The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare (13 page)

Tashroth swung his head around low to look the young wizard directly in the eye, and with uncharacteristic compassion, said, “Are you
sure
there are not too many ghosts there for you?”

Tvrdik was moved by his kindness, but very confident of his response. “No, no, it’s alright. The books, the labs…she’s right…I will need them. Fixing the place up will give me something to do until we know if we are correct, and it will be like coming home. To tell the truth, I am not much of a courtier sort anyway. I feel more than a little uncomfortable rattling around the palace with little to do. Thank you, Jorelial Rey. I am grateful that you would consider this.”

She was visibly pleased that he liked her suggestion, “Right, then. Tomorrow, I will send Warlowe with a purse and some letters of credit to local merchants we trust, so you can get yourself clothing, provisions and raw materials for the house. Will you need help to put it back in shape?”

“I am no stranger to physical labor. No one should see some of the secrets of that house anyway. I will do the work myself.”

“By all means, ask for whatever you need. I will arrange for it personally. And feel free to stay at the palace as long as it takes to make that house livable.”

“You are most generous, my lady.”

“No one goes out that far much anymore, so I think we are safe for a few weeks. But if anyone notices the activity, I will just say I thought it was about time I leased the old place to a cottager.” The sun was beginning to sink low in the sky, and the air was cooling. Jorelial Rey looked around and continued, “Now that all of that is settled, I must get back downstairs. I want to make sure we both get something to eat, and then spend some time with the king before his bedtime. He will be forgetting what I even look like now, let alone that I am supposed to be his guardian.”

Tashroth reassured, “Your sister, Delphine, has been spending a good deal of time with him. He is well, and they play together…”

“Oh!” cried Tvrdik, remembering, “I met your sister today, and her intended.”

“My sister? I hope you did not tell her anything. You were supposed to keep a low profile.”

“It was purely coincidental, but I told her I had grown up in the palace as an ambassador’s child, had been recalled to my country, and was back to negotiate trade deals. I’m sure she believed me. She and Mark rather adopted me. They are charming and delightful people and I quite enjoyed their company. I do not think any harm was done. She only expressed her sadness that the two of you rarely spend time together anymore, and her concern for your welfare, with so many burdens on your shoulders.”

“And she doesn’t know the half of it now, does she.” Jorelial sighed, “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I am very protective of Delphine.”

“No apologies necessary. I understand your concerns, and did not mean to overstep my bounds.”

“Tash, thank you, thank you for everything, dearest. I will be back tonight. Wait for me. Tvrdik, walk with me to the kitchens, will you? I am famished, and I’ll bet you are too. Oh, and Tvrdik?” she grinned with a spark of mischief, “My compliments to your tailor.” He frowned in confusion, and she laughed, “The clothes. They suit you well, and are a vast improvement over last night’s choice.”

He shot her a crooked smile, “They are at that. I think the color brings out my eyes, or had you noticed?” he teased as they disappeared down the stairs and the trap-door banged shut. The great green dragon stared after them both for a moment, an odd expression on his face, then lifted his huge wings and sailed off in search of his own supper.

TEN
The Camp and the Cottage

A
T THE OTHER END OF
Theriole, far from the riverwalk and the gardens, grassy fields extended out from the grey stone walls into the valley, almost as far as the eye could see. There, it was customary for visiting lords and dignitaries who could not be accommodated within, to set up tent camps. Some would be relegated there by virtue of their small importance in the political hierarchy, and others, with large retinues of family, servants, soldiers, and horses, preferred the freedom and space afforded by the outdoors. Often the lords themselves, along with their immediate families, would be invited to dine in the Great Hall with their peers, taking the opportunity to socialize, network, and enjoy the hospitality of their hosts, the monarchs of Eneri Clare. Some of the encampments were quite luxurious in their own right. Colorful silk tents sported bright pennants that bore the crests of the occupants’ houses. They were comfortable, well-appointed, and well-provisioned, and of course, near enough to the palace to request anything they might lack. In another few days, there would be tents covering the lawns from the palace walls away out to the visible horizon, as delegations arrived for the great Grand Council meeting. On this night, there were still but a handful of motley tent clusters, early arrivals in the vanguard of the flock of expected pilgrims.

This night, beneath a full moon, beside a dancing campfire, under the sign of the black raven, back-winging, with claws fully extended, Lord Drogue stood. Thin lips pressed together and brow creased in concentration, he peered down by the light of several torches held for him by servants. On his left arm rested an ancient, musty volume, pages crumbling around the edges. It was open to a leaf that displayed a number of graphic and disturbing illustrations, hand-drawn by a meticulous artist from the dim past. There were captions written under every picture in some unfamiliar, disused language. Drogue kept glancing at the page, and then shifting his glance to the ground, squinting as if searching for some correspondence.

