One of the servants walked before the boys, carrying a lighted flambeau. The castle was silent, the thick walls deadened noise and not many of the castle’s denizens were yet awake. The servants were up, of course, and they scuttled here and there, more silent than the mice, who could always be heard scratching and skittering. The few lords whom His Majesty permitted to attend him in his bedchamber had gone to their own breakfasts. The Queen and her retinue would not rise for many hours yet.
The prince and the boy passed the stands of armor. The flambeau’s light threw the shadows of the armor back against the walls; the fire shone bright in the metal helms. The shadows moved as the candle flame moved, and it seemed to Gareth’s startled gaze that an army of flame and darkness was emerging from the walls. Startled and dismayed, he cringed when Dagnarus laughed boisterously, pointing out the phenomenon of the shadowed knights to Silwyth. The prince’s laughter seemed as sacrilegious as laughing in the Temple.
The candlelight continued on before them, and the moment the light was withdrawn, the shadows disappeared. The dark army vanished. The armor went back to being just armor—dust-covered and starting to rust in places.
The two continued on past the Queen’s chambers, which Gareth could have found had he been blind, owing to the constant reek of perfume, and entered the King’s chambers. The boy had never before been in that part of the castle.
Though awed, he felt considerably more at ease there, mainly because the halls were much lighter and smelled of leather and ink and vellum. He peeped inside a half-opened door and found the great library.
“Stop gaping, Gareth. You look like a peasant,” Silwyth ordered, laying a remonstrating hand upon the boy’s shoulder.
Gareth’s mouth snapped shut, but he continued to gape, if only inwardly. He had never seen so many books in his life; shelf upon shelf, entire rooms that had been transformed into libraries to house the King’s books. Only the Temple of the Magi held a larger collection.
Eager and nervous as he was for his approaching audience, Gareth could not help but slow his steps and gaze with longing into the rooms. The servant had doused the candles as they entered that part of the castle, for no fire was ever permitted anywhere near the Royal Library.
Early as it was, scholars were already seated at the long tables that ran down the center of the room, heads bent over the books. The morning sun had yet to reach the room, but the readers were able to see quite clearly by means of stone-light—smooth, round river rocks heated magically until they glowed with a soft yellow light. The rocks were placed on stands, which could be moved from table to table by the scholars. Gareth was impressed. Magi charge dearly to cast such a spell, which involves an immense transference of magic from the earth into the rock. His family had one stone-light in their house, and it was lit only on special occasions. Here there must have been twenty, and they were lit every day.
Though there was a preponderance of humans, all races were represented. Gareth was surprised to see a gray-bearded dwarf among them—dwarves are not scholars. Few dwarves can read and write their own language, much less the languages of others. The dwarf stood up to retrieve another book, and Gareth saw that one of the dwarf’s legs was shrunken and deformed. He was one of the Unhorsed, a dwarf who can no longer ride and would therefore be a burden upon his clan. The Unhorsed choose to sacrifice themselves for the sake of the clan by living in permanent dwellings, where they set up forges for blacksmithing and markets for trade. Though revered by their people for their sacrifice, the Unhorsed are also pitied by their fellow dwarves. This dwarf was of high rank among his people, and had been invited to Vinnengael by King Tamaros, to learn the human language and to add to the magi’s knowledge of the dwarves.
“Come along, Patch,” said Dagnarus, irritated. “Whatever are you gawking at? It’s only a bunch of books.”
The two boys entered King Tamaros’s study, his favorite room in a palace of well over two hundred rooms. It was the very room Gareth had noted on his first day of arrival, the room in the large turret with the massive windows, surrounded by the balcony known as the King’s Walk.
Gareth could understand why Tamaros loved the room. It could have been tapestried by books. Located high in a square tower that jutted out from the castle proper, the room had four windows—large, square-cut windows, which each faced one of the cardinal directions. The view from any direction was magnificent, showing the mountains to the north, the prairie lands to the south, the River Hammerclaw to the east, Lake Ildurel to the west. The boy had never before realized the world was so vast.
