The Grand Sovereign gave Todder a cold look like he could hear the captain’s thoughts.
“What do you mean by formality?” Epik asked. Todder had wondered, too, but with the uncomfortable incident after his last thought, he had pushed all else away.
Sir Wallack squirmed in his seat like a petulant child, still reeling from the Grand Sovereign’s dismissal.
The Grand Sovereign continued, “What I mean, is there’s no chance for an agreement. No treaty. Your king has sent you here on a pretense. He knew what I wanted: I wanted to get to know my granddaughter. Perhaps he thought that might spare Dune All-En from destruction. But it won’t.”
Now her grandfather had Myra’s full attention. “Granddad,” she said almost scathingly, if more than a little cutesy to butter him up. “You mean you’re still going to attack Dune All-En? After all of this? There’s nothing we could do to change your mind?”
“Child,” the Grand Sovereign scoffed, “I’m afraid your novelty has worn off. There’s only one thing your father can do to stop this.”
“And that is?” Epik asked. They were all thinking it. Epik looked uneasily around the room. Todder, too, was now keenly aware of men in green armor surrounding them.
“Well, Gabriel could, for lack of a better phrase, bend the knee.”
“He could what?” Sir Wallack shouted. “Well doesn’t that just sound downright silly.”
“Couldn’t I do it?” Myra asked. “I’ll happily bend the knee. Both of them if you like.”
“That’s not how it works,” the Grand Sovereign said coldly.
“Well, then how does it work?” Sir Wallack groused. “I’m not a fan of these games.”
“Come now, Sir Wallack. We both know that’s not true. I’ve seen your bets at the tournament.”
Todder looked away, feeling Wallack’s shame with him, then his eyes moved of their own accord, following... what? Across the room, a Shadow skulked down the wall and ducked behind a suit of armor. Epik must have noticed it, too, because he stirred but quickly looked elsewhere when the Grand Sovereign whipped around and stared at where the Shadow had been.
Maybe the Shadow had signaled to Epik somehow because the halfling’s next words were a surprise, perhaps even to himself.
“What if we did make it a game?” Epik asked.
“Go on.” The Grand Sovereign folded his hands in his lap, sitting straight in his chair once more. “Unlike your old knight here, I do enjoy games.”
“What if I win the tournament,” Epik said. “If I win, you’ll reconsider. You won’t attack Dune All-En.” The way Epik said those words—like it wasn’t even a question.
The Grand Sovereign’s expression changed. “Yes,” he smiled. “Yes, that does sound amusing. But there’s something strange about you, Sir Epik. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“So, you’ll take the wager?” Myra asked.
It was like the king was awakened from a trance. He blinked blearily then turned his narrowed eyes to Epik. “And what stakes do you offer me, Sir Epik? What happens if you lose?”
Todder’s slower mind could sense Epik’s was racing. The halfling didn’t seem to have much to offer. First, he glanced at Sir Wallack who paid him no mind, then to Myra. Next, he found the empty seat, and finally, he looked at Todder, who shrugged apologetically. What could the halfling offer an emperor?
But Epik knew what he was about to say, Todder could see it in the halfling’s eyes—he was just playing with this king.
“I guess...” he drew it out. “I could offer you… my magic.”
“You can do that?” Sir Wallack asked out of turn.
Epik nodded. The Grand Sovereign sat back, pondering.
“Epik here seems to know a good deal about magic—more than I thought when we first met.” The man touched his temple, perhaps attempting some sort of mind trick. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to work. The Grand Sovereign’s face hardened and he said, “A magician’s powers are theirs and theirs alone. It’s difficult for a sorcerer to steal or take them—unless they are offered freely. Do you see the difference? I’m truly impressed with this offer.”
He pretended to think a moment. “Deal!” the Grand Sovereign said. “You win the tournament, and you save your precious kingdom. But if you lose… you lose your powers as well.”