“Bring those blasted torches closer,” he snapped, “I can’t make out anything there.” The servants scrambled to obey. A stray thread hanging from the nobleman’s sleeve began to smoke. “Not
that
close, you nitwit!” he exploded, tamping down the potential flame against his hip and scowling at the cowering, confused torchbearer.

At his feet, the fires revealed the partially eviscerated remains of three creatures: a chicken, a hare, and a small goat. Their broken forms lay in a pool of blood that still sent up little columns of steam in the chill evening air. Drogue reached down with his free hand and shifted some of the small organs back and forth with a pointed finger – heart, lungs, liver – first the chicken, then the hare, and the goat.

“More light, there! That’s it. Argh. It’s hopeless. I can’t see anything of use here.” He threw his bloody hand up in frustration, and motioned with a nod for someone to take the book from his arm. Someone else handed him a napkin, and, without any acknowledgement, he took it and began wiping the offal from his right hand. “I am
exceedingly
disappointed. They should have been clear as our mountain streams. Gargan!”

The beefy brute who claimed that name, as well as allegiance to Drogue, answered in a hoarse bass, “Yes, my lord?”

“You’ve done a dismal job with the knife. I told you the cuts had to be precise. Some of these organs were shredded before I even had the chance to look.”

Gargan shrugged, used to being the object of his lord’s vented spleen. “My lord, it was no simple matter to get the beasts to hold still whilst I was stickin’ ‘em.” He grinned a gap-toothed grin, while a few of the men in the group laughed outright at his joke.

But Drogue was still staring, unsmiling, at the carnage by his feet, jaw working while he considered his options. “This is simply not acceptable. I
must
know what the omens are for my election as regent.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Make no mistake; I will claim the title. It belongs to no other. But if the auguries do not that way tend, I must know
now,
so that I may find a way to tip the scales….” He sighed and closed his eyes, seeming to change tracks for a moment. No one moved. They all knew better. “Clean up that mess.” Drogue commanded, coming to life. He turned his back, gesturing to the poor butchered creatures with a derisive flip of his hand. “Those are worse than useless. Everything there is too small to see. How can I be expected to read the signs correctly?”

“My lord?” Gargan was not sure if a response was expected.

“Never mind. Someone fetch my manservant. Where can he have gotten to? Declan?”

Several servants ran to retrieve the missing Declan, aware that the peevish tone they were now hearing from their master was rarely followed by anything pleasant. In a moment, a gray-haired, wiry figure appeared, shuffling toward the golden periphery of the campfires.

“Here I am, master,” soothed Declan, “I was just after arrangin’ your bed for you.” He smiled and his wizened face broke into hundreds of tiny creases. “‘Tis getting’ to be fair late, milord. Come to bed. I have prepared and warmed it, just as you like…”

“Declan, have you prepared my bath?”

The old man stopped, a look of surprise on his pale features. “Why, milord, the lateness of the hour…I did not think…”

“No one asked you to think, old man. I have been immersed in a foul business here and wish to bathe before I retire. Does that meet with your approval?” Drogue’s eyes glinted with mirthless amusement at the obvious discomfort of his menial, but Declan sighed, familiar with his lord’s moods.

“My apologies, but it will take just a little while to arrange. I will send for some help from the palace. You understand, lord, that I am not as young as I once was. It is difficult for me to carry the full buckets from the fire. And you know how you like your bath, sire, hot and steaming.” The servant smiled warmly, as if placating a small child. Gargan and some of the others in Drogue’s retinue shuffled a few steps off, backs turned, stifling giggles at the interchange. Drogue did not seem to notice. His attention was all on his manservant, who asked, “Would my lord wish to enjoy a nice mug of spiced wine while he waits?”

“Declan, how long have you been in service to me?”

“Why, my lord, I have been at your side, man and boy, since you were but a little babe, and your father before you.”

“Yes, yes, and you have always done well by us, loyal and dependable.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I am sorry that with all the weighty affairs of state that claim my attention of late, I have not noticed how the burdens of age have crept upon you.”

“My lord, I do not complain. I only tell you the fact of it.”

“Yes, yes. I was thinking it must be difficult now to discharge all the laborious duties I often require of you.”

“Well, my lord, as they say, the spirit is always willing, but the flesh…” the man spread his hands out before him and shrugged.

“Say no more. I have been remiss not to be aware of this before. Being my manservant is really a younger man’s post. How would you like to serve me now, in a different, less taxing capacity?”

The old man’s eyes opened wide with excitement and gratitude. “My lord, you are indeed good to me. How can I thank you for your kindness? Whatever I may do to please…”

Drogue turned and casually picked up the still bloody knife from the stump on which it had been laid. Casually, he used the soiled napkin which he still held in his left hand to wipe the blade clean, his eyes focused on the task while he continued to address his servant.

