“That’ll do,” she said finally, but quickly added, “for now.” She pointed a finger at him, one that felt surprisingly like the one Mother used. “But we had better not find out you’re keeping any more secrets.”
“Oh, so it’s we now,” Dartan observed.
“Absolutely. We girls have to stick together.” She gave Josie another rub, and Josie responded with an agreeing whiny. Dartan smiled, in spite of the worry in the back of his mind. He hadn’t mentioned the magic. He knew it was the reason the wizard had come, and yet he couldn’t admit it to her. Should he say something? He glanced back up at her and she looked back with a small smile. It was the first one he had seen from her in three days.
Maybe it won’t come up, he thought.
* * *
“You can use magic?!” Aliet stared hard at Dartan, who refused to look up from the ground. “So, you’re what, a wizard now?”
“No,” Alain cleared his throat, “not exactly. He’s an apprentice.” He offered a smile to Aliet, which she returned with a blank stare before turning back to Dartan.
“When were you planning on telling me?”
“When I was sure,” Dartan answered quietly, still unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t feel any different, and he,” Dartan tilted his head, indicating Alain, “seems to be the only one who thinks I can.”
“I don’t think you have the talent,” Alain assured them, “I’m quite certain of it now.” He beamed a knowing smile at them both.
“Why exactly is that?” Aliet asked slowly, and a little too loudly. She kept picturing that rock sailing effortlessly through the wizard’s body, and couldn’t help but wonder how good his … reception was.
“Honestly, I wasn’t sure, until I saw your fields,” Alain said. He then added as an aside, “And I’m not deaf, dear.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you,” she said with a reddened face.
“Not many do,” Dartan interrupted, trying to derail the conversation.
“What do my fields have to do with anything magical?” she pressed.
“Your two farms were the only ones not affected in any way by the death of the wizard,” Alain explained. “Once I heard Dartan had feelings for you, I was fairly certain he was the reason.” A low grumble from behind Alain made him pause. Marcus, who had been mostly silent since their arrival, stood with his eyes fixed on Alain. A handful of dry soil poured from his large flexing fists.
Alain cleared his throat. “And by ‘feelings’, I mean that they’re good friends.” Dartan eyed him only slightly less menacingly than Marcus, and the red returned to Aliet’s cheeks.
“I still don’t understand,” Aliet said without meeting anyone’s eyes.
Happy to move the conversation along, Alain quickly picked his explanation back up, though more careful of his words now. “Obviously Dartan is concerned about his own farm, which means it prospers. However,” he shifted his gaze from Dartan to Marcus, both of whom were still staring back, “for reasons we won’t discuss, he is also concerned with the well-being of your farm. Therefore, both farms withstood the wizard’s death.”
“Couldn’t that just be luck?” Aliet asked. “We do share many of the same resources.”
“Which is why I wasn’t sure, until I saw what has happened now.”
“You’ve lost me again,” she confessed. Alain simply smiled and nodded his head.
“Of course I did. It’s not really your fault though, you just haven’t a clue how magic works.” He thought for a moment before explaining. “A spell like this requires an immense amount of focus not only to cast, but also to maintain, which made me doubt Dartan could be responsible. However, if he wanted it badly enough, his subconscious mind could make it happen without him even realizing it. The subconscious is the root, the beginning of all wishes and desires, and it plays a strong role in a wizard’s power.”
“Once he’s made aware, that he could be the cause … ” Aliet was following.
“The spell is broken, and we are left with two more failed farms,” Alain finished.
“So,” Marcus rubbed the grit left on his hands between his thick fingers. “I have Dartan to thank for my failed crops and dying livestock?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking,” Alain considered, while Marcus had already heard enough, and was looking at Dartan with clenched fists. “I suppose that is true,” Alain concluded, and Marcus took a step towards Dartan.
“Freeze, Marcus!” Aliet ignored the grumblings of protest, and turned her attention back to the wizard. “So far you have succeeded in ruining the last two farms in this dying village, and convinced my brother that Dartan is responsible. What is it exactly you wanted to achieve here, wizard?”
