“But he is powerful—” Kera stopped and turned abruptly to face Dhulyn. “Can you call upon others of your Brotherhood? Can you oppose him?”
Dhulyn leaned forward, scanning the youthful face in front of her. The princess returned her look steadily, even raising one eyebrow a fraction. Edmir would already have been fidgeting; the girl was much cooler than her brother, more direct and less dreamy. She would make a better ruler than Edmir, Dhulyn thought, and wondered if the girl herself realized it.
“The short answer to your question is ‘no,’ ” she said. “Even setting aside the banishment, the Brotherhood is not a standing army, not a force that can be called upon. Once, long ago, perhaps, close to the time of the Caids, we were more numerous, but in recent years our numbers have dwindled. Many cities, like Beolind, no longer have a Mercenary House. I would not be surprised to learn that Parno and I were the only Mercenary Brothers now in Tegrian. But—” Dhulyn lifted her hand as the princess opened her mouth to speak. “We are here, Parno and I, and we will do what we can to stop him.
“We have reason to believe that the source of his power is a blue Stone, a crystal as long as my forearm, and perhaps as thick around as this.” Dhulyn held up her hands to demonstrate the dimensions. “He may have some latent power or abilities of his own, but the crystal fuels them, gives them power and force.”
“And if you remove this Stone, you remove his powers?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why you are here.”
“Yes.”
“But he’s the consort, he’s been helping . . .” Kera’s voice died away.
“He’s been helping your mother the queen,” Dhulyn finished Kera’s thought for her. “Do you think your mother wanted Edmir dead?”
Kera shook her head slowly, her eyes unfocused.
“What will he do next that she does not want? Comes a time, when you must ask yourself, do you wield the sword, or does the sword wield you?”
Kera’s eyes narrowed. “Is removing the Stone enough? Will Avylos not try to recapture it?”
Dhulyn smiled. The girl was definitely worth two of her brother; this question had not occurred to Edmir. “We may have to destroy it,” she said. “But it may be possible to simply neutralize it. His powers may then return to their latent condition.”
“How can I help?”
“I need to get into his workroom. When I tried last night, I could not even find the latch; it was as if the door was simply a solid piece of wood.”
“He magics it when he leaves the wing,” Kera said, nodding. “But unless he has used something new, I should be able to open it.”
“How so?”
Kera shrugged. “Edmir and I discovered this when our father was still alive. When Avylos works a magic on a woman, or against a woman, sometimes it does not work at all, and if it does, it will eventually wear off, and must be reworked. On a man, it seems to last for always—that is, if Avylos wants it to. He can magic a man temporarily if he chooses to, as he does with the armies, for example. But with a woman, the magic always fades by itself. That’s why there are so few women in our armies, and why, I suspect, Avylos won’t have female pages nor allow my mother to have them,” Kera added in a tone that showed this had just occurred to her. “I don’t know if any one else has noticed this, but Edmir and I did. Also,” she hesitated as if choosing her words carefully. “It seems that there are times when he doesn’t . . . when he conserves his magic.”
“Again, how so?”
“Well, take his workroom as an example. At times we’ve noticed he uses what Edmir called magics of concealment, where a thing is simply not visible, like the latch on his door. Other times there might be magics of avoidance, where you approach his door, or the shelves behind his worktable say, and then find yourself in another part of the corridor entirely, or on the other side of the room, looking out the window.” Kera straightened the spoon next to her plate. “Sometimes all these magics are in effect. But there are times when there is no magic of concealment, if an avoidance magic would serve the purpose just as well, or where there’s no avoidance magics if a lock would do.”
Dhulyn whistled silently. “So there are times when the door is magicked, but the things inside the room are not?”
Kera nodded.
Dhulyn would wager her second-best sword that it was Kera herself who noticed this and told Edmir. “And if the magic on the door is an old one, one which has been there a while, you should be able to see the latch, and open the door?”
“I’ve done it before.” Kera studied the jam pot with great concentration.
“Will he know you’ve helped me?”
Kera spoke without raising her eyes from the empty jam pot. “From what Avylos has said before, he can tell that I’ve been somewhere, like his workroom or the garden. But he can’t tell when it was, or for how long.”
“Nor, from what you said in the garden yesterday, can he always tell when you are actually present, but hiding.” Dhulyn drew away from the table. It seemed, then, that she was not the only one whose control over their gift was less than perfect. Perhaps Avylos depended too much on his magics, and that might provide them with an opening. “So his magics can tell him certain things, but not all things.”
“He learns new magics all the time, though,” Kera said. “When we were small, he couldn’t tell that we’d been in his room. Then he could tell that someone had been, but not who. Now he call tell who.” The girl frowned. “Dhulyn Wolfshead, if Avylos gets his power from this Stone, where does the Stone get its power?”
As her hand strayed to brush against the book under her tunic, Dhulyn scanned the table once more for any food she’d missed before answering. “The Stone is like a well,” she said. “You draw power from it, as you would water from the well, and then it must be replenished, as the well is replenished by an underground stream or lake.”
“But how is the Stone replenished?”
