Tales of King's Blades 02 - Lord of The Fire Lands

by Dave Duncan

  "We keep the inmates fed," the King

  explained with his mouth full. "Usually a house

  thegn brings the rations, but I may come if I have

  business, or your uncle, and now Wulfwer.

  Weargahlaew isn't secret, but it isn't

  widely talked about, either. Grown-ups know

  better than to come here. Small boys must not, but

  few of them have horses capable of the ride."

  Oops! Radgar thought he knew one who

  wasn't going to have such a horse much longer and

  wasn't going to want to sit on one for quite a while

  either. "There's more people live here?" He eyed the

  sword, left within reach.

  "It varies. Only six at the moment. Some

  are witan who just want to be alone to study.

  They're hermits by choice and can leave

  if they want to. Others are weargas,

  banished by royal command--dangerous, crazy people,

  or thieves and murderers I chose to exile

  instead of enthrall, for one reason or another.

  They must stay here or pay the other penalty. There

  have been people so ugly that other people cannot tolerate them,

  and some with strange diseases the healers can't conjure.

  Other earls have their own places of exile,

  prison islands."

  Radgar swallowed the remains of his fourth egg

  and reached for bread and cheese, trying not to get them

  wet. Eating in a hot pool was trickier than

  he'd expected. He knew of nothing in the world more

  fun than going a-foering with Dad, who always

  seemed to have new places to show him and new things

  to do, and he would be enjoying every second of this

  bizarre picnic enormously if he didn't have

  his unknown punishment hanging over him.

  Good-bye, Cwealm!

  "Healfwer isn't the worst," Dad said.

  "He's only crazy some of the time, and he never

  threatens a strong man like Wulfwer. Children or

  vulnerable people seem to enrage him, and yet I know

  he's truly sorry afterward. He's the most

  brilliantly clever enchanter anywhere. No one

  else can conjure elementals the way he does,

  all by himself. If I need something special in the

  way of enchantment, he can almost always manage it for

  me. He can't help being crazy--wouldn't you be

  if you were crippled the way he is? He must have a

  lot of pain, too."

  "What happened to him? Who was he before he

  became Half Man?"

  Dad chewed for a moment, and the copper stubble on

  his jaw glinted in the sunlight. "That's his

  business and one day perhaps you can ask him. You're not

  going to talk about Healfwer or Weargahlaew at

  all, understand? To no one."

  "Yes, my lord. I promise!"

  "On our best behavior suddenly, are we?"

  Dad chuckled and cracked an egg on his elbow.

  "Your job, Son, is the same as any other

  boy's of your age, and that is to make as many

  mistakes as possible while you're young enough to be

  either forgiven or walloped. You're ten, and that's the

  age the law starts treating you as an adult, so

  you're almost out of time. Soon you will be judged

  wicked instead of ignorant. What have you learned

  recently?"

  Here it came. "I knew

  Weargahlaew was out of bounds, so I was disobeying

  when I came here."

  There was a pause, then Dad said, "That's

  all?"

  "Well, the hlytm that Healfwer--"

  "We'll get to that. About Weargahlaew itself."

  Radgar thought. "I broke the rules."

  "Nothing wrong with breaking rules, provided you

  know why the rule is there and what will happen if you

  do break it. I've broken lots of rules in

  my time. Rules are usually made to protect

  either you or other people, and the king's law is there

  to punish people who hurt other people by breaking rules.

  But if a rule is unfair or wicked, then it

  is your duty to break it! I'm really proud of the

  way you broke this rule, riding in through the

  tunnel, then sending Aylwin back and staying yourself

  when you thought there was something wrong."

  Radgar released a long sigh of wonder. "You

  are? Proud?"

  "I'm proud of your courage. Your stupidity

  is another matter altogether."

  "Oh."

  "You didn't know why the rule was there, but you

  broke it anyway. I've always told you

  to remember the she-wolf, but you didn't even

  look for the wolf. That was stupid! Staying inside

  the crater was stupid--you could have waited outside

  to see who left with the packhorse. What else have

  you learned, if anything?"

  Radgar decided he was full and didn't

  want to eat any more. "The hlytm? Healfwer was

  trying to find out what Wulfwer's weird is."

  Dad sighed. "Yes. What about it?"

  "It doesn't give clear answers."

  "Sometimes it does. Did you notice what

  point Wulfwer went to?"

  "Water."

  "That's not a bad one. Some elements can mean so

  many things that the hlytm is no real use. It

  doesn't help much to be told that chance is your

  weird, for instance. And it only works once. If

  Wulfwer's weird is water, then Healfwer can

  ward him against water. Then he probably won't

  drown after all, but he's going to die someday

  anyway, just as we all are. He'll meet

  another bane and the hlytm can't warn him against that

  one. It won't work once he's warded. You can't

  be warded against a second element, either."

