“I do not like Silwyth,” Evaristo said, his voice hardening. “I am certain that he was mixed up in the sudden disappearance of Lord Mabreton. That is elven politics, however. Lord Mabreton was loyal to the Divine, whereas Silwyth is loyal to the Shield of the Divine. We know that some sort of power struggle is taking place between the two and that, for the moment, the Shield has come out on top. But, much as I dislike and distrust Silwyth, I cannot accuse him of practicing Void magic.”
“What is the basis for your faith in him?” The High Magus did not appear entirely convinced.
“The very fact that Silwyth is a trusted agent of the Shield of the Divine. The elves have no love for Void magic. If anything, they are more set against it than we humans. They revere life, all life, and Void magic requires the sacrifice of life in order to give it power. I believe that if Silwyth had seen that drawing, he would have been more shocked than I was.”
“And he would have found some way to make use of it to the elves’ advantage, you can be assured of that. So let us be quite thankful he did not.” Reinholt tapped his hand upon the desk, his gaze going again to the childish scrawl that held such terrible implications. “If Silwyth did not introduce this to the young prince, then who did?”
“It is hard to tell. His Highness is allowed to run wild. He is friends with that Unhorsed dwarf, Dunner.”
Reinholt shook his head. “I know Dunner quite well. He would be appalled at this.”
“Then there are the soldiers. The prince spends a great deal of time among them. I suppose one of them could be a practitioner,” Evaristo said doubtfully. “Theirs is an occupation that deals in death.”
“Perhaps.” Reinholt sat quite still, except for the tapping of a single finger on the table. Evaristo remained silent, his wet robes dripping quietly onto the floor.
“We must know how he came by this. You cannot very well ask His Highness, but I presume you could question his companion, the whipping boy. What is his name?”
“Gareth. This will increase his curiosity, I fear.”
“It cannot be helped.”
“What if he asks questions? Gareth is a bright child.”
“Answer him honestly—nothing good comes of lying. But be circumspect. Will he tell you the truth, do you think?”
“He is not given to lying normally. But if His Highness orders him to keep silent or to make up some story, Gareth will obey. He idolizes the prince.”
“More’s the pity. Well, we must hope for the best. Should we consider taking the elven chamberlain into our confidence? He might have access—”
“Absolutely not, Your Worship,” said Evaristo shortly.
“No, I suppose you are right. The fewer who know of this the better. I need not say that you are to tell no one, not even your wife.”
“I will not speak a word.” Evaristo shivered.
“I have been invited to the palace this evening to dine with His Majesty. You will report to me then. Discreetly, of course. I shall be in the Royal Library prior to the lighting of the candles. Meet me there.”
Evaristo departed on his errand, not at all confident of success. He would have liked to put the task off until the morrow, but the Revered High Magus had said tonight in a tone that left nothing open to argument. Evaristo prayed that he would find Gareth alone. The tutor did not feel equal to coping with His Highness just then.
The gods were either listening or his luck was good. Gareth was by himself in the schoolroom, leaning on a window, his chin resting on his hands, staring out at the rain.
“Gareth.” Evaristo spoke quietly, so as not to startle him. “May I talk to you for a moment?”
The boy looked up, his face pale, his eyes wary.
“Are you feeling better, Master?” he asked in a small voice.
“I am, thank you,” said Evaristo. He sat down. “Where is His Highness?”
“With his horse. He has to rub the oil into its leg three times daily.”
Evaristo nodded, relieved. “I am afraid I frightened you this morning, Gareth. I want to apologize. I didn’t mean to do so. The drawing the prince made shocked me.”
“Why, Master?” Gareth wondered. “What is wrong with it?”
“I will tell you, Gareth, but first I want you to tell me something. Where did the prince first see that drawing? For I assume he copied it from somewhere. A book, perhaps? Did someone in the castle show him?”
“Will that person get into trouble?” Gareth asked in subdued tones.
