The Unwilling Apprentice (Book 2)

by Heidi Willard

  Ned noticed, and covered his mouth with a fist to stifle a cough. "Well, since the blessedly short ceremony is finished, perhaps we should get some refreshments."

  "Later," Pat promised. She looked over the room and sighed. "I am required to greet everyone who was kind enough to attend."

  "Then we will see you at supper," Ned replied with a bow.

  She returned the gesture and went on her official rounds to speak with all the guests. Fred frowned; she looked so unhappy beneath a mask of a fake smile. "Isn't there anything we can do?" he whispered to Ned.

  The old man raised an eyebrow. "What would you suggest?" he returned.

  Fred shrugged. "I don't know, some way we can cheer her up or get her out of here."

  Ned set a gentle hand on Fred's shoulder. "You would seek to change her destiny." It was a statement, not a question.

  Fred nodded. "Yeah, I guess that's it."

  "Perhaps we may yet play a greater part in changing her destiny," Ned mused.

  Fred shot him a curious stare, but at that moment trumpets sounded and King Stephen raised his arms. "Come, everyone! Let us feast and be merry, for tonight we celebrate a prophecy long-coming!"

  The guests politely clapped and followed their king to the dining hall, though Fred noticed Sturgeon stood along the wall and didn't join in with the festivities. Fred watched Percy follow Pat and congratulate her on the ascension to her destiny. Fortunately the pretty lord and Pat were separated at the table by the seating arrangement, and the three companions were reunited at the head. Ruth stood behind Pat as her servant and winked at Fred, who nervously smiled back. She had a lot of courage to stand in the presence of the son of the man who had tried to destroy her people. Lady Martley and Hawkins rejoined them at the table, and there was much talking and laughter from everyone.

  There was a minor difference in the room from the breakfast in the form of a curtain positioned behind the king's seat. Two servants stood on either side of the cloth with cords close at hand to reveal what lay behind the curtain.

  After everyone ate their fill the king stood up and the room quieted. "Let us give to this young lady the gifts she deserves."

  The servants marched in a procession of presents which they laid all around Pat. She broke into the wrapped gifts one at a time, and allowed everyone to admire each present and congratulate both her and the giver. Pat whittled down the pile until none remained and she was surrounded by dresses, hats, shoes and other girlish trinkets.

  Then and only then did the king stand up and signal to his servants. One of them carried in a small case the size of a throne pillow with a lid, and gave it to Stephen. He in turn held it out to Pat, though not close enough that she could take it. "On this most special occasion I give to you an heirloom of my family, the Tiara of Galaron." He lifted the lid and there was a collective gasp from the audience when he revealed a tiara covered in jewels and forged from pure gold. The gems reflected the light from the hundreds of candles and lit up the box with its own rainbow-colored light.

  Pat smiled and bowed her head. Stephen handed the box back to the servant, took the tiara in hand and set it atop her head. The room erupted in applause and Pat raised her eyes. Fred saw that the joy on her face didn't reach them. The king was very pleased with himself, and now the presents were gone.

  That is, until Ned stood up and his voice broke through the chatter. "My apprentice and I also have a present for you."

  That caught everyone's attention, for they all knew Ned was a castor and castors generally didn't give ordinary gifts. King Stephen raised an eyebrow and Pat's eyes lit up. She glanced from master to apprentice. "Really? From both of you?" Her eagerness for their gift irked the king, whom she had not shown such deference.

  "Indeed we have," Ned replied. He walked around the table to stand in front of her, and dug into his cloak. He rummaged in there for a while, captivating everyone with curiosity until he pulled out the ugliest scabbard any of them had ever seen. Its leather was blackened and chipped from fire, and holes dotted the entire length. "You must excuse the wrapping. I hadn't time for anything fancy," Ned apologized. He held out the scabbard to Pat, and Fred regretted his name being affixed to such a strange and ugly present. "This will keep you safe when we cannot," he promised her.

  Pat plastered a smile on her face. "Thank you both very much," she lied as she took it from Ned's hand.

