At the top, Meklan and Victor opened the thick oaken doors, and from the entry onward lay a fine orange and black carpet. Matching Sorbian flags hung from the ceiling some thirty feet above, their ends nearly touching the floor. The line of guards continued along the walls on either side. Seemingly undaunted, Meklan and Victor led them down the hall, then stopped when a steward neared.
“Greetings, Master Draive and Master Altruis,” the steward said with a slight bow, his hand over his heart. “Have you come to see His Majesty?”
“Indeed. Advise the king that we have brought his long-awaited heroes: Laedron Telpist, Marac Reven, and Brice Warren.”
“And Valyrie Pembry,” Laedron said before the steward turned away.
“I’m no heroine, Lae.”
“You deserve just as much recognition as the rest of us. You worked with us to defeat Andolis, and we would’ve never known about Myrdwyer without your book.”
The steward returned after a while, then gestured for them to follow. “This way. His Majesty will see you now.”
A few halls and a staircase later, Laedron and his party sat in what seemed to be a lounge of some sort. “What is this place?”
“The king’s receiving room,” Victor said.
“I would have thought he would be on the throne when we met him. A bit strange to meet a king in such a manner, is it not?”
“You’ve been listening to too many fairy tales. The throne room is for formal audiences with His Majesty.”
“This isn’t a formal affair?”
“Since we were brought here, I suppose not. He must want to meet you without the watchful eyes of his advisors, nobles, and all the rest.” Victor, as if he were at home and unafraid to help himself, held up a hand to one of the servants holding a large jug. The servant approached, poured him a cup of what appeared to be wine, and handed it to him.
Laedron heard a deep voice, then the king and another man entered the room. Nothing like what I imagined. Pants, a shirt, and an overcoat? I pictured him in flowing robes, scepter in hand, and a crown fixed atop his head. He stood with the others, except Victor, whose back was to the door.
The king asked, “Is the wine to your liking, Victor?”
Coughing on his drink and nearly spilling it, Victor shot up from his chair. “Your Highness, I—”
“I jest,” King Xavier said, offering his hand to Victor.
Victor kissed it, then smiled. “Sire, I would like to present your subjects, recently returned from afar.”
One by one, Victor stated the names of Laedron’s companions, and in turn, they kissed the king’s ring and bowed. Lastly, Laedron did the same when Xavier came to him.
“All of you are so young.” The king eyed them. “From what they tell me of your deeds, I expected an army of seasoned soldiers. Please, sit with me a while.”
Laedron sat like a dog obeying the command of its master. “Thank you, Your Highness.” It’s as if my body obeys before I realize it, he thought, astonished.
“Tell me, Sorcerer, of your experiences.”
What kinds of things would a king want to know? Skip the boring parts. “When we arrived in Pilgrim’s Rest, we set upon a plan to go after Gustav. One companion was captured and another…” He paused briefly, preferring not to tell about Brice’s resurrection. “…seriously wounded. Vicar Jurgen and I went to the cathedral to face Gustav, and I ended up dropping a chandelier on his head.”
“My advisors tell me that Gustav was the priest who perpetrated the attack on our magic academy. When I learned of his death, this grieving father was given the pleasure of knowing that justice had been done, that his son’s killer had not gone unpunished. When I was told that he was actually a Zyvdredi master, his death—and his actions—meant even more, frightening me while also giving me even more delight.”
“I, too, shared those feelings, Sire, for he killed my teacher and many of my contemporaries.”
“Go on, Sorcerer. What of Tristan?”
“We all had a part to play in his demise, Your Highness. Valyrie went with Vicar Jurgen to the consulship to attack his policies and find out where the vicars’ loyalties lay. Brice assisted the order knights in Azura with a number of tasks meant to help us, and Marac and I joined the militia.”
“What purpose did joining the militia serve?” the king asked.
“Several, Your Majesty. First and foremost, we wanted to be available if Jurgen and Valyrie needed help. Second, we used the position to learn of any strange happenings, and the information we discovered was invaluable.”
“What sort of information?”
“We discovered the presence of Zyvdredi assassins lurking the streets, and we found out Andolis’s true family name: Kivesh.” Laedron cleared his throat, the mere mention of the name sending chills down his skin. “The militia allowed us a unique vantage point from which to observe the city, and we ended up gaining an ally in Dalton Greathis, the militia commander, who aided us in restoring rightful rule to the country.”
“What happened afterward?”
“Afterward, Your Highness?”
The king clasped his hands together. “You were gone from Sorbia for nearly two weeks after that, according to Victor. What, pray tell, did you do during all that time?”
The question caught Laedron completely off guard. “I—” His mouth dried, and he searched for a suitable answer. Do I lie? What can I say? Think. Quickly! “We—”
The king sat patiently through the silence.
Finally, Laedron answered, “We traveled to Lasoron.”
“Lasoron? What did you do there?”