Epik’s nod, which was still nodding, nodded one last nod. He sighed with no hint of relief. “Agreed,” he said.
They were excused, one after the other. Their servants came to retrieve them. Todder stood to leave but noticed his servant was missing.
“Captain, please stay,” the Grand Sovereign said.
Todder sat down, thinking nothing of it, absentmindedly longing for the good times sitting idle by the Wall with the sun above his head and not a care in the realm for as far as his eyes could see.
His eyes were up to their tricks again, watching the Shadow bound across the room and under a window.
“Captain, can I ask how it is you came to be a captain?”
Todder remembered the question, but his answer faded in his mind. He knew he had given one, and it was long winded, and none of it was to the Grand Sovereign’s liking.
The man’s nostrils flared. “This Epik, he came to be a knight around the same time?”
“He did,” Todder said.
The Grand Sovereign’s cheek twitched. “But how?”
Todder’s eye also twitched. The Shadow ducked under a tapestry.
But it was too late. In an instant, the room went blacker than night, as if the sun was extinguished in the sky. Todder couldn’t see his hands when he waved them in front of his face.
“What happened?” he barked. He attempted to stand, but his legs were immobile. And after those words so was his mouth.
“Shadow… revealio…” The two words snaked around the room with a low hiss, sibilant and rasping. They didn’t sound like they came from the Grand Sovereign, but something in Todder’s mind told him they had.
It felt like silence would follow as the words trailed away. But a crackling hiss of echoed throughout the chamber. The outline of a Shadow was etched on the wall in orange like fire. Then it bubbled away like lava, from the outside in, only an ember remained. Then that too died out. The sun returned, illuminating the windows as if claiming to have been there the whole time.
Todder could move again.
The Grand Sovereign rose. “Gabriel was always so nosy, even as a child—well, especially as a child.”
Todder made as brisk an exit as was possible, bowing and walking backward to the door.
“Oh, and Captain,” the Grand Sovereign said. Todder turned at the door, and a familiar sensation crept over his mind, a tingling sensation like his brain was in a warm bath. A very forgettable warm bath.
30
Blood Magic Fiends
Gerdy was a fighter. She had always been a fighter. She had fought with her mother since she could remember and her father since her teens. She had fought, quite literally, in the streets, brawled in the bar whenever it seemed prudent—which as a bouncer of the Rotten Apple was usually twice a night.
Fighting was in her dwarf blood, and over the past few days, it was all she could do—fight. But it seemed pointless. She had no control, not of her body, not even of her mind.
“She’s fighting it,” the yellow-eyed servant said. “I believe I need to take more of her blood.”
The girl pulled a dagger with a serpentine blade from her robes and brandished it.
“No, no,” the Grand Sovereign said softly. He waved her off. “Don’t they always fight the control at first?”
Catarina nodded. “But not like this.”
“Do you know,” he asked, “did she have this magic when she came to the city or did this manifest as it did with the knights?”
“I—” Catarina faltered. “I don’t know.”
“Me either,” the Grand Sovereign said, in a contemplative voice. “Of course, I knew there was magic amongst the
m, but I believed it was only the halfling and his was so insignificant, barely there at all—just like him. Now, he’s learning to use it. Whatever knight is helping him, I want questioned. I want you to put a stop to it.”
“Understood. And her? She’s attempting to break the blood seal. She doesn’t know how, not yet. But if she overtakes me—”
“Let me worry about that. There are other ways to motivate her.”
Gerdy’s body was cold, what she could feel of it. She couldn’t feel much. Her energy drained like the last remnants of water in a hose trickling away. Listening to them speak took effort—breathing took effort.
“Can I ask you about your other problem?” Catarina asked. The Grand Sovereign eyed her narrowly, daring the yellow-eyed girl to speak. She dared. “Your engine—you’ve lost another. Should you really replace him so soon? The girl, she knows what she is. She may never come around to helping you.”
What are they talking about? Thinking took effort.
