“What would you do?” Neslan asked him.
“I would fight him, of course. I would slay him like the real knights used to do and be a grand hero, and everyone would talk about it.”
“You’d run away faster than Adage,” said Neslan.
“I would not!”
“You would.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Valkin. “There aren’t any trolls to come across.”
“You two….” said August. She laid the closed book beside her, and Hune, who by then had rid his clothing of vegetable matter, climbed on her lap. He said:
“My favorite part of the story’s when Adage meets the giant, and he tries to run away from him too, like always, and he slips again and loses his grip on Lankon, and Lankon goes soaring through the air like a great falcon and cuts the giant’s head off, which isn’t a bad thing, really, since the giant’s a great bully to the villagers. And Adage makes up a great yarn about how he battled the monster, and everyone thinks he’s wonderful, but the plan goes wrong when the villagers ask him to kill the dragon that’s been stealing all their gold. So Adage gets scared again and rides away from the town as quickly as he can.”
“We can read that part tomorrow,” said August.
“I’m sick of old Adage,” said Valkin. “I want a story about a real hero, not that lousy coward.”
“But Adage is funny,” said Hune.
August suggested, “How about Sir Brogle and his quest for the beginnings of magic?”
“That’s a good one,” said Neslan.
“I don’t have it to read,” August admitted. “But I know it well enough that I can tell a decent version of it. All right, how does it start?”
“Sir Brogle was bored,” said Valkin. “Because he’d rid his village of foul beasts.”
August said, “So he was. He was bored. He had a friend named Mage, who was a great sorcerer, and when Mage learned that Brogle had nothing at all to do, he said it would be a great help to all good magicians to discover how magic began, because none of them knew. A league of evil sorcerers knew, but kept the secret to themselves. If Brogle wanted, he could go off and search for the answer. A clue, an artifact of some kind that could set him on the right path, was rumored to be far off in the Caves of Snowdown, but there were monsters and evil sorcerers with astounding power to guard it. In fact, Mage would go with him if he liked, to help….”
* * *
At the same time that August was reading to the princes, distracting them for a few precious minutes from their homesickness, Ursa, Dorane, and Arbora were meeting in one of the mansion’s smaller rooms, which Ursa had converted five years before into a study of sorts, a miniature library, though she herself was no great reader. Dorane was the trio’s devourer of words, and most of the books Ursa owned she bought mainly to loan to him.
One of the study’s walls held large windows, so that the room had a cheerful air due to abundant lighting. A sun-faded rug and tapestry gave the space a homey touch that made it feel more utilized than it was in actuality. The three occupants had pulled their cushioned chairs to face one another, and looked sluggish despite the sunlight because they had recently eaten. Dorane tried to read the titles of some books stacked behind Arbora, but could not because of her mountain of thick brown hair, which instantly drew anyone’s attention when they first saw her. Arbora always looked a little shabby, devoting herself to activities she considered more important than her appearance.
Ursa was just the opposite. The younger woman had a vain streak, and her dresses were always pressed, her long rust-colored locks brushed until they shone. Ursa was well aware her home village held no prestige, and though she felt no shame for her rustic roots or speech style, she feared others would judge her by where she had grown up. She turned up her nose at Dorane’s threadbare wardrobe, and hinted she would gladly supply him with a better, for her own sake, so she would not have to suffer “lookin’ at the old one,” but Dorane refused to be anyone’s charity case. That was why Ursa, to be kind, had to lend him books instead of gifting them. Dorane always returned them in perfect condition. She suspected he might ask to borrow that one he was staring at.
“Dorane,” Ursa chastised, “this ain’t no time to be thinkin’ o’ books. Pay attention, will you? You don’t think the king’ll bite, Bora?”
“Biting has nothing to do with it. Listen to me, both of you: I know the king. He hasn’t agreed in six weeks to give you amnesty if you return his children, and won’t agree to such terms if we haggle for four more years. If either of you had the foresight to come to me before you started this catastrophe, I would have warned you of that.” Arbora shook her head. “You,” she accused Dorane, “I expected more from you. How could you have done this? You’re a father yourself.”
