Children of Enchantment

by Anne Kelleher Bush

  “Of course not,” said Brand. “She was crazy by that time.”

  “It is more than possible.” Vere gave Brand a cold stare. “I don’t expect you to believe me, for the priests would have us all think otherwise. But Agara’s intention to use the Old Magic and thus in some way force Dad to name Amanander corresponded with Ferad’s own plans.”

  “And they were?” asked Roderic when Vere stopped.

  “I do not believe I can tell you that without breaking my vows. But since that day in Missiluse—when Eldred was killed and Dad and Phineas were rescued, along with Amanander and Alexander—we have searched for Ferad without cease.”

  “Who’s we?” asked Roderic. “What are these vows of yours? Who do you serve?”

  “I serve the Pr’fessors of the College of the Elders.”

  “The Mutens,” said Brand. He made a derisive sound. “I should have known you’d end up with them. By the One, Vere, enough of this superstitious nonsense. Next you’ll tell us the real threat to the realm is the Old Magic.”

  “It is.”

  There was a long silence while the two brothers stared at each other, neither willing to capitulate. Finally Vere’s mouth curved in a gentle smile touched with sadness. “I did not come to quarrel, Brand. And I did not come to seek approval of the way I have chosen to live my life. I came because, despite what you might think, I have never forgotten that I, too, am a son of Abelard Ridenau.”

  In the last, quiet words, Roderic heard a trace of longing for the acceptance he himself had so freely received from Abelard, the acceptance denied this son who had never equaled Abelard’s expectations, and so had never been missed. He glanced at Brand, who had dropped his arms and leaned against the cold hearth. “Go on,” said Roderic.

  “I located Ferad’s hiding place in the deep deserts near Dlas-for’Torth, but I was never able to penetrate his defenses. I sent a messenger back to the Elders. He died of the purple sickness near Jesselyn. She found my message and sent it onward with Everard, who was on his way south to ensure that the peace made by the Children after Atland was honored by all. By the time the Elders received it, I myself had arrived. The Elders told me what happened to Ebram-taw’s people.” Vere glanced at Roderic, and Roderic flushed. “When I knew the whole story—I decided to come north, to Ahga. I wanted to see Amanander if I could.”

  “Do you think Amanander’s involved with this Muten, this Ferad?” asked Roderic, fighting to keep his voice steady.

  “Without question.” Vere replied. “Amanander was there, you see, when Ferad was teaching Agara the Magic. And Amanander was the focus of all her plans.”

  “And Amanander has been in Dlas for years,” said Brand.

  “Yes.” Vere let the implication sink in.

  “Tell me about the Old Magic,” said Roderic. “What is it? What can it do?”

  “Come now, Roderic.” Brand gestured impatiently. “Don’t you swallow this Muten pap, too. How can you stand to listen?”

  “Don’t you remember what you said to me about Amanander’s men, in Ahga? What you felt when you went to speak to them yourself?” Roderic faced his eldest brother. “You said you feared for your very self—those were your words, Brand, not mine. We have to listen to Vere—Muten pap or no.”

  Vere was listening carefully. “I would like to speak more to you concerning these soldiers of Amanander’s, Brand. But to answer your question, Roderic, the Old Magic can do anything the mind can conceive. The Old Magic is a series of equations—mathematical equations. When one can understand the equations, enough energy is generated by the human mind to change the physical world. One can therefore do anything one desires—including affecting the actions of others.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Roderic.

  “That day in Atland—when you killed Ebram-taw’s people—how did you feel? What were you thinking?”

  Roderic hesitated, and he glanced at the floor. “I was wrong,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” said Vere. “But at the time, how did you feel”’ Close your eyes—try to remember.”

