by Megan Derr
"So, shall we order up dinner?" Marcum asked, washing his hands and tidying up.
"Unless you wanted to go downstairs and eat it there, and join in the tax discussions," Levaughn replied.
"Definitely not," Marcum replied, and raked a hand through his curls. "I say we sneak off to your garden tonight."
Levaughn nodded, approving of this plan, and stood up. By the time he had made his way back through the mess to the door, Marcum had finished tidying up. Leading the way out, he traveled back down the small hallway into the Glass Hall. Halfway down it, he tapped on a small cobalt-blue flower and whispered a word of unlocking.
Then he gently pushed open the secret door, and stepped out onto a little stone path that wove through the Minor Gardens until it butted up against a wall of reddish stone. They passed through one more secret door, and then were in his private garden.
Being the royal wizard entitled him to a good deal of luxury—in a day and age when ninety percent of all magic was outlawed, those who could use it and use it well were no small prize. As royal wizard, he was granted a generous stipend, access to all the royal amenities, a large suite of five rooms, and his own private garden.
The garden was mostly filled with mundane stuff—a working garden, rather than a pleasure garden. Herbs, fruits, vegetables; all were work related, one experiment or another. Some of them belonged to Marcum. They had a competition running on a few of them, as to what the results of various alterations might be.
Reaching up, Levaughn snagged an apple from one of his three apple trees. Green apples, on this one. Tossing it to Marcum, he picked another one and began to eat it in slow, neat bites. Half-finished, he started to ask Marcum if he had further plans for the evening, but a silvery tinkling stopped him short.
Swearing softly, he strode out of the garden and into his room, passing through the sunroom and the main parlor to reach the entryway. Opening the door, he asked, "Yes?" Then he frowned, noticing the servant's pallor, the way his hand trembled ever so slightly as he held out a note. "What's wrong?"
"Lord Wizard," the servant said, thrusting the note all but right under his nose. "A goblin, Lord Wizard. He said that if I did not deliver this immediately, then I and my family would be his blood enemy until the end of days. He bid me tell you that he comes to speak with you on a matter of urgency, regarding the man who wears what is depicted in the note."
Completely and utterly confused, not to mention taken aback that a goblin would be so rude without cause, Levaughn took the note. It was good paper, if not great, smudged with dirt and ink, sealed with the mark of…a goblin tribe from the southeast, he thought, but was not certain. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the paper—
And promptly forgot how to breathe.
There was nothing on the paper save a simple but highly skilled sketch—of a family heirloom necklace he had given away ten years ago to a boy he had loved more than anything in the world. A boy who now must be a most impressive man…
Matter of urgency, the servant had said, Levaughn abruptly recalled. Head snapping up, he commanded, "Bring the goblin to me at once."
"Y-yes, Lord Wizard," the servant replied, and ran off before someone else could yell at him.
Closing the door, Levaughn began to pace. What was wrong with Cal? Was he hurt? In danger? Surely the amulet had protected him from anything truly deadly…well, any dangerous magic. Gods, Cal…he had not thought of Cal in…oh, roughly four hours, if he were going to be honest.
He stride increased as he continued to pace around the room, mind racing as he tried to figure out why in the world a goblin—but just as he could bear no more, another knock came at the door. All but lunging for it, he yanked the door open.
Goblins were always a bit startling to see, the elaborate tattoos that covered them head to foot drawing the eye and making it hard to focus on anything. This goblin was a handsome one, so far as goblins went. Dark leaf-green skin, black hair, bright yellow eyes. Astonishingly respectable clothing covered most of him, and he wondered what Cal meant to this goblin that he would go to so much trouble to help Cal.
Jealousy flared up, sharp and hot, but Levaughn beat it down. They had parted ten years ago—he was astonished Cal had mentioned him at all, especially if this goblin was his lover. Was he? Was this the one Cal had finally chosen to really and truly love? Levaughn felt suddenly sick, even if he had no right to feel that way.
Life, their chosen paths, had driven them to peacefully separate. They'd had good reasons, excellent reasons. But he'd never forgotten the man he had fallen in love with, despite their agreeing it would only be a school affair right from the start.
