The Wheelwright's Apprentice (32 page)

The tableau froze, soup and tureen suspended in mid air, unmoving. Art got up, carefully avoiding the leading edge of soup and went to the servant and helped him up. “We can’t let that soup go to waste, can we? The chef must have worked long and hard over it.” Art deftly spun the soup into a ball and eased it back into the tureen which he then floated back into the servant’s hands. He got a small round of applause.

“Art, how did you do that?”

He sat back down before he answered. “I routinely suspend my patient’s blood in a ball above them while I am doing a major healing. It keeps it clean and uncontaminated so I can put it back.”

“So, young man, you are a healer?” the elderly Lady Jenna asked, in a strong, no-nonsense voice.

“I like to think that I am more than just a healer, Lady Jenna. I believe it to be the most important thing we can do with the Will.”

“We had somewhat of a philosophical discussion earlier as to the way we adepts should act.” Evorin was still maintaining his persona.

“You sewayem to be a good influence on my son; he normally doesn’t indulge in conversations like that.” That was why Evorin was being so polite. Lady Jenna was his mother. “What sort of healing do you do?”

“I imagine I do the same as your healers.”

“There is one Willed healer in the country, and he answers to the King. I haven’t met him.”

Art appraised Lady Jenna, and decided to take a chance. “Lady Jenna, if you give me some of your time after the meal, I will show you what a Willed healer can do.”

“Where do you intend to find your subject, young man? Do you intend to drag him in off the street?”

“No, I intend to use you.”

Lady Jenna was shocked. She had never considered that she might need the services of a healer, or that she could benefit from seeing one. Before she could reply, the Earl announced, “What a wonderful idea, I’d love to see what he can do for you.”

For after dinner entertainment it wasn’t exactly genteel, in fact Art tried to dissuade most of the company from watching, to no effect. “This is a
demonstration of what I can do, not what I usually do. I normally only attend broken bones and dire cases.” Art made a point of catching Evorin’s eye after each part of the procedure. At the end of a short quarter hour Lady Jenna was walking without her stick, had a full set of teeth, her hair was lustrous, wrinkles and veins were gone and Art had, at the end, cleaned out her arteries. She was feeling wonderful, and let everyone know it.

Art let her be the center of attention while he cornered the Earl and Evorin. “This demonstration was to show what the Willed can do for others. There is a war going on started by a man who views normal people with much less regard than you do. You have loved ones without the Will, so I hope you will come to understand my views. He is going to lose. When he does, people are going to question the way he sees things. That will have repercussions in every country involved and we will all have to reconsider our roles.”

A rather breathless servant almost ran into the room, and Art could see that he made a valiant attempt to restore his dignity before approaching his master. “Milord, we have news from the capital. An army from Galland led by the Count of Red City has invaded Summerland, apparently almost a week ago. They have captured the City of Threehills.” He handed a document to the Earl. “In addition, the King requests the company of Milord Art at his earliest convenience.”

Art closed his eyes and thought, “He does this just to mess up my life!”

50

Milord Damoten offered to help Art go to Waygand’s capital, Hollaton, as he had never been there, and consequently could not flit there himself. Iria had to come as well as she was in his charge. Ten minutes later they were ushered into the presence of King Daron of Waygand.

After introductions were made, the King addressed Art. “Before I ask any other questions, could you please explain exactly where your loyalties lie at the moment?”

This was confusing, so Art tried to make it as clear as he could. “My father sent me to be part of Captain Hanna’s mercenary troop, ostensibly to learn soldiering. I put it that way as I know from experience that he never tells me everything, and hee to be always has reasons he keeps hidden.” He had spoken frankly as if to a peer. It was clear that he was in no way overawed by the King or his company. He had seen much scarier things in his short life than kings. “Earl Damon,” and here he nodded towards the Earl who was sitting comfortably nearby, “had the right of first refusal for the troop’s services, which he naturally exercised. Therefore Earl Damon has my loyalty.”

The King exhaled and observed, “As much as any mercenary can give his loyalty?”

“My father was very careful to place me in this particular position at this critical time. I’m sure he wanted me to be answerable to Earl Damon.”

“When did you find out that he was going to invade Summerland?”

“In the last few minutes. He doesn’t like to tell me much.”

“Have you any idea of his intentions?”

“I’m sorry, your Majesty, he really does keep me in the dark.”

