A Forthcoming Wizard

by Jody Lynn Nye

Eremi laughed out loud. “It’s even been polished. It looks like new. It’s there, in the stern.” He pointed aft. “I’ll show it to you. How are you?”

  Inbecca glanced at her aunt, who still concentrated upon the book. “I am well.”

  “He was angry that I left you behind.” Eremi didn’t have to tell her which “he.”

  She turned to face him fully. “It was my choice.”

  “Your pardon, as always, but my word is the last one he will ever admit he trusts.”

  “I’ll tell him myself. Come with me.” She turned to Sharhava who, after one loathing glance at Eremi, had gone back to her own thoughts. “Abbess, may I have leave to greet His Highness of Orontae?”

  “Very well,” Sharhava said without looking at them. “Do not be long.”

  The two men were conversing in the cool shade of the cabin when Inbecca bore down upon them, Eremi in tow. She hated to interrupt them. Eremi had told her how uncomfortable the détente between Orontae and Rabantae had been since the end of the war over timber rights. In years past they had been more like brothers or cousins.

  Some time between the unhappy end to the betrothal ceremony and that moment, the two kings had gotten over their enmity. The way they addressed each other with the ease of old friendship warmed Inbecca’s heart. She knew Eremi rejoiced in it, too. The war had been a foolish mistake and cost both sides more than either wanted to admit. Halcot, who had been forced to admit fault, had given more to achieve peace, but Soliandur had had to sacrifice his notorious pride. Halcot said something she did not catch, and the solemn Orontavian chuckled. It was a sound Inbecca had heard perhaps a half-dozen times in her life.

  The two men became aware of their visitors. When they noticed Inbecca, they rose from their seats and inclined their heads. She bowed more deeply, as befit the daughter of a queen regnant to brother kings.

  “How kind of you to honor us,” Halcot said, smiling. “We are glad to see you well. It will be my pleasure to send a message to your mother that you have arrived. Though she would welcome a message from you.”

  “I thank you, Highness,” Inbecca replied. “I will write to her. She deserves a full explanation of my long absence. I am ready to give it to her.”

  “We have heard most of it from the others,” Halcot said gravely. “I trust you did not suffer from your brief . . . detention.”

  “Not at all, my lord. I found it most educational. I haven’t had a chance to get to know many of the moonfolk from Sheatovra. I intend to spend more time with them when they visit Levrenn in the summers in future years. I have missed meeting the most interesting people.”

  “And there is my worthless son, standing in your shadow,” Soliandur said.

  Eremi held his ground. “I am here, sir.” Halcot snorted.

  “If you believe him to be so worthless, brother, I will adopt him. He has spent enough time in my castle over the last few years.”

  “More time than he has spent at home,” Eremi’s father said, but without rancor. “His mother wants to see more of him. If his princess will come as well.”

  Behind her, Eremi squirmed.

  “I would be delighted to attend Her Highness,” Inbecca said evenly, “but I have duties to perform before that day might come.” She took a deep breath to help her force out the awkward words. “I have taken vows.”

  “We witnessed them,” Soliandur said. “But the first as well as the second.”

  Inbecca well understood what he did not say. He felt it was a personal rejection, and no doubt Inbecca would have felt the same. She must find an explanation that he would accept. She turned to the other prince.

  “My lord Halcot, you were at Master Olen’s council some months ago, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, indeed I was.”

  “If your queen had gone off in pursuit of such a dangerous item, and you wanted to join the hunt, how would you have gone about it?”

  “What I did, I suppose,” Halcot said. “I have responsibilities to my kingdom. I sent my guards as escort to those whom I trusted to secure it.”

  “But had you no kingdom and no force of guards . . . ? Or at least, you were not yet on the throne?”

  One golden brow rose on the broad, ruddy forehead. “I see what you mean, though. Yes, I would have liked to have gone myself. If it was that important to my lady and I feared for her safety, I would go. You allied yourself with a force that would not otherwise accept you so that you would not be traveling alone. I see it.”