“Good, Declan. I am most gratified by your answer. No more carrying and fetching heavy bags and buckets, saddles and bedclothes. I have something special in mind for you. Something which would serve me well, be of vital importance, even, and also give you the rest your weary bones require…”

Gargan had turned back to the conversation, no longer amused, the hair on his arms and neck rising. Declan approached Drogue with eager anticipation. He bowed stiffly in deference and urged, “My good lord, I am always here, at your service…”

Drogue smiled with warmth at the man who had catered to his every whim, and made him comfortable for decades. He put his left hand on Declan’s shoulder, said, “Thank you, old friend,” and plunged the sharp knife up to the hilt in the old man’s ribs.

Declan dropped without a sound, his eyes still glowing with appreciation and the smile frozen on his lips. The restless fire illuminated his odd expression with an eerie flicker. There were several audible gasps from the other side of the campfire. Drogue snapped his fingers.

“Gargan, to your work. Open him up, and mind you, be neat about it this time. You there, bring the book. Hold those torches steady. Now we shall see clearly what the omens have to tell us….”

No one moved. One of the logs in the fire popped and crackled in the silence. Drogue looked up at the horrified faces around him.

“What? He was a good man, but he was old. Here is a way he can serve my need as he wished, and he will have his rest. Now, move, or we will lose our advantage.”

Gargan and the others did not need additional prompting. At once, the area was alive with frantic activity. Drogue stepped back to give his men room. Once again he wiped his knife clean, sheathed it in his belt, and dropped the telltale cloth in the fire, where it fizzled and turned slowly black.

“You there!” he called to one of his guards, “Go and round up some of the servants – wake them if you have to – and tell them I will require a bath. And make sure it is hot and steamy. Now, where is that book?”

After another night’s sound sleep on the luxurious featherbed, Tvrdik woke early next morning feeling rested, refreshed, and with a renewed sense of purpose. Jorelial Rey, true to her word, sent Warlowe around while the young mage was enjoying the hearty breakfast delivered to his chambers. The faithful doorkeeper handed over a fat purse of gold coins, and an assortment of letters of credit to many of the merchants who plied their trades just outside of the palace walls. There were recommended clothing stores, masons, food stalls, blacksmiths, wood and tool merchants, seed and gardening supplies – she had left nothing out. Nevertheless, Warlowe also bore assurances that anything else could be quickly arranged if he but informed them of his need. Warlowe then offered his own personal assistance with the project of restoring Xaarus’ old house. Tvrdik smiled, and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“An attractive offer, my friend, truly. But I think I should begin alone. I’m not even sure of the extent of the damages yet, and you have your duties here. I think I can find my way around alright. I might call upon you later, if I may.”

Warlowe nodded, as Tvrdik removed his hand from the veteran doorkeeper’s shoulder, and extended it. Warlowe did not hesitate to clasp it warmly before disappearing down the hall. Tvrdik was beginning to feel like he had friends.

During the morning hours, he busied himself at various merchant’s stalls, purchasing boots and clothing better suited to manual labor, basic provisions, whitewash, brushes, tools, and some wood. All of these were to be delivered later to the site of the old Cottage; he had not yet assessed the full extent of what was needed there, but he calculated that these items would at least be sufficient to make a start on some of the outside repairs. If any of the shopkeepers raised an eyebrow, or made sociable conversation about the delivery address, he took Jorelial Rey’s lead and affirmed that he was helping the Lady Regent restore the old place for future leasing. The official letters of credit from the Lady herself lent some credibility to his story, and Tvrdik knew the rumor mill would be grinding out speculations a-plenty that afternoon about who might be moving into Xaarus’ old house. A few of the folks he met did make wistful little comments about the good times when Xaarus had been at Theriole, and what a terrible shame his absence had been. A few even ventured their pet theories as to what had happened, or where it was said the Master Wizard was keeping himself nowadays. One story was more outrageous than the next, and yet none more outrageous than the truth, Tvrdik thought. At any rate, he was gratified that among the townsfolk his old master was still fondly remembered and keenly missed.

As the sun climbed higher, satisfied that he had begun to set wheels in motion, Tvrdik bought himself a sandwich, and hastened to the little secret spot on the riverbank where he had promised to meet Ondine. It was shaping up to be another lovely spring day – bright sun pouring all over the green world, white cloud ships sailing at a leisurely clip across an azure sky, and a slight cooling breeze off the water. As he hoped, the place was deserted – or more accurately, undiscovered – and he stretched out on the flat rock to wait, enjoying the various scents and sounds, and munching his sandwich with gusto. He was about to address the last bite, when a gentle splash from the Maygrew caught him full in the face, announcing the arrival of his little blue friend. He frowned as he found himself pulling off his glasses to dry them on his vest, but then smiled despite himself. Even a short day’s separation from her had made him miss the antics he had grown accustomed to on the road.