“Good grief,” said Ursa. “We didn’t hurt the boys, an’ we knew what we were riskin.’ Someone had to do somethin.’ Rexson’s blocked us at every turn for years now. Damn it, he won’t block us no more! We magicked deserve better.”
Arbora lost her patience. “Aren’t Rexson’s sons magicked? Don’t they deserve better than to rot down in that basement?”
“That’s the king’s fault, that!” Ursa cried, literally rising to Arbora’s challenge. “That’s the king’s own fault, an’ I won’t have you layin’ it on me. All he has to do is agree to what we’re askin,’ an’ he’ll have his boys back, won’t he, good as new!”
“Our demands are reasonable,” said Dorane. “We’re not asking for a thing that isn’t owed us.”
“You say they’re reasonable. So do I. Unfortunately, the king views my suggestions in a different light, as I, again, would have warned you he would, if you’d asked my advice before taking measures that were so damn drastic! Now compromise is stalling. I’m telling you, it’s stalling. You’ve held his children captive for a month, and there’s no telling how much longer….”
Ursa flashed a smile and retook her seat, smoothing her skirt as she did so. “You mean we, Bora. We’ve been holdin’ his kids. You could transport ‘em out any time. I can’t stop you if you set your mind to doin’ that.”
Dorane’s voice was full of a quiet strength. “I thought we’d return the boys after a day or two. I didn’t plan….”
Arbora’s voice shook with anger. “What you planned doesn’t matter! This is what we’ve come to. How do we fix this?”
“We plug on,” said Dorane. “As we’ve been plugging on.”
“We could wait this out,” Arbora agreed. “Or we could…. Listen, both of you: it may be time to salvage what we can. The official adviser, the commune, we can let those dreams flit away, but I’m almost sure I could get the king to agree to a secret council, secret being key. An honorary and advisory group of magicians. If he appoints the members, determines its size…. He has power himself beyond politics, and he does want to reach out to the magic community. He only fears the backlash. It’s not quite what we wanted, but it’s close enough. That council, even a covert one, would be a monstrous victory. If Rexson agrees to that provision, and also to spare your lives, which might take some convincing, would you turn yourselves in?”
“Prison for the rest o’ my life?” stormed Ursa. “Are you jokin’? I ain’t servin’ time for this. I don’t plan to be no martyr just so you can get your council.”
“You want the council too,” Arbora reminded her. “You want that council. You kidnapped for it. This may be the only way to get something that resembles it.”
“I ain’t the martyr type,” Ursa repeated.
Dorane pursed his lips. “What about exile?” he asked. “Could exile be an option? Would Rexson go for that?”
Arbora let out a dry laugh. “He banished Kora Porteg for reinstating him, and you expect him to banish you for terrorizing his sons? I’m telling you, you’ll be lucky if I can talk him into a life sentence. He just might compromise as far as that, if it means the boys’ release. But to show greater mercy? He wants your blood, and thanks to you two, I don’t th
ink he’d grieve to spill mine alongside it.”
Dorane said, “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. Arbora, I swear I didn’t. I want that council more than anything. We need that council. The magic community’s in shambles. If we can get it, get it before we’re forced to harm the boys, I’ll go to prison. I’ll go gladly.”
“Do what you please,” said Ursa. She leaned back, crossing her ankles, lifting her front chair legs to balance against the wall. “I ain’t bein’ locked up willin’ly. I’ll take my chances, thanks.”
Arbora fought to keep desperation out of her voice. “Ursa, we can’t get the council sanctioned if you don’t agree to prison.”
“Then I guess there’ll be no council.”
“Listen,” said Dorane. He pulled on Ursa’s knee, and her chair settled back with a thud on all four legs. “Listen, this has gone on long enough. Nothing good will come from dragging it out further. You’re no sorcerer, Ursa. You will do this, or I’ll take the boys myself. I can transport as well as Bora does. I’ll return them to their father and trust he’ll let me live out of gratitude.”
Ursa smiled again, a conniving smile, and leaned forward, her face to her co-conspirator’s. “No you won’t,” she said. “You won’t be gettin’ no council if you do that. You would kill them boys for that council. You already killed their guards, didn’t you? Wouldn’t let me do the dirty work, no sir.