  The moment she touched the scabbard the item lit up with light from the tip and traveled down the length. It transformed from an ugly piece of weaponry to a beautiful, ornate scabbard. The holes filled in and the leather repaired itself so the surface shined with a good wax and there were no signs of fire. Jewels sprang up from the leather in intricate designs of hunting scenes, and the gems rivaled those on her tiara. The most extraordinary change was the appearance of a sword inside the scabbard. The light traveled past the end of the scabbard and the hilt of the weapon emerged from the brilliance. Pat nearly dropped the gift because of the added weight, and Ned's eyes twinkled with merriment at her surprise. "Show everyone your fine sword."

  Pat stood and pulled out the sword in a swoosh of air. The sharp, unstained blade glistened in the light, and with a deft swing Pat cut the air and the weapon whistled, so clean was the cut. She returned the sword to its scabbard and her eyes filled with tears. "Thank you," she choked out. Her eyes looked to Ned and Fred. "Thank you both so very much."

  Down the table Percy stood up and called to them. "What beauty is this you have given to our lady? Surely it isn't any ordinary sword, and yet is seems so very familiar," he wondered.

  "It is the sword of her ancestors, the knightly line of Lamikan who once protected the lands to the east. Her father entrusted it with me before he passed on," Ned replied. Pat's head shot up and her eyes widened. "They called it Storm-Bringer, but for Lady Lamikan I would suggest she choose her own name for it."

  Pat's hands glided over the jewel-encrusted scabbard, and a smile spread across her lips. "I will call it Phaetonus after the priests who raised me."

  The crowd clapped and Ned bowed, though Fred glimpsed Ned's smile falter just a little. The chatter in the room erupted over the fine present, and many stood to catch a better look of the wonderful scabbard. The king's face reddened at the attention to the gift that far eclipsed his own, and he stood and held up his hands. There was silence and he grinned. "I have hinted to some of you a great surprise I had in store for the Lady Lamikan regarding her betrothed. For those of you unaware of this part of the prophecy, she is destined to marry one who is dead." He waited for the surprised murmurs to die down. "As her king and lord, I feel it is my duty to find her a man worthy of her position, and I have found it."

  King Stephen stepped aside and gestured to the two servants on either side of the curtain. They pulled on the cords and the curtain parted to reveal a new tombstone. The room was as quiet as the grave; none knew whether this was a joke or the king was in earnest.

  The king offered his hand to the stunned Pat and led her up to the tombstone. A name was inscribed on the tomb in large letters. "I give you your husband, my lady. My father, King Stephen George Frederick Carrot Albert Galaron the Fourth."

  CHAPTER 13

  A gasp arose from the audience, and those at the head of the table sprang up from their chairs. Of the four, Ned, Fred, Martley and Hawkins, Ned spoke first. "Your Highness, surely you must be in jest."

  King Stephen turned to them and frowned. "I am not in jest. I can think of no better man to wed to this lady than my father, and he fits the description of one who is dead."

  Martley separated herself from the table and moved to stand beside the king. "Your Highness, surely there must be another interpretation of the prophecy," she cooed.

  Her feminine wiles failed to have their usual effect. "I will not be swayed by your soft words, my lady. I am convinced my father is the best choice and he need only be resurrected." The king turned his attention to Ned. "I ask your assistance in raising my father from death into
life. Will you do it?"

  Ned straightened and his eyebrows crashed down. "I will not, Your Highness."

  King Stephen looked to Fred. "What of your apprentice? Has he the skills and willingness?"

  Fred paled and Ned stepped in front of him to block the king's gaze. "He has not the skill, nor would I allow him to perform such blasphemy. The dead must remain dead."

  The king scowled, and Fred cringed from his displeasure. Ned stood straight and his hand tightened its grip on his staff. Hawkins stepped forward and knelt on one knee before his king. "Your Highness, what you propose is the black arts, blasphemy. How can you justify this to your subjects?"

  "Justify? Justify!" Stephen repeated, each word louder than the one before it. His voice bellowed over the cowed audience. "I am their king, and have sole authority in this kingdom! None but I create the laws, and none but I shall break them! If this is blasphemy then let it be made a right by authority of the king!"