"You've come about Cal?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
The goblin smirked—so briefly Levaughn half thought he'd imagined it—but said only, "A Witch-Queen has overtaken the castle where Calder resides. She has spelled the King and at least half the castle inhabitants, and attempted to cast her curse upon Calder. Stopping it broke one of those jewels in the necklace."
Levaughn swore. "Is he all right?"
"No, I do not think so," the goblin replied. "He does not like to speak of what transpired when she attempted to curse him, but he clings fiercely to that which you gave him, and says your name in his sleep. He needs your help, wizard, but feels he cannot ask for it."
Levaughn frowned. "Of course he can ask for it—oh, never mind. Where is he? Take me to him at once."
"Take you to whom?" Marcum asked from behind him. He moved to stand next to Levaughn, taking the piece of paper from him, adjusting the spectacles perched on his nose. "Oh, a spell-break talisman. Damned fine one." He handed it back. "So what does it have to do with you being so obviously upset, Lev?"
"I gave it to someone," Levaughn said quietly. "Years ago. He's in trouble."
"Ah," Marcum said. "Where?"
"Is he still at Castle Blodwen?" Levaughn asked the goblin.
"Yes," the goblin replied. "Huntsman there, this past decade, and loves it dearly." He smirked again, ever so briefly. "He is also brother to my clan."
Levaughn's brows lifted at that, but he refused to be baited, which was obviously what the goblin was attempting.
Marcum spoke before Levaughn decided upon what to say. "So we need to leave sooner rather than later, and pack to pick a fight with a witch? Warlock?" He looked to the goblin for an answer. "What's your name?"
"Witch," the goblin replied. "What's yours?"
"He's Prince Marcum," Levaughn replied. "Master Alchemist of Roseberry."
The goblin lifted one brow, and regarded Marcum with more respect than he had thus far shown. "An Alchemist and a royal? I am Goulet, Master Inker."
No doubt one of the many tattoos inked into the green skin said as much, but Levaughn knew little about goblins. He did, however, know enough to realize how impressive it was that goblins called Cal brother.
The familiar ache rose up, then, sharp and sweet, mingling with the cold fear and burning need to do something. Ten years since they'd parted. So Cal was brother to the goblins, still the Huntsman he had always wanted to be…what else had he accomplished? What else had changed?
And, was this goblin more than a brother? He must think Cal special in some form, to go to so much trouble, and Levaughn chafed to know the manner of that 'special'.
"Alright," Marcum said. "I'll go speak with father, and pack my things. Lev, I'll be back here in about half an hour and we'll depart."
Levaughn frowned. "I should speak with your father myself, Marcum. You should not be going; I sincerely doubt your father wants his son going off to fight a witch nasty enough to cast a curse that broke one of the jewels of protection."
It made him ill just thinking about it—the heirloom necklace had been in his family for generations. He had given it to Cal selfishly, wanting the man he had loved to wear an important piece of him, always silently hoping that Cal never parted with it. Thank the gods he had not, for otherwise he would now be dead—or worse.
"Psh," Marcum replied, grinning croo
kedly. "The whole castle would love to be free of me and my explosions for a few days, and father needs to learn that he can run the country without you."
Levaughn's mouth twitched briefly, but levity could not hold a candle to his worry for Cal. "True enough, but still I should be the one—"
"So he can stall and hem and haw and keep you around? Forget it, Cal. I'll be back in a trice." With that, Marcum was gone, leaving Levaughn to shake his head and regard the silent Goulet.
"What more can you tell me?" he asked Goulet, moving to his tables and shelves, regarding them thoughtfully, wondering what he might need, what sort of witch he would be fighting.
"She cast a Siren Curse on several of them, and I think she has the servants under a lesser curse. What she tried to do to Cal, I think she has succeeded in doing to the King, and I suspect it is much, much worse than a mere Siren Curse." Goulet paused, then finished with, "Cal has also reported that she has an All Seeing Mirror."
Levaughn swore. "Those should have all been destroyed."