“Hell, you’d kill me if that would get you what you wanted, but I ain’t worried ‘bout that. I know you could take me out the picture an’ deliver the boys after that, an’ if Rexson hangs you, hope to earn your council by your hangin.’ Always hopin,’ ain’t you? Only, that would leave your little one with no father, an’ you can’t do that either. Zate can visit you in prison. Can’t speak with you if you’re dead, though.”
Arbora was shaking. “Enough,” she said. “What kind of talk is that?”
“Dorane can turn himself in. That ain’t got nothin’ to do with me, I said it already. But me….”
“I ain’t no martyr,” said Arbora, in a credible imitation. “We heard you the first time.”
“If they wanna come after me, let ‘em. If they wanna kill me, they can try their damnedest. I can’t stop ‘em tryin.’ I won’t be throwin’ my freedom away myself, thank you.”
“Arbora,” said Dorane, with a disgusted look at Ursa that made the younger woman tense up, “talk to the king again. Find out if he’ll allow the council in exchange for a life sentence in my case and his children’s safe return.”
“He’ll never agree without Ursa thrown in.”
“For me he might. He might take just me at this point, to get his sons back. It’s got to be worth trying! It’s been over a month. The king must be as anxious as we are. You said it yourself, we can’t keep the boys locked up forever. This has to end.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Arbora. “Maybe, after this much time, the king will settle for one of you.”
“Or maybe,” Ursa chimed in, “he’ll tell you to go to the hell you believe in and Dorane don’t.”
“Then,” Arbora continued, ignoring the interruption, “with the boys in his protection, he’ll be free to go after the other culprit as hard and fast as he desires.”
“Let him try,” said Ursa.
“Don’t be a fool,” Dorane urged. “Forget about the council if your welfare matters more to you, you self-centered….” Ursa suddenly looked pained. “Listen to me, you can save your life if Rexson agrees to this deal. Consider the council something extra if that makes it easier. I’m not turning myself in without a council.”
Ursa’s composure returned to her; she forced it to as she told him, “I know you ain’t. That’s why I ain’t worried. I can’t do nothin’ if you choose to free the hostages, but those boys are stayin’ right where they are. Rexson won’t throw in the council. He won’t compromise that much. If he ain’t caved yet, he ain’t gonna cave.”
“We’ve demanded amnesty until now.”
“He ain’t gonna cave. We stole his children, three of ‘em. He won’t be rewardin’ that behavior with no council. Arbora’s dead wrong, meanin’ her no disrespect. He’ll offer to spare your life, I think. But no council, that’s out o’ the question.”
“He’ll do it for his sons.”
“If he does I’m content to take my chances, fend for myself. But the fact is, he won’t do it. Just wait, he’ll hold out ‘til you take the council off the table. He ain’t gonna give you what you want more than anythin’ else in the world. He ain’t gonna let you win.
“Or he’ll trick you. He’ll say he’ll sanction the council, an’ never do it, an’ let you grow old in a dingy cell while them boys of his grow up beneath his eye. That he just might do. It’d serve you right, I say.”
Arbora planted her feet on the rug and left her chair. Her blood was running cold. She had feared Ursa would act this way, had known the woman would cause trouble, but had not expected to find the scene so chilling. “We’re finished for now,” Arbora said. “I’ll come back tomorrow, to see whether you’ve seen sense.” But she knew Ursa would keep on.
Dorane stood as well, with a longing glance at the books he had been eyeing earlier. “Oh, take one,” Ursa muttered. “Take ‘em all. It don’t matter none.”
The sorcerer grabbed two. Then he and Arbora transported to the dirt-packed trail placed just off Ursa’s property; grass and weeds and dandelions grew high on either side. “Is Ursa right about the king, do you reckon?” Dorane asked. “Would he trick us?”
Arbora gathered her wits. The light breeze blew away any sense of discomfort Ursa had evoked in her. “I’ve never known him to go back on his word, but if anything could bring him to that, out of spite, it’s precisely what you’ve done. He won’t kill you, mind, if he swears beforehand he won’t….”
