Assault in the Wizard Degree, page 13
“Yes, I’ve seen the little bars outside doorways you use to knock off this kind of debris.” I considered the rime of soil for a moment. “Whatever this dirt is, when it was liquefied it must’ve been really tacky to hold on as it did. Only a hard brake from a gallop was enough to shake it loose.”
“What can your magic tell you about this…dirt?”
“Well, sometimes it can hint at location. Maybe it’ll be able to tell us where Caltrop’s been before coming to Bloodwine Holt.”
Rikka went silent at that. She chewed her lip as if debating whether to venture another question. Before she could say anything more, galloping hoofbeats announced the arrival of yet more centaurs. I tucked the sample bag away as Sir Jorvath and a quartet of armed centaur guards came to a stop before Caltrop’s tent.
“You’re a bit late,” I informed them. “Caltrop’s escaped. Using magic.”
Jorvath’s nostrils flared. “Another centaur wizard? This is unheard of!”
“Well, you’re hearing it now. Though, I doubt he’s actually a centaur.”
“You think so?”
“Based on his words and actions, I think so,” I said. “Unless centaurs are apt to shove their kinfolk into the line of fire?”
The centauress looked crestfallen at that. “I regret that my strike led to Sir Halvar’s death.”
“It was not your action that caused it,” Jorvath said firmly. “You are not to blame. But since Sir Caltrop is no longer an immediate threat, I need you to return with us to the Holt’s long hall. You should be with your father.”
Rikka’s eyes widened in alarm. “Is he...has he…”
“He is alive, but only just. King Angbor is being brought to the infirmary, where your brother can place him on a healing platform and work what magic he may.”
“Then we need to go there.” Rikka presented her flank to me and extended an arm. “Come with us, Dayna.”
With her help, I clambered up on her back. Jorvath assigned a pair of his warriors to watch over Caltrop’s dwelling. The other two trotted slightly ahead of us, clearing a path through the gathering crowd of centaurs. I heard worried mutters, but at least no one gave us hostile looks. The news would be getting out soon enough, if it hadn’t already.
The group’s hoofbeats shifted from dull thuds against packed earth to sharp clops as we passed through the building’s cavernous entrance. The two remaining guards resumed their duty posts just inside, while Jorvath led the way through the throne room to a much narrower hall on the far side. Large wooden platforms draped with cushions and white sheets lay along one side at roughly the same height as the dining tables.
I recognized the purpose of the healing platforms immediately. On my first visit to the Fayleene Woods, I’d cracked my skull during a fight with a pair of dragons. I’d woken up to Galen’s ministrations while lying on a more primitive version of one. Given the centaurs’ physical makeups, it was difficult to treat a prone one unless they’d been raised to the proper height.
We drew close to the platform at the end of the hall, where Angbor lay on his side like a fallen mountain. While the minor cuts the King had picked up in battle had been stitched closed and covered in a greasy brown ointment, his skin had an unhealthy gray cast to it, and his breathing was labored. His head lay atop a slope of pillows, eyes closed as if in restless slumber.
Galen quietly ordered around four attendants who were setting up sheeted partitions to block the nearby window, or running damp cloths over Angbor’s body. The wizard stood to one side, pounding a substance into powder with a stone mortar and pestle. He looked up as we arrived, a tired expression on his face.
“What news, Dayna?” he asked.
“Caltrop’s gone,” I replied. “Rikka and I chased him back to his tent. He escaped using a transport spell, probably using an enchanted medallion like the one you gave me.”
He nodded as if expecting my answer. “That is worrisome. But I made the right choice in remaining behind during your pursuit. Sir Caltrop cast a binding spell upon my father, and then followed it up with a rather hefty dose of death magic.”
A weak voice rose from the healing platform. “Heh. Death magic!”
“Father,” Galen gently admonished, “be still.”
“I’ll be still…when the carrion beetles show up to dine,” Angbor wheezed, as he cracked open one bloodshot eye. “If magic is all that strong…why aren’t I dead already?”