The view helped to relieve him somewhat of his crushing disappointment. There was only one person in the room, and that was Dagnarus’s half brother, Helmos.
“Where is my father?” Dagnarus demanded. “Why isn’t he here? He was to have given audience to my friend, Gareth.”
Gareth had seen the crown prince before, but generally only from a distance, as he rode by in a parade or stood upon a balcony or strode past them in the corridors. The one time Helmos had come into the schoolroom, Gareth had been too overwhelmed and shy even to look at the man.
The two brothers were not close. Considering the difference in their ages, this was not surprising, but the matter went deeper than that. Their interests and tastes were completely dissimilar; and though each son was stamped with his father’s image, each seemed to have inherited features denied the other. Dagnarus had his father’s firm mouth and strong chin; Helmos had his father’s penetrating eyes and slow, warm smile.
“His Majesty was called away on a matter of extreme urgency,” said Helmos, looking up from his work. “He left his regrets and his wish that the audience should be held at another time.”
Pigs’ bladders are often filled with air and given to small children to use as balls. When stuck with a pin, the bladders deflate. Gareth knew how they felt: excitement, fear, and anticipation whistled out of him.
Dagnarus frowned, displeased. He wanted this, and he couldn’t imagine anything could be important enough to interfere with his desires.
“This will not do. Where is my father?” he demanded.
“He is meeting with the elven ambassadors,” Helmos said quietly. “They came through the Portal this morning, bearing news of great import. His Majesty is not to be disturbed.”
Dagnarus had that stubborn look about him, as if he meant to run off and interrupt the meeting anyway. Silwyth clicked his tongue. Helmos looked grave.
“Please, Dagnarus,” Gareth whispered, feeling his face so flushed it was a wonder blood didn’t leak out his ears. “It’s all right. I don’t mind. Truly I don’t. I’ll meet His Majesty another time.”
Helmos, at twenty-two years of age, was a compassionate man, a sensitive man. Many people, unable to see beneath the unassuming manner to his heart, thought him a weak man. One of these was his own brother.
Helmos saw Gareth’s deep disappointment, his unhappiness, and his embarrassment, which Dagnarus, with his obstinacy, was only making worse.
“I know that meeting me is not nearly so wonderful as meeting our father,” Helmos said, “but I would be interested to hear the tale of Gareth’s bravery myself.”
Helmos smiled at the boy, a warm smile that came straight from some place of goodness within him, and lit the dreary day brighter than the sun. He put Gareth in a chair at his table and seated himself opposite the child, as if the whipping boy were his equal. Helmos made no mention of the cursed mark upon Gareth’s face. His eyes did not avoid it, however. He saw it, acknowledged it, and thereafter thought no more of it.
Gareth’s gaze strayed to the book Helmos had been perusing, and he saw to his astonishment that it was written in a foreign language. He recalled hearing that Helmos spoke elven fluently, as well as dwarven. He also spoke many of the varied human dialects, and a smattering of orken.
Dagnarus posted himself behind Gareth and, giving his friend a jab with a finger between his shoulder blades, started him talking. At first, Gareth stare
d down at the table, fearful of lifting his eyes, and mumbled into the high collar of his tunic. Helmos listened intently; his questions were knowledgeable. He proved that he was interested in what the boy was saying and gradually, Gareth forgot himself and began talking to the man freely and easily, without restraint.
“And you did not run, not even when this deserter came right at you,” Helmos said, regarding him with approval.
“I couldn’t very well run, Your Highness,” Gareth replied, bound to be truthful. “I was on the horse. And it was a very tall horse, Your Highness,” he added with a shiver at the memory.
“You could have jumped off,” Helmos pointed out. “You chose to stay and confront your enemy.”
“He kicked the man,” said Dagnarus, supporting his friend with admirable loyalty. “And beat him with his fists.”
Gareth shook his head. “I don’t remember kicking him. Or if I did, it was only out of panic. A rat will fight a lion, they say, if the lion has the rat cornered.”
“Let us say that in this instance, the lion fought the rat,” said Helmos.
