Marcus pulled Clovis aside. “Clovis, I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything.”
“I know you came all this way to help me,” said Marcus. He hoped what he was about to ask would not hurt his friend’s feelings, but Clovis interrupted him.
“Marcus, do you really think we should leave Lael alone? I mean, I know she’s handy with her sling, but maybe I should stay here—to keep an eye on her—and maybe Bryn, too.”
Marcus patted Clovis’s shoulder, relieved that he didn’t have to make the suggestion himself. “I think you’re right,” he said. “In any case, Zyll and I will be back tomorrow after we’ve had a chance to meet with Kelvin.”
A smile crept onto Clovis’s face. Then he led Lael and Bryn toward the tavern.
Marcus watched them for a moment and turned to go his own way. “Are you coming, Grandfather?” he asked.
Zyll, who had been looking over the wreckage, nodded. “Yes, of course,” he said. Noticing the scratch on Marcus’s face, Zyll reached up to touch it, when something else caught his attention. He gazed curiously at the silver figure at Marcus’s throat. Then his demeanor abruptly changed. “Yes,” he repeated with a smile, “I think your brother will be quite surprised to see us.”
Allowing Marcus to lead the way, Zyll held back a moment. He looked at the collapsed tent once more.
“Trouble seems to follow that boy,” said Xerxes, clicking his beak disapprovingly. “I’ve warned you before, he cannot be left alone.”
“I believe you might be right, old friend,” replied Zyll. “Perhaps I will take your advice and keep a closer eye on him.”
Xerxes squawked in surprise. “Since when do you ever take my advice?”
“Since I discovered that this tent’s main support rope was deliberately cut.”
Twenty-seven
The Seafarer Tavern was one of the few buildings in Dokur that had survived the invasion of the Hestorians several months earlier. Despite the swath of charred wood across its front, it still reeled in visitors and locals alike. Lael, Clovis, and Bryn hoped for a hot meal and place to sleep. What they found was a dining room full of men singing loudly and off key. The three stood in the doorway, staring at the spectacle. Bryn cowered behind Lael’s legs like the child he was. Only when the singing finally stopped did someone notice them.
“Look, Mother,” said a ragged-looking man wearing a leather apron. “We have more customers. Come, come,” he continued, approaching them unsteadily, “here’s a table for you.”
Mother, a round woman with few teeth and a patch of scraggly, red hair atop her head, came out of the kitchen carrying a platter of steaming baked potatoes.
“All right then, Mr. Peagry, enough with the ale! You’ve had your entertainment. Now why don’t you see what the real customers will be having tonight?”
Mr. Peagry, the tavern owner, led the young visitors to a small table near the kitchen and invited them to sit down. “Will you be needing a booster for the little one?” He plopped his dirty hand onto Bryn’s head and gave it a friendly rub. Bryn curled his lips back and growled, but the owner was too drunk to notice. “What’ll it be?” he said.
“A bowl of chowder,” replied Lael. “And the same for the boy.”
“I’ll have some stew,” said Clovis.
Mr. Peagry nodded. “You heard that, Mother? Two chowders and a stew!”
“I heard ’em!” shouted Mother as she passed them on the way back to the kitchen. “And tell that good-for-nothin’ Kaië she’ll be docked a day’s wages for comin’ in late!”
“Don’t worry, luv, she’s not talkin’ about you,” Peagry said to Lael.
“Excuse me,” said Clovis, choosing an apple from a bowl of fruit on the table. “Your wife mentioned a girl named Kaië. Is she here?”
Peagry’s lips parted in a grin, revealing a set of discolored, crooked teeth. “You know the little mouse then, do you?” he said. “No, she ain’t here—yet. Never know when she’ll show up. She’s gone half the time up at that castle hanging around with the royalty!”
Mother had just stepped through the door again, setting the bowls out on the table. “Mind your mouth, Mr. Peagry,” she said, then added proudly, “Some folks say she’s got a mind to marry that young king of ours.”
“Marry Kelvin?” said Lael, stifling a giggle.