The King turned to Earl Damon. “You’re right so far!” That was a little mysterious, and Art was left wondering until he heard, “Thank you, Art. I’m sorry we had to drag you away from your cooking lessons.”

“They’re tomorrow, your Majesty. It was no imposition. It was also a pleasure to meet you.” He felt he was getting better at pretending to be a courtier.

Once Art had left, the King asked Earl Damon to see him privately. The moment the door closed behind them he said, “You were absolutely correct when you told me he would have no idea what his father was doing, now could you tell me a bit more about what you think is going to happen?”

“Sit down, Daron. This may come as a bit of a shock.”

When the Earl had finished, the King was visibly shaken. “You mean that the Count is going to kill Draman with the express intention of triggering his power madness?”

“Yes. Then he will sweep south through Jeerea towards us.”

“Art has a key role to play in all this?”

“I’m sure he does; the thing is I’ve no idea what. His father did place him here specifically. I do have an unlikely guess, but it’s so macabre that I don’t even want to think about it. Not unless future events make it a lot more likely.”

* * *

Art brought Iria back to the arrival chamber in Earl Fordry’s castle in Furl. Having been torn abruptly away from his hospitality, he felt he should tell the Earl about his meeting with King Daron. The Earl, along with his daughter and grandson, was still in the lounge where Art had left them.

Lady Jenna was the first to react when they saw Art, running across the room and giving him a big hug. “It’s wonderful! I can’t thank you enough, and you’ve been so kind.”

Art allowed her to hug him for a few seconds before firmly disengaging. “Lady Jenna, this is what I do, or more accurately, it’s the use of the Will that gives me the most satisfaction. Your happiness is sufficient thanks.” He took her hand. “A word of caution, I only cleared up a few minor problems. You are still an old woman and your bones are brittle, something I don’t know how to improve. Be careful.”

He addressed Earl Fordry, “The King wanted to know what I knew or guessed about my fathered amy ’s intentions. I know nothing and have not even the merest inkling of his plans. It seemed he wasn’t at all surprised. That was all.”

“Milord Art.” He was surprised to hear Evorin addressing him so formally. “Milady Iria, I want to give you a better apology than I did when I arrived for dinner. I was boorish, as you said, and rude. Please forgive me. I must also apologize for the incident with the soup. I’m sure you know it was my doing. It was childish.” He was looking at Art’s feet, unable to meet his gaze. “The way you handled things was amazing, but what you did for my mother was generous and unexpected.” He managed at last to meet Art’s eyes. “You have shown me that there is so much more, and so many useful things I could do with my Will if only I could learn. I have to change my focus.”

“Thank you, thank you, Evorin.” Iria had been impressed by his speech. “It must have been a hard thing to say.” She was all smiles.

Art was more serious. “Thank you. I will be happy to help. I’m sure that I can arrange for any training you may need.”

“I was thinking after you left. I could not have done what you did with the soup, certainly not without turning my head. I couldn’t understand what you did to my mother, even watching closely, and earlier today you handled me as if I was a baby. You must be one of the strongest adepts I have met. If you are a fair representation of the standard Galland’s adepts have reached, what hope would we have if your father turned his attention towards us?”

Art collapsed onto one of the nearby chairs. Second guessing his father was an almost impossible task. “I can’t tell you what will happen, but I will say this. For all my father’s faults, and he probably has several I haven’t noticed, he is a fair man and a man of his word. Whatever he intends will be for the best. I have faith in him...even though he is a strange parent.”

* * *

Baron - formerly Duke - Nordin of Threehills sat on his horse beside the Count. “You did it! You managed to get Draman to come to you.” The streaming pennants of the Summerland army were now easily visible from their vantage point on top of a small rise. Next to them was a large rock with a flat top. “He’s brought everybody he could scrape up.”

“It won’t do him any good.” The Count was deadly serious. “Once he reaches the point we scouted out yesterday, he’ll be as good as dead. He’s too predictable.”

There was a well-known beauty spot on the road to Threehills. It was about four miles from the City, and was known as Liriana’s Leap. The legend was that some warrior’s bride had killed herself after her man was killed in battle. It was a long drop. In any event it was a pretty place, and no one paid any heed to the romantic, but foolish suicide as it was hundreds of years ago. The road passed beside a hill, and at the summit, a little to the south, was the edge of a cliff. One could see an enormous panorama that covered all the land between it and the City and gave views miles beyond. Draman was bound to stop there. All the adepts, the Count included, had fixed a different arrival point in their mind around this spot. The Count was determined that he would get no closer.