“I cannot say.”
Victor leaned toward Laedron. “Do not anger the king. Answer truthfully.”
“I did.”
“I mean, answer his question.”
“You know,” Xavier said, waving his hand at Victor, “there are things that a king must know to rule his country, things that he could never reveal to anyone. Just as this sorcerer knows nothing of the secrets I hold, I may never fully understand the workings of magic. I have one question for you, Sorcerer, which pertains to your dealings in Lasoron, and I expect an honest answer.”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Of everything you witnessed whilst traveling in that land, did you come upon anything that would threaten our country?”
Laedron thought long and hard about the things that had happened, then responded, “No, Highness. I can think of nothing that would directly endanger Sorbia.”
“Good.” The king gestured at the other man who had entered with him. “Kelrick, bring the decree.”
Kelrick approached and unfurled a scroll. “By order of His Majesty King Xavier II, the knights responsible for the defeat of the persons commonly known as Andolis and Gustav Drakkar, enemies of the people of Sorbia and the Knights of the Shimmering Dawn, shall be granted the following rewards.”
Laedron raised his hand. “You need not give us anything, Your Highness. We’ve returned safe, and that is reward enough.”
“Do you mean to insult me, Sorcerer?”
“N—no, Sire.”
“Then accept the gifts.”
Laedron nodded, and the king motioned for Kelrick to proceed.
“For Victor Altruis, His Highness grants the right to reestablish a training academy to be known as the College of Mages for the pursuit of magical studies. Although it is customary for the Circle to choose such, he is also elevated to the status of Archmage until such a time as the Circle is capable of selecting its own.”
“For Marquis Meklan Draive, His Highness elevates his title to duke and names him Protector of the North.” I never even knew he was a titled noble, and he’s elevated to the highest rank in the land?
Meklan leaned forward. “Sire, is that not the position of your own brother?”
“Indeed, but he has been brought to the capital to aid me here. You shall pick up the banner and carry it forward.”
“As you desire, Highness.”
“And Valyrie, Sire?” Laedron asked.
“It isn’t customary to grant titles to foreigners, but… young lady, do you swear an oath of fealty to me and Sorbia this day?”
She bowed her head. “I swear it. I have no intentions of returning to my former home, Your Grace.”
The king furrowed his brow.
Victor nearly spit out his wine. “Grace? Refer to him as ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Majesty,’ for he is the King of Sorbia.”
“Forgive me, Your Highness, for the way I addressed you. I meant no disrespect.” Blushing, Valyrie hid her face with a bow, and Laedron could only imagine how embarrassed she felt. He reached out, took her hand, and squeezed it.
“That’s how the Heraldans address the Grand Vicar, isn’t it?” the king asked.
“Yes, Sire,” Laedron said. “’Tis the highest address in the theocracy.”
“No harm done, and she shall be granted the same as you, Sorcerer,” King Xavier said, waving his hand. “Kelrick, add that to the decree.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Kelrick left through the hall by which he’d entered.
“I starve.” King Xavier stood, and so did everyone else. “Would you care to join me?”
Meklan nodded.
Victor smiled and said, “Certainly, Your Highness.”
“Might we be excused, Sire?” Laedron glanced at his friends. “If it’s all the same, we would prefer to return to our homes in Reven’s Landing. It’s been nearly a month since we’ve seen our families.”
“Who am I to hold you up?” the king asked. “Go, be with your families—Reven’s Landing, you say?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“How did you plan to get there?”
“By coach, I suppose.”
“Go to the docks on the north end of the city. There, you shall likely find a vessel to take you there.”
A boat, of course. That would cut our trip into a third. “Thank you for everything.” Laedron and his companions bowed deeply, and the king departed.
Before he left, Victor paused long enough to say, “I shall send word for you when we begin, Laedron, and I hope that it’ll be no more than a week.”
“So, that is that,” Marac said, then put on a thick, pompous accent. “Would you care to set sail now, Sir Laedron Telpist?”
Brice waved his hands and spoke in a similar, comical tone. “But, Sir Marac Reven, we could visit the city. Perhaps Dame Valyrie Pembry would like to see the town.”
Laedron laughed. “No, Sirs Brice and Marac, I think that we’ll return to Reven’s Landing posthaste, to be reunited with our loved ones.”
“We shall accompany you, Sir Laedron and Dame Valyrie.” Brice proceeded through the halls, his hands grasping his lapels, his swagger exaggerated and arrogant, and his nose stuck high in the air.
Not wanting to draw any ire upon himself, Laedron kept his distance from Brice as he followed, but stern glares from the stewards and guards near the main exit seemed to make Brice act normal again. Outside the palace, they turned left, and at the end of the boulevard, Laedron asked around to find a small ship headed north.
He convinced a captain at the end of the row who hadn’t actually planned on stopping in Reven’s Landing to do so, a favor for which he handed over a gold sovereign. We’ll probably be home in a matter of hours.