Gareth didn’t take his meaning, at first, then he saw the man’s blue eyes, their smiling warmth, and he understood the compliment. The man’s smile permeated the boy. Gareth had never felt so happy, so proud, so accepted. He did not think it possible for his happiness to increase, but it did the very next moment.
“Gareth,” Helmos said, speaking to the boy as if he were an adult and not a child of nine, “it is my great honor to have been nominated for the exalted post of Dominion Lord. It is my privilege to invite those of acknowledged bravery and honor to attend the feast that will be held prior to my entrance into the Temple for the testing. Prince Dagnarus will attend, of course, and I would like you to be there, as well. If you would like to come,” he added, always modest and self-deprecating.
The court had been talking of nothing else for weeks. To become a Dominion Lord was a high honor, an honor one worked a lifetime to achieve. It might have been expected that the envious would whisper that Helmos had been chosen only because he was the King’s son, but such was the high regard in which the crown prince was held that not even the most jaded courtier muttered. Simply because he was nominated did not mean he would be chosen. Helmos would have to undergo rigorous tests—tests in honor, in chivalry, in knowledge, and in wisdom. The other Dominion Lords would judge these tests and then vote on his worthiness. But there were few who doubted that Helmos would pass.
King Tamaros was understandably proud. The feast was to be a splendid one, a feast the likes of which no one had ever before seen. No expense was being spared. Gareth’s parents were to attend, but they would never have considered bringing their son. Gareth had hoped Dagnarus might be able to sneak back some of the sweetmeats from the banquet. That had been his dearest wish. Now he was being offered a place at the table.
Gareth stared at the crown prince blankly, struck dumb by the honor. Pent-up tension, nervousness, and, above all, the knowledge of the man’s understanding and kindness, welled up inside the child and flowed out his eyes.
Helmos pretended that he didn’t notice that the child was sobbing. The crown prince began to talk to Dagnarus about his dog, giving Gareth time to pull himself together and to wipe his nose on his sleeve.
Dagnarus boasted of the dog and his abilities for some time. The polite conversation between the brothers lagged a bit, then Helmos said, “And how did you like attending the King’s levee?”
It was a harmless question, Helmos meant nothing by it, but Dagnarus tensed, regarded his brother suspiciously.
“I liked it.” Dagnarus spoke defiantly, as if daring Helmos to say otherwise. “Why? Did you think I wouldn’t? Did you think I had no business being there?” He bristled, his eyes sparked.
“I thought only that it might be tedious for you,” Helmos answered, with a wry smile. “I find it so, sometimes. The suitors can be extremely long-winded.”
Dagnarus relaxed, though his skin twitched, like that of a dog who realizes that what it took for a foe is a friend.
“Yes, I thought some of them incredibly stupid,” he said bluntly. “I do not know how our father puts up with them. Some had no reason to be there at all. Our father is too lenient, sometimes.” Dagnarus stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his feet apart, frowning at the memory.
“Indeed?” Helmos was interested. “What ruling did you take exception to?”
“That business about the Trevinici,” Dagnarus replied. “The ones who had encroached upon royal lands. The fault was theirs. Our father did wrong to give credence to them by listening to their silly arguments.”
“What would you have done?” Helmos asked.
“Sent in my army to drive them off,” Dagnarus answered, with a shrug.
“The Trevinici had no knowledge that they were trespassing,” said Helmos quietly. “They are a warrior people and, mistaking our intentions, would have fought to defend themselves. Many on both sides would have died. It was much better for our father to invite them here to talk, to explain to them that they are camping on land that belongs to the crown, and ask them to leave it in peace.”
“They thought him weak,” said Dagnarus impatiently. “I saw them sneer when they left, and they laughed.” His frown deepened. “They were laughing at our father. They are barbarians. Armed might is all they understand.”
“If they do not leave, our father will speak to them again. Eventually, they will come to understand and respect his commands.”
Dagnarus snorted. “They will mock him and laugh at his commands. They will poach the King’s animals and cut down the King’s trees. And when more of their kind see that we do nothing to stop them, they will move in, too. You might as well announce that the royal lands are open to anyone who wants to squat there.”