“Let us say simply that I would like to talk to that person,” Evaristo replied, avoiding a direct answer.
“Well, then…nobody showed him the drawing,” Gareth said.
“Indeed?” Evaristo pressed his lips together. He had just noticed the fresh bruise on Gareth’s arm. “Did His Highness order you not to talk about it?”
“No, Master,” said Gareth, meeting his tutor’s gaze, not wavering beneath it.
“Gareth,” said Evaristo gently, “I do not say that you are lying, but I know very well that His Highness did not conceive of this all by himself—”
“But he did, Master!” Gareth protested. “He said that it came to him when he was holding the Sovereign Stone.”
Evaristo stared at the child. “He said that. You are telling me the truth, Gareth. This is extremely important. More important than you can possibly imagine.”
“That is the truth, Master,” said Gareth, his lower lip trembling.
“I believe you,” said Evaristo, trying to smile reassuringly. He smoothed the boy’s hair with a soothing hand. I believe you, he repeated to himself. The gods help us all!
“What’s the matter, Master?” Gareth asked. “I don’t understand.”
Nothing good comes of lying, the Most Revered High Magus had said. Yet Evaristo did not see any good coming of telling this child of ten the plain, unadorned truth. Certainly the Most Revered High Magus had not foreseen this situation. Evaristo was on unstable ground. He feared that one false word might send them all tumbling off the precipice. He needed advice. And so, he hedged.
“Do you remember that word you used a while ago, the word I said was not a very nice word and that you were not to use it or words like it? Do you remember that?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Well, this is something like that.”
“It is?” Gareth looked extremely confused.
“You must trust me, Gareth,” said Evaristo, hoping he didn’t sound as helpless as he felt. “There are some things in this life children are not meant to understand. This is one of them.”
“I wish you would tell me, Master,” Gareth said meekly. “I could try to understand.”
“No,” said Evaristo, making up his mind. “No, I cannot. Not now. Someday, perhaps, but not now.” He made an attempt to turn the matter with a small pleasantry. “I trust that this will be like the multiplication tables and His Highness will soon forget all about it, if he has not forgotten it already. He must not consider it to be very important, since he has run off to play with his horse.”
Gareth did not appear convinced. Nor was Evaristo. He could think of nothing more to say, feared that he had said too much already. Taking his leave of the boy, the tutor went to pace up and down an empty hallway until it was time to go the Great Library.
The Most Revered High Magus was in one of the small reading rooms built off the Royal Library, a room with its own source of stone-light, a room with its own door, which could be shut to ensure a devoted scholar privacy.
“He doesn’t want to be disturbed.” The head librarian, eyeing Evaristo with disfavor, wrote upon the board.
“His Worship asked me to meet him here!” Evaristo wrote testily, in no mood to argue. “Please tell him.”
The head librarian left on his errand, grumbling beneath his breath. He returned, looking disappointed, with the news that the Most Revered High Magus would see the tutor immediately. Evaristo entered the small study room, took his place opposite the table. The Most Revered High Magus wa
s reading a book on Void magic.
“Well?” said Reinholt, his voice hushed.
“It is worse than we thought,” said Evaristo, sinking into the chair. He felt completely wrung out and exhausted. He wondered how he would find the strength to walk home. “According to Gareth, the idea came into Dagnarus’s head during the ceremony, while he was holding the Sovereign Stone.”
The Most Revered High Magus said nothing for long moments. He stared, unseeing, at the book before him. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. Then he sighed, rubbed his eyes. When he spoke, it was more to himself than to Evaristo.
“I advised the King to give me time to study the Sovereign Stone. I urged him to put off the ceremony. The stone is an artifact of the gods. We have no idea what its powers may be—for good or for ill. But His Majesty decided against me. The political situation was volatile, unstable. He hoped that by giving this stone to the other races, as a show of our faith and our trust in them, he would promote peace and goodwill.
