“Oh, no problem, Great Master,” the man holding his reins told him, a wary look on his bearded face. “Just that the likes of you’d be expecting an escort to the palace.”
“Oh. Sure. That sounds good.”
Hearing his response, the group of men ringed around him exchanged dubious glances at one another. Kyel supposed he probably hadn’t sounded very mage-like. He would have to try adopting a more confident air in the future, or no one was bound to believe him. Squaring his shoulders, he tried to strike a more assertive pose as he waited on his horse, but found the attempt almost embarrassing. It was hard to look confident when there was a group of brawny men with swords ringed about.
He waited uncomfortably as his horse just stood there, swooshing its tail at the flies. The Bluecloaks around him had grown silent, and the crowd streaming through the city gate gave them all an exceptionally wide berth. He was drawing his share of stares from the passersby, a mixture of looks that only made him feel even more uncomfortable, even outlandish. After ten minutes, the captain still hadn’t shown up. The wait was getting downright awkward.
“Do you mind stepping down off that horse for a moment?”
Kyel flinched, surprised by the strange new voice. The accent was oddly different from that of the other guards. Turning around in the saddle, Kyel found himself staring down at a new man who had come up behind him unseen and was currently examining the golden wood of the longbow that hung from his saddle. The man’s interest in his bow made Kyel feel uncomfortable, even protective. He didn’t like the way the man was fingering it, his touch almost a lingering caress.
But Kyel did as he asked, easing himself down to the ground on stiff legs. The guard walked slowly around his horse, a hand trailing along the gelding’s coarse fur. He was a tall and muscular man. His chin-length dark hair was parted in the middle, oily, and streaked with just a touch of gray. His face was exceptionally angular, with high cheekbones that seemed to almost protrude from under his clever gray eyes. What was most exceptional about the man was the way he walked; it was an easy stride that was also supremely confident. It reminded Kyel of the way a cat stalks a bird, absolutely precise and deliberate. It was also so much like the way he’d seen Darien move that the similarity was almost uncanny.
“Mages are forbidden to carry weapons, are they not?” the man asked of him, staring down into Kyel’s eyes.
Kyel didn’t like the way the guard was standing so close to him, scant inches from his face. It was intimidating. He could feel the man’s breath on the skin of his cheek. Trying to meet the guard’s eyes with a level stare of his own, Kyel nodded and said, “I’m no Master, if that’s what you think. I’m only an acolyte.”
“What’s your business in Rothscard?”
Kyel had rehearsed this line enough times, but saying it was a different thing entirely. Taking a deep breath, he informed the man, “I’m here at the request of the Prime Warden. My business is with your queen.”
The guard’s mouth smiled slyly as he shook his head. “The Prime Warden’s dead, son. I’ve seen her corpse myself. I was part of the queen’s entourage when Her Grace went to view it.”
Feeling uncertain, Kyel couldn’t help looking down. This was the part where it was going to get tricky; he just knew it. From his experience in Wolden and again in the Temple of Om, he was going to be forced to do a lot of explaining from this point forward. Whenever his master’s name was mentioned, there was always something to explain.
“There’s a new Prime Warden, Darien Lauchlin.”
The man’s expression creased to an uncertain frown. It was not the reaction Kyel had been expecting. Warily, the guard said, “I’ve met Darien Lauchlin. Describe him to me.”
Kyel had no idea what to say. “He’s tall. Dark hair. Green eyes.” He shrugged; that was the best he could do. He could have mentioned a hundred other things more descriptive, but the words failed him.
The guard tilted his head slightly, moving even closer to Kyel until he was practically on top of him. “When I knew him, Darien was an acolyte, the same as yourself. But there was something different about him that set him apart, something he shared in common with you, actually. Can you tell me what that is?”
Kyel didn’t have to think about it very long. The man’s fascination with his longbow brought the obvious answer instantly to mind. “His sword,” he gasped. “You know of it?”