“Who has been saying such things?” Helmos asked, frowning in his turn.
Though only nine, Dagnarus had been fed intrigue with his mother’s milk. He shrugged, and said casually, “Oh, I’ve heard it around. No one that I can recall.”
Helmos disliked confrontation. He changed subjects, continuing to talk of the Trevinici, but focusing on the odd symbiotic relationship they had with a group of nonhumans known as the Pecwae. Helmos spoke at some length, giving Dagnarus time to calm down, and finished his discourse by showing the children a piece of the marvelous and magical turquoise jewelry the Pecwae make.
While Dagnarus and Gareth were eagerly examining the ring of sky-blue stone and wondering what magic it might perform, Helmos cast an oblique glance at Silwyth, who had been standing all this time in an inconspicuous corner of the room.
Silwyth understood the signal. Advancing, he bowed and reminded Dagnarus that the hour was nearing when they should have their session with the tutor. Dagnarus and Helmos bid each other good day with distant cordiality. Gareth had recovered himself sufficiently to be able to thank Helmos for his kind attention and to assure him that nothing in the world could make him happier than attending the feast.
Helmos smiled before returning to his book.
Dagnarus and Gareth left, shepherded by the silent Silwyth. They passed the Royal Library again, and Gareth gazed at the books with intense longing.
Dagnarus paid no attention. He was deep in thought, his brow furrowed. When he reached the stand of armored knights, he said, “Silwyth, what would the Shield of the Divine do if he found these barbarians camped upon his land?”
“The Shield would put them to the sword, every one of them,” Silwyth answered, quite calmly.
“But why?” Gareth asked, speaking with unusual spirit. He had just found a hero to worship in Helmos and thought he needed to come to his defense. “What harm do they do? The King only loses a few deer and a couple of old trees. His Majesty has thousands of deer and millions of trees.”
“That is not the point,” said Silwyth. “The Trevinici are nothing. His Highness was correct in what he told the crown prince. It is the other kings who will see this
and say, ‘Ah, if the barbarians have taken this illegally and not suffered, then why am I not able to do the same?’ ”
“Precisely,” said Dagnarus, triumphant. “Have a fun day with Evaristo, Patch.”
Vaulting over the balustrade, he was off down the staircase before Silwyth could grab him.
In the playroom, alone with the tutor, Gareth related most of the details of his visit to Evaristo, adding the discussion between the two princes.
“His Majesty was quite right to deal with these barbarians mercifully,” Evaristo maintained. “Many lives would have been lost otherwise, as Helmos wisely said.”
“Silwyth told Dagnarus that this means other kings will see us as weak and take advantage of us,” Gareth argued. “He says the elves would have put the Trevinici to the sword.”
“To serve as an example, no doubt,” said Evaristo, sniffing. He did not like Silwyth, nor did he like the influence he saw the elf exerting over the young prince. “That is typical of elven thinking. They are a people in love with warfare and their own unbending notions of honor. They respect nothing but a sword thwack to the head. His Majesty showed true wisdom in this decision. All men should honor him for it. To grant mercy where none is expected or deserved is a sign of strength, not weakness.”
“Tell me about the Dominion Lords,” Gareth begged. “Tell me about the ceremony of Transfiguration.”
Evaristo complied, seeing that his young pupil was much too excited to pay attention to multiplication tables, which had been the chosen course of study that day.
“To understand the reason the Dominion Lords came into being, you must first understand why and how the magical Portals were created,” said Evaristo. “Do you know anything of that, Gareth?”
“My nanny took me once to visit a friend who worked in one of the elven households. I saw the entrance to the Portal that goes to the land of the elves, but I did not go inside it. Nanny said that the gods made the Portals and gave them to King Tamaros as a reward for being wise and good and trying to convince people to get along with each other. There are four Portals: one leading to the elven lands, one leading to the dwarven lands, and one to the orken. The last one is in the Temple, and it leads to the gods.” Seeing his tutor frowning, Gareth faltered. “Isn’t that right?”
Well of Darkness Page 9