  Then Radgar had to explain how he

  had walked out in the open and Wulfwer had maybe

  come to him, not the water. Dad did not look

  pleased.

  "Wulfwer doesn't know that?"

  "No, lord. Healfwer signed me to go away

  before he let him take off his blindfold. And I

  don't see how the hlytm could have summoned me

  up to Weargahlaew because they hadn't even started it

  when I came in through the tunnel."

  "It's time to go. Wash that blood off your

  face." Dad stood up and waded over to the

  towels. "I can't see it either, but conjury is very

  strange at times. If I were Wulfwer I

  might make sure of things by running a sword

  into you. So the rule about not telling anyone about

  Weargahlaew applies doubly to the hlytm,

  understand? Please don't mention it to your mother!"

  "Yes, lord." Radgar began drying himself.

  He was limp as string after the long soak. He

  wanted to sleep for a month. "Healfwer said he'd

  chant the hlytm for Wulfwer again some other day."

  "Good. I may keep you tied to your bed until

  he does." Dad smiled to show he didn't mean

  that. But what else did he have in mind, apart from

  taking away Cwealm?

  "Do you suppose he'd chant it for me? After

  what I did to his house? Has he ever done it

  for you--chanted the hlytm?"

  "If you caused him half as much trouble as

  you've admitted, young man, I won't let
you

  near the old horror until you've grown twice

  as big as Wulfwer. The hlytm may not work for

  you anyway, because stupidity is not an element,

  although it ought to be. There's more pure stupidity in the

  world than almost anything else." Dad's grin

  disappeared as he pulled his smock over his head.

  He emerged frowning. "I expect one day

  he'll chant it for you, if I ask him to. And,

  yes, I know my weird, and, no, I won't

  tell you what it is. I don't tell anyone

  that. Gather up that food and I'll take it

  to Healfwer as a peace offering."

  Radgar was dressed now. He was fed and warm--

  and very sleepy. Why was Dad making him wait for the

  bad news?

  "Bring that," Dad said, taking the other bag and

  heading for Wiga. "I'll take you to Cwealm and

  see you mounted and into the tunnel. I want you to go

  straight to the elementary and ask Conjurer

  Plegmund to heal that cut on your face

  before your mother sees it. I'll have the money sent

  to him."

  "And you?"

  For a moment Dad didn't answer, being busy

  tightening the girths. Then he said, "How badly

  did you damage Healfwer's cabin?"

  Radgar hung his head. "Dad, I really

  smashed it up. It'll have to be rebuilt, I

  think, but it was the only thing I could think of to--"

  "Good!" said the King. "I've been trying

  to get him to move to a better place for years, the

  stubborn old loon; and now he'll have to, so

  that's what I'll do now. There are some fine,

  solid log cabins nobody's living in.

  Tell Leofric and your mother that I won't be

  back until tomorrow." He swung up into the saddle

  and held out a hand. "Up?"

  "Tell me!" Radgar yelled. "Please,

  please, don't keep me waiting any longer!"

  Dad stared down at him in surprise.

  "Waiting for what?"

  "What are you going to do to me? I don't mind

  sore butt, as many whacks as you want, and

  I'll muck out stables or cut corn with the

  thralls or do anything, anything at all, but

  please, please, please don't take Cwealm

  away!"

  "Oh!" Dad pursed his lips and studied the

  cliffs for a moment. "Well, Son, you were very

  foolish, weren't you?"

  "Yes, lord. I'm sorry, really I am."

  "I'm sure you are. I've warned you never

  to catch more than you hunt, yes? You went hunting

  a little mischief and you almost froze to death, you almost

  got murdered. You had to go a whole day without

  eating, and you were more frightened than you've ever been.

  Yes?"

  "Yes, lord."

  Dad grinned. "So you punished yourself. See,

  grown-ups don't have dads to paddle their butts,

  but they do have to pay the penalty, whatever it is. I

  can't do anything to you worse than what you did

  to yourself and I should never want to. Cwealm's

  yours, Son. I won't take him away."

  It was absolutely shameful, but as Dad

  pulled him up on to Wiga's back, Radgar

  began to cry again.

  Little more was said, except by Aylwin. He had not

  been punished for the Weargahlaew escapade either

  --much to his surprise--but he did want to know

  what had happened. When Radgar wouldn't tell

  him, there was a certain amount of shouting, shoving, and

  punching. The coolness passed in a few days, as

  it always did, and the friends found new trouble to fall

  into together.

  It was more than a week later that Dad inquired

  whether Radgar would like to go surf fishing, just the two

  of them--a very foolish question for a king to ask. So they

  sailed over to Blodenclif, and while they were standing

  on the rocks with their lines out and the waves foaming

  all around making so much noise that it was almost

  impossible to hear, Dad suddenly shouted over

  to Radgar--

  "Healfwer chanted the hlytm for Wulfwer

  again."