A slow, almost arrogant smile bloomed on the guard’s shadowy face. “Know of it?” the man rasped, his smile looking suddenly more like a sneer. “I taught him how to use it.” The guard extended his hand. “Nigel Swain, Captain of the City Guard. Formerly of Aerysius, and formerly of the Arms Guild of Auberdale.”
Kyel found himself clasping the man’s hand automatically, too stunned to even think. “Kyel Archer,” he mumbled, impressed by Swain’s firm grasp. “I’m Darien’s acolyte.”
“So, the boy thinks he’s Prime Warden, now, does he?” Swain delivered a scoffing sigh that fanned his oily hair back from his face. “Aerysius must have fallen on top of his head. Come on, mount up. I’ll get you to the palace. Ever been to Rothscard before?”
Kyel winced, quickly shaking his head. “I’ve only passed through.”
The last time Kyel had visited Rothscard, it had been in chains. That was scarcely something he wanted anyone to know, even if the man was a friend of Darien’s. He wondered what the captain would think of him if he ever found out. It certainly wouldn’t help with his current assignment as an ambassador to the queen.
He waited for Swain to bring his horse around, a grisly dark gray beast with a scruffy winter coat. The look in the animal’s eye reminded Kyel of its owner. He let his own horse follow the captain’s, the sound of its shod hooves clip-clopping over the cobblestoned street. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Swain as they rode, noticing the peculiar way the man sat his horse that was a reflection of his casually deliberate stride. Kyel was also having trouble dismissing the greatsword slung at the man’s back that looked almost like a copy of Darien’s. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Kyel felt almost in awe of the man; Swain had professed an association with the Arms Guild, so he was probably a Guild blademaster.
They turned onto a broad cobbled street lined with rows of bright houses stacked up against each other. The city was already decked out for Middenmass, with bows and bells hung from almost every door and ribbons wrapped around every lamp post. Even the bare limbs of the trees were decorated, hung with colored lanterns. It was quite a sight, and Kyel had to admit he was impressed. The feel of the city made him homesick.
And then Emmery Palace itself came into view. When he saw it, Kyel felt like he had been there before. In a way, it was almost as if he had. It was practically the image of the mayor’s home in Wolden, only magnified a hundred times on a far grander scale. Its soaring, corrugated towers were very similar to what he had seen at the mayor’s house, and the grounds were almost shockingly exact in every detail. As they rode unimpeded through a wrought iron gate, Kyel found himself winding around through acre upon acre of manicured flowerbeds. In front of the palace steps was an ornate round fountain, and the gardens had been designed around it in concentric, ever-widening circles hedged with borders. It was almost like a maze.
Swain had him dismount in front of the white marble steps. Two liveried servants came forward to take their horses, but Kyel was hesitant about handing his over. His hand went to the smooth curve of the longbow, wondering if it would be possible to bring it in. He didn’t want to leave it there, attached to his saddle. The captain noticed his look and strode over, tossing his head.
“Go ahead, bring it along. You may as well enjoy it while you still have the chance.”
“What do you mean?” Kyel wondered with a frown.
“Well, once you become a Master, you can’t very well have a longbow around, can you?” Swain said with a knowing grin.
But Kyel still felt confused. He knew it was traditional for mages not to carry weapons, bu
t he figured that if Darien was going to prohibit him from keeping the bow, then his master would have done so long ago.
He argued, “Darien still has his sword.”
“He does, now, does he?” said the captain in a half-whispered, thoughtful voice. “Maybe you’d better leave that bow behind, after all.”
Kyel didn’t like the fleeting look of concern that crossed the man’s eyes. Swain had taught Darien the use of the sword in the first place, so why did it matter to him that the mage hadn’t given it up? But Kyel thought he knew the answer. There was more to be had in learning a skill such as bladework than the obvious result. Suddenly apprehensive, Kyel wondered what the man would think if he found out that Darien had gone much further than simply refusing to relinquish his blade.
