The Making of a Mage King: White Star (10 page)

…opened his eyes to find that Mattie had come and gone, though Charles had yet to return, or if he had, he didn’t stay. He sat back and thought about what he had seen as he ate his supper.

The city could be reached by land through only two gates, one to the east and the other to the west. The only roads that led to the city followed the river for miles in both directions before branching off elsewhere. The only other way to get inside the city walls was from the river by barge or fishing boat. The place was a fortress, but Sean was confident that he could get them in if he had to. What puzzled him most was the strength of the military, and yet it seemed lack of a central command post. Even more puzzling was the apparent lack of government. If there was a governor, he conducted city business out of his home.

His plate was empty and he had scarcely noticed it. He stepped out with his empty tray to find Laon standing stiffly guarding his tent. “Relax, man, that looks totally uncomfortable.” He went over to Mattie. “Is there anything left? I’m still hungry.”

She smiled. “There’s plenty. You only missed supper by about half an hour.” She ladled him up another plate full of stew and filled his mug with apple wine. He had emptied his mug without tasting it. “Would you find Picardy? I’d like to talk to him.”

“Sure thing, I’ll send Charles for him as soon as he gets back.”

“You must be keeping him busy.”

“Seth is teaching him about horses.”

“Good, he needs to know something besides picking pockets.” Sean turned to go back to his tent and found Laon only about two paces away from him. “Relax, man,” Sean said again. “These people are my friends, and I’m not all that keen on formalities if they can be avoided.”

The man tried to relax, but it didn’t seem like he really knew how.

When Hugh arrived, Sean questioned him about Ambiani, their next destination, only to find out that he knew very little. His father had been killed and his mother had fled. He had been born in a small village several months later and his mother had taken them from one small village to another, wherever she could find enough work to support them or, as he became older, some disgruntled warrior or another to teach him.

Some hours later, their talk was interrupted by a commotion just outside his tent. First, something was thrown against the wall of the tent near the door then someone, probably Mattie, let out a brief scream.

Sean was at his tent flap with a sword in his hand in a split second to find Laon sprawled on the ground at his feet. At first, he thought Laon had been attacked, but there was no blood, no wound that he could see at a glance; no one was near, or far for that matter, who held a weapon ready and no one with the right kind of magic was anywhere close.

Mattie explained. She was only about a dozen yards away and saw the whole thing. “He fainted, Sean. I swear; I’ve never seen anything like it…he just fainted.”

Sean had to laugh; Laon had held himself so stiff and still for so long that he had keeled over. He had heard of that happening, but had never quite believed it.

Laon was waking up after only a few moments, but Sean pushed him back down. “You take no less than ten deep breaths before you try to sit up,” he said, still chuckling.

Someone produced a chair and Sean made Laon sit in it. “Listen, Laon, if you want to be my bodyguard, that’s fine, I’m honored, but you’re not much good if you faint. Guard me all you want. Watch me all you want, but do something else at the same time. Polish your armor, sharpen your sword, tie your bootlaces, talk to the people around you, get to know us. Get to know us well; how else will you know who to watch? What I’m getting at is,
do
something, do
anything
,
never
just stand in one place for a long time. You present too much of a target that way.”

The man looked shaken by his fainting and he couldn’t seem to understand what Sean found so funny about it, but he nodded and hung his head. “I’m a failure. I don’t deserve to be your guard.”

“Nonsense,” said Sean. “You just forgot one of the first things you learn in basic training.”

Laon looked at Sean, confusion written all over his face. “What’s ‘basic training’?”

Sean looked at Cordan, who shrugged and shook his head. He was more accustomed to Sean saying odd things.
There must be no such thing as ‘basic training’ here.

Sean took them to the new campsite the next morning and found that it didn’t take as much out of him. Perhaps he was better rested this time; perhaps he was getting stronger. Regardless, they all remained in camp for the rest of the day.             

He tried to keep his pacing confined to his tent, but when that didn’t work, he took Laon out to see what he knew about the art of fencing. He found that Laon had no skill or finesse, but he did have a lot of speed and brute force. Few people would have been able to stand against him very long; he would simply bash past their first advances.

They spent the rest of the day working together, Sean trying to teach him some of the more delicate tricks and learning some things about power in return. He could empathize with Master Mushovic now; teaching wasn’t as easy as it looked. They were forced to do everything slowly; Laon had to pay attention to how hard he hit because Sean didn’t want to ruin his sword with just lessons. They should have had Laon’s sword reground back in Rouen; the edge looked more like a wood saw than a sword, but he was learning and he was hungry for more.

They broke for a cold lunch and again for supper, but before they reached the cookfire, Jenny had Larry tell them to take a bath. She probably had a point; Sean figured his last real bath had been back at the palace.

They found a small back-eddy downriver from camp a short way, and between the two of them, they managed to keep the water warm enough so that they weren’t hypothermic while they washed. For the first time, Sean saw that Laon’s body was covered with scars. They weren’t thick ropy things anymore, but their presence and number was chilling. He couldn’t conceive of what he must have gone through.

When they were done with their bodies, they washed their clothes then put them back on. Laon showed Sean how to dry them. Apparently, that had been one of the first things he had learned. His father didn’t like him going swimming in the river near their ranch, but he did it anyway, so to avoid getting into trouble for it, he’d make sure he was dry before he reached home. He was pretty sure that his father suspected anyway, but he could never be certain enough to punish him for it.

