The Master's Chair (The Chronicles of Terah)

by Morgan, Mackenzie

  “I do wish we could get some type of guitar. There’s so much you can do with one,” Theresa said.

  “Could we make one?” Kevin asked. “We could use some of the same materials that they use for the fiddles. If we change the size and shape of the sound box and alter the length of the strings, we might be able to get the right sound. What do you think?”

  “It won’t hurt to try,” Karl said, nodding. “Kalen, could you get us several fiddles, and some extra string, lots of it, and some glue for making the sound boxes? We’ll need some fine wood too. It’ll probably take several tries to get something we can use.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, and I’ll see if Palladin can bring a harp, but he won’t be here for a couple of weeks. I’ll try to have the rest of the stuff here within five days, but I can’t promise anything. You know, you’ll need a lot of practice if you’re going to try to put on a professional performance,” Kalen said hesitantly. He wasn’t at all sure that he liked this idea. “Are you sure you want to do this? They may not like your group. They don’t always like traveling minstrels, you know.”

  “What’s the worst that they could do to us, boo us off the stage? Tell us to get out of town? They don’t kill people for a bad performance, do they?” Karl asked.

  “No, the worst thing that could happen is that you might find the town inhospitable. Usually, minstrels are housed and fed in exchange for a performance. But if they don’t like the performance, housing might be in the stable, and the food might be kitchen scraps,” Kalen answered.

  “Well, in that case, what have we got to lose? It’ll give us a good reason to be traveling through with our wagons, and it’ll stop a lot of the questions people always ask strangers. I say let’s do it!” Joan’s eagerness crept into her voice.

  “What are we going to use for songs? We don’t know any from Terah, and that will become obvious real fast,” Theresa said.

  Kalen shook his head. “One of the reasons people enjoy a minstrel show is that they get new songs. You need to be able to sing a few of the old favorites, but I’m sure Drusilla knows a couple and can teach them to you. But the new songs will be your strength.”

  “I know a lot of songs, but I don’t know how well any or them will fit in here,” Joan said.

  “I think we should stick mostly to love songs until we get a feel for Terah. You can’t sing songs that are supposed to be funny until you find out what other people find humorous,” Steve said.

  Chris snapped his fingers and said, “I’ve got an idea. What if we use the minstrel show as an advertising campaign for Kevin here?”

  “I don’t know about that. Maybe you should just play that one real secretive, not mention Myron,” Kalen cautioned. “After word of Badec’s illness gets out, everyone will be wondering where he is. Bounties will be set, and assassins will be hired. The last thing you need is for someone to start thinking of him in connection with your little group. It could be dangerous, even fatal, if they think any of you know anything at all about him or where he is. And if you make it sound like he is some kind of favored son, you just might enrage some of the other sorcerers. That could be fatal, too.”

  “Okay. I understand what you mean about making it seem like he’s destined to be Master Sorcerer, but we don’t really need to talk about that. We could write songs that deal with his birth and about him growing up in some exotic place, maybe on an island. We could concentrate on the child. We could write something like the stories about Merlin taking Arthur soon after his birth and hiding him until the time was right. We could even use the same legends. No one here would recognize them, would they?”

  Kalen shook his head and said, “No, I don’t think so.”

  Chris continued, “If we keep the songs simple, with easy lyrics and catchy tunes, everyone will soon be singing the songs, and before long, they’ll think that whatever the song says is true. Anyway, I’m not talking about having the entire program centering on Myron, just a couple of upbeat songs.”

  “He’s right about music influencing the way people think,” Steve said. “That’s why there’s always such an abundance of patriotic music during wartimes. But we would need to keep the songs vague, and far away, both in time and distance.”

  “All right. We can do that. We’ll have to write the lyrics and fit them to tunes that we already know,” Joan said. “I’m too tired to start on any songs tonight, but we need to schedule some time each day to work on this. If we’re going to disguise ourselves as minstrels, we better be good. And we need a name for the group, too.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Chris said. “How about the Tellurians?”

  “I’ve never heard of that. Did you make that up?” Joan asked.

  “No. It just means someone who’s from Earth,” Chris said. Then he shrugged and added, “I used to do the crossword puzzle in the newspaper every Sunday. ‘Tellurian’ was used once, and for some reason, it stuck in my mind.”

  “I like it,” Karl said. “It fits, sounds different, and we’re the only ones who’ll know what it means.”

  When Joan glanced around, everyone nodded. “Good. Then that’s settled. Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m off to bed.”

  “Can I ask one thing first?” Darrell said quietly. “If we aren’t any good at this, will we admit that we aren’t, scrap this plan, and go to something else? I’m afraid that we’ll develop tunnel vision and that could be the death of us – literally.”

  With solemn nods, the others agreed, and then they all went off to bed.

  Kalen sat by the fire for a while, thinking about everything that had happened that day. When Duane returned from talking to Xantha, they talked about the pros and cons of using a minstrel show as cover.