“Certainly the granting of the stone has brought about good relations in the short term, but what of the long-term effects? What will happen when the other races begin to create their own Dominion Lords? Will the magic of the stone ensure that these Dominion Lords are men and women devoted to peace? What happens if the stone grants great magical power to someone who is not? His Majesty, who is goodness personified, maintains that the stone itself is good. Who are we to argue with him?
“Now”—Reinholt sighed deeply—“now we have evidence that the stone is not good. I myself told Tamaros that it was a mistake to allow the prince to handle such an important, powerful artifact. The King would not listen to me. And now…now what has he done?”
“I am afraid I do not understand, Your Worship,” Evaristo said. “What do you fear has happened?”
“Did you see the Sovereign Stone?” Reinholt asked sharply.
“Not very well,” Evaristo replied. “I am somewhat shortsighted, and I was seated almost in the very back of the gallery.”
“The jewel is formed in the shape of a pyramid, with a four-sided base. When the miracle occurred and the stone separated into four parts, it opened like the petals of a flower. Like this.” Reinholt demonstrated using his hand, clenching it into a fist, then opening the fingers wide. “As are all objects in this world, the stone is made up of that which can be seen and that which is not seen. What we saw were the four crystal points separating outward. What we did not see, because none of us were close enough to see it, was the emptiness left in the center when the stone split apart. None of us, but a ten-year-old child.
“I blame myself,” the Most Revered High Magus said heavily. “I should have known. I should have foreseen it without studying the artifact. It is logical that the stone should be comprised of all the elements: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and the Void, which is the absence of all. I should have pressed home my arguments. I should have held out against the King. His Majesty would have acceded to my authority if I had remained adamant. My favor with him would have fallen. That was what concerned me. And so I let it go.”
Evaristo shifted uncomfortably. He wished he wasn’t hearing this. He wished, most earnestly, that he had never become involved. He did not know what to say, was afraid to say anything, for that would remind the High Magus of his presence, yet he was afraid to remain silent, for silence might be mistaken for cunning.
“All of us look into the Void at one time or another, Your Worship,” Evaristo said hesitantly, feeling his way. “I know that I did when I was young. I was tempted to take that dark path. But when I fully understood the consequences, when I realized what I would be required to sacrifice, I turned away. To give up love, friendship, trust, and regard, to go through life disfigured, shunned and abhorred, reviled and despised. It is a heavy price to pay. It is not surprising that so few choose to pay it. What is surprising is that any choose to pay it at all!”
“And yet, some do,” Reinholt said.
“Dagnarus is only a child, Your Worship. A willful child, granted, a child far too clever for his own good, but a child nonetheless. Today he is interested in this, tomorrow it will be something else. Consider the amount of study required for anyone even to dabble in Void magic. I say this to my own discredit perhaps, Your Worship, but I know for a fact that His Highness has never in his life read a book from the beginning to the end. To give those who do practice this heinous magic some credit, they are self-disciplined, self-denying, wholly devoted to their dark cause to the exclusion of everything else.
“Dagnarus is quite the opposite of this picture. He is self-indulgent, and who can blame him, for both his parents grant his every desire. He loves his pleasures: fine clothes, good food. He is vain of his beauty and we know the curse that falls on those who practice Void magic. And he lacks even the smallest amount of self-discipline. The moment a task becomes too difficult or too onerous for him, he drops it. No, Revered Magus,” said Evaristo, with increasing confidence, “the prince’s very faults protect him from falling to the temptation you fear.”
The Most Revered High Magus regarded Evaristo intently. “There is something to what you say. You ease my mind wonderfully. Although it seems strange that we should be grateful for a person’s failings. Now, the question is, how do we handle this?”
“Are you going to tell the King?” Evaristo ventured.
Reinholt pondered, then shook his head. “No, I will not tell him. This would worry him unnecessarily. He might mention something to the boy about the matter and it is my belief, bolstered by what you say, that the less we make of this incident the better.”