Dhulyn knew from Zania’s book how the players had refilled the Stone. After every performance, they had returned to it the power they took. Old Therin had believed that their own skill, and the heightened energies created by the performance itself, had enabled them always to return at least as much as they had used, if not a little more.
“Avylos is the one who checks new Mages and the Marked, isn’t he? For licensing?”
Kera pushed her empty plate away. “Yes.”
“And has he issued any new licenses?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily know,” Kera said. “There have been a few of the Marked, a Finder, I think, and a Mender. Edmir was trying to work out a scheme to get them to return here after they’d been sent to the Guilds in Imrion for training. But if the ones here are already licensed . . .”
“You say the Marked, but what about Mages? How many of them have been found and licensed?”
“Mages?” Kera looked puzzled, her brow furrowed and her lips parted. “None,” she said finally. “None that I’ve heard of, anyway.”
“I’d wager that’s how he is powering the Stone, then.” Dhulyn rubbed at her forehead with her fingertips. “Anyone who has magic within them comes to be examined and licensed. And then he takes their power, and feeds it to the Stone.”
“Maybe not just Mages.” Kera had turned very white, and her eyes stared into the distance. “There was a harper used to live here at Royal House. She would make new songs for my mother’s birthday, and other songs, all kinds, great stirring ballads and light funny tunes. She fell ill, and Avylos tended to her—we have no Healer here, not since before my grandfather’s time. When her illness was gone, she couldn’t make new songs anymore. She could still sing the old ones, but there were no more new songs.”
Dhulyn shivered. No more new songs. That would also fit what Therin had described. The Stone could take in talent of every kind.
“Even if I get you into the workroom,” Kera said finally. “What if there are other avoidance magics in the room itself?
“Wh
at are the areas he makes you avoid?” Dhulyn said.
“The shelves behind his worktable. There’s mostly books, a couple of other things. And the small casket on the table itself. To the left if you’re sitting in his chair, on the right if you’re facing the table.”
Dhulyn nodded, she’d seen the casket, and the bookshelf for that matter. “The casket holds the Stone,” she said. “We’ll just have to try and see.” Another thought occurred to her. “Are Avylos’ enchantments just against people? Could I reach the Stone with a weapon? A fire arrow, for example?”
Kera leaned forward, her brows drawn down in a vee. “I’ve never tried throwing anything into the magicked area.” Her brows lifted. “A fire arrow might be very interesting indeed.”
“How soon can you get me into the room?”
Kera thought, turning her spoon over and over on the tablecloth. “Tonight,” she said. “There’s to be a banquet. Avylos will attend with my mother the queen, and won’t come back to his rooms until late. If at all.”
Edmir sank to his knees, let his face fall forward into Zania’s hands, and crushed his lips against her palm.
The audience—four herd children, a dog, and nine of their flock— was silent for two heartbeats before breaking into thunderous whistling, clapping, and stamping of bare feet. The dog barked, and the sheep shied away a few paces before settling once more to their cropping of the clumps of grass.
“I thought there might be too much kissing,” the tallest boy said, his fair hair tied back in a tail. “But there wasn’t. It was just right.”
“High praise, indeed,” Edmir said, and swept the boy another bow. When the children had gone their way up the hillside with promises of more dramatics the next day, Edmir turned to Zania. She had taken off the cloak she’d been wearing to rehearse the part of the queen and spread it on the ground before sitting down.
Edmir sat down next to her, feeling light as a feather. He turned his face up to the warmth of the sun. He couldn’t stop smiling, and his lips could still feel Zania’s skin.
“You don’t think you could write me a half dozen more of these before you go back to your real life, do you? This one pleases all who’ve seen it, but I can’t make a living with just The Soldier King.” Zania ran her hands through her short hair and leaned back on her elbows.
Edmir came down to earth with a thump that almost stopped his heart.
“That’s all you have to say,” he said finally when he could trust his voice—and his breathing—to sound normal. “You didn’t feel anything just now?”
Zania sat up, her eyes turned away. “Of course I did, I was supposed to.” She glanced at him, her green eyes dark. “It’s the play, Edmir.”
He spread his hands, shaking his head. “I must be a great writer then.”
Zania took hold of his sleeve between her thumb and forefinger and gave it a little tug. “You are. And I understand how you feel. It’s one of the reasons that actors so frequently marry other actors. Let’s see how you feel when you’re Prince Edmir once again.”
“You could come with me,” he said. The words were out before he knew it, but once out, he was certain he wouldn’t take them back.
“You don’t mean it.”
“I do.”
Zania took in a deep breath through her nose. “Your mother the queen would let us marry?”
Edmir didn’t speak, he knew the answer was on his face.
“That’s what I thought. You’ll be Lord Prince, and then King. What will I be?” Zania stood up and tugged on the edge of the cloak. Edmir waited long enough to be sure she wasn’t running away before he stood up also, holding the edge closest to him in his hands. Zania dropped the edge she was holding and started to walk down the hill toward the track that led to the gamekeeper’s lodge.
But she was walking, not running.
“You could have a theater in Beolind,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral as he hurried to catch up with her.