"Yes," Goulet said, a sour note to his voice. "I went myself to double check the master list. All thirteen of them were listed as destroyed, and those destructions verified by the required Triad. So, either someone lied, or a mirror was made off register."
"Damn it," Levaughn said. If one mirror had been made off register, and was never destroyed…that meant there could be others. "What else does this witch have?"
"That's not enough?" Goulet asked.
"If she can cast something worse than a Siren Curse, and owns one of those gods forsaken mirrors, then she probably can do and possesses much, much worse," Levaughn said. "I did not even know a witch of such power still lived. If she has kept her presence hidden for so long…" Then it was only a matter of time before she did something from which Cal was unable to escape. Levaughn felt cold.
He ignored it, pushed down the cold and the fear, and focused only upon his magic. He was a Master Wizard—a Royal Wizard—and no witch was going to keep from saving the man he had never stopped loving.
"Cal said you probably would not remember him," Goulet said into the silence, a sly tone to his voice.
Levaughn paused briefly, but then forced himself to keep working. Not remember Cal, as if. But that was Cal, humble to a fault. Some things, it seemed, never changed. "Of course I remember him," he said quietly, rifling through a spell book before shaking his head and replacing it, then pulling down another.
"I told him you would, but Cal is stubborn."
"Yes," Levaughn replied, unable to keep a bit of terseness from his voice. Who was this goblin, to speak with such familiarity? A brother, yes, but how much of a brother? And really, this was the wrong time to be jealous and possessive, when all that mattered was saving Cal.
Silence fell again, but there was a tension to it, a waiting. But what was he waiting for? Levaughn shoved the latest book back on the shelf and pulled down three more, flipping through them with a bit more force than was necessary.
"So," Goulet finally said, almost startling him, the silence had stretched so long. "Has Cal always been particularly sensitive along his abdomen, and between his shoulder blades?"
"How dare you—" Levaughn whipped around, but broke off as he saw the pleased little smirk on Goulet's face. "What game are you playing?"
"I just wanted to see if my insinuation would bother you," Goulet said, and moved to sit down on one of the nearby armchairs in Levaughn's front room. "I'm a Master Inker," he continued. "I've done several bits of work on Cal. But we're only brothers."
Levaughn turned away. "We were lovers ten years ago, and it is not your place to interfere, brother or not. I thought goblins preferred not to interfere, as a general policy."
"General policy, not a law. Anyway, I wanted to meet the wizard Cal's in love with, but won't seek out for help. So far you seem all right, for a human."
"Thanks," Levaughn said dryly, but the word was spoken reflexively. Cal? In love with him? But that was absurd; he had said nothing when they had finally come to that moment of parting. Then again, neither had Levaughn…
Surely not…
Setting one of his most recent selections aside, Levaughn returned the other two to their places, and pulled down another two, adding them to his pile of books to take after only a moment. Finished selecting spell books, he left the sitting room to go his work rooms proper, where his more dangerous books were kept, along with all his spell components and other miscellany.
Goulet trailed after him, still smirking, positively radiating smugness. But, he said nothing further about Cal, as he settled upon a stool and leaned on a cluttered counter. "So, will the little alchemist prove useful, or is he best left behind?"
"Marcum is the most lethal man in the country, and probably the continent," Levaughn replied absently as he knelt to forage through some cabinets. "He specializes in toxins. Basic poisons, lethal potions, elixirs…"
"Has he ever been in a real fight? Killed anyone?"
"Yes," came a voice from the doorway, idle but with an underlying coolness. "I've killed several people." Marcum set down the heavy leather satchel slung over one shoulder. He stared at Goulet. "Criminals, for the most part, but there were two I had to kill because otherwise they would have died slow and painful deaths."
Goulet met his stare, face giving nothing away.
Levaughn rolled his eyes and finished packing his own satchel. "Are we free to go then, Marcum?"
"Yes," Marcum said, dismissing Goulet. "There should be horses waiting for us at the stables. I also had food and other necessities packed and sent on; it should all be waiting with the horses. Does that meet with your approval, goblin?"