“Mayhap there are several reasons,” Galen said, as he took a tiny satchel from a jacket pocket, opened it, and shook a pinch or two of reddish powder into his mortar. “First, Sir Caltrop had little time to put his full strength behind the spell. Second, your body composition is extremely dense, particularly around the braincase. Last and most importantly, sorcery can be nullified by stubbornness.”
“Ha!” Angbor tilted his head back a few degrees until he spotted me. “Did you hear that, Dayna Chrissie? My son’s busy saving me…and he still has pepper enough to spare.”
“I know,” I said, smiling. “And your daughter played more than her fair share in saving you.”
“That she did.” His eyes focused on Rikka next. “You did well, daughter. No matter your limits…you are a magnificent warrior. The best I’ve ever seen.”
Rikka said nothing, but she bobbed her head tightly. Her eyes shone bright and wet as she did so. Mine weren’t exactly dry either.
Angbor’s words weren’t only heartfelt, they struck a chord in me. Rikka was very good at her job, and I suspected her ‘limitations’ were not as crippling as they seemed. But if centaur society was adamant about her not assuming power, perhaps she wouldn’t mind taking on an additional duty to prove her worth in a different arena.
“King Angbor,” I said, “you may recall the Oath of Gratitude between us.”
He closed his eyes and slowly nodded. In the meantime, Galen tucked away the satchel before reaching into his saddlebag and bringing out a leather-padded wooden dowel and a pair of heavy leather gloves.
“There is something I desperately need,” I continued carefully. “It would cancel out any debt that you feel you owe me.”
A grunt. “You do me a favor while asking for one. What is it you wish? If it is in my power…I shall grant it.”
If anything, I certainly knew how to attract an audience. Galen looked up from his work, the attendants paused in mid-task, Jorvath’s eyebrows raised, and Rikka stopped drying her eyes. Each centaur went quiet to listen to what I said next.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“What I need,” I said carefully, weighing my words before I spoke, “is a centaur who can go hoof-to-toe with the best warriors in Fitzwilliam’s kingdom.”
Even lying prone and weak as a kitten, Angbor made a ‘huff!’ that sounded like a truck’s pneumatic air brakes. “Even the least of my subjects could do that!”
“That’s probably true. But I need someone who can make a ‘splash’. And wouldn’t it be fitting if King Fitzwilliam was bested by someone of your own bloodline?”
Angbor coughed weakly. “If you wish Skallgrym Serikkaylen’s service, then you have it. She shall expiate her sire’s debt with honor.”
I turned to look at Galen’s sister. She looked surprised, but she nodded agreement. Galen spoke up again as he put on the pair of heavy leather gloves.
“I would advise all present, save my father, to allow for more room.”
Everyone took several steps back as the Wizard pulled a thick, squat glass jar from his saddlebag. He unscrewed the top, setting the lid aside on a nearby wooden tray. A scent that was equal parts barley hops and battery acid assaulted my sense of smell as Galen picked up a pair of metal tongs and fished around inside the jar.
He pulled a sky-blue and cream-white orb about the size of an eyeball from the jar, carefully shook off the slimy juices that dripped from it, and placed it in the mortar. Setting aside the tongs on the tray, he picked up the pestle and returned to pounding and mixing the contents in the stone bowl.
A series of wet crunching sounds emanated from his work. The barley-acid smell gave way to the rotten egg odor of hydrogen sulfide. Galen looked around, sizing up the room as he spoke.
“I have only been able to arrest the spread of the death magic that courses through my sire’s veins,” he explained to everyone present. “He will perish by nightfall if his system is not thoroughly shocked and purged.”
“Galen,” I said, wincing against the fumes as they grew even stronger, “what was that thing you put in there?”
He did his best to suppress a shudder. “It is best that you remain ignorant of that knowledge. And to make sure that this ‘ingredient’ was not wasted, I will need everyone’s help.”
“Hold my sire’s legs,” Galen instructed the four attendants. They moved into position, one centaur per leg. Then he turned to Jorvath. “I need you to hold my sire’s arms.”