  Then, as Duane was leaving for his camp in the woods, he said, “You know, this could be a good sign. I don’t know that the minstrel idea will work. Maybe, maybe not. We’ll see how good they are in a week or two. But the important thing is that they’re thinking and working together. We need a good, solid, cohesive unit, and it looks like they may become one. Considering that they were complete strangers two days ago, they certainly have come a long way.”

  Chapter 13

  Thursday Night, March 22

  Later that night, long after everyone at the Gate House had gone to sleep, Rolan lay in his bed in Trendon wide awake. That morning, he’d received a message from his spy in Milhaven. Badec was ill, in a coma, but still alive. How could that be? He had been told that no one survived Sleeping Angel for more than two weeks, and most were dead within a week. It had already been two and a half weeks. Why wasn’t he dead?

  Rolan got out of bed and ordered his personal slave to go get him some scog. While he waited, he paced. He finally came to the conclusion that the elven blood in Badec’s veins was probably just slowing the poison down. The half-breed should never have been allowed to be on the Council of Sorcerers in the first place; it was supposed to be for human sorcerers, but that wasn’t important at this point. Nor was it really important that he wasn’t dead yet. All that mattered was that he die before the next council meeting.

  What was important, and what was keeping him awake, was something he’d overlooked when he was planning all of this to start with: Gwendolyn.

  Rolan’s slave returned with the scog, poured a little into a separate cup, drank that, and then handed Rolan’s drink to him. Then the slave went back to his pallet on the floor of what was once a large closet.

  Rolan drank some of the scog and then shook his head sharply, trying to force himself to focus on the problem at hand. Gwendolyn. She was one ambitious old woman. And strong too. How was he ever going to get her to fall in line with his plan? He’d been fooling himself thinking that a speech in front of the council would ever sway her. It was a good thing he’d come to his senses about that before it was too late. The council meeting was a little over two weeks away. That left plenty of time to go see her and work something out.

  He’d have to c
ome up with some reason to see her though. It wasn’t like they were friends or anything. Maybe he could begin by telling her that Badec was sick and not expected to recover. He seriously doubted she’d know anything about that unless she had her own spies in the castle, and if she did, she wouldn’t want to let on, so she’d act like it was news to her. All right. He had his opening. Where could he go from there?

  Rolan paced some more. Finally he decided that his best approach would be the truth, or at least a very limited version of it. He’d ask her what she thought about supporting Damien as the new Master Sorcerer. At that point, she’d probably act insulted. After all, she was one of the strongest sorcerers on the council and a very likely candidate herself. How could he soothe over the fact that he wasn’t thinking of her for the job?

  A few minutes later the perfect approach hit him. He’d pretend that he’d never considered her because he figured she wouldn’t want it, not with all the hassle and aggravation it brings with it. No, that wasn’t quite right. She might take it that he thought she wasn’t up to it. That would never do. He paced some more. Maybe he should act like he thought of it as a job, sort of menial, like the Master Sorcerer was some kind of lackey doing the biding of the council, definitely beneath a sorcerer of her standing.

  Rolan nodded to himself. That would work, but he needed to back it up. So why would it be beneath her? The reason had to be personal, things about her that made the position unacceptable. Rolan picked up the pace as he walked around his room. What did he know about her? They hadn’t had a lot of contact. He wasn’t even sure how many children she had, but he did know that she absolutely hated anyone or anything that she couldn’t control, which was probably one of the reasons that she hated Badec so much. Every time she looked at him, her eyes filled with loathing.

  Maybe that was something he could use, Rolan thought. The Master Sorcerer had to deal with the other races all the time, especially with Glendymere since he was the chairman of the Federation of Terah. And that old dragon didn’t kowtow to anyone.

  Rolan knew he’d have to be clever in the way he pointed that out though. If she took it that he was implying in any way that Glendymere was her equal, much less her superior, it would make her all the more determined to claim the Master’s Chair just to prove him wrong. He needed to present dealing with the dragon as an unpleasant chore that was only one of the irksome duties of the Master Sorcerer.

  He would also have to slip it in somewhere that if she were Master Sorcerer, she would be expected to help out with emergencies all over Terah, that she’d be on call all the time, no matter what she had going on herself. She was selfish enough to really resent that one. But if he was going to slip it in sideways, he’d need examples. Rolan continued pacing as he thought. He knew there had been quite a few disasters in the past few years, if only he could remember what they were. He shook his head as if he could shake loose the memories. They hadn’t involved him, so he hadn’t paid much attention. Now what were they? He paced quicker, trying to remember.

  Ah, yes. There had been that tidal wave off the coast of Havernia last year. And there was also something about a volcano somewhere, and wasn’t there a big forest fire a couple of years ago, and hadn’t there been some bad floods in Landoryn a while back? That was Gwendolyn’s province. She’d remember those if she didn’t remember the others. Rolan frowned. He wasn’t positive, but it seemed like he remembered that she’d really pitched a fit that Badec hadn’t brought more sorcerers to help rebuild that area. And hadn’t she ranted on and on about his leaving early, before all the work had been done, leaving her and her sorcerers to finish up? He could use that, telling her that if she decided to take the position herself, she could make sure things were done properly because she’d be in charge of doing them.