  Obediently Roderic closed his eyes. The room was completely silent, even the whisper of the rustling blanches against the window had stilled. It reminded him of the stillness that day, before the bloodlust had come upon him. “They attacked our camp. They were trying to rescue Ebram-taw. But there were too many of us, too few of them. Amanander had told us where to look for him. He said he had discovered the information on his way to Atland. He turned out to be right.” From somewhere which seemed very far away, he heard the sharp hiss that was Vere’s intake of air. “The fighting had stopped. I remember Amanander watching me, and then I felt as though I could not breathe—as though the air was too thick, like water. And then I felt this need—to shed blood—I remember even the sun looked red—“

  “It was red,” interrupted Brand. “It was the clouds.”

  “Why didn’t you stop me?” asked Roderic.

  “How could I?” Brand’s face was dark with some emotion Roderic could not name. “You’re the Prince. You were before all the men. I cannot countermand or question one of your orders in public. To do so would undermine your authority.”

  Roderic raised his head and stared at Vere. “Are you saying Amanander forced me to do what I did?”

  “The potential for such violence exists in every man—and every woman, too, for that matter. Amanander simply reached into your mind, found that potential, and brought it to the surface. You normally control such feelings, except perhaps in battle.”

  “Yes,” said Roderic, “that’s how I felt. Just as though I were fighting for my life. But the whole time, I knew the battle was over—I knew the battle was over and I just couldn’t stop.”

  “It is very difficult to fight such a thing. I have seen older and wiser men than you succumb,” said Vere. “Anyway, that’s why I’ve come. Amanander is almost definitely in league with Ferad, and Ferad is more dangerous than anything or anyone you can imagine. If Amanander ever masters the Old Magic—“

  “Next you’ll suggest that Roderic had better start studying it.” Brand shook his head. “I cannot listen—“

  “No, wait.” The note of command in Roderic’s voice made both the older men look at him. “At Ahga—at the feast when you told me about the men—I saw something—or thought I did.”

  “Tell me,” said Vere.

  Briefly Roderic described the sickening sight of the small creature in Amanander’s hand—a creature fashioned out of an apple.

  “You were tired,” said Brand. “Probably confused what you saw. No one could do such a thing.”

  “Anyone could do such a thing—if they know the Magic,” said Vere.

  “Do you think Amanander has something to do with Dad’s disappearance?” asked Roderic.

  Vere shrugged. “I wish I could tell you for certain. The Old Magic is very powerful, but it requires years and years of study. Amanander is certainly able to affect people for some short length of time—but you must understand that the mind has its own defenses. For example, if you distrust Amanander, you are shielded to some extent. I would doubt that he knows enough to breach such defenses entirely. I wish I had spent time with him. I might have been able to gauge the extent of his knowledge.”

  “And Ferad?”

  “I shudder to think what he has learned in all this time.”

  But, say, on a day where rain threatens, and the clouds have gathered, the manipulation of the combination of factors to cause the rain to begin to fall would be a fairly easy thing. So it depends.”

  “And Amanander? With his trick?”

  Vere stroked his beard. “If what you say you saw is true— and I don’t doubt you—” he held up his hand “—then Amanander may be even more dangerous than I thought.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Brand.

  “Tell me about the guards.”

  It was Brand’s turn to stumble over the words as he tried to describe the four bodyguards and the effect they had
had on the men with whom they had come into contact. “What do you think of that?” he finished, with a challenge.

  “The Magic is primarily involved with the reorganization of the fundamental elements of matter. But Amanander’s interest is not in simply bending the material world to his will. Amanander seeks to control men’s minds. He does control these guards of his— that’s why they seem so unnatural. They are unnatural—they are men robbed of their will. And you—” Here Vere looked at Roderic. “He’s found a way into your mind. Your youth played against you, Roderic. Older men are stronger. But if Amanander ever learns to perfect this, he will be a deadly, deadly opponent. It isn’t just that he can steal a man’s will. He might be able to use it.”

  “Use it? How? To do what?” asked Roderic.

  “To absorb the energy of it. To add it to his own will.” Vere paused, as if considering. “I can teach you certain exercises, spells, if you will, to increase your own mental shields. But Amanander is not quite so strong yet. He killed Jesselyn—that’s one mistake. And he left me alive—there’s another. Amanander is dangerous. But he’s not invincible. Yet.”

