagging armrest with his fingers. “If I must,” he sighed. “See it done. Unless, of course, there is anything else.”

  “Nothing more, your majesty,” said the messenger.

  The king dismissed the man with a wave. “Now, get out of my sight, all of you,” he told his advisors. “Sometimes I don’t know what I keep you around for. The bloody Warcaster has more sense than the lot of you.”

  Olyvard ignored their objections and motioned for Darion to follow him. Together they exited through the throne room’s only undamaged side door and strolled the outer gallery as shafts of afternoon light pierced the open windows. “Have you quite enjoyed your stay at Castle Maergath?” the king asked after a time.

  Darion sensed some trick, but answered anyway. “Less than I imagined.”

  “Really. And how had you imagined it?”

  “I’d imagined it as a chance to stop a foreign king, drunk on power, from seizing a land not his own.”

  The king laughed. “That is just what you’ve done, isn’t it? Only it was a different land and a different king than you had in mind.”

  “Yes,” Darion admitted.

  “After all you’ve seen, it does surprise me you stayed.”

  “You would’ve given me over to Partridge. Payment in blood, the same way you paid the Hand of Suffering.”

  Olyvard smiled. “You fetch a high price, Sir Ulther. I’ll have you know I offered Partridge many other forms of payment. Many. He refused them all; he wanted only you. Anyway, Partridge is gone now. You needn’t worry about him any longer.”

  And what about the next bloodthirsty sadist who comes to you inquiring after a Warcaster’s pelt? Darion nearly asked. “I did not worry about him while he lived.”

  “That’s rather like a Warcaster, to overestimate himself against every foe. I should like to see you live up to that promise, though; the castle walls will never be repaired before Rudgar King and his armies arrive.”

  “Your messengers will see that does not happen. When Rudgar King gets your message, he will accept your terms for the sake of his son.”

  “As much as I should like to take you at your word, I hope you are ready to fight all the same. Though I do question your willingness to remaining in my service, I must admit I am glad of it. The Hand of Suffering may be absent, but at least we have you here to help.”

  Darion was unimpressed with the king’s half-hearted attempt at praise. “I remain only long enough to see my companions returned to health. They were injured on my account, so it is only fitting I remain close by while they recover.”

  “Even now you refuse to embrace the power of nature,” said Olyvard. “The power that might render them restored in moments rather than months.”

  “Toying with the life-giving essences of our world is a dangerous game,” Darion said.

  “And toying with magic isn’t?”

  “Magic is more dangerous than nature. Which is why both are to be revered and respected.”

  Olyvard scoffed. “Gold. Land. Influence. Those are the things I respect. Those are the things an empire is made of. My first attempt at freeing the world from magic’s grasp may have failed, but there will be others. Those may fail still. But I shall build my dominion despite the forces working against me.”

  “That will be hard to do without an army. What will become of yours if Rudgar King does return to Korengad?”

  “One does not attain power without risks, Sir Ulther. So I suppose we shall have to wait and see.”

  ***

  Darion spent the next several days promising Lady Alynor he would never leave her side again without warning her, no matter what happened in Maergath. Whenever he was not in the king’s presence, he was guarding his lady wife with the utmost vigilance. He never left their chambers unless he was wearing his sword and armor. Neither did he leave Lady Alynor alone, always opting instead to bring her to Kestrel where he was looking after Triolyn, Jeebo, and Ristocule.

  Triolyn’s wounds were simple; Rylar had thrown him across the crumbled wall, breaking an arm and two ribs. Ristocule had a bruised wing and an open cut on his skull from Rylar’s fist. As for Rylar himself, Darion visited him once daily to restore the ward while they waited to receive word from the king’s messengers to the advancing Korengadi army.

  No word came until Rudgar King himself arrived at the gates of Maergath from the east, with his full host behind him and the heads of Olyvard’s messengers raised on wooden spikes like gruesome pennons. From the west came Gruske Frosthammer and his army of Ice Dwarves, on time and in startling form, given their long hike and the battle with the brigands which had preceded it. The Hand of Suffering had not caused much in the way of suffering for Gruske and his soldiers, it seemed.

  “A fine job your negotiations have done,” shouted the king when Darion appeared in answer to his summons. “My riders have met their ends, thanks to you. I hope you are as powerful a Warcaster as the commonfolk claim. With our inner walls breached during your battle with Rylar Prince, there will be no siege; only slaughter.”

  “Let me do as I have asked you before,” said Darion. “Let me ride out to meet them. Rudgar King knows my face. I have shared a table with the dwarf clansmen, as well. Their commander and I have many years of history between us.”

  “Yes,” Olyvard said slyly. “Yes. That’s it. I like the way you think, Sir Ulther. Murder their generals under the guise of diplomacy. Their armies will suffer without leadership. They will crumble and retreat.”