  "Please, Your Highness," Pat softly spoke up. She put her free hand over his and her eyes reflected her plea. "You must remember the people are your children. You must not do anything which brings them fear, and they will fear this."

  King Stephen smiled at her and patted her hand. "You are wise, my lady, but I am sure when my father is revived they will rejoice when they remember what joys he brought them and the more that can be brought with his new life." He swept his arm over the guests and grinned. "But enough of such dour talk! Let us eat and be merry, and know that in a few days' time my father will join us!" He guided Pat back to the table and held up his goblet. Everyone mechanically lifted their own. "To life, and the defeat of death!"

  The rest of the evening passed without any more surprises, though King Stephen never let them forget the unpleasant surprise he already gave them. He would only speak of his father's death and return. "He died of disease twenty years ago at a young age, hardly seventy. It was my younger brother's leaving us that drove him to it," Stephen informed his guests. "He was buried in the Valley of Kings to the northeast of here overlooking an old battlefield where he had defeated our northern enemies of Dirth twenty-five years earlier." Pat managed a smile and picked at her food. No one had an appetite except for the king.

  Those at the head were given reprieve when a servant came up and whispered something into the king's ear. Stephen smiled and nodded. "Show him into my personal study, and tell him his services will certainly be needed." His eyes darted over to Ned and Fred, and the elder raised an eyebrow. Stephen arose and the rest of the table quieted. "Please continue on with your meal, I have some matters to attend to."

  Everyone bowed and curtsied, and the king left. The moment the doors closed behind him the gossip dam burst and the guests talked of nothing else but the king's intent to revive his father. Ned grabbed Fred and retrieved Pat from across the table. "If you will excuse us," he apologized to Martley and Hawkins.

  Ned hurried them out of the room with Ruth in tow and led them into his room. He securely locked the door and, for good measure, touched the top of his staff against the door. Light shimmered over the surface for a moment and then absorbed into the wood. "That should provide us some protection from the king's servants."

  Pat paced the room and stumbled over her dress. "What could he be thinking? What madness runs in this family?" she asked her companions.

  Ned turned and shook his head. "A river that runs very wild, but even this folly surpasses all his ancestors," he replied.

  "How bad is this?" Fred wondered. He understood the morality of the situation, but they hinted at greater consequences.

  Ned leaned on his staff and his bushy eyebrows crashed atop his eyes. "The power to revive someone from the dead is a terrible black magic, and any matter of things could go wrong. The castor could revive a ruined, rotting corpse, or have the spell reverse itself onto him and take his life. What's most fearsome, though, is the precedent such an action would create."

  "You mean reviving people from the dead? Would that be such a bad thing?" Fred asked him. He thought of his parents, and Ned's dead friend.

  For the first time Fred witnessed anger on Ned's face. The old man stomped up to the boy and grabbed him by the collar. Ned pulled them together so their faces almost touched, and his blazing eyes burned into Fred's own. His voice was low and dangerous. "Never suggest that, not even in jest. What's done cannot be undone except at a terrible cost."

  "Ned!" Pat scolded.

  Ned released Fred, who stumbled back in shock; Ruth caught him before he fell. The old man looked over the three youngsters, and his face was very grave. "The king will not listen to reason, thus our only choice is to see that he does less damage than he might and hope this attempt at revival fails."

  "And if it doesn't? If something worse happens?" Pat asked him.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Then Phaeton help us."

  The companions were quiet as each mused over the implications. Fred frowned and straightened himself. "Whatever happens I won't stop protecting Pat," he spoke up.

  Pat smiled, and her joy was greater when Ruth stepped forward. "I will keep my oath to fulfill my life-debt to both of you, and will follow wherever you go."

  Tears sprang to Pat's eyes and she hurriedly wiped them away. "Thank you. Both of you."

  They all looked to Ned, who sighed and let a smirk cross his lips. "As many people would attest, if I were not in the thick of trouble I would be nowhere at all. You may still count me as one of your guardians. It would take more than the whims of a mad king to force me to abandon my promise."

  Their affirmation of their loyalty to Pat was interrupted by a knock on the door. Ned gestured for the others to stay back and walked over to the entrance. "Yes?" he called out.