Beech joined them, and the Count asked him, “Do you remember everything I told you? The letter is safe from me? You’ll do all you can to help afterwards?”

Beech smiled. “I haven’t seen you this nervous ever before. Not in two hundred and thirty years.”

“Of course everything has been done to your instructions, you should relax. You have to see off Draman.”

The Count’s face became expressionless. “Art. Have I done enough?”

“Who knows? No one will know until the end. I will say one thing. He has become exceptionally strong. After his experiences with Aravia, he could probably defeat most of the adepts in Galland. He has continued to get stronger. I’m sure he has become strong enough. Not only that, he is becoming more and more like you.”

“Like father, like son?” The Count was amused. “I hope he doesn’t become too much like me. One of me is quite enough.”

“It’s his views on life that mirror your own. He considers healing the best thing he can do with his Will. Then there is the way he sees our role. The regard he has for those without the Will. His desire for peace and stability and his work ethic. These are your traits.”

Nordin was intrigued by this and couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What are you planning?”

The Count turned to him, and for the first time, notwithstanding his boyish features, Nordin noticed that his eyes were very old. “I’m planning a better Galland and a better world.”

“You want to control so much that you become a real Emperor, instead of a jumped up one like Draman?”

“No. I am over five hundred years old and I have been fighting the onset of power madness for some time. All the adepts in Galland, except perhaps my youngest son Art, and most of the adepts in other countries know that I am not going to be around for much longer. I will never be more than I am now. Before I go, I have a few last things to do to realize my vision.”

“And those are?”

“You’ll find out.”

That gave Nordin a lot to think about and they were all silent for several minutes until a messenger rode up. “Sir, our lookout reports that Draman has ridden off the road and is approaching Liriana’s Leap.”

The Count turned his horse and addressed his adepts who had all been waiting patiently. “It’s almost time. You know what to do. Wait for my signal.” A minute or two later an adept appeared on top of the flat rock near them, and waved at the Count, who raised and then dropped his hand. They all vanished.

They reappeared, horses and all, on top of Liriana’s Leap. The Count, Arch and Beech were near the edge where Draman and some senior officers had reined in their mounts. The others formed a rough semi-circle about a hundred yards away.

“Hold!” The Count’s Will-enhanced voice boomed over everyone. “This is a contest between Draman and me. No one else need take part.” He dismounted and gave his reins to Arch. No one moved or said anything. Draman was on his own.

He caught Draman’s eye. A brief look of panic crossed the Emperor’s face. He had obviously tried to flit away, but had been stopped. “My friends will make sure that neither of us can flit away until this is over. All my adepts are doing is to ensure that the fight is between us only.” He continued in a lower and deliberately condescending tone. “Whenever you’re ready.” Draman dismounted while looking at the Count with real hatred and loathing.

Nothing happened for the first minute or soready.”. All the adepts present knew that a lot had been going on, but all that meant was that no attacks had been successful. The first noticeable effort was when a vicious wind came up that tri
ed to blow the Count off the cliff. The only thing that actually moved was a small tree that was uprooted and which sailed towards Draman, who waved it aside.

The Count raised his voice. “Draman, I’m bored so I’m going to end it.” The onlookers couldn’t see anything for a minute or two, but then they could see Draman’s face turning blue. Seconds later he fell to his knees and his head bowed forward. A few more seconds and they all understood the horrible way he was being destroyed. He was in an ever shrinking sphere which was squeezing him into an airless ball. The sickening crack of bones breaking as he was pushed into an even smaller space served to underline the Count’s victory. No duel between adepts can ever be called over until one is indisputably dead. The Count continued to squeeze for a couple of minutes more until the body could get no smaller. The moment he released the sphere, he cut through the skull in seven places. There never had been any doubt as to the outcome.

He turned to the Draman’s senior officers, and laughed a wild manic laugh that carried to all the Summerland army, and went on for an unsettlingly long time. “Does any one want to dispute my rule?” The Count boomed out after he finished. When there was no reply he continued, “I claim this country for myself and my heirs.” After a minute or two of dead silence. he added, “I was hoping someone would dispute me. I enjoyed killing him and wanted to kill again.”

Arch and Beech caught each other’s eyes knowingly. The power madness had been freed.