Goulet bared his teeth in a taunting smile. "We go to fight a nasty bitch, little prince. A fine alchemist you might be, but a pretty face and sharp mind do not mean you are worth anything outside the safe walls of your laboratory. I will not put my brother in further danger by bringing along a prince who thinks he is what he is not."
"No fear of that," Levaughn cut in. "If I were you, goblin, I would fear leaving your food or drink unsupervised."
This time, Goulet laughed. "I think your little prince will not risk me until we are returned to Blodwen and Cal, hmm? I should think an alchemist was that smart, anyway."
"That smart," Marcum agreed, lightly touching the hilt of the sword that now was settled with comfortable ease at his hip. "However, once Cal is safe, I promise nothing."
Goulet smirked, and rose. "Careful the poison you choose, pretty prince. All I have to do is ink you into my skin as a blood enemy, and all the alchemy in the world will not save you from goblin anger."
"I do not fear goblins," Marcum said idly. "Are we ready to go?"
"Let me change," Levaughn replied, "and leave notes for what needs to be done in my absence. How did your father take it?"
Marcum grinned. "Father was busy, so I left word with Wolfram instead. He said we are to have fun, but please do not put Roseberry in an awkward position."
Levaughn managed a laugh. Wolfram was the crown prince, and often as exasperated—if not more so—with the King as was Levaughn.
Leaving Marcum and Goulet alone, he entered his bed chamber and immediately stripped off his courtly clothes, exchanging them for the much more basic clothes for hard travel and combat. Removing his sword from a chest, he strapped it on, then slid a couple of daggers into place. A wizard's greatest tool was his magic, but only a fool relied upon a single tool.
Striding back across the room, he paused briefly as he caught sight of his own reflection—shaggy blonde hair, because he could never be bothered to keep it properly trimmed. There were lines in his face now, never mind the scar. Stupid, when Cal was in danger, to wonder if Cal would still find him attractive. Certainly not beautiful, and he should not feel a twinge of sadness over that. He was not vain, and he had never really believed he was half so beautiful as Cal had always claimed. He had just liked that Cal believed it.
He was broader, fitter
, more weathered…tempered, given a sharp edge. That was definitely a good thing, but would it…
Oh, this was well past stupid and conceited. The only thing which mattered was Cal's life, not whether or not Cal might still want him in any way. Cal, who had not even thought he could come to Levaughn for help.
But, to be fair, that had always been Cal. He believed firmly in doing things himself, without 'bothering' anyone. Such a trait would have helped to make him an excellent Huntsman.
Levaughn fervently wished they were having this reunion under happier circumstances. Hopefully the matter of the witch would be quickly and painlessly resolved. He could handle one witch, surely. Even one with an All Seeing Mirror.
Which reminded him…
Turning sharply away from the door, Levaughn strode back to his wardrobe and reached into its depths, coming out with a heavy wooden jewel case. Unlocking it with one of the keys always kept upon his person, he lifted the top and moved aside various bits of jewelry, until he finally grasped the small velvet bag he sought.
Inside were three small rings—simple silver bands, engraved with runes all the way around. Even a Master Wizard could only go so far with magic. There were limits. But, these three rings had been given to him in greatest trust. Each ring was a one time license to use an otherwise illegal spell. Levaughn typically wore one when going into a particularly nasty fight, but he'd never worn more than one.
This time, he put on all three.
He could not believe he had nearly forgotten the rings. If he had not been so busy primping… Grimacing, Levaughn left his bed chamber and returned to his study.
They were glaring at each other—or, rather, glaring pointedly at everything but each other—when he rejoined them. That was odd. People were intimidated by Marcum, some were even frightened of what he could do—but seldom was anyone angry with Marcum. He was eccentric, but kind. Levaughn could not remember the last person to irritate and be irritated by Marcum.
"All ready then?" Marcum abruptly asked, seeing Levaughn. "Best to move quickly, if we are to save your lover."
"Former lover," Levaughn corrected quietly. "I am certain he must have a new one by this point." He did not care what the goblin said about love—they had, in the end, really only been a fling. A simple affair that had never been meant to last past school.