“Or in Gotterang, or Lesonika or Tenezia. Any city large enough to have the business. Why should I stay in Beolind?”
Because I would be there. But he couldn’t say it aloud, couldn’t bare his need so plainly. “Because I would ask you to,” he said instead. That was as close as he could come.
She looked back at him then and stopped, her feet carefully braced on the uneven dirt of the track. She smiled, but it was a stage smile; her eyes were still hooded and dark. “Yes,” she said. “And you could write me plays in your copious free time, between ruling the country, going to war, and making a good political marriage. As for me, I would never know whether my audiences loved my work, or whether they applauded because I was the king’s woman.”
It was true, what she was saying, they both knew it.
And that’s why she pushes me away, he thought. Because he would be going back to his own life, and because, when he became Lord Prince Edmir once again, he would have to put his feelings for her aside.
But not because she doesn’t feel the same way. She’d been speaking plainly, out here with only the rocks and grass to hear them, and if she didn’t care for him, she would have said so. If she did not ask him to stay with her, it was only because she knew what his answer must be.
There was a strange horse tied up outside the lodge, which drove all other thoughts away.
“We’re just players,” Zania reminded him under her breath. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Where are the others?” he murmured.
“Fishing.”
But acting turned out not to be necessary, as it was the Consort Sylria who greeted them when they reached the door.
“There you are, I was just coming out to see to the horse. You had me worried a moment, though I could see all was well.” She gestured at the orderly room around her. “I have news, we leave for Beolind tomorrow, can you be ready?”
“Tomorrow?”
The older woman nodded. “A messenger came from Valaika. We’re to leave for Beolind tomorrow.”
“Have they spoken to my mother?” Edmir was afraid to look at Zania.
Sylria came closer to them and lowered her voice. “I would think she had to be careful how much to entrust to a messenger. All I know is we’re to go to Beolind.” She smiled and patted them both on the shoulder. “Tomorrow.”
“Shouldn’t we be leaving right away?” Did Zania have to sound so eager?
“It’s already late to begin the journey today,” Sylria said. “Though I came as quickly as I could.” She went to the doorway and clucked at her horse. “My instructions were quite clear. We’re to leave for Beolind tomorrow.” Sylria smiled again, and disappeared through the doorway.
Edmir shared a look with Zania, their earlier awkwardness forgotten.
“That still doesn’t leave us much time,” Zania said. “Lucky thing I’ve repacked almost everything already.”
Edmir looked back at the doorway. “Something’s wrong,” he said, when he judged Sylria was far enough away. “Something in the tone of her voice . . .”
“You think you know her tones so well?” Zania sat down on the bench along one side of the table.
Edmir sat down next to her, taking care to leave space between them. “ ‘We’re to leave for Beolind tomorrow,’ ” he said. “I know that tone—Caids know you’ve made us all so sensitive to intonation and syllable stress and what all in the last moon. I know I’ve heard that tone before.” He reached for the knife at his belt, suddenly wishing for his sword instead, as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. “And I know where.”
He turned to face Zania. “In Probic, that’s how Tzanek sounded when he said, ‘The young man they have with them is not Edmir, I will not be deceived.’ I’ll never forget it, never.”
“You sounded just like her.”
“So you see?”
Zania looked at the doorway, gnawing on her lower lip. “It’s like sleep suggestion,” she said finally.
“What?”
“It’s a stage
show trick—or not a trick exactly, but it doesn’t need real magic. At least—well, I think Avylos used to do it, but I’ve seen it done by others I know are not Mages.”
Edmir wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake it out of her. “Explain,” he said through clenched teeth.
“You focus someone’s attention in such a way that they appear to fall asleep, but they can still hear you. Then you tell them to do something, dance, or sing, or beg some stranger to marry them, something to make the audience laugh.”
“And they do it?” Edmir had a cold feeling in his stomach.
“Usually, yes, but it’s meant to be funny. Or sometimes you give them a command to follow after they’ve woken up and when the cue comes, they’ll do it, even though they’re awake. Oh—”
His face must have shown what he was thinking because Zania broke off, shaking her head and hunching up her shoulders.
“I don’t know how it works, exactly, but it does work. And that’s what Sylria makes me think of.”
“And Avylos can do this.” Edmir looked down at his hands. “I don’t think we should go anywhere with Sylria. Dhulyn and Parno haven’t sent for us, I’m sure of it.”
“But we want to go to Beolind. If we can’t trust Sylria any longer . . .” Zania shrugged. “The only people we can trust are there.”
“So we go along with her, and look for our best chance to escape?”
“Now you’re thinking.”
Nineteen
DHULYN WOLFSHEAD FINGERED the edge of the short, blood-red wig Avylos had found for her. He’d been right; it wasn’t as good a quality as the one she’d been wearing, the one she’d had from Zania’s stock. Nor was the fit as secure without the paste from Zania’s well-sealed jars. And, if anything, it had been more disconcerting to catch sight of herself in the small mirror that hung in her chamber with hair the right color, but no Mercenary badge. She lowered her hand and brought her attention back to what she was supposed to be doing, waiting for Princess Kera.
The Soldier King Page 29