  "It is I, Lady Martley," came the sweet, familiar voice. "King Stephen wishes to speak with Lady Lamikan and her guardians."

  "Very well. We will be down presently," Ned promised.

  "He told me not to return without you," she replied.

  Ned frowned, but gestured for the others to follow him and he opened the door. Lady Martley stood in the doorway and smiled at the group. "We are ready," Ned announced.

  "Splendid. If you would follow me." Lady Martley led them to the balcony and down the stairs, where she took a sharp right. Beneath the stairs was a door, and behind that door was a long hallway that led deep into the castle. They stopped at the final door along the hallway, and Martley opened the entrance. "If you would all step inside."

  The four peeked their heads inside and glimpsed an odd room of maps and trinkets. Cantankus skulls lined the walls and maps covered several tables. A hearth stood on the wall to their right with a roaring fire inside it, and a large chair in front of the flames. The king sat in the large chair with a stool opposite him, upon which sat a figure who wore a dark red robe.

  The king jumped to his feet and greeted Pat with open arms. "My goodness, but you look lovely in that tiara," he complimented.

  Pat raised her arm and touched the trinket on her head; she'd forgotten about it. "Um, thank you, Your Highness. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday gift."

  King Stephen laughed and shook his head. "But that wasn't a birthday gift, my lady. That was meant to be an early wedding present, for after my father is revived we will be related and you will have a claim to the tiara." Pat blanched, but the king didn't notice. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the stool. "I believe you're familiar with their denomination, but let me introduce you to Cousin Michael."

  The man stood and pulled back his hood to reveal a homely man of about thirty-five. He had black hair cut in the shape of an overturned bowl and his grin revealed unkept teeth. On his forehead was painted a circle with sunbeams sprouting from the center. He bowed to Pat. "Good evening, Lady Lamikan, my name is Brother Michael Alexandros. I have heard much of you from our brethren to the east."

  Pat politely nodded, but looked to Stephen with a furrowed brow. "What can this mean? Why have you called
a Priest of Phaeton?"

  "Cousin Michael will officiate over not only your wedding, but in the rising of my dear father," Stephen explained as he looked with admiration on the priest. "He is learned in castor magic, and has gladly offered to help us in this need."

  "A moment," Ned spoke up. He stepped forward and looked the man over. "You have no staff. Where did you learn your skill?"

  "From the Order, Sir Edwin," Cousin Michael replied. Ned's eyes narrowed at the title and name given to him. "I'm sure you know of it, for we have heard of you."

  Ned gravely nodded his head. "Yes, I have heard of the Order within the Priests of Phaeton, but I have rarely beheld a man who purports to use magic without a staff."

  Cousin Michael reached into his cloak and pulled out a book bound in black leather. "This grants me the abilities I need to do the job with which King Stephen has entrusted me."

  Stephen stepped forward with Pat in tow and gestured to Cousin Michael. "You see, my good castor, that your refusal to assist in this noble endeavor will not stop us." He pulled Pat up to his side and laid her hands in his own. "Tomorrow Lady Lamikan will begin the journey to my father's grave, and will return in triumph within the week."

  Ned's eyes widened. "You would have her leave the safety of the city?"

  Stephen laughed at Ned's concern. "What has she to fear? When she crossed the Salaron she left behind all troubles with Canavar."

  "Canavar's influence reaches even here, and to send her out of the city walls would risk her life and the future of Galaron," Ned insisted. "I must speak frankly, Your Highness. I believe this foolish endeavor will cause nothing but harm to both you and your people. I beg of you not to follow the lead of this cousin and revive your father. Let the dead alone, and concern yourself with the living."

  The king's face flushed and his grip on Pat's hands tightened. He kept his voice calm and restrained, but his words were tinged with warning. "Another outburst such as that, castor, and I will forget your assistance to this city and have every part of you hung in the squares. Do I make myself clear?" Ned scowled, but bowed his head. "Good. Then if all is settled you will leave early tomorrow morning, and I will grant you a contingency of guards and banner men. I wouldn't want my father to be insulted by a paltry few guards upon his return. Will that ease your concerns?" Ned bowed his head. "Now leave my presence. For your insults I will not see you off on the morrow."