  “But why break your first vows when they were but hours old?” Soliandur burst out, his dark face scarlet over the cheekbones. “How does swearing fealty to the Scholardom equate with chasing down my son because you love him? Knights are not permitted to have personal ties.”

  Inbecca bowed her head. “I acted in haste, my lord, and for that I owe you and your family a deep apology. I did not think my actions through. I was angry, as what bride would not be, having her groom abscond without an explanation? I had waited years for that moment, as I am sure you did, sir. I hope all will come right in the end, but until that time, I have duties to the abbess.”

  “Well,” Soliandur said hoarsely. “That night changed many things. I, too, have been persuaded to the import of this journey. I will travel with my brother king. We will fight side by side with you and the Scholardom against the minions of the enemy in whom I did not really believe until I heard that young smallfolk lady’s account.”

  “That will be of immeasurable help,” Inbecca said, leaning forward and touching him on the hand. She smiled at him.

  “I can’t see how one overage, out-of-practice swordsman may do any good,” Soliandur said, but she could tell he was beguiled. The shadows around his eyes lifted a little. “But for your mother’s sake, who has always been a good friend to my realm, and for her daughter’s, who for a time lent grace to our court, I will give whatever I have.”

  “Now, brother,” Halcot said a little hoarsely, “you were always a deadly hand with a sword. I mind when we stood together against the pirates from the south of Balierenn.”

  Soliandur sighed, and his dark eyes looked weary. “Time was, but I had hoped never to have more dealings with war.”

  “This is a different kind of war,” Inbecca said.

  “If it is the only way to persuade you to resume your engagement to my unworthy son, I am well prepared to go to Alada’s ends.”

  “I cannot think to discuss that matter until this one is settled, my lord,” Inbecca said. “We will all be glad of your aid.”

  “Then, you shall have it. I have given my word, and you will see that it is good.”

  “I thank you, sir.” Inbecca wished she could reassure him further, but Sharhava had greater need of her than any of those men did at that time. “I must go. My aunt expects me.”

  “Your servant, lady,” Soliandur said, nodding curtly.

  She could tell he was not satisfied. His pride would not be assuaged without absolute reassurance, and she wouldn’t give it. She bowed to him and to Halcot, and withdrew, feeling very awkward.

  The conversation that had been going on when they had arrived continued.

  “Well, why can’t we use that book to go to where it must be bestowed, and bury it right away?”

  “I am your fellow soldier,” Halcot said. “Olen is our general. You must ask him. But it’s a good question. You should ask him. There must be some reason it would not work, or they’d do it. Magic is a chancy thing, you know. Don’t interfere with it myself.”

  “I’ve never much cared for magic. At least you have a court wizard who knows how it is made. My fool caused this whole catastrophe to be set in motion. No, don’t you go, boy,” Soliandur ordered as Eremi prepared to follow her. “You can answer some of these questions.”

  Behind her, Eremi let out a low groan. Head high, Inbecca pretended she was not listening. She strode back toward Sharhava’s seat.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  he sun was already halfway down the western
sky by the time all cargo had been brought on board and the ships were made ready to go. The kings sent their riders off to the north, bearing messages and welcome news to the three kingdoms. A few hardy traders waving goods of all types tried for one last sale to Patha and Temur, but were shooed, protesting, back to the dock.

  Though Sharhava had protested, the Scholardom was forced to return to the Eclipse. There simply was not enough room on the Corona. Privately, Tildi was glad that they could not travel close together. She didn’t really trust the knights, no matter how many protestations they made that they had changed. One of the young men especially worried her: Lar Mey. His rune told her that he was more ambivalent about the Scholardom’s new mission than the others.

  Tildi still mistrusted the new and amenable Sharhava, but the core of resolve that had always been at the human’s heart had become a sturdier stroke, and the swirling insanity had settled. Pain still plagued her, and likely always would. For that, Tildi was sorry. She was glad to have the troubled woman at a distance.