  “That was not what I meant—”

  “This is the only way, Sir Ulther. We must crush them, here and now, before they slip from our grasp.”

  He is mad, Darion thought. “This is ill-advised, your majesty.”

  “Is it? Is that what you think? Do this, Sir Ulther. Do this, and prove your loyalty. Do it because it is my will. Serve your king, as you have pledged to.”

  “If I go out there, it will be to broker peace. To arrange the return of Rudgar’s son and end this farce.”

  The king’s face reddened with anger. “Rylar Prince is my captive by rights. His father is an obstacle to my empire.”

  “You truly wish me to murder Rudgar King and Gruske Frosthammer?” Darion asked.

  The king sat back on his melted throne. “That is my will.”

  Darion anchored his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “T
hen I cannot do your will. It is impossible to serve the realm and serve you at the same time.”

  “Mark my words, Sir Ulther, and mark them well. If you leave this room with intent to disobey me again, I shall see you ruined. Ruined.”

  “It has never been my intent to disobey you, your majesty.”

  “Then see you refrain from doing so.”

  “I will do what I can.”

  “I am certain you will do what you must.”

  “By your leave.” Darion bowed and left the throne room.

  The walk back to the chamber where Kestrel and the others were staying was not an easy one. Darion dreaded telling Alynor what he had to do, but he had made her a promise, and he would follow through on it.

  When he arrived, he gave a knock on the door before entering. Kestrel was at the window, gazing out across Maergath and the armies mustering in the southern desert beyond. In narrow beds along the far wall lay Jeebo and Triolyn, the former looking far worse than the latter. Jeebo was drenched in sweat, eyes closed, chest rising and falling. Triolyn sat up against his pillow, fidgeting with the soft white bandage wrapped around his head. On a wooden perch in the corner stood Ristocule, also studying the armies stirring in the distance.

  Alynor finished dabbing Jeebo’s forehead with a washcloth and laid it over the side of a water bowl on the nightstand. She stood, pressing a hand to her lower back. She’d begun to show, even in a dress. She could no longer fit into a corset, and she’d begun to put on her pregnancy weight. Her expression dimmed when she saw Darion’s face. “What is it, my dearest? Is something the matter?”

  “Can he walk?” Darion asked, pointing to the falconer.

  “He has not been out of bed all day,” said Alynor. “His condition varies by the hour. Has something happened?”

  “Something is about to happen. I know not what. That is why I want you all to leave.”

  “Leave the castle?”

  “Leave Maergath. Take the mountain road west until you clear the dwarven armies. Then follow the Dathiri River south to Forandran. There, take ship for the open sea. You must escape Dathrond, and you must do so right now.”

  “You speak as if you won’t be with us.”

  “I’ve a peace to keep.”

  “You mean to treat with Rudgar again?” Kestrel said, aghast. “I trust you’ve noticed what he did to the last envoy.”

  “I’ve more aptitude than the king’s messengers for keeping my head on my shoulders. Besides, I’ll be bringing Rudgar his son. Pack your things now, all of you.”

  “What about Jeebo?”

  “Pray his pony possesses the strength to bear him hence. It seems he’ll do little walking on his own.”

  While the others were gathering their belongings, Darion pulled Alynor aside. “I regret to say it, my lady, but there is a chance I may have to leave you again.”

  Her face grew strained. “Now? Why now?”

  “After I reunite Rylar Prince with his father, I—”

  “You’re going to deliver a Warcaster to an army full of his own countrymen?” said Triolyn, overhearing. “Maergath is done for.”

  “It is far from done for,” Darion said. “I am bringing the prince as a token of good faith in Olyvard’s name.”

  Triolyn scoffed. “You think Rudgar will be bought after the slight our king has dealt him? Bloody good luck on that score.”

  “I know the chances are slim,” said Darion. “But I’ve more to offer him than just his son.”

  “Such as?”

  “The truth, for one thing. When I tell Rudgar his kingdom has been invaded, I believe he’ll want to return home to Korengad as soon as possible.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Triolyn. “It isn’t often I say this, but you’re wrong.”

  “You say that—all the time,” Jeebo managed.

  “I agree with Triolyn,” said Kestrel. “If you tell Rudgar that Dathrond has invaded Korengad, he’ll almost certainly put Maergath to the sword.”

  “That is why I’m prepared to offer him one other thing, in exchange for a full withdrawal of his armies.”

  Alynor gasped. “You cannot mean—”

  “Myself. Should nothing else sway him, I will pledge him my sword and offer to help him reclaim his homeland.”

  The room erupted.

  “Hush. Quiet down, all of you. You’re like to wake the dead.”

  “The way you’re going about things,” said Triolyn, “the dead won’t suffer to be woken.”

  “This is what I was trying to tell you a moment ago, my lady,” said Darion. “That I must go to Korengad.”