Evaristo was relieved. Such an interview would have been extremely unpleasant.
“What shall I do, Your Worship? How should this affect my dealings with the prince?”
“Say nothing about it, of course. Let the matter drop. But be watchful. If you see or hear anything more, bring the news to me at once.”
“Of course. But what if the prince asks questions?”
Reinholt smiled. “Tell him to come here to the Great Library and look up the answers in the books. That should quench his ardor.”
“Indeed it should, Revered Magus,” said Evaristo, smiling, comforted.
The next day seemed to prove Evaristo right. The rain stopped, if only for an afternoon, for dark clouds were already piling up again in the west. But for the moment, the day was glorious, unusually warm and sunny. Prince Dagnarus did not come to the tutoring session. The soldiers had returned from maneuvers, and he was eager to question Argot about how the training had gone. Gareth was still solemn and subdued, but Evaristo considered that natural. He blamed himself. When Gareth asked if they could return to the Royal Library, Evaristo was only too happy to comply, thinking that this treat would take the boy’s mind off the unfortunate drawing.
Inside the library, Gareth retraced his steps and found the book without difficulty. He would sometimes ask himself, in later life, if he would have sought out the book had he known the truth. If Evaristo had been honest with him and answered his questions, would Gareth have refused the prince’s bidding, no matter how difficult such refusal would have been?
Perhaps. Perhaps not. Gareth could never arrive at a satisfactory conclusion. Certainly Evaristo’s evasions had tinged the matter with a titillating air of mystery. And then, too, Gareth, like most children, resented being called a child and told he would understand when he was older. The tutor had made the matter a challenge. Gareth could tell himself this, but he knew the real reason he was stealing the book was because Dagnarus had commanded it. No, that wasn’t quite right either. Gareth was stealing the book because Dagnarus wished it.
The whipping boy found the book and, in the silence of the room, where no one walked, no one came, he sat on the floor and began, once again, to look through it. The words that had been so inexplicable seemed to make more sense now, though they would take a great deal of study before he thoroughly understood.
When it was time to leave, it was a sim
ple matter to tuck the slim volume inside his smallclothes, pressed against his stomach, and cover it with his tunic. At that, he was terrified that the librarian, whose eyes seemed capable of seeing through solid marble, would see through the thin fabric and spot the book hidden beneath. The librarian had better things to do with his time than to pay attention to a child. He never bothered to look up, and Gareth walked out of the Royal Library with his prize.
That night, after Silwyth had doused the candle, Dagnarus sneaked into Gareth’s small closet. Dagnarus appropriated the bed. Gareth sat on a small stool, wrapped in a blanket, the book balanced precariously on his knees, the candle in its tall holder on the floor.
“Now,” said Dagnarus, making himself comfortable, leaning up against Gareth’s pillow, “tell me what the book says.”
“Your Highness,” Gareth said, making a last, feeble protest, “I think you should really read this for yourself.”
“Nonsense, Patch,” said Dagnarus. “You know how I loathe study. Now read.” He settled back, put his arms behind his head. “You will explain to me anything I don’t understand.”
Opening the book to the first page, Gareth began to read.
“The Magic of the Void, also known as Death Magic…”
The Lady Valura
“Madam,” said the mistress of the wardrobe, curtsying to the Queen, “His Highness requests permission to speak with you.”
“He does?” The Queen looked up from her embroidery, a piece of work she never finished, but liked to hold in her lap. One of her ladies would finish it for her, put the finishing touches on it, as the Queen would say, though she had taken only a stitch or two. “Send His Highness in immediately. No, wait.” Emillia glanced in a mirror, put her hands to hair. “I am not prepared to receive him. Inform His Highness that I shall meet him in the solarium in…”
“Mother,” came an impatient voice from outside the room, a voice that drew nearer, accompanied by the sound of booted feet. “I am not one of your courtiers, to be kept waiting.”
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