  With the Scholardom out of reach, Tildi could again enjoy being in Olen’s company. She was overawed by the presence of the two kings, but Olen managed to make it feel as if they were all his honored guests. At dinner he kept the conversation moving from one to another, asking questions and eliciting stories that kept the mood as merry as the meal.

  “Lakanta, I would welcome all of the news from Jorjevo. You said that four new cubs had been born to them since the council? Komorosh is too stingy with information.”

  “Twin cubs, one pair of them,” the trader said cheerfully. “A rarity for any people, but the bearkin have twins or triplets less than the rest of us. They are called Yarro and Yemiro.”

  “Brother heroes of ages past,” Olen explained to the others. “I have a copy of their history somewhere in my boxes in Silvertree’s storerooms. I will send them a scroll with the story on it to read to them by the fire. It makes good telling.”

  “Tell it, then,” Rin said, toying with her wineglass. “A good dinner demands a good tale.”

  Olen sat back at his ease. “As you please, Princess. I recall that in that time, giant lizards walked the land. Some say they even flew! The valley city of Randeri was one that they invaded time and again . . .” Tildi felt her head begin to nod.

  “Was it a human city?” Tildi asked, unable to stop herself from interrupting.

  “It was. This was in ages before the Shining Ones,” Olen replied. “To continue: the beasts killed cattle, and woe betide any poor farmer who sought to protect his herds . . .” Tildi felt her head begin to nod.

  “Come, Tildi,” Olen’s voice said, interrupting her drowse. She glanced up at him with a start. “We are not moving fast enough. We must see if we can do something about that.”

  “What about the end of the story?” Halcot called. He looked puzzled, as did the others.

  “Perhaps later, my lord,” Olen said.

  “Hurry, Tildi, wake up,” Serafina urged her.

  Tildi shook herself fully awake and sprang to her feet. The book bobbed up beside her like a friendly ghost. She followed them to the wheelhouse, where Haroun plied the wheel. He glanced at them, then back at the small glass on a standard beside him. By the light of the two lanterns burning on the wall behind Haroun, Tildi could see the shape of the vessel in miniature inside the glass, riding a ribbon of blue. Even these were tinged by the aegis of the book. All parts of the navigation crystal had tiny runes upon them.

  “We need speed,” Olen said to the captain.

  “We are going six knots.” Haroun took the crystal out of its bracket and held it out for him to see. Olen shook his head.

  “Six knots is too slow. I want to reach the south coast as soon as possible. I am seeing an attack on these ships. I wish to avoid it.”

  That got Haroun’s attention. “Sir, the winds blow inland at night. We can only go easy, and I fear we might collide with other ships in the dark if we go too swift.”

  “You cannot fail to see anything at all that is invested with runes by the Great Book. If I may, Captain, I’ll use a little weather to blow the sails.”

  “Against the prevailing breeze?” Haroun asked. “It will kick up the waves a lot, master.”

  “Nevertheless, I believe it to be necessary. Will you trust me?”

  “Certainly, if you will guarantee the safety of my ship.”

  Olen smiled, his eyes shadowed in the lantern light. “I believe I can do that, although it may be a thrilling ride. Are you ready to try?”

  Haroun showed a grin full of sharp white teeth. “Why not? I’ve ridden out storms you wouldn’t believe.”

  “I’d love to hear the tales sometime,” Olen said. “Perhaps later. Will you stand ready, Captain? Tildi, come with me to the stern. And will you join us, Serafina? I’d be grateful for your knowledge as well. It is a matter of weather magic adapted to a new purpose.”

  “I have no experience with weather magic,” the girl said, a little embarrassed.

  Olen beamed. “Good. Then you will give me a fresh perspective. We all learn from one another.”

  “What are you planning, Master Olen?” King Soliandur asked, coming out of the cabin. “Do you intend to make us fly?”

  “Your suggestion of this afternoon made me think, my lord,” Olen said, making his way to the rear rail of the ship. Tildi followed him and looked down at the water churning over the mighty rudder. Lanterns colored red for port and white for starboard hung on the rear of the ship. “Now I propose to make use of it. Do you care to observe?”

