The Fifth Sorceress, page 21
Questions were still scratching at the back of Kluge’s mind, and since they had not been addressed, he felt it necessary to ask.
‘Mistress,’ he began quietly, ‘if I may, I have several more questions.’
Vona’s red hair rippled across her shoulder as she turned to face Kluge. ‘You have too many questions for my taste,’ she said harshly. ‘Just take your flying gargoyles and go do your job.’
Failee seemed to be more forgiving. ‘What are they, Commander?’ she asked.
‘First, if I may know the reason that Mistress Succiu is to accompany us?’ He thought he might choke just getting the words out. ‘And second, without knowing the identity of your confederate at the Eutracian court, how am I to ensure his safety from my warriors? And, forgive me, Mistress, but we have often heard it said throughout Parthalon that the Sea of Whispers is uncrossable, that no voyage of any duration has ever returned home. How then are we to ensure our safe passage over and back?’ He once again cast his eyes down the entire length of the table to make sure he had not slighted any of them.
‘You have answered your second and third questions with your first, Commander,’ Failee said easily. ‘Mistress Succiu will be able to point out our friend at court, because she is familiar with our confederate’s most recent countenance.’
Kluge’s head was spinning. Most recent countenance? What does that mean? He decided it was better not to ask. Failee used her long fingernails to surgically remove another red grape from the bowl of fruit and delicately placed it into her mouth, unpeeled this time.
‘And as far as crossing the Sea of Whispers is concerned, the Coven has done it once before. And done it in a way that will ensure our continued success at our leisure. Mistress Succiu is familiar with the means to cross. You have simply to follow her orders. But there is yet one more reason for the second mistress to accompany you.’
A glance at Succiu’s face showed him that her usually malevolent smile had returned. Whatever her duties in Eutracia were to be, he could tell she was looking forward to them.
For the first time Kluge realized that the mistresses had never referred to their ally at court by any gender. He was left wondering whether it was a man or a woman. He shrugged his shoulders slightly. It was apparently unimportant to his orders.
Finally, Failee seemed to be satisfied. With an unexpected wave of her arms, the scene at the Eutracian court vanished, and the limitless depths of the black marble wall returned. The blue shaft of light through the ceiling also vanished, and the ceiling stone that had been suspended in the air for so long now began to scratch its way back into place.
Kluge watched as the rectangular table morphed back into its original five-pointed shape, the thrones moving back to their original positions. He looked at Failee. She seemed somehow refreshed. Except for the mild fatigue on her face, it was as if none of it had ever happened. Picking up the packet of maps, he walked over to the spot where he had lain his helmet and picked it up, once again holding it beneath his left arm and standing at attention.
The sorceresses were looking at him as if they expected him to speak. But there was no reason for him to. His most important questions had been answered. His mission was abundantly clear, and he would carry it out as effectively and as ruthlessly as possible. And after seeing Succiu’s reaction when the prince of Eutracia had walked by, he recognized that the mission had now taken on an unmistakably personal flavor, as well.
Failee stood and walked up to him, holding his eyes steady in the hazel irises of her own.
‘Commander,’ she said quietly, ‘give me your sword.’
Kluge grasped the hilt of his dreggan and drew it from its scabbard, the curved blade making its unusual signature sound in the air. The blade’s song hung for a long time in the stillness of the chamber and then finally faded away, as if it had a life of its own that was not anxious to be extinguished. The chamber then became as silent as death.
Upon taking possession of his sword, Failee took a step closer. She studied his face for a moment.
‘Kneel,’ she said softly, menacingly.
He immediately went down on one knee, lowering his head.
Without hesitation, Failee snatched a handful of the long, gray-streaked hair at the back of his head and snapped his face back as if his neck had been a dry tree branch, placing the tip of the dreggan hard at the base of his throat. A drop of his blood formed at the point of the blade and ran into the shallow trough of the blood groove, beginning a slow but inexorable journey toward the hilt. Succiu licked her lips.
‘I bred you for this myself, Kluge,’ Failee hissed, her eyes narrowed. It was the first time in his life she had ever called him by his name instead of his rank. ‘You are mine to do with as I wish.’ She frowned darkly. ‘Do you understand your orders?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’ Had she been a mortal he could easily have killed her with a single blow, despite the blade at his throat. But not a sorceress, and certainly not Failee. There was something even more frightening about her than the sword she held to his throat. Looking up into her manic, hazel eyes, he wondered once again if she was mad.
She used her power to treble the strength in her arm, stretching Kluge’s neck backward almost to the breaking point. Her eyes went wide.
‘In just over a week you sail for Eutracia,’ she whispered.
‘Yes, Mistress,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘The Minions of Day and Night shall prevail.’
The pain in his neck was excruciating, but he knew he must not flinch. If this was a test of his nerve, so be it. He had come too far to be proven unworthy of his mission. He watched her thumb slowly cover the blade release lever in the hilt of the dreggan. If she pressed the lever now, the point of the dreggan’s blade would enter beneath his jaw and violently exit through the top of his skull. He held fast, holding her deep, mystical eyes on his.
Failee twisted his hair even tighter and moved the dreggan imperceptibly forward. ‘The Minions shall prevail?’ she asked. Her eyes were crazed and seemed to look right through him. ‘See that they do, Commander,’ she whispered. ‘See that they do.’