Alain opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. He remained silent for a few moments as the other three simply stared at him. The girl was right, things were not going as he had planned. He would have to tell them something.
“I have a responsibility to the boy,” Alain stated. “I’m offering him guidance and protection.”
“Responsibility to me?” Dartan repeated. “Why? Because you think I’m a wizard?”
“And,” Aliet interjected, “setting aside the questionable for the absurd, what do you mean by ‘protection’? You’ve already nearly gotten him killed by Marcus, and what could you have done to stop him?” She duplicated Dartan’s demonstration of tossing a rock through the wizard for emphasis.
“There are more types of protection than the purely physical,” Alain countered. “And for that, I will rely on the two of you.”
“Us?” Aliet asked. “We’re supposed to protect him?”
“You are his friends, are you not?”
“One of us is,” she said under her breath, then nodded.
“Wait,” Dartan was remembering the wizard’s final words, the ones that sparked the packing frenzy, and sent his mother to her sister’s. “What do I need protection from? Who exactly is coming for me? And why?”
The wizard was losing all control. So many questions. He wasn’t used to having his motives and statements dissected and discussed, at least, not in front of him. Perhaps if he zapped one of them? No, that really wouldn’t help anyone. Still, this line of questioning led straight to that which he was trying so hard to avoid. What other choice did he have? None. He needed their help.
“Agents of the Northern Kingdom,” Alain reluctantly revealed. Aliet’s eyes widened, Dartan’s jaw dropped, and Marcus expressed his shock with a single grunt.
“The Northern Kingdom?” Aliet thought agents was a stretch. Mercenaries would be more accurate, but whatever they were called, Aliet was worried. “They haven’t had a force cross our border in over a century. Why now?”
“It’s actually closer to two centuries,” Marcus said, and no one argued.
“That’s the who,” Dartan added, “now what’s the why?”
Here it was. Alain had no options left. Without an answer there was no way to move forward. Would they be able to accept the truth?
“They believe Dartan to be the heir to the throne of Pavlora, and King Jarel wishes to take the throne for himself.”
“There is no heir,” Aliet insisted. “That’s what happens when you have a virgin Queen.”
“Regardless,” Alain insisted, “I have counseled every ruler of Pavlora, and I assure you, he is the next.”
Aliet turned to Dartan with a laugh, “Tell him you aren’t the heir.”
Dartan almost laughed as well, then stopped. It was ludicrous. It was ridiculous. It actually made a kind of strange sense. “I have no idea who my birth parents are,” he answered in a low voice. It wasn’t the answer Aliet was expecting, and her brow furrowed to show her aggravation.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Aliet argued. She stepped forward, grabbed his arm, and pulled him close. “So, you can’t believe you’re a wizard, but have no problem with being proclaimed a royal?”
Dartan shrugged. “My family has been kept a secret from me for my
entire life. Can you think of a better reason why?”
“I don’t believe this,” Aliet said.
“Your beliefs will do very little to dissuade the men coming for Dartan,” Alain interjected. “They have orders and they will follow them.”
Aliet let out a frustrated breath. She decided to play along, for now. “Do we have any chance of reaching the city before they catch us?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“If the Northern emissary can be believed, you should be safe for little less than a month.” A month was something, and Aliet felt herself relax a tiny bit, but it only lasted long enough for the wizard to take a breath. “Of course,” he pointed out, “trusting the emissary could be a deadly decision.” Then he added, “And you’re not coming to the city.”
“Aren’t we bringing him to you?” Aliet asked with growing impatience.
“Did I say that?” Alain paused a moment, hand rubbing his forehead in thought. “No,” he shook his head. “I’m sure I’d remember saying something like that.”
“If I’m the heir, and there are forces moving against me,” Dartan asked, “why aren’t I coming to the city to be under the protection of the guard?” His eyes narrowed and his voice lowered as he asked, “What else aren’t you telling us?” Even though his body was leagues away, Alain could feel all eyes on him.