  “Why not?” Soliandur said. “I wouldn’t mind a chance to see genuine wizardry.”

  “We will do our best to please. Tildi, if you would not mind setting the book aside for a time.”

  With a thought of apology to it, Tildi sent the book down the hatch and into the small cabin set aside for her and Serafina by Haroun. She could see its rune right through the deck. It settled onto something, she hoped a bed. She turned to Master Olen.

  “Very good, we are ready.”

  “What did you see, master?” Serafina asked. “When Captain Teryn handed you the pitcher of wine, you stopped speaking.”

  Olen pressed his lips together. “Possibilities, my dear. The trouble with my art is that I foresee true events more often than not, but they are not so considerate as to offer me the date of their occurrence, nor the true shape. These ships are vulnerable. I have seen a force clad in silver armor that will beset us with poison knives. I have no choice but to act upon my visions, instead of waiting for confirmation. In any case, it will serve us to move more swiftly.”

  “How do you propose to make them less vulnerable?” Serafina asked.

  “By adding one more to our complement, I hope. The sooner the better, for we are ill-prepared for the onslaught that may beset us.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Should you not alert our allies?” Serafina asked, glancing over his shoulder at Halcot and Soliandur, both of whom had joined the ranks of the curious. “Should they not be made ready in case the onslaught is imminent?”

  Olen gestured toward Captain Teryn, who sat bolt upright, her keen eyes scanning the ship. “They are ready. They have always been ready. The question is, are we?”

  “But the kings,” Tildi asked, “what about them?”

  Olen sighed. “I am afraid that Soliandur has been disappointed by prophecy in the past. A half-formed vision will not please him. If I am able to make more sense out of it with more intense study, I will inform him what we face. It is not as easy as looking at a picture, Tildi. When we have time to give you instruction in scrying, you will see how nebulous such warnings can be. My lord of Orontae did not appreciate the gift his wizard possessed.”

  “Oh,” Tildi said. She realized she had thought that such visions were like pictures. She and Teldo had never gone as far as the study of prediction.

  “Let us begin,” Olen said. “Captain, at the speeds I hope we
will travel, it won’t be so easy to call to the other vessel.”

  “We will be able to signal back and forth to them,” Haroun assured him.

  “That will be sufficient,” Tildi said. “Won’t it?”

  Olen chuckled, as if he could read her thoughts. “Yes, it should. If we are moving too swiftly for friends, we will also be more difficult for foes to overtake as well.”

  “Thraiks can fly very fast.”

  “They cannot see through the warding, as well you know,” Serafina reminded her sharply.

  “Come, let us not bicker,” Olen said. “We have work to do.”

  The night sky seemed darker than the water below, but only because the runes depicting stars seemed less numerous than the myriad tiny creatures that each merited their own silver-gilt sigil. Olen scanned the sky.

  “This is going to be a matter of catching that which is coming toward us and diverting it to push us forward,” Olen said. “There, do you see?”

  He pointed to long narrow runes that streamed overhead. They divided, slipped over one another, then collided and became one again. Tildi watched them in fascination.

  “What are they?”

  “Winds. Breezes. We are going to capture them and make them fill our sails.”

  “How?” Serafina asked.

  Olen smiled. “It’s almost like clipping fleeces,” he said. “If we took all the winds from the sky we would create a hurricane. We will skim the lowest-flying breezes, mold them, and set them in place behind us. Tildi has already had some experience in capturing winds, have you not?”

  “Yes, Master Olen,” Tildi said.

  “We have an advantage in working at night in that we can see the runes to the exclusion of most of the rest.”

  “But where will we put them?” Serafina asked.

  “Why, we will use warding,” Olen said. “You have considerable experience in creating walls. These will be more like great sacks, to continue our shearing metaphor. Let us construct those first, so they will be waiting when we gather up the wind. They will need to be strong. Follow my lead, and place one within the other. Fornlau chnetegh voshad!” He pointed his staff to the rear and above the stern of the Corona.