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Once Upon a Thimble
The crew tossed out ropes to secure the ship to the little pier at Reven’s Landing, and Brice stepped off. He waited for Laedron, Valyrie, and Marac to join him, then walked with them along the dirt path and up the hill. Reaching the crossroads at the edge of the village, Brice turned and said, “Well, it would seem that this is where we part ways.”
He stood looking at Laedron and Marac. He’d relied on them for guidance for almost a month, and leaving them with no plan to meet up a little later was a little frightening. “Will I see you again?”
Marac folded his arms. “We live in the same town, you know?”
“Right, yes.” He cleared his throat, swallowed, and glanced at the ground. “It won’t be the same, though, will it? We’re going back to our regular lives, back to the way it was before.”
“Can anything ever be the same? I don’t think so. Especially not between us.” Marac reached out toward Brice. “How could it be?”
Brice eyed his hand as if he were suspicious of Marac’s intent.
“You won’t take it?”
“I… you’ll toss me to the ground or something, won’t you?”
Marac shook his head, and Brice walked over and took his hand.
“Now, was that so hard?”
Brice raised an eyebrow. “I can never tell with you. One minute, you hate me. The next, we’re friends.”
“We’ve been through a lot, and sometimes it’s easier to blame someone else than accept the situation for what it is.” Marac sighed. “I know I’ve caused you pain, and for that, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Brice turned to Laedron. “I know you’ll be on to bigger and better things, but can we see each other again someday?”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.” Laedron swatted him on the shoulder. “Look, we’ll meet up tomorrow, at Calvert’s side street counter, for drinks and conversation.”
“What time?”
“Just after noon. Should be pleasant with autumn approaching.” Laedron smiled. “And if you can’t see yourself at the loom, you’ll always have a place reserved on my adventures.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Lae.” He hoped he wouldn’t be standing at the counter, waiting for his friends who wouldn’t show. “See you tomorrow?”
“You can wager on it.”
Brice walked away, glancing over his shoulder until he couldn’t see them anymore. For the first time in a long while, he felt alone. He almost wished that a journey still lay before them, that some monster or madman waited for Laedron’s knights to come forward and deal justice. He’d probably be afraid, but his friends would be there to encourage him. We’d fight it together, whatever the threat. Together, we could do anything. He wanted to cry, but he kept control of himself, unwilling to disgrace the king or his title should anyone be watching. Knights don’t shed tears, especially not when others might be near.
His family’s house came into view, and he picked up speed. He saw the sheep in the field behind the house, and he remembered his father’s favorite speech. ‘Brice, my boy, we’re fortunate enough in our trade to make our wool from our own sheep. A tailor with an unending supply of thread will never be hungry.’ He chuckled, realizing that he had a pound or more of pure platinum in his pack. A month of adventuring, and I have more wealth than I could ever spend. It took my father the better part of twenty years to get to where he is, and I could buy a hundred—the man, land, sheep, house, and all—just like him.
He jogged up to the door and burst through it.
His mother turned, and her jaw dropped along with a bowl. Sliced fruit scattered across the floor. “My boy has come back to me?” Ignoring the mess, she ran to him and, being that he was small and light for his age, nearly lifted him off the floor in a tight embrace. “I thought I’d never see you again!”
“I told you I’d come back, Ma. You never had a reason to worry.”
“No reason to worry?” She hugged him so tight he wondered if she would soon cut off his breathing. “How could a mother not worry when her son goes off to war?”
“It wasn’t that bad, but you were right.”
“How so?” she asked, stepping back. Ah, to breathe again.
> “Sending me to the knights and keeping me from the front lines.”
His father walked into the room, his signature pipe in hand. “Karina, what’s all the—Brice?”
“He’s come home to us, Geoffrey.” She dragged her sleeve across her cheeks to wipe away the tears. “At long last, our son is home.”
“I can’t believe it. Come here and let me get a look at you.”
Brice obliged, and Geoffrey grasped him by the shoulders. “Looks like you came back in one piece.”
“Yes, Da. The knights took good care of me. Thank you for putting up the money. I can repay it, and then some.”
“Nonsense. Any father with the means would have done the same. A Warren’s place isn’t on the battlefield, never has been.” Geoffrey smiled and pulled Brice toward the living room. “Come, sit a while. Tell me all about your travels.”
And Brice obliged.
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The Miller’s Son
Marac watched Brice tread the road until he disappeared from view, then said, “See you tomorrow, Lae. I’d better get home, too.”
“You’ll leave it at that?” Laedron asked.
“Leave… what?”
“Brice? The sudden change of heart?”
“I’d never tell him, but I was scared, Lae.”
“You?”
Marac nodded, then stared at the ground. “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, and I would’ve defended him to the death… but…”
“But?”
“It helped. It’s not easy to stop being a big brother.”
The Immortals of Myrdwyer Page 23