“I’ll answer with a question of my own. Have you ever known me to do anything unwise? Now, leave us. I’ll tend to her. Consider your blood magic as useless as you are.”
The sun crept across the sky, making the haze almost glow. Gerdy opened her eyes once more and found herself seated.
Gerdy was uncomfortable in the chair. There were seats laid out as if a delegation had met earlier in the day.
The delegation, Gerdy thought.
“Ah, you’re awake,” the Grand Sovereign’s nasal drawl pierced her ears.
He paced beside a fireplace so large it could fit not only a man, but perhaps a sleigh and a couple of ordinary sized reindeer. A small fire burned at its center in as if in defiance of the cavernous hearth.
Gerdy remembered things, odd things—horses, lances, and magic. She hated horses. Why did she smell their stink upon her? She knew it wasn’t from the Grand Sovereign, and the fire smelled resinously of oak and maple.
“I have a proposition for you,” he said.
“A proposition?” Her speech was slurred.
“Yes. I’ve decided something. If you win the tournament, then you may keep seeing my granddaughter.”
“Seeing Myra? But—” Tournament, she thought. What tournament? Visions of the joust floated into view, visions where she had a distinctly wrong perspective, one from the ground and not from the box above the arena.
“There’s no need for lies. You and my granddaughter are an item. Only this afternoon, she was hoping beyond hope that you would take that seat. And you did, if a little late.”
“I don’t understand.” Gerdy was beginning to regain her voice.
“It’s simple. If you or your precious kingdom want to see Myra again, then you need to win the tournament.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Do or do not or something like that,” the Grand Sovereign said dismissively.
A fire roared into life inside Gerdy’s chest. “I wasn’t saying I wasn’t going to try. I asked what happens if I don’t—if I don’t win.”
“That’s none of your concern. But let’s just say she’ll be under my control, much as you have been under Catarina’s.”
“Oh… right, that.” Gerdy was dejected. The flames in her chest burned higher at the memory of the yellow-eyed servant. “So, it’s more an imposition.”
The sheets were damp with sweat when Gerdy next woke. Her head weighed about a thousand pounds, she was sure of it. She raised it a fraction, checking that she was alone. She was. It took effort, but she smiled. She had more control of her body, of her mind, than she’d had in several days. And though everything hurt, it still felt good. Then she remembered what the Grand Sovereign had requested she do, and her smile faded to nothing.
31
Love in the Time of Tournament
Epik rolled through the next two jousts still fueled by the anger in his belly. He had beaten Sir Breuner and the Archer. Next, he would face the winner of Sir Dom versus the Golden Knight who had rolled through his matches as easily or easier than Dom had. The match was shaping up to be the best in the tournament. The Golden Knight’s fan base doubled with each match.
Epik paced around the room, watching his shadow bound across the wall.
No matter what Epiman’s intentions, no matter the what the Shadow said, Epik’s own father had tricked him, left him in the Bog for years, alone with a stubborn mother and no friends to speak of. Now, he’d thrown Epik into this tournament without a word or a warning or an education in the magical arts.
Why couldn’t Epiman, Gabby, whoever he chose to be, have taught him something? Anything. He’d just left the books lying around for Epik to find.
Still, Epik took the Shadow’s advice to heart. He read the text word by word—without skipping or skimming. It was slow going, a slog, but weirdly it had seemed to work. New avenues of magic opened with each page he turned. He’d used wind and lightning in the joust, and without considering of the consequence, the shadow spell Epiman had once used.
Now, Epik’s shadow was developing a personality all its own and was itching to be unburdened from its attachment to Epik.
He stopped pacing to take a breath. His father and the tournament weren’t the only things on his mind.
Kavya knocked softly and opened the door.
“I guess you’re still not talking to me?” Epik asked. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”
Kavya said nothing. She stood at the door waiting to escort Epik down to the night’s feast. With Gerdy missing, and most of the knights now focused on the tournament, Epik felt isolated. Even Dom had become distant.