“Not right away, of course, but in two or three years when he’s old enough. Imagine that! A servant girl marrying a king!”
“I think she’s gone and wheedled her way into high society, that’s what I think,” added Peagry. “Well, let her have her gold and her fancy clothes. She can rot up there for all we care! Isn’t that right, Mother?”
“Keep your thoughts to yourself! Your gossip’s gonna get us into trouble.”
With that, Mr. and Mrs. Peagry disappeared together into the kitchen, leaving their young visitors alone to enjoy their supper.
Bryn eyed Clovis’s apple and licked his lips. He tried to snatch the sweet jewel from Clovis’s grasp, but Lael had his fingers clutched in her fist before he could succeed.
“Mind your manners,” she said, giving the boy a warning glance. Bryn lowered his eyes and placed both hands beneath the table away from view.
“Don’t tell Marcus about Kaië, okay?” said Clovis. “He might not take it well.”
“Why not?” asked Lael.
Clovis ran his fingers around the rim of his mug. Suddenly, Lael burst into laughter. “Don’t tell me he cares for her!”
“What does it matter?” said Clovis defensively. “From what the innkeeper said, she’s marrying Kelvin.”
Lael took a bite of her meal. “I guess some girls might find Kelvin attractive,” she said, “but then I’d think anyone with brains would want more than good looks in a man.”
“So, you think Kelvin’s good looking?” asked Clovis.
Lael shrugged. “I guess. But I’d want someone better.”
“Better than a king?”
“A woman who marries for money will never find true happiness.”
“So she should marry someone poor and plain?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” said Lael.
“Maybe instead of Kelvin,” Clovis went on, “Kaië should marry someone from humbler circumstances, like me. Or like Marcus.”
“That’s not funny, Clovis.”
“Now that would be something, wouldn’t it?” Clovis laughed. “I can see it now. A double wedding! Kelvin and Kaië, and you? You’ll marry Marcus.”
“Stop it—”
“Better yet, you’ll marry Kelvin and become queen!”
“I said stop it!” Lael slapped her hand on the table so hard, the utensils jumped.
“What?” said Clovis. “I was only joking.”
“I won’t marry anyone!”
“Then what’s all the fuss about?”
“I don’t know!” answered Lael. “You brought it up, talking about that girl marrying Kelvin.”
“I didn’t bring it up. The tavern keeper did!”
They both turned toward the sound of someone biting into a crisp apple. Bryn, his cheeks full, held the confiscated fruit in his hand and a delighted look on his face. Lael glared at him while trying to conceal an amused grin.
“I was hungry,” he said, taking another unrepentant bite.
Twenty-eight
Marcus and Zyll stood before the towering doors of the throne room in the heart of the Fortress. This was the very spot where Bryn had faced Fredric’s guards while Marcus and Kaië escaped. Marcus wasn’t so sure how he felt about being here again.
“I hate leaving Clovis and the others behind,” Marcus told Zyll. “Do you think it was the right thing to do?”
Zyll brushed a spot of dust off Xerxes’ beak. “Bryn told you himself he did not want to come, and I can’t say I blame him after what he endured here. And Lael has her own matters to take care of.”
“Then I’m glad Clovis offered to stay with them,” adde
d Marcus. “That makes me feel a little better.”
Xerxes narrowed his eyes and huffed like an annoyed child. “So it should,” he replied. “I’m sure they’ll be better off as far from you as possible.”
“Xerxes . . .” chided Zyll.
The doors swung open on their mighty hinges, and a guard beckoned Zyll and Marcus to enter. At the far end of the room, three steps led to a throne on a raised platform. Marcus remembered it well from the day Fredric awarded him and his friends their Celestine rings. It felt strange not to see Fredric there now. Marcus sensed things had changed here—and not necessarily for the better.
The throne sat empty, but a frail-looking man with a sculpted gray beard approached them.
“Welcome,” said Chancellor Prost, extending a stiff hand to Zyll, who shook it briefly. “When my attendant announced your arrival, I almost thought him mad. Zyll, thought I, traveling such a distance? Surely it isn’t possible, but here you are before me.”