  “No. No, no, no. I will not permit it. You will be branded a traitor. We shall lose everything.”

  “His majesty has nearly promised me that much already. Olyvard King has commanded me to murder Rudgar and his son in the conference tent, along with my dear friend Gruske Frosthammer. I’ll not do it. If I report back to him otherwise, he’ll have my lands and titles stripped from me.”

  “So you’ll cross the oceans to murder Dathiri soldiers instead?” said Kestrel.

  “It is not murder I mean to purvey in Korengad. It is peace.”

  “Peace by the sword. A valiant notion which contradicts itself in every way.”

  “Olyvard King wants an empire,” Darion said. “Not one of you in this room believes an empire ruled by a man like him is a just course—unless Sir Jalleth has an opinion I was not aware of.”

  Ristocule gave a squawk.

  “The balance of power has shifted,” Darion continued. “I mean to set it right. That will require two things—keeping Maergath under Dathiri rule, and pulling Dathrond’s armies out of Korengad. An empire would mean constant bloodshed. If Olyvard King has his way, it will mean a world without the mage-song as well.”

  “I can’t say I’d mind that,” said Triolyn. “Never been partial to magic, myself. It’s what got me this, after all.” He touched the bandage around his head.

  “Believe me when I say a world without magic would be one you enjoy very little,” said Darion.

  “Why’s that?”

  “For reasons I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to discuss at the moment. Help me lift the falconer out of bed. We’d best make him look presentable for our appearance at the gates.”

  “Sir Darion,” Kestrel asked. “What if Rylar Prince tries to kill you when you let him go?”

  “The ritual will be on him. I mean to cast it before we set out from the castle.”

  “But if he’s close—say, in a tent somewhere—won’t the ward surround you as well?”

  “I suppose it will. But I do not think the prince will do me harm. I am bringing Lorn the translator to assist in the negotiations.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I can’t. I can only do what I believe is best for the realms, while holding out hope that Rudgar and his son wish to do the same.”

  Chapter 31

  The sky was bright and clear; not at all the way Lady Alynor felt. She was a Mirrowell, and no Mirrowell in history had ever let a spot of good weather ruin a perfectly sour mood. She could smell the invading armies from inside the keep, hear the distant milling of armored soldiers as they set camp beyond the city walls. It was a perfect day for a battle, which did not make her feel any better about her husband’s fate.

  They set out from the stables and traveled along the inner ward at a slow walk. There were thirteen of them altogether, including Sir Jalleth. Lady Alynor wasn’t sure whether Ristocule and the old knight should count as one person or two. For now, under the effects of Geddle’s ritual, Sir Jalleth was fully dressed and sitting ahorse. Alynor and Sir Darion rode side-by-side, accompanied by their three companions. Triolyn seemed to be handling the ride well enough, but Jeebo was swaying in his saddle, delirious from his sickness and the apothecary’s potions. Rylar Prince and his translator were also with them, along with Olyvard King’s generous complement of five Dathiri guardsmen. Five men, she thought with scorn. I’m
shocked his majesty could bring himself to spare so many…

  Alynor hadn’t intended to be so downhearted about everything, but Darion’s announcement had shaken her. He’d claimed to regret leaving her alone, yet here he was, about to offer his sword to a foreign king. She did not relish the thought of spending the rest of her days in abject poverty, stripped of lands and incomes because of Darion’s stubborn defiance of the king’s orders. Nor did she wish to raise her child alone under such circumstances. I will not forget this, she told herself. I’m angry with him, and I’ve a right to be. Nor will I forgive him if he does not return to me when his negotiations are done. A man with a child on the way ought to be more concerned with his family than with another kingdom halfway round the world.

  Part of her wished they had never answered the king’s summons. In her heart she knew Maergath might lay in ashes by now if they hadn’t. To keep Darion all to herself was to deny him his potential; to quash whatever had changed him from a listless, do-nothing sluggard into a man with a renewed sense of purpose. That did not make today’s events any less nerve-wracking. Surely she had not liked her husband better the way he was before…

  Back home at Keep Ulther, it had been no secret to her that Darion wasn’t happy. Until now, she hadn’t known why. She’d tried and failed to find common ground with him, but common ground wasn’t what she’d needed. What she had needed was to know him; to uncover his mysteries. Beneath his stiff-necked brooding, he was a man who knew what great things he was meant for. Eschewing that burden for so long had awoken something in him. Or perhaps now that the realms were in peril, Darion had simply risen to the occasion.

  Indeed, that which had brought the color back into Darion’s world was draining it from hers. There was enough pomp and chivalry in him to make any woman sick. He was stubborn and cantankerous, yet he was also kind when it mattered. Perhaps most importantly of all, he was a good man.

  Lady Alynor knew what was making her so uncomfortable. She loved him. But more than that, she was falling in love with him. Pity it had taken her months on the road and hundreds of leagues to discover that.