“I’m not worried about that. I mean the council.”
Arbora sighed. “I meet with him tomorrow evening. We’ll get him to sign a contract before we hand over the boys, a contract we can give to the rest of the Fist. They’ll hold him to his word. That’s the most we can do, and it should be enough.”
Dorane shifted his books to his other hand. He said, “I need to get back to the mansion, just in case Rexson tries something drastic. Arbora, if this does work out, can I trust you to make sure Drea and Zate have all they need? I can’t ask Ursa. Rexson will hunt her down.”
“The Fist will care for your family. There’s no doubt of that, but me, personally…. I’m not sure Rexson won’t imprison me as well. I’ll bequeath what I can to your wife, but most of my wealth has already gone to the Fist. Most, not all: Drea won’t starve or be turned out of her home, and Zate will be just fine. He has a marvel of a mother to look after him.”
Dorane rubbed his temple. “I’m a blasted wreck,” he said. “This whole thing, it’s gotten out of control. I misread the king from the start and, well, I deserve to be locked up. You had nothing to do with this.”
“I turned accomplice when I decided to support you. I could have brought the children back.” Arbora ran a hand through her tangled hair. “We can still get the council, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
“Nothing else matters,” Dorane agreed.
Dorane once had told Arbora his enchantments were all he had to recommend him: thus his attraction to the Enchanted Fist, the great emphasis he gave to magic in his life. He resented having to conceal his only talent, the best part of himself, and his spirits lifted some as Arbora said, “Just imagine! Fifteen magicians to debate what’s best for the magicked and advise the king. Fifteen or twenty magicians whose opinion he’ll respect: that’ll be the difference between this council and the Fist. The king will be the one who brought these people together. He won’t ignore them like he always has me. Oh, he listens to what I have to say. He sits and listens, but what blasted good does that do if he doesn’t hear a word? He’ll hear this council, Dorane.”
Her last words barely registered with the so
rcerer. He was lost in his own reflections again, lost and tired and aching. He felt sad, somehow, that he wouldn’t be able to showcase his talents as part of the council. As long as the council was founded, though, he could accept the king barring his involvement. He could accept far worse than that. “I should get back to the mansion,” he said a second time.
“So you should. Keep an eye on those children.”
“I’ll keep my eye on Ursa,” Dorane specified. He muttered a transport spell and vanished from the road. Arbora shook her head, repeated what he had said beneath his breath, and in a matter of seconds, she too was gone.
* * *
After leaving the Palace post-strategizing, Bennie ducked into an alley to arrange a brown wig.
When Rexson’s spy had first come to Podrar with Arbora, the sorceress had helped her get settled at an inn, with the result that the innkeeper knew his guest not as Bendelof Esper but Gretta Yastly, a curious and bold brunette. Bennie had created a life history for Gretta over the last month: from Yangerton, the daughter of a tailor who managed a guild. Her older brother had joined the army after Zalski’s coup.
Over the last few days, Gretta, not Bennie, had become one of the inn’s least popular clients, due to her habit of listening to conversations and asking impertinent questions. Gretta, not Bennie, had sent an overcooked fish back into the kitchen her first night at the establishment, and had earned the cook’s respect for her gumption, since a trainee had prepared the meal and, like Gretta, the cook judged it inedible. Gretta, not Bennie, now entered her private room on the second floor to find someone waiting for her in a tiff.
“Arbora!”
“Where have you been?” asked the sorceress. Bennie tried to ignore her hammering heart, for the sake of Rexson’s sons.
“Looking for some rooms for the Fist, like you told me. None of your suggestions panned out, so I moved on to the Ingleton neighborhood.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Two, actually. Ingleton has no duke to interfere with us. It hasn’t had one in fifteen years. The other, well….” Bennie had no trouble looking doubtful, as though she debated whether to take Arbora in her confidence. “Zalski’s sister married Ingleton’s last duke, no? You know what else she did? That traitorous bitch killed my brother after she formed the Crimson League. I don’t imagine she’d want a group like ours placed in her old stomping grounds, so I figured I’d put us there.”
The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 7
