Madness and Magic- The Seers' War

by Greg Curtis

  “Yes.” She agreed, then stopped dead in the street. “But I didn't tell you that.”

  “No, but I was told. It's why we ran into you.”

  Dariya suddenly realised what he was saying and who had told him. The Fae. That was why the man had been smiling. And the wizard was friends with the Fae. Maybe it was something closer than that. Still, it didn't matter. She wasn't with the Order anymore. And she had come to him for a reason.

  “I need some information on a circlet,” she began. “One that my mother owned and which people seem to be trying to kill me for.”

  “People are trying to kill you?” He looked shocked. “Who?”

  “An Inquisitor. He hired an assassin. And the inquisitors had orders to dissolve the Order and kill any witnesses.”

  “I trust he didn't succeed in any part of that plan?”

  “He didn't.” Was he being cheeky, she wondered? Or completely serious? She couldn't decide. He was a hard man to read. Especially now that she knew he was a little bit on the crazy side. So she continued her sorry tale. “But he did ask about the circlet and admitted before he died that it was what he'd been sent to get.”

  “And then when I went back to Alldrake castle I discovered soldiers digging up the graves of the fallen soldiers, apparently hunting for my mother's circlet.”

  “The problem is, that I don't remember my mother ever wearing the thing. I need to find it. I think that once I do, it will reveal why the King is trying to kill me.”

  “Well no need to ask! Quite clearly he's trying to find it and kill you to make sure you can never claim the throne!”

  “What?!” Dariya stopped in the street and stared at him. “Is that some sort of joke, Wizard?” And she was beginning to think that everything he was saying was a jest of some sort. But she saw no sign of humour in his face.

  “No.” He looked completely serious. “I wouldn't joke about people getting killed. And as far as I can tell, you are the rightful ruler of Grenland – or your husband will be. As was your father before you. If Richmond and Barnly hadn't murdered him and hidden the truth.”

  “Of their murder?”

  “Of your father having wed your mother, being the rightful King of Grenland.”

  It was strange how he could say that without any sort of laughter escaping his mouth. But it had to be a jape of some sort – didn't it?

  “But it's probably not my place to explain this to you,” Baen continued. “The Fae have far more knowledge about all the Royal intrigue of years gone by. And I have some more decrees to write for the King. We should head to the Mission.”

  “Okaaay…?” He thought she was the rightful Queen, that Barnly and her cousin had together murdered her father and that he was apparently writing Royal Decrees. Meanwhile his aunt was turning the heart of the city into a forest and kept a pet rat. Clearly, she thought, something was wrong with his brain. Maybe the magic had rotted it? Could magic do that, she wondered? Maybe it was a family illness?

  Still as he took off again, heading this time not for his store but rather the Fae Trading Mission, she followed him. In the end he was still the only one who seemed to know anything and she needed to find out what that was, even if she was going to have to separate out the truth from the raving lunacy.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  It was nice on the roof these days, Baen thought. The view was improving now that the streets were turning green. And while he wasn't completely certain of it, he did think there was less smoke on the horizon. The factories weren't burning as much coal. On the other hand, the pigeon pooh was everywhere. He was growing more than a little tired of it. Especially when so much of it always seemed to land on him!

  Still, he probably wouldn't have to put up with it for too many more weeks. The King was bound to work it out eventually. Though by the time he did it would be too late. The realm was now in the state of complete confusion. The common belief was that King Richmond had gone mad. That wouldn't surprise anyone. He wouldn't be the first mad King to rule Grenland.

  But that was only a minor amusement for Baen. What mattered to him was that those with magic were now being transported directly to the Hallows instead of being hung. That wasn't quite what he wanted. It was a compromise between what he wanted and what he could get away with. If he'd simply reversed the King's previous decrees, someone would have got suspicious and word would have quickly got back to King Richmond and he would have known who to blame. But this, one minor change in a decree amid all the others, didn't stand out so clearly. If and when word got back to King Richmond about what was happening in the realm, it wouldn't be about the gifted.

  Meanwhile the King was only now beginning to understand that the kingdom was slipping out of his grasp. He was getting reports back from some of the nearer towns. But judging from the King's latest batch of pigeons demanding explanations for what was happening from the various mayors, he was only just starting to realise that all was not well in Grenland and he didn't know why. Unfortunately for him, the mayors and all the other elected officials were all out now, canvassing for votes while clerks handled the day to day affairs of the towns and cities. So even if King Richmond's messages had got through, no one would have answered.

  Luckily today's message would make sure that King Richmond soon had other, larger problems on his mind than a few towns and cities doing strange things. On the face of it, it didn't seem like another sign of insanity at all. Instead it seemed like a very responsible policy decision. But it would cripple the King as he tried to reclaim his realm. Because from tomorrow all the taxes collected by each town and city for the next four months would no longer be sent back to Greenfields. Instead they would be spent on roads, sewers, water supplies and markets. Improving the cities for those who lived in them. He just hoped there were enough officials in the town and city halls still working to receive the decrees and act on them.

  Most people would actually assume that this was the decision of a wise ruler. Not the decision of a ruler who had recently decreed that permanent accommodation and meals should be provided for all street entertainers! The people would be happy when they saw their roads being repaired and no longer had to smell the unfortunate odours from failing sewer systems. They might actually applaud the King's wisdom for once.

  But the King would have a fit! Because the moment the gold stopped flowing into his treasury, he would be left with a hole in his budget and a burning problem to be solved – how was he going to pay his army?! A King who couldn't pay his army, didn't have one. And when it came time for him to try and claim back his realm – how was he going to do it without one?

  Some days as he worked on rewriting the Royal Decrees, Baen liked to imagine the King sitting on his throne, raging as he received each new report of bad news. He didn't know if that actually happened. But he liked to believe it might.

  “Baen.”

  Baen turned as he heard his name called by a familiar voice, just in time to see Nyri and a few others step out of the stairway housing.

  “Protector, it's good to see you again. J'bel, Amaru, Dariya.” He greeted them all warmly, though he suspected they weren't quite so happy to see him. No one ever seemed to be. But at least they'd come when he'd asked. Thankfully they had all been free when he’d sent his missive. It was the week end once again. The Trading Mission was closed.

  “Hey, hmm – what?!!” Great Uncle Mortimer abruptly woke up at the sound of their arrival and then looked around in horror. “Who in all the hells are you people?!” He abruptly demanded from his seat.

  “We're –.”

  “No! Not you! I know who you are. The other ones!”

  Baen held back a groan, just, as his visitors started looking around to see if anyone else was there. “Have you met my Great Uncle Mortimer Walkerton?” He asked politely. “He has a habit of talking to people who aren't there.”

  “Just because you can't see them you young scallywag, doesn't mean they aren't there!” His great uncle fixed him with a disappro
ving stare. “Now hush! We have important things to discuss.” And with that he was off, heading for the seats at the rear of the roof, far away from the pigeons and the rest of them.

  “Another batty relative?” Dariya asked.

  “Eccentric! We're rich, so they're eccentric!” But that didn't even seem believable to Baen as he made the claim. They were all mad. Gold or no gold. And it didn't help his cause when his great uncle instantly denied that he was eccentric.

  “No.” Dariya shook her head. “Your Aunt Millie is well beyond eccentric!”

  Dariya was doing well he thought, for a woman who the King had tried to murder. A woman from Grenland who was now hiding out in a Fae Trading Mission, trying not to be seen for just over a week now. Most especially for a woman who'd just buried her mother a few months back. She was tougher than she looked.

  “And you still haven't met Aunt Martha!” Nyri chimed in, her face just starting to colour.

  “Alright! Enough about my poor demented family!” Baen thought he should stop this conversation before they started discussing the entire Walkerton Clan. He had enough trouble on his hands – especially now that his great uncle had turned up unexpectedly. Apparently he and his invisible friends had somehow escaped the family's new estate – Baen wasn't quite sure how – and then somehow found their way not just to the city, but to his door, even with his wards in place. Maybe his wards didn't work on the crazy? “I asked you here for a reason. I need a little help.”

  “What have you done now?” Nyri asked, already clearly fearing the worst.

  “Nothing!” He protested. Then he thought about it. “Well, nothing much.” Or at least nothing they didn't all already know about. He had no secrets from the Fae, and, he assumed by extension, Dariya, since she was staying with them. A pigeon abruptly landed on the roost he'd prepared for them, and Baen rushed over to it, glad of the interruption. “Please, take a seat and help yourselves to some refreshments.”

  He busied himself undoing the little clip around the bird's leg that held the note, and replacing it with another from the box of them he'd prepared before, while the bird cooed and then stuck its beak in the little bowl of seed beside it. His guests meanwhile, arranged themselves on the furniture at the front of the roof garden and helping themselves to drinks.

  There was something wrong with this scene, Baen thought. But what was wrong was only that it hadn't come about naturally. This should just be a normal social engagement. Instead the only reason he had visitors was because he'd had to ask them to come as he had need of their help. And the only reason they could even find his home was because he'd lowered the wards a little to let them find it. What had gone wrong with his life, he wondered, not for the first time?

  Sending the bird away on its way he went to join his guests, feeling a little anxious. He had no idea what sort of response he was going to get from them.

  “So, you all know what I've been doing –.”

  “Re-writing the King's decrees?” Dariya jumped in.

  “Turning the city into a forest?” Nyri added.

  “Turning your home into a hidden fortress in the middle of the city?” J'bel finished for the others. Amaru said nothing, continuing to sip his drink in silence.

  “Yes, all of those things,” Baen admitted. “What I like to think of as making this realm a little bit safer for everyone.” But he guessed that none of them would agree, judging from the looks on each of their faces. He was going to have to argue his cause with them – yet again.

  “And I'm sure you would all agree if you thought about it,” he continued. “I mean J'bel, how many gifted have now arrived in G'lorenvale without your people even needing to lift a finger? One thousand? Five?”

  “But half of them aren't gifted at all! They are just for want of a better term, addled,” the man answered him. “Like others I can think of!”

  “But at least they're alive! Not hanging from a rope somewhere!” Baen defended himself and was grateful his great uncle hadn't heard what the man had said. “That has to count for something.” Perhaps not a lot though, he thought. The man did not seem overjoyed by his work.

  “And any thought of trouble and strife between our realms must have faded.” He rushed on. “Your seers should be happy.”

  “Seers are never happy!” Amaru retorted. “It's just not in their nature.”

  “But at least the doom and gloom ahead must have faded?” Baen tried again. But really, he was only guessing what their seers must be telling them. “There'll be no war. It's been weeks and King Richmond still hasn't worked out what's happening. Soon he won't be able to start any sort of a war larger than the one with the toys in his bath tub!” And that was what he was trying to stop.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. The seers seem to be disagreeing with one another. You've changed things. Shaken them up like a bag of dice ready to be thrown. But they can't be sure what number is going to be rolled. Everything is … uncertain.”

  “Well that’s better than the certainty of war!” Baen pointed out. Surely someone had to see something worthwhile in what he'd done? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. But really, he thought, they were doing the same thing. More or less.

  “And let's be honest. You took in Dariya here because of the threat of war. You thought that if all of creation started falling apart, having her with you would be a final desperate throw of the dice. The true Queen of Grenland, ready to step in if things were in chaos.”

  “You also set about rescuing the gifted, because you feared that either they would all be killed in the conflict ahead, or worse, used as weapons against you should there be a war between the realms.”

  “I'm not the only one who's been shaking the bag of dice.”

  Naturally the only reply he got from his guests was silence. They were never going to admit that they were doing the same as him. Desperately trying to change things so that the worst didn't happen. But he'd expected that. After all he'd had this conversation many times before.

  “Now, I need to shake the bag one more time.” Baen continued. “To end this.”

  “How?” J'bel asked with a pained expression.

  “I need to capture the Duke.”

  Mouths dropped. All eyes fixed on him. No one had expected that.

  “You know where he is?” Dariya finally broke the silence.

  “I have an idea,” he told her. And in fact he'd had that idea since the day Nyri had told him that the Duke had escaped. But he hadn't had a chance to follow it up. Especially not when it would take time to investigate. And this time he couldn't track the man. He had been able to use the tracking spell last time because he had a starting point. He had known the last place he was when he had made his escape, as well as the day and time. Unfortunately, this time he knew neither of those things.

  “Where?”

  “One of two places. Either he's back at Alldrake Castle, and his entire escape was a ruse and he has a secret hidey hole somewhere there. Or he's in the cliff caverns. There would have been a reason he went there in the first place.”

  “I need to pack!” Dariya stood up abruptly, her intentions obvious.

  “You can't go.” He held up his hand to stop her. “For two very important reasons. The first is that you're the lynch pin of this entire nightmare. Richmond and Barnly need either your death or the damned circlet. Preferably both. They have neither. If you're dead you can't claim the throne. But the circlet still proves both their claims to be illegitimate. If the circlet is destroyed, there's little or no proof of your claim, but you can still make one. Either way without you the battle returns to just the two of them. The people of the two realms can’t risk losing you.”

  He hated saying that. And he knew that she hated hearing it. She was in the end a soldier, used to taking care of herself and protecting others. Not being protected. But the day her mother had died and she had become the heir to the throne, that had changed forever. She had to understand that.

  “And the second?” Dariya glared at
him unhappily.

  “You don't have any magic.” He told her simply. “This is going to be a battle of wizards – don't tell the bards or they'll never stop singing about it! My gift against whatever magic your uncle stole. But how can I fight him if I have to protect you?”

  “I don't need your protection!”

  He shouldn't have said that, Baen knew. But it was the truth no matter how much it upset her. “Things didn't work out so well the last time you tried to fight him,” he reminded her. And then he felt a rush of guilt as he saw the pain appear in her eyes. “I'm sorry.”

  “The Fae could help you then.”

  “The Fae can't help. This is Grenland. Any form of military action of theirs here violates the Golden Concord. Besides, they've already done enough protecting of my family.” And he was grateful for that, even though he suspected his family might not be so thrilled. And he had to admit it had been a clever idea. Surrounding their new estate with forest was almost a perfect defence. To the outside world it made it seem as though they were on the other side of the border. After all, the border ran along the tree line. And no one would dare cross into the Hallows. Unfortunately, Baen imagined that his father would be complaining about the trees growing all around them day in and day out.