PART III
Tammerland
Chapter Six
The Chosen One shall come, preceded by another. And the knowledge that he seeks he shall one day demand of the one who recovers the stone. And those of the Pentangle, the ones who practice the Vagaries, shall require the female of the Chosen Ones, and shall bend her to their purpose.
—PAGE 1237, CHAPTER ONE OF THE VAGARIES OF THE TOME
T ristan awoke to find her still lying beside him, her back to him and the warm curve of her buttocks pressed into his groin. When he opened his eyes, he found that his face was only inches from her long blond hair. It had the delicate texture of corn tassels, and as he moved his face even closer he could smell the lingering jasmine in her hair, just one of the many things about her that had attracted him last night. Slowly taking back possession of his right arm, he gently slid it from beneath her. As expected, she only stirred slightly and murmured something in her sleep, once again lost to her dreams. Sweet ones, he hoped.
He reached behind him to gather up more of the silk-covered pillow beneath his head and sat up a little, only to remember that he had consumed too much wine at last night’s inspection ceremony. Thankfully the room was not spinning nor was he ill, but there was something more than a faint pounding in his head from the fine red wine that had flowed like water last night. The wine had come from the vineyards of Florian’s Glade, the finest grape-producing area of the realm, southwest of Tammerland. Only the best for the heir apparent, he thought. But if not having to become king would mean drinking only cheap wine for the rest of his life, it would have been a price he would gladly have paid.
He turned his face back to the beautiful young woman next to him, remembering the events of last evening. Her name was Evelyn of the House of Norcross, and he faintly remembered something about her father being a wealthy landowner in the area of Farplain, in the center of the kingdom. She had come to the inspection ceremony with her parents out of a sense of curiosity, as so many of the guests had. They were staying at one of the many inns in the city, and her parents had left her behind at the ceremony last night, apparently pleased that she was so lost in conversation with the prince. He rubbed his hand over his face, wondering what their mood was like this morning after discovering that their daughter’s bed had not been slept in. He found himself sincerely hoping that her father was not more than a casual acquaintance to the king.
She had come to his quarters very willingly, as women always did, and they had laughingly fallen into each other’s arms almost immediately. Twice more in the night she had reached out for him, and he had obeyed. But as usual, for him it had not been love.
She stirred and turned his way. He put his fingers through her hair and lifted it from her forehead, kissing her lips gently. Her blue eyes opened, slowly at first, and then quickly the rest of the way as the realization of her surroundings came to her and the memories of last night began to transform themselves into something more than a small measure of embarrassment. She immediately pulled the dark-blue silk sheet up over her breasts, as though he had never seen them before. He smiled, running a hand back through his hair.
‘It isn’t as though I’m not familiar with them, you know,’ he said gently, a smile upon his lips. ‘Besides, I don’t remember anything about them for which you should be ashamed.’ He kissed the end of her nose and watched the apprehension in her face begin to melt away.
‘Good morning, Your Highness,’ she said tentatively. She looked around in amazement at the sumptuous decorations of his private bedroom, still holding the sheet up to her chin like a shield in battle. ‘Apparently we fell asleep last night,’ she said, a hint of mischief crowding into the corners of her mouth.
‘Yes,’ Tristan said smiling, his hand once again in her hair. ‘And we did a good deal more, as well.’
He got out of bed and stood slowly, stretching his muscles as he walked naked to the balcony of his bedroom. Despite his unusual experiences of the previous day and the events surrounding the celebration last night, he had awakened early, just as the sun was starting to find its way over the horizon in the east. Stretching and waking the rest of his body, he remembered that the great sense of physical strength and mental well-being that he had garnered from his time in the Caves had gradually diminished and had been replaced by wine as the evening went on, and this morning he was sore and lame from all of the bumps and jolts he had taken during his adventures. He made a mental note to himself to check on Pilgrim, as well.
Now standing upon his balcony and looking down at the golden glow of the morning as it slowly blossomed into a new day, all his experiences in the Hartwick Woods seemed to be a dream. But one thing remained as strong and as real as ever: his intense hunger to learn the craft was still with him, coursing through his veins of endowed blood more strongly than he had ever known.
He turned around and walked back to stand beside the bed, looking down into her face. ‘Is there anything you would like before you leave?’ he asked with the best of intentions.
She smiled up to him lazily and reached for his groin. ‘All I have the right to ask for is that you once again serve one of your humble subjects,’ she said softly.
He bent over, reached under the silk sheet for her, and put his lips on hers.
The sound made by two swords in combat is like no other in the world, Tristan thought as he parried yet another and even stronger of Frederick’s thrusts. An ironic thing, a sword, being both the taker and the protector of life. But there was no more time to occupy his mind with such luxuries, for Frederick had set upon him yet again, and the swords they were practicing with were real.
They had been at it for almost an hour now in the training yard of the Royal Guard, and given the relative importance of their positions in the realm, a crowd of spectators, mostly other members of the Guard, had formed around the outer edges of their area of contest and had begun to cheer on their respective favorites. It occurred to Tristan between ragged breaths that the two of them had managed to turn a simple training exercise into a blatant contest, complete with spectators. Where Frederick was stronger, Tristan was quicker. Where Frederick was tougher, Tristan was smarter. Each of them was determined to make the other yield without bloodshed, but so far neither had been able to gain a clear advantage. This particular training area was one of both Tristan’s and Frederick’s favorites because it was also full of training obstacles that an opponent could hide behind, jump over, and use or throw to his advantage, just as might occur in real combat.
Frederick’s broadsword whistled through