Prost’s tone was mocking. Marcus stole a quick glance at his master to see if he was offended, but Zyll just nodded his head respectfully.
“Chancellor,” Zyll said, tipping the top of his walking stick toward Marcus, “my grandson, Marcus Frye.”
“Ah yes, we’ve met. You’re here to visit your brother, no doubt. Unfortunately, the king is busy this morning. A boy of his position has many responsibilities.”
Prost’s voice made the hairs on the back of Marcus’s neck bristle. It must have had the same effect on Xerxes, because Marcus noticed his wooden feathers puff up ever so slightly. Zyll stroked Xerxes’ head and neck.
“We are not here for a visit, Chancellor,” said Zyll. “We have come to offer our services to His Majesty.”
“Services?” asked Prost, one eyebrow rising to a pointed arch. “What sort of services?”
“Anything my brother needs, sir,” said Marcus.
Marcus knew that he should show respect to this man, but he could not help but add the slightest edge to the word “sir.” Zyll shot him a warning glance.
“I am sure His Majesty will appreciate your kind offer,” said Prost, “but he has no need of any more servants at this time. Perhaps if you return tomorrow . . .”
Prost was about to dismiss them, but the sound of a door opening at the back of the room made him stop. Marcus recognized that door. Beyond it was the king’s personal chambers and the secret tunnel that led outside. Marcus and Kaië had escaped through the throne room and that very door after freeing Bryn from the Fortress dungeon.
The door opened, and an attendant dressed in a glittering silver tunic stood at attention. A moment later, Kelvin walked in.
Twenty-nine
The boy king looked much like he had when he and Marcus had gone on their quest together eight months earlier. Though Marcus had grown a few inches since then, so had Kelvin, who was still a little taller than his younger brother. However, Marcus sensed Kelvin had changed in ways other people might not notice: the apprehension in those eyes and uncertainty in his step.
Kelvin stopped when he saw who was in the room, a look of disbelief crossing his face. Zyll bowed. Marcus did the same.
“Your Majesty,” said Zyll.
After a moment’s hesitation, Kelvin hurried over to them and embraced Zyll. “Grandfather!” he said through a wide smile. Then he turned to Marcus and hugged him, too. “Marcus! I had no idea you were coming. Why didn’t anyone tell me?” he asked, directing his question to Prost.
“They only just arrived, Sire.”
“I’m so glad you’ve come!” said Kelvin.
Marcus looked Kelvin over and nodded. “Royalty suits you, brother,” he said.
“I know, it seems strange, doesn’t it?” answered Kelvin, laughing. “Me—a king. Why, just a few months ago I was working alongside my adoptive father in the fields of Quendel, and today—well, here I am. Although I would give anything for Fredric to still be here. You must have heard about his passing.”
“We left for Dokur the moment the news reached us,” said Zyll. “We are so sorry for your loss but extend to you our humble congratulations.”
“There’s no need to be so formal with me, Grandfather.”
“Of course. We were just explaining to your advisor that Marcus and I have come to offer our services in your court.”
“What a wonderful idea! Chancellor Prost?”
Prost watched the reunion with a scowl on his face. He stepped forward now, his bony fingers laced together at his waist, like a skeletal sash about his crimson robe.
“Sire,” said the chancellor.
“Find something for them to do, won’t you, Prost? I want them close to me. We’ll have dinner together tonight.”
“I assume you’ll be staying with us?” Prost asked of Zyll.
“If His Majesty pleases,” said Zyll.
“Of course!” said Kelvin. “Chancellor Prost, do you think—”
“Then I will show you to your rooms immediately,” answered Prost.
Marcus hesitated. “I was hoping we could spend some time with you, Kelvin. We came a long way to see you.”
Kelvin smiled. “Yes, that would be—”
Again Prost interrupted. “The king will certainly make time for you later, but he has an urgent matter to attend to just now. You’ll have to excuse him.”
Kelvin’s smile vanished. “Yes,” he said, disappointed, “of course. I’d almost forgotten.”