  The word lingered in the air, and Roderic rose restlessly and paced to the window. He wasn’t certain he liked the sound of Vere’s spells. The dark shape just barely visible over the treetops reminded him of something else. Abruptly he turned back to his brothers. “Does the name Nydia Farhallen mean anything to you, Vere?”

  Vere gasped. “Nydia? What has she to do with this?”

  “We don’t know,” answered Brand. “Perhaps you can tell us. You knew her, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Vere, and Roderic saw the same faraway look in his eyes as Obayana and Brand when Nydia’s name had first been mentioned.

  “Why would Amanander be interested in her?”

  “Because Nydia was far more than one of Dad’s women.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Brand sharply.

  Vere hesitated, clearly torn between two allegiances. “Nydia was a prescient. She could see the future—and she could work the Magic.”

  Brand swore beneath his breath. “And Dad believed this nonsense? No wonder he accepted her Pledge of Allegiance.”

  “Is she dead?” asked Roderic.

  “He not only believed it, he relied I it,” Vere answered Brand, then turned to Roderic. “I have no way of knowing if she’s dead or not.”

  “The old rumors say Dad sent her way because she bore a child—Phineas’s child.”

  Vere frowned. “A child? When?”

  “Years ago,” said Brand.

  “Then you must go to that tower, as soon as you can, if you can, and find her.”

  “If we can?” asked Brand.

  “I imagine if Nydia is still there and wants no company, that tower is impossible to approach. The Magic can be used to shift appearances, so what seems to be a straight path is in reality crooked, what seems like a thicket of impassable underbrush is in reality a clear path. Perhaps Amanander tried to go there himself, though I doubt he yet possesses the skill to challenge Nydia, if she is still alive. But I think that old rumor—of the child—is the key to Amanander’s interest in Nydia. If there is a child, she will be the focus of Ferad’s plans.”

  “Why?”

  “The child of a prescient is always an empath. Never mind what that is—you won’t believe me, anyway. But the empath is the key to controlling the consequences of the Magic. If an empath exists, believe me, Ferad—or Amanander—will try and get her.”

  “Her?” repeated Roderic.

  “Empaths are almost always female. I have only heard of two males in all of history. Who they were is not important. But you must trust what I say, Roderic. I know it sounds absurd, I know it violates everything you’ve been taught. But you must believe me.”

  Roderic did not reply. This information was unbelievable—it was the stuff of legends and dreams. He understood why Brand scoffed, and yet—he could not afford to take chances. It would be a simple enough thing to go to the dark tower. It was no more than a few hours ride. But he could not go in search of Amanander himself, and the regiments of the King’s Guard were already depleted by the search for the King. “You’re a tracker, Vere. Could you find Amanander?”

  “If he’s rejoined his troops going to Dlas—” began Brand.

  “I doubt that Amanander’s going to Dlas,” said Roderic. He walked to the window and stared out over the trees.

  Vere’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I cannot search for Amanander for you. Much as I understand your need, I serve other masters. But I will go back to the College and ask the Elders to send you aid in the event that Amanander decides to use the Magic against you. I think it’s likely, given all you’ve told me, that he will. Eventually.”

  Brand shook his head. “And in the meantime? We allow Amanander to go free?”

  “We’ll send our scouts out to look for him,” answered Roderic. “But I’m not worried that he might be lost. If we don’t find him, Amanander most assuredly will find us.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vere left the very next day, striding out of Minnis with nothing more than the clothes he had worn, a walking stick, and a worn pack on his back filled with only the barest minimum of supplies. Peregrine shook her head at his leaving, saying that he was sure to open his wounds and likely bleed to death or be eaten in the wild. Roderic watched the easy, confident stride as his brother disappeared beneath the trees and doubted that her dire predictions would prove true.

  Tavia was pliant and silent, crooning to the rag doll no more. She ate and slept and stared out the window all the day long, not responding to any human touch or voice. Peregrine, out of desperation, brought her a kitten, and Tavia sat stroking the little beast hour after hour, staring into some bleak place where no one else could follow.