“Talk to me!” Epik yelled softly.
“That’s not fair,” Kavya said, scolding. “Using your magic to will me to speak.”
“I didn’t mean to.” Epik stared at the floor guiltily, but it was a lie—he had meant to. The magic flowed through him now as easily as vodka goes bad when opened.
“So,” she muttered, “you believe me about the moonstones?”
“I do.”
“And you want more of my help?”
“Yes… no. It’s not like that! I’d love some help, but I really just want you to talk to me… Because I like you—I... more than like you.”
“Flattery will only get you so far, Sir Epik.” She smiled. “I like you, too, you know. My mother always said all men are same, like clothes, they deserve to be hung out on a line for a while.”
Epik smirked. “Smart woman.”
“You jousted well today. Where did you learn—”
“Never mind that.” Epik checked the buttons on his dinner jacket. It was looser than he remembered. “Kavya, I have a question.”
She nodded. She had forgiven him. He could see it in her eyes—the same as when his mother would forgive some misdeed days after. Suddenly, she would start talking to him again. With his mother, Epik was never sure if it was a good thing or not. With Kavya, he was sure it was.
“You said before, to feel around. You said something about desolation? What did that mean?”
“I meant just that. My mother also said men do not listen well.”
“No,” Epik said, “I have felt what you say, I think. I just don’t know what I should be looking for.”
“Feeling for,” Kavya sighed. “Think of what you felt in your city, in Dune All-En. Then think of what you feel here. Are they the same?”
Epik thought a moment. “Well, it’s like two different things.”
Kavya nodded.
“The people here, they mask their feelings inside. In Dune All-En, the emotions are mixed and muddled, one person is happy, another sad, and others are whole other things—in love, frustrated, an outcast. There’s a mix. But they wear it on their sleeve in Dune All-En. Here it’s like they’re happy on the outside, but inside they’re…” Epik trailed off.
“Oppressed is the right word.”
“Thank you,” Epik nodded. “Sometimes I struggle to find the right word.”
“And what ab
out the other thing?” Kavya asked. “You said there were two.”
“Right,” Epik faltered. “In Dune All-En, I feel magic from time to time, running into a witch or wizard on the street. I can feel it.”
Epik thought back. How had he not seen it—felt it? Magic had always been prevalent at the castle, the same with Gabby in his shop. How did he not see that Epiman was a sorcerer? How did he not see that Epiman and Gabby were one and the same?
“And here?” Kavya asked.
“Here, I feel nothing. No, not nothing, but only some with the knights. And not much there. It’s like their magic isn’t their own.”
“And what about the Grand Sovereign?”
“That’s the thing,” Epik said, getting animated. “I think that’s the problem. I don’t sense any magic around him.”
“And do you know why that is?”
“No,” Epik shook his head, “can you tell me?”
“I do not know myself. When I find wisps of magic in the city, they disappear. That is all I know.”
“Gabby,” Epik shook his head. “I mean my father. He said that magic is like a well, you only have so much of it. If the Grand Sovereign is actually hundreds of years old, maybe his well is dried up.” Epik pursed his lips. “But that doesn’t make any sense.”
Kavya lowered her voice. “There is a void in this city like a worm has eaten its inside. Magic is spread evenly across the realms. I know this. King’s Way, it’s unnatural.”
“How do you know? How do you know these things?”
“I have a friend,” Kavya took his hand. “That’s all I can tell you for now. You’re able to cloak yourself and hide. You can search out this mystery better than I can.”
“Sure,” Epik said without thinking. He tried to keep his mind focused on the conversation and not the touch of her hand. But it was warm and soft.
“We must go down to the feast. We are late as it is.”
Kavya smiled. Then as if reading his thoughts, she kissed him. Twice.
Knowing is Halfling the Battle_An Arthurian Fantasy Romp Page 15