“I need your help,” he admitted. “King Jarel means to take the throne by force, but he isn’t acting alone. I fear he has no idea the malice his allies hold against everyone and everything here. They must not be allowed to gain any power here.”
“Are we really the best choice?” Dartan asked.
“In light of recent events, I don’t know who I can trust anymore. So, yes, you are the best option I have.”
Dartan looked at Aliet, who merely shrugged. She was still trying to work past the bit about living next door to a royal. Dartan sighed. “What do you need from us?”
“There are items, certain artifacts I know Jarel will be attempting to acquire,” Alain explained. “I need you to retrieve them before he does.”
“And where are these items?” Dartan asked.
“The Carpa Mountains.”
“You’re sending me to the border of the Northern Kingdom?!” Dartan exclaimed. “To the very door of the enemy?!”
“It can’t be helped.”
Dartan threw his hands in the air and walked in a tight circle, mumbling to himself for a moment. He stopped in front of Alain. “I don’t suppose you could be a little more specific about where in the Carpa Mountains you’re sending me?”
“Of course,” Alain answered calmly. “I’ll be here to guide you for the entire journey.”
“Great,” Aliet groaned. “When do we leave for the mountains?”
“Right after a quick stop in Amstead.”
“Amstead?” Dartan almost felt the need to take another circle. “Amstead is not on the way to the Carpa Mountains. What’s in Amstead?”
“The Scales Tavern, of course,” Alain answered without a pause.
“Of course,” Dartan repeated with an exasperated laugh. He took a breath, then, “But what are we-”
“Forget it,” Aliet interrupted, stepping between them. “I don’t think he’s capable of telling us anything useful without dragging it out of him, and I, for one, refuse to play his game anymore.” She turned to Alain and said, “Come back tomorrow, wizard, and lead us to the Scales Tavern in Amstead. I’m sure we could all use a drink.” She spoke harshly, but Alain seemed not to notice. Smile still on his face, he tipped his head and disappeared.
“I’m sure that little trick isn’t going to get annoying,” Aliet mumbled. “Come on,” she said to Marcus. “We’ve got some things to discuss.” Marcus grunted and followed her towards the house. He slowed as he reached Dartan.
“From heir to errand boy in less than five minutes,” he said with a smile. “Why don’t you see if you can conjure up some supplies for us, apprentice.”
Dartan remained silent as Marcus passed, and watched him walk into the house behind Aliet. Alone in the yard, Dartan looked north, searching for the foothills marking the beginning of the Carpa Mountain range. Amstead lay west, and when he turned that way he saw nothing but unbroken land and sky. No foreboding gloom. No cracks of lightning. Just a normal, quiet, almost soothing blue sky. So, why did he feel like running wildly in any other direction?
Chapter Six
The fire in the middle of the room was more for light rather than heat, which meant it was autumn in the Northern Kingdom. The large, stone throne at the far end of the room was covered in thick furs, with King Jarel atop them.
“And you saw this yourself? You’re sure of it?” Jarel questioned the man kneeling in front of his throne, who nodded his bowed head vigorously.
“Yes, sire,” he managed to finally stammer. With his rough hands and deeply tanned skin, the man was obviously a farmer, but his clothes hung loosely on his skeletal frame. Tough times, of which Jarel was reaping the benefits.
Jarel had one leg thrown over the throne armrest, and regarded the man silently. “Very well,” Jarel was convinced. He moved his leg to the floor, sitting up straight on the throne. “The Northern Kingdom thanks you for your loyalty. Your deeds will not be forgotten.”
“Thank you, sire,” he said, struggling to his feet. His head bowed, he backed out of the room, adding, “I live to serve,” as he left.
“You could learn a lot from that man,” Jarel said to what appeared to be an empty room after the farmer left.