Jorvath moved around to the rear of the platform and held Angbor’s limp arms firmly behind the prone centaur’s human torso. “My apologies, Dread Liege.”
Angbor just grunted in reply.
“Dayna, pick up the padded dowel,” the Wizard continued. “When I instruct you to, I want you to jam it between my sire’s teeth. I recommend a certain alacrity to your actions when you perform this action.”
I picked up the dowel, eyeing it with trepidation. It was a foot-long cylinder of wood, about two inches in diameter, and swathed in rough leather. Strange, tooth-like marks had turned the surface pebbly and corrugated. By now, I knew only one thing for sure. I was lucky to not be on the receiving end of Galen’s ‘shocking and purging’ treatment.
“What do you want me to do?” Rikka asked.
“You have the toughest job of all, I’m afraid,” he said. “Be ready to follow my instructions to the letter.”
“I’m ready,” she said, though her voice wavered a tiny bit.
“Father,” Galen asked, “can you identify the object on the wall to your right?”
“What?” Angbor’s bloodshot eyeballs shifted to one side. “I see no–”
The Wizard shoved the mortar underneath his father’s nostrils.
Angbor inhaled in surprise, or perhaps to get air to voice his complaint. Immediately, the centaur king’s eyes rolled back in his head. His body went limp, and his jaw sagged open.
“Hurry, Dayna!” Galen snapped, and I lunged forward. In a flash, I jammed the dowel into Angbor’s mouth and yanked my fingers back. The wizard watched intently, holding the mortar out of the way as his lips moved in a silent countdown.
King Angbor convulsed as if he’d been hit by lightning. A triple-fork bolt, at that. Jorvath’s front hooves came off the floor as his liege’s muscles convulsed. An attendant lost his grip on one of the king’s hind legs and was dashed to the floor. Stunned, the centaur groped his way back up and managed to re-establish his hold.
The king’s neck muscles stood out like strands of steel cable as he strained against the centaurs that held him. Angbor shook his head back and forth, jaw clenching, locked against the dowel I’d lodged between his teeth. Galen took in the display without comment, only moving again once his sire sagged into an inert mass of flesh on the platform.
The wizard added the mortar, pestle, and jar to the wooden tray. Screwing the lid back on the jar, he carefully removed his gloves, setting them on top of the mortar. Stepping aside, he spoke urgently to Rikka and Sir Jorvath.
“Rikka, I need you to carry this tray out of the Holt. Under no circumstances let anything on this tray come into contact with a living being.” He addressed Jorvath next. “Go ahead of my sister, clear the way, and have the portcullis raised.”
“What do I do once I clear the Holt?” Rikka asked timidly.
“My understanding is that there is a working charcoal kiln in the nearby woods. Place the tray in the kiln and move away as quickly as possible. Do not let anyone inhale the smoke, and rope the kiln off so that no one can use it while the fire burns.”
“How dangerous is this substance?” I asked.
“Very, very dangerous.” Galen paused before adding, “Come to think of it, we should do more once the kiln’s fire is out. Jorvath, when you return, I want you to summon the stonemasons. We won’t need anything fancy. We just need enough raw stone to bury the kiln completely.”
“Right, I’ll handle it.” Jorvath agreed, as he side-stepped towards the door.
Rikka swallowed hard and carefully picked up the tray. She held it as far away from her face as possible, even leaning her torso back at an angle as she moved slowly towards the outside. Jorvath held the exit open for her, and as the door swung shut behind her, I heard Jorvath calling out, ‘Ware the centauress! Clear the way upon pain of death! So says the Dread Liege!’
I looked at the sleeping Angbor. Already, some color had come back to his face. His chest rose and fell easily, and a faint snore rose from his lips. The padded dowel fell free, landing on one of the platform’s cushions.
“His breathing seems to be much improved,” I observed. “I hope this works.”