Zyll and Marcus nodded their respects to Kelvin before they followed Prost out of the throne room. Marcus noted that Zyll seemed strangely quiet despite having just been reunited with the grandson he had not seen in many months.
Ahead of them, Prost led the way down a narrow corridor. “So what did you have in mind?” he asked, directing his comment to Zyll. “Vizier, perhaps? Or jester? I’m sure you could entertain His Majesty with palm readings and prophesy. And the younger brother would make a fine captain of the guard. Hmm?”
Marcus bristled, but he felt angrier that Zyll did not respond in kind to Prost’s rudeness.
“Ah, here we are,” said Prost, stopping beside a pair of ornately carved wooden doors. “Your room, Marcus, is here. Zyll’s is just across the hall. A servant will be in shortly to tend to your needs. I’ll send someone to fetch you for dinner. Oh,” he added, “I believe I have just the job for both of you. I’ll have you instructed first thing in the morning.”
With that, Prost turned and strode briskly down the hall and back to the throne room without giving Zyll or Marcus a second glance.
Thirty
Alone, finally!” squawked Xerxes, stretching his beak wide. “That Chancellor Prost is such an unpleasant creature.”
Marcus opened the door to his room and entered, followed by Zyll with Xerxes.
“I could not agree with you more, my old friend,” said Zyll, “but we must remember our manners while in his company.”
Xerxes rolled his wooden eyes in disgust.
“So remind me why we’re here?” asked Marcus, dropping his pack on an upholstered velvet chair near the door. “Oh, that’s right: to protect Kelvin from meeting the same fate as Fredric. Only it seems he’s already got Prost for that job.”
Zyll strode across the room, his steps muffled by thick, plush carpeting. The bed where Marcus would be sleeping was made of carved mahogany with red silk drapes and a matching down comforter. Zyll leaned against it and let his hand sink into the billowy thing. “I sense sarcasm in your voice,” he said.
“And why shouldn’t I be sarcastic when my brother could spare no more than a minute for us?” said Marcus.
“You’re disappointed.”
“I thought he’d be happier to see us.”
“He seemed happy enough.”
“But you heard Prost. ‘The king has an urgent matter to attend to just now,’” said Marcus, imitating the old man. “And don’t you think it was odd that Kelvin didn’t know we were coming after that captain at the mine sent word that we were?”
/> “Yes,” agreed Zyll, “odd indeed.”
Marcus turned to the window overlooking a grove of trees. From the open pane he could hear the sounds of construction hidden from view by a wide, stone parapet. Marcus leaned out the window, straining to catch a glimpse of the navy’s new ships. He could just make out a few sails.
“Perhaps we could arrange a tour of the Fortress.” Zyll’s voice was cheerful.
Marcus would have preferred that the old enchanter felt as resentful as he did—or at least a little annoyed.
“I doubt Kelvin will have the time,” he said. “Too busy with his royal duties, you know.”
“Now, Marcus, jealousy is unattractive and not at all suitable to you.”
“Me? Jealous of Kelvin? I don’t think so.”
A sound came from Xerxes that Marcus could swear was a chuckle.
“Well, if you were jealous,” said Xerxes, “no one could blame you. He is not quite a year older than you, yet it was he whom Fredric invited to court and he who has inherited the throne.”
Marcus was about to offer a snide comeback when Zyll spoke up. “Kelvin bears a heavy burden for one so young. I would not envy him if I were you.”
Marcus stood back from the window and glanced at Zyll, who was unpacking Marcus’s belongings into a cedar chest.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I shouldn’t be jealous of Kelvin. He may have an entire kingdom, but thanks to you I’ve got everything I ever wanted.”
Zyll glanced up for only a moment before turning back to the chest, but in that moment Marcus saw a smile beneath the old man’s whiskers.
“My room is across the hall,” said Zyll, folding Marcus’s blanket and laying it inside the chest with the other items. He then went to the door. “I am a bit stiff after that long journey and am in need of a good night’s sleep. If you need anything at all, just shout. Xerxes will be sure to hear you,” he added with a sly wink.
The Last Enchanter Page 7