  A messenger arrived from Ahga, bearing dispatches and the news that the court would arrive within a day. Roderic sifted through the documents and tried to concentrate, but the dark tower seemed to call to him, insisting that he stare at it over the trees. He spent a restless night, tossing and turning beside Peregrine. Before dawn broke, his mind was made up. He would not wait for Phineas. He would go to the dark tower as soon as he could.

  At misty daybreak, he ordered horses made ready, and with only one companion, Brand’s son, Barran, rode out ostensibly to the hunt. He seemed to have a preternatural awareness of his surroundings: the feel of the horse’s muscles beneath him as he galloped along the forest paths, the twigs and dry leaves which crunched underfoot, the falling petals which drifted into his hair. The damp leaves had a musty smell, faintly sweet. As the sun rose higher, they paused by a lake to eat. “Where are we going, Lord Prince?” asked his kinsman. Barran was actually Roderic’s nephew, but they were so close in age, Roderic thought of Barran as a cousin.

  “You’re going to wait for me, Barran. I’m going to the tower.”

  “The dark tower? Where the witch lives?” Barran actually crossed himself in the superstitious gesture the priests made against evil and clutched the iron cross he wore around his neck. “Roderic, are you mad? I can’t let you go there—my Sergeant would have my head and my father would have the rest.”

  Roderic had been expecting that. He tossed the core of his apple into the lake, and it sank without a sound. “It isn’t a question of your letting me, Barran. Your orders are to wait for me—I have no intention of taking you any closer than we are already.”

  Barran raised his head. He was only twenty-one years old—he had pledged allegiance in the service of the King’s Guard nearly six years ago. He grinned. “Do you want to wrestle for it?”

  Roderic grinned back and shook his head. “Those days are gone. I won’t be long.”

  “No, Roderic. I’ll come with you—I must. Surely you understand that? If I can’t keep you out of danger, I can’t let you walk into it alone.”

  Roderic considered. “Very well,” he said at last. He got to his feet and shook out his cloak. “
It’s not much further.”

  The forest was quiet, unnaturally so, the closer they came to the tower. It was as if they were the only living things beneath the trees. Roderic peered at the ground, searching for signs of some animal’s passing. There were none. At last, the sun was at its height. The light filtered through the leafy branches, casting odd shadows on the ground. Roderic stretched in his saddle. He was getting tired. They had been riding more than five hours. Surely they should have been there by now.

  He signaled to Barran to dismount. The grass was the color of emeralds, as soft as moss, and suddenly a bone-weary exhaustion made him stumble against the horse. The stallion whickered a protest and stepped aside. Barran was yawning unashamedly. “We’ll rest.” From some rational part of his brain, he was astonished to hear how he slurred the words.

  Without further prompting, they rolled in their cloaks and slept. The next thing Roderic knew, he was being shaken awake, and there was a frantic urgency in Barran’s voice. “Roderic, Lord Prince, for the love of the One, wake up. The wind’s changed: it’s in the north and the sun is gone.”

  He started awake, still groggy, his head full of dreams he could not name. He sat up and looked around. A cold wind was beginning to stir the leaves, and the sky had darkened. Clouds had formed while they slept, and the gray underbellies hung low and threatening. “We’d better get back.” Roderic shook his head to clear it and leaped to his feet.

  Like men in a dream, they fumbled with the horses and finally were mounted and ready to ride. The wind blew harder and the leaves rustled a warning.

  “Let’s go!” Roderic cried above the wind as the first drops of rain touched his cheek.

  “It’s ice! Roderic, this shouldn’t be—it’s too late in the year for weather like this!” cried Barran above the increasing whine of the wind. The drops stung and Roderic shivered, unable to answer as the full fury of the storm broke upon them. The horses reared and neighed. Fighting both weather and animals, they finally brought the horses under control.

  “We should seek shelter,” Roderic managed.