“This therapy’s been reasonably well documented, so I have a good measure of faith in it,” Galen said, before he spoke once more to the attendants. “Keep my father warm and out of drafts. He shall wake late tonight or early tomorrow, with hunger like he’s never felt. Ignore his requests for alcohol or meat. Keep him on oats and broth for now. I shall return later, after Dame Chrissie and I have spoken in private.”
Galen trotted out of the infirmary, and I followed in his wake. No sooner had we returned to the throne room than he halted, sagging against one of the thick wooden columns holding up the roof. He let out a resigned sigh as he spoke.
“It seems that my mind is at something of a crossroads. I should be concerned about Angbor dying because…well, he is my father.” Galen looked up at the now-empty raised platform where the King would normally stand, looking over his subjects. “But I find myself more concerned with him dying…because it would trap me here. Upon the throne.”
“Could they really force you to take it?” I asked. “At the point of a sword, or a svelga?”
“Not literally, of course. But I am physically present. And my father did appoint me as the interim ruler while he is ‘indisposed’.” He rubbed his chin as he asked, “Do you think it strange, Dayna? That I wish to avoid the throne, while many would seek it?”
I leaned up against the opposite column as I replied. “Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s strange. In my world’s mythology, there was a great king named Arthur. He was the leader, but the truly smart one was Merlin, his wizard. And Merlin sure as heck didn’t want the crown either.”
Galen’s eyes brightened a bit. “I shall take comfort from that. And while I do so, I must ask another question. How long had you been planning to ask for my sister’s sword in service of the Spring Tournament?”
“Not until late last night. While I was trying to get to sleep, I decided to read up on something you gave me, on orders from King Fitzwilliam: the rules on choosing a Champion for the Spring Tournament.”
He gave me a look. “Surely, that must have laid you out in slumber rather quickly.”
“There are a lot of rules, couched in terms that even Herald would find flowery. But the key wasn’t in what the rules specified. It was what they left out.”
“For example?”
I ticked each item off on my fingers. “First, there’s no rules on what species can enter the tournament. And since they normally have griffins competing in certain events, no one can claim that this is a ‘humans only’ competition. Second, there are no rules based on citizenship, so you don’t have to be an Andeluvian to enter. Third and most importantly, there are no rules applying to gender.”
Galen chewed his lip. “Meaning that are no grounds to bar Rikka’s entry.”
“That’s only the start. Rikka’s not going to be interested in asking for my hand in marriage anytime soon. And best of all, she can kick some major butt. If the butts she kicks are attached to some of the knights and lords I don’t like, that’s the cherry on top of a very tasty sundae.”
“It does seem to work out favorably,” Galen agreed. “I only wish I could see the Royal court’s reaction when they hear who you’ve selected!”
“Okay, now that I’ve answered you, I need an answer in return.”
The wizard looked unsure suddenly. “What about?”
My words took on an edge as I went on. “I want to know how far in advance you had been planning to use me, Galen. How long have you and Angbor been counting on me to manipulate your sister into murdering Sir Caltrop?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The words hung in the air between us, almost like an echo in the long, empty wooden hall.
How long have you and Angbor been counting on me to manipulate your sister into murdering Sir Caltrop?
The Wizard looked a trifle sheepish as he finally answered my question.
“To be completely honest, I had been rather hoping that you wouldn’t notice.”
“As we say on my world, ‘fat chance’. I take my work seriously, Galen. I came here to solve a crime, honestly and without deceit. I didn’t come here to be used as a poker chip in centaur politics.”
He frowned. “Praytell, what is a poker chip?”
“I…look, I’ll explain that later. But I think you know what I’m getting at.”
Galen slumped even more dejectedly against the column. “You are correct, of course. I felt that if I related my ideas on the ‘trial by combat’, you would have rejected them out of hand. As to how long these concepts were in their gestation phase…it was only since last evening.”
“When you spoke with your father, I’d guess.” The wizard bobbed his head in agreement. I rubbed my temple with one knuckle as I added, “Okay, that surprises me, but for the better. Sir Jorvath told me you two had been in contact since you renounced the kingship and returned to Andeluvia. So, I figured that you and your father had it planned out weeks or months in advance.”