  Now, what other arguments could he use? Maybe something about being a target? No. Rolan shook his head. He didn’t need to mention anything that might imply that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. She was too arrogant. What else? Rolan paced, and thought, and paced, and thought. What other drawbacks were there to being Master Sorcerer?

  At the moment the only other one he could think of was that whoever was Master Sorcerer had to listen to complaints from sorcerers, from non-magical humans, and from members of the other races, especially if the complaint had to do with the abuse of magical power by a human. That had to get old, really old. Of course if Gwendolyn were seated on the chair, it wouldn’t be long before no one would dare complain about anything. Word would get around as to how she handled complaints, provided she did the same thing as Master Sorcerer that she did in her own province. Whenever anyone complained about anything in Landoryn, Gwendolyn took care of the complaint by killing the person who complained. So having to handle complaints probably wouldn’t seem like a very big deal to her. Rolan shook his head. He wouldn’t be able to use that one, and he couldn’t think of any more right now. It was time to move on to the next part of his plan anyway. The carrot.

  There was no way Gwendolyn would throw her support behind Damien without expecting something in return. What could he offer her? Rolan paced some more. She was probably the wealthiest sorcerer on the council. Anything she wanted that she didn’t already have, she simply took. What would appeal to her?

  Rolan thought through everything he knew about her. The only thing that came to mind that he might be able to work with was the fact that she seemed to crave slaves the same way a hungry man craves food. She was always sending out slavers. What did she do with all of them anyway? He knew she sold a lot of them, but not nearly all that her slavers captured, if the stories he’d heard about their hauls was true. In most provinces, the families were kept together and leased to villages as a group. But from what he had been told about Landoryn, families were usually split up unless someone wanted to buy the whole group. He’d heard that she gave children and teens as gifts to some of her captains, ministers, and sorcerers to do with as they pleased. He didn’t know whether or not that was true, but he did know she went through a lot of slaves.

  Maybe that was what he should offer her: slaves. He could easily promise to supply her with five slaves a month, and even promise to deliver what she wanted: male, female, young, old, even down to skin and hair color. Granted, with all the slaves she went through, five was only a drop in the bucket, but she’d think he was raiding his own villages to get them, and that in itself would please her.

  But he wouldn’t need to do that. He’d get them from that other world, the one the key would take him to. He could pick up enough for Gwendolyn, and even a few extra for himself, without anyone ever being the wiser. And there wasn’t anyone who could stop him. Yes, that would work out nicely. And it was just the carrot to dangle in front of her face.

  Rolan laughed to himself. Once again, he’d figured out how to overcome the obstacles in his path. Sometimes he amazed himself. Manipulating others was pretty easy once you figured out what they wanted, but it was the figuring out how to hook them that took skill. Too bad no one else knew what he was doing and could appreciate how clever he was, but then, if anyone else knew, the plan would be ruined. No, better that no one suspect how shrewd he really was.

  Rolan took a deep breath and sat down on his couch. He’d been pacing for nearly an hour while he was coming up with his plan, and it was well past midnight. He needed to get some sleep. He called for his slave once again and told him to go fix him a sleeping draught.

  Rolan knew that his father had planned to free the man and let him go his own way as a chapel aide, but Rolan had no such intentions. Why should he? The man was a slave and had been all of his life. Rolan was glad his father had sent the slave to study at the chapel though. He loved having someone at his beck and call who knew all the secrets of the herbs. There were so many times when that came in handy.

  Of course, Rolan always made the slave take the first swallow of anything he prepared for him. No need to take any chances. After all, he didn’t want to end up like Badec.
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br />   Chapter 14

  Specialties Emerge

  The next morning, Kalen dragged the chests down from the attic and his guests spent several carefree hours trying on clothes before selecting the outfits they would wear. The men’s clothes were similar to the ones that Kalen and Duane wore: tight leggings, tunics that fell to mid-thigh, cloaks, and hats. Some of the tunics were made of wool, but most were made of a material that felt like cotton. The cloaks were knee length, warm, and had some type of slick finish that Kalen said would keep them dry during rainstorms.

  The dresses for the women had full, floor length skirts, and although most were lightweight, a few were quite heavy. Some of the skirts were made like culottes, and Kalen pointed out how much more convenient those would be when riding horseback. The women’s cloaks were similar to the men’s except that they were ankle length and had hoods.

  Kalen suggested that they choose clothes for all seasons since they would be on the road for a year before they reached Camden, but since space was limited, the Tellurians decided to concentrate on what they would need to reach Nandelia, and worry about the trip next winter later. As they selected clothes, Kalen marked any repairs or tailoring that was needed and set them aside.

  After those few light-hearted hours, things turned serious.

  Drusilla arrived that afternoon and immediately took charge of Theresa. The rest of the Tellurians spent their days with Duane and Kalen, training for combat. The evenings were devoted to writing and practicing songs.

  By the end of the first ten days, Kalen was getting concerned about Theresa spending all of her time with Drusilla because she wasn’t getting any self-defense training. On the morning of the eleventh day, he cornered Drusilla in the kitchen.

  “We need to talk, Dru.”