A deep shadow in the far corner stirred, and from it emerged Roal. “I hope you’re not talking about farming,” he said, approaching the throne. “Because he didn’t look like a very good one.” When he reached the royal crest etched into the stone in front of the throne, Roal kneeled, bent his head low, and waited.
“He does what is asked of him,” Jarel explained, leaning forward. “Exactly what is asked of him, and nothing more.” Roal remained on one knee, but raised his head to meet Jarel’s eyes.
“So, he has no initiative? No ability to think for himself or react when things don’t go according to plan?” He flashed a quick smile, then added, “Sounds like a dangerous man to entrust with much of anything.”
“Not quite,” Jarel replied calmly. “He doesn’t presume to know more than his king. Especially where it concerns the task he was given.”
Roal lowered his head. “Forgive me, sire. I would never presume to know more than my king.”
“Really?” Jarel leapt to his feet, smiling when Roal flinched, but didn’t move any closer. “Tell me then, did you use the scale?”
Roal didn’t immediately answer, silently fighting the urge to stroke the scale hidden under his shirt. He cleared his throat, shifted uncomfortably, and kept his head bowed as he answered. “I thought a test of its power was necessary.”
Jarel let out one clear laugh, and took a single step down towards Roal. “You thought? And who asked you to think? Where in my simple instructions were you led to believe I wanted you to think?” His voice had risen loud enough to be heard outside the room, but he wasn’t screaming, which was the most unnerving thing to Roal. He knew that calm tone heralded the storm to come.
“Nowhere, sire,” Roal answered quietly.
“So, you do presume to know more than your king.”
“No, sire. I-“
“And what were the results of this test you conducted?” Jarel interrupted. Roal took a deep breath, dreading answering this question even more than admitting he had used it.
“The wizard easily overcame my defenses,” Roal admitted. “The scale failed.”
“Stand up,” Jarel commanded. Roal hesitated for a moment, unsure of what he heard. When he looked up and saw Jarel waiting on him, he quickly rose to his feet.
“Use it now,” Jarel said. Roal raised his eyebrows, again unsure. “The scale,” Jarel clarified. “Use it now to protect yourself from me.”
“What?” Roal’s eyes widen
ed as he saw Jarel pull his wand from his sleeve. “Wait!” he said, fumbling for the scale resting against his chest.
“Too slow.” Jarel pointed the wand at Roal’s arm and snapped his fingers, but it was the snap of bone that echoed back. An explosion of pain started in his arm, then raced up his shoulder to his head, where it pushed out everything else but the pain. He had no idea how long it lasted, but when it subsided enough to allow rational thought again, Roal realized he was screaming.
The arm that had been reaching for the scale now hung uselessly at his side. The bone above his elbow protruded through his sleeve, and blood trailed down his arm, pooling onto the floor.
“Try again,” Jarel said once Roal’s screams had died down enough to be heard. Roal pushed the pain from his mind, and focused on the scale. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and envisioned the protective shell around his entire body. The scale grew warm against his skin, and there was a small smile on his face when he opened his eyes. He met Jarel’s eyes, saw the wand pointed and ready, and his smile faltered.
“Better,” Jarel admitted, then snapped his fingers again. Roal actually screamed before the other arm broke, but the crunch still ricocheted across the room. “Not good enough, though.”
Sweat and tears dripped from Roal’s face, mixing with the pool of blood at his feet. His breath came in ragged heaves, exhausted from screaming, and he fought to keep the black edges of his vision from encroaching any further. So far he was winning, but not by much. Jarel stepped closer.
“How about another try?” Jarel suggested. Roal tried forming words, but his voice refused to cooperate. He was reduced instead to shaking his head vigorously. “Oh, come now. Giving up so easily?” Jarel folded his hands in front of him, his head lowered in thought, as he paced slowly around Roal’s shaking body. “I was sure you just needed a little motivation, but perhaps I was wrong.” His eyes widened a bit, he snapped his fingers, and said, “I’ve got it!”
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