  Radgar had something on his line just then,

  probably a fat bass, so he wasn't much

  interested in the affairs of his ugly cousin. "And

  what?"

  "And water was his bane again. So you were just an

  accident."

  "Good," Radgar said and concentrated on the more

  important matter of landing that bass.

  The matter came up again very briefly when they

  were sailing home that evening. Radgar had the tiller

  and the setting sun was painting scarlet ladders on the

  ripples of Swi@thaefen. He had caught more

  fish than the King of Baelmark and the world was as

  perfect as could be.

  "I was thinking," the hero remarked, "about the

  hlytm. I think the worst weird of all would be

  love! That would be terrible--to know that you were going to be

  killed by someone you loved!"

  After a moment Dad said, "I'm sure you're

  right, Son."

  When Radgar was eleven, the Chivian King

  Taisson died and Crown Prince Ambrose

  succeeded. This seemed like a good opportunity to end

  a war that had dragged on far too long, but

  Grandon sent no overtures for peace

  to Waro`edburh. Next spring, therefore,

  King Aeled launched the heaviest offensive of the

  war, harrying the Chivian coasts and strangling its

  trade. Month after month the booty and good news

  flooded back to Baelmark, but casualty lists

  came, too. Wives need husbands and children fathers.

  A land frets when all its young men are absent for

  prolonged periods, and by fall the mood of the

  country was growing sour.

  It was then that Atheling Radgar went on a

  royal procession, accompanied by Aylwin and a

  few other twelve-year-old boys and girls,

  all dressed in court finery of purple and

  ermine. Their armed escort was made up of

  cnihtas only a couple of years older. They

  visited eleven shires, not counting Catterstow, and

  in every capital were made welcome by the Earl or

  his tanist. The celebrations included a feast, of

  course, and other sorts of pomp, such as singing,

  horse races, and martial competitions between the

  visiting cnihtas and the locals.

  This zany performance was the brainchild of Queen

  Charlotte, organized by her and the earls' wives.

  When the idea was first proposed, Regent

  Cynewulf turned it down flat, but he had

  never been noted for his sense of humor. Aeled,

  appealed to in a letter, wrote back overruling his

  tanist, and as usual his judgment was sound. The

  sight of children traveling the land unmolested was a

  fine contrast to the news from war-savaged Chivial;

  the mockery of the ways of royalty exactly

  fitted the spirit of the time. The nation laughed

  uproariously.

  "That atheling looks just like his father," everyone said

  admiringly. "Never know what he's going to get

  up to next, either."

  The jester king and hi
s train sailed home

  to Catterstow from Twigeport on the thirtieth day

  of Ninthmoon, arriving in a chill, misty

  drizzle. Had theirs been a genuine royal

  progress, it would have ended with a parade and a

  welcome-home feast in Cynehof, but Uncle

  Cynewulf had refused to play along. The

  juvenile courtiers muttered about the regent's

  sourpuss attitude, but in fact they had tired

  of the game and were not sorry that the joke was over.

  Being polite and gracious for almost a month had

  proved to be unbearably wearing. And when

  Waro`edburh came in sight, they saw the beach

  covered with longships and more than half the population

  teeming around them. The campaigning

  season was over also. Joyful turmoil acclaimed

  the return of the fyrd, and there would be feasting after

  all.

  Radgar was the first to leap ashore. A shouted question

  told him that Dad was safe. He ran all the

  way to the palace, which was in an even greater state

  of uproar, but the only welcome he received was a

  thorough licking from Brindle. He had to ask

  several people before he learned that Dad had ridden off

  to Hatburna, his favorite home. That was very

  strange, because he must have huge amounts of business

  to see to. Normally when he returned from a

  foering he would just send word and Mom would come

  hurrying back to the capital to greet him. It was

  only when Radgar asked more questions that someone mentioned

  the firedrake in Wambseoc. He yelled for

  Cwealm to be saddled up, ordered Brindle

  to stay behind, and took off for Hatburna as fast as

  he dared push his horse.

  He was as well mounted as any man in the

  kingdom and weighed less. The rain had softened the

  track, but sure-footed Cwealm made record

  time and would certainly have caught up with the royal

  party had the road been just a little longer. As it

  was, the horses were still being walked when he thundered

  and splashed into the stable yard. Radgar leaped from the

  saddle, thrust the reins into the hands of a ceorl, and

  ran into the main house without even taking off his

  mud-caked boots, an omission that Queen

  Charlotte regarded as a capital offense in

  athelings.

  Hatburna was a rambling, ramshackle old

  place, much extended by successive generations of

  Catterings but still far too small to house a ruling

  monarch. A king could go nowhere without a train of

  thegns, house thegns, ministers, clerks, and