When they came back to the fire already dry, Jenny gave them a critical look, but since they both no longer smelled of stale sweat, she didn’t complain. After supper, she sat Sean down and gave him a haircut. It ended up that she spent most of the rest of the evening giving haircuts; they all needed one. She had to stop when the light gave out.

Alone in his tent with no further distractions, Sean was still left with the problem of how he should enter the city. He could enter the city however he wanted to, but he didn’t want to stir up a hornet’s nest and have the entire military force descend upon them, and they were camped too far away to just filter in a few at a time.

In the end, he decided there was no avoiding it. To protect Seth and the others, he would gate the rest of them to a location closer to the city and enter with everything he had. No sane commander would throw everything he had at an untested fortification unless he was certain his numbers were the greater, but perhaps this would look like just a probe, a
show
of strength.

Master Mushovic used to always say that fights are generally won or lost in each opponent’s head; well, this would definitely be a fight in the head. With Laon at his side, provided he could control him during a real fight, Sean figured they could deal out a lot of damage before their bluff was called. He hoped they wouldn’t have to fight, though. One can always hope.

He picked the wee hours of the morning to approach the city. The four of them who rode Clydesdales were first in their procession, the senior officers and Hugh came next, then came the man who carried the White Star banner, who was point man of the rest of his forces.

Sean expected a fuss as soon as the guards on the walls caught sight of them, but he didn’t expect to be greeted by cheers and the gates being thrown open. He could hear criers running through the sleepy city announcing his arrival, and the growing hubbub as people poured out to see. Because of the hour, many of the people were still in their nightclothes and bathrobes. Sean felt like the local hero home from war.

Larry pushed up to ride beside Sean as they neared the gate. “You’ve been through here, right? What did you do?”

Larry’s right. Supposedly, I came through here to leave my banner around the city, but for the life of me I have no memory of this place. I must have done something other than just displaying my flag
.

As they cleared the gate, Sean saw what he had missed during his flyover; his banner was still hanging above the gate, under the arch of the wall.

Just as he cleared the gate, a runner came up to them, and through the din of screams and cheers, he yelled, “My lord, will you follow me, please?”

Sean looked across the crowd. The different colors of magic sparkled through the people, but none of them were very strong, so he nodded. He felt like he was walking into a trap, and yet there seemed to be no one to spring it.

The runner, a fairly small man, tried to push his way back through the crowd with little luck until Manuel rode up beside him and pulled him up beside him like a child. He didn’t trust the man enough to swing him up behind him, so he held him on one leg facing out. The man couldn’t have been happier; he was laughing and pointing the way. If this
was
a trap, Manuel would break him in two.

The messenger’s pointing finger led them to the first guardhouse where the local forces held the people back to give them room to dismount. Cordan had men reinforce the human barricade and push the people farther back.

“Please, my lord,” said the messenger, as he bowed and indicated that Sean should follow him into the building. They filed into the building and Cordan stationed no less than five men at each turning they passed.

They were ushered into an office on the third floor near the back of the building. A man who looked to be in his fifties was still adjusting his clothes when they entered.

“White Star, I am so glad you have returned. We have everything prepared for you,” he said, as he gave his tunic an extra tug.

“You have what prepared for me?” asked Sean; he had to, he had no idea what the man was talking about.

“Your arrival has taken us by surprise, but in a few hours, we can have everyone gathered in the amphitheater and you can pass judgment on the prisoners we have taken.”

Okay, if I am going to be king, I am going to have to pass judgment on people. I can accept that, but I’m still confused. What does this have to do with my previous visit? I’ll have to wait and see. If I question this man too much, he might have second thoughts about my authenticity.

The amphitheater, a massive torch-lit structure carved out of the core of the sandstone bluff that held the bulk of the city, was an amazing chamber, and Sean had a hard time strolling to the stage as if he’d been there before. On the stage, eight men were gathered around a large table that reminded Sean of King Arthur’s Round Table, except that it was only half-round. Sean was ushered to a central chair and the eight men took seats on either side of him.

Laon stayed at his elbow, and he kept Hugh close to his other elbow. Cordan made sure there were plenty more of his men stationed around in the shadows.

“What’s
he
doing here?” asked one of the men. It was inevitable that Hugh would be noticed. He was the only man in Sean’s party who didn’t have the White Star emblem on his shoulder. His emblem was square and divided into four equal squares. The upper right and the lower left squares had bold green crosses on a white field; the other two squares had bold white crosses in them with something that looked like some sort of green plant in each corner on a red field. It was his family crest and obviously, these men recognized it.

Sean made his introduction. “This is Hugh Picardy, and he is my guest. We will discuss his presence here after we finish our business. Shall we begin?”

Hundreds of citizens had been filing into the seats arrayed around on tiered balconies surrounding the chamber until the place was packed. They waited until the outer doors closed with an echoing boom, then a couple local guards brought a third man in chains to stand in front of them. Under questioning and with a little magical help, he told the assembly what had happened on the night in question from his point of view. Sean was surprised to discover that he had been a guard here. Apparently, Sean had incited a riot against the sitting governor and the city had been split. With the citizens far outnumbering the military, the citizens had won and the governor had fled.

As he recited his story, Sean could find no fault with anything the man had done, despite the fact that what he’d done had been against himself; the man had been doing his job, he had been following orders to the best of his ability. The only crime was that he had been performing his duty against the White Star.