He didn’t like the unsettling feeling he was getting in the pit of his stomach as he followed the captain up the steps to the palace. The man led him down a long, sparkling white hall to a circular foyer graced by an enormous vase with large wisps of fern spilling from the top. All around the walls rich tapestries were hung on golden cords from gilt staves, many having a very antiquated look. Again, Kyel was reminded of the mayor of Wolden, of the man’s obvious passion for fine art. Kyel was starting to wonder if perhaps Blake Pratson had a passion for something else, as well. Or, more precisely, someone else. It was becoming obvious that the man was intrigued with Emmery’s queen.
They found the queen in her solarium, standing before a canvas with a paintbrush in her hand. It was not the image Kyel had been picturing, and neither was Romana herself. From Darien’s description, he had envisioned her as pompous and aloof, a gilded queen on an ivory throne. But the woman he found in her place defied his expectations. For one thing, she was far younger than he had anticipated, perhaps even close to his own age. And she was lovely, in a candid sort of way that caught him off-guard. The gown she was wearing was silk, but elegantly simple, lacking any fancy embroidery or draping jewels. Her dark brown hair was done up in a loose twist that spilled fine curls down the sides of her neck, softening her appearance. As she turned toward the sound of their entrance, she paused with the paintbrush held beside her face. Before her, Nigel Swain swept forward into a low bow that Kyel tried his best to emulate.
“You may rise.”
Her voice was a sweet soprano. Again, quite unexpected.
Erecting himself with much more aplomb than Kyel could ever hope to approach, Swain said with a smile that seemed almost intimate, “Your Grace, may I present Kyel Archer, acolyte of the new Prime Warden, Darien Lauchlin.”
Romana’s eyebrows went up even as the hand holding the paintbrush fell to her side. Her eyes took in Kyel, lingering on his cloak, then swept back to Swain with a questioning look on her face. Carefully, she set the brush down on the tray of the easel and walked across the room toward a window, to a small mahogany desk with papers carelessly arranged on its surface. Rifling through them, she produced a letter that she held up for Kyel’s inspection, waggling the parchment in the air to draw his attention to it.
“I received this note from one of my most loyal subjects, Mayor Blake Pratson of Wolden. It has been often on my mind, of late. In it, Mayor Pratson details a rather bizarre encounter he had with a mage, his acolyte, and a priestess of Death. He failed, however, to mention anything about this Darien Lauchlin aspiring to the office of the Prime Wardency.”
Kyel found himself taken aback. For a girl of her youth, Emmery’s queen spoke with a tone full of regal authority. Thrown off by her appearance, he had almost forgotten that Romana was ruler of one of the largest and most prosperous nations of the Rhen. He couldn’t let himself be fooled by the innocent appearance of her face; this was a woman to be reckoned with. And she had opened their conversation with a direct attack on Darien’s right to the title he had claimed for himself. But Kyel had learned from his experience with the clerics of Om. It was just a tactic, a way of trying to put him on the defensive right from the start. Not wanting to let her strategy succeed, he took a step forward and stated sardonically:
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but there was no one else to fill the position.”
He almost couldn’t believe his own gall as he heard the words spouting from his mouth. Before his trial with the clerics, he would have never had the nerve to say such a thing to a queen, in such a tone of voice. But Romana did not seem offended in the least; rather, she actually looked a bit impressed. At his side, Swain was grinning smugly.
Romana went on, unruffled. “This letter addresses some issues which I find quite troubling. I assume by your presence here that you were sent to enlighten me?”
Kyel took a deep breath, trying to remember the rest of the speech he had rehearsed all the long way from Glen Farquist. But as he opened his mouth to speak, his mind drew a complete blank. He would have to improvise.
“I really don’t know what to tell you, other than what you already know from that letter,” he said, with a hastily added, “Your Majesty.” He summed up the situation with the Enemy armies, adding, “Darien believes they’ll continue south to Rothscard if not stopped. He is aware that you have a standing army, and he asks that you yield over command of it to him.”
There. It was out. Now there was nothing to do but wait for the tidal wave to break. Glancing sideways at Swain, he saw the man staring at him in brazen astonishment.
Romana herself looked shaken. Holding up her hand, the young queen shook her head, closing her eyes. “Allow me a moment to try to understand this. You’re telling me that I should be expecting an imminent siege any day, and in the same breath asking me to give over my only means of defense?”
Kyel felt chagrinned. He’d known he was asking a lot, but the way she had just reworded his request made it sound downright audacious, possibly even ludicrous.
Swain stepped forward, inserting himself between Kyel and the queen. “If I may?”
Romana nodded acquiescence, gazing at her captain with a look of keen interest.
“I know Darien, or at least I used to,” Swain asserted. “He’s impudent, he’s brash, he’s stubborn as a goat, and he marches to no drummer’s beat but his own. He’s also one of the smartest men I’ve ever met in my life. I don’t know what he has in mind, but I would urge you to at least hear his man out.”
The queen frowned, evidently surprised that Swain had come forward on Kyel’s behalf. But with a graceful dip of her chin, she allowed, “You may continue.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Kyel said, feeling a bit bolstered by Swain’s unexpected support. “Darien didn’t tell me all of his plans, but I think I’ve figured out some of it. He would never leave Rothscard defenseless. He plans to use the Circle of Convergence at Orien’s Finger to turn the Enemy back.”
“By himself?” Romana looked appalled at the very notion.
Kyel gulped. “Well, yes,” he shrugged. “And your army.”
The queen whirled around, pacing back toward the window, exclaiming, “This is absurd! Who does he think he is, another Orien?”
Swain nodded, looking confident as he told her, “I’m sure that’s exactly what he’s thinking.”
Romana rounded on him with a furious look, demanding, “How do you know this man?”
The captain shrugged, spreading his hands. Then he reached up and tapped the hilt of his blade. “I trained him in the ways of Guild. He was an acolyte at the time, but I agreed to go along with it under his mother’s nose. He studied under me for over nine years; I probably know him better than he knows himself.”
Romana looked aghast. “And what is your opinion of all this?”
As Kyel watched, the conviction drained from Swain’s face. “My opinion?” he echoed, looking unsettled. Slowly, he shook his head. “All I can say is I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of Darien Lauchlin if he’s got his back up against a wall. And if he never gave up his sword...” His voice trailed off thoughtfully. Then his eyes shot up, fixing on Kyel. “He’s broken Oath, hasn’t he?”
<
br /> Kyel found himself with no other option but to admit a grudging, “Aye.”
The Queen of Emmery gasped, visibly shuddering. Her hand rose to her mouth as she turned back to Swain with eyes wide and startled. “Then the man is just as rabid as his brother. And if the portrait you have just painted of him is accurate, then he is probably thrice as dangerous.”
She seemed to be taking a moment to collect herself, finally turning back to Kyel. Her voice filled with calm conviction, she informed him, “This is my answer that you may take back with you to your ‘Prime Warden’. Tell him that I have declined his request to yield over command of my army. I may yet decide to send my forces northward, but if I do, it will not be to aid his cause; it shall be to hunt him down and destroy him.”
Kyel just stared at her, stunned by her words. He had expected argument. He had even expected refusal. But it never would have occurred to him in a hundred years that the woman would actually threaten Darien’s life.
Shaken, he gasped, “But, what of the Enemy?”
Romana merely shrugged indifferently. “Thank you for your concern, but these walls have survived sieges before in the past. We will survive again; we always do. It is your own kind, young Kyel, that is endangered. Perhaps you should think about that, and return to me again in the morning.”
It was a dismissal. Kyel just stared at the young, seemingly-innocent queen for a long moment before turning to leave. He even started walking toward the door. But then he stopped, turning back to her.
“I’ll come back in the morning, Your Grace. And when I do, I sincerely hope you’ve change your mind. You see, my Prime Warden gave me another message for you: either hand over your army, or hand over your throne. Because Darien’s back is up against a wall. And believe me, he’ll do anything it takes to protect your kingdom’s future, even if that future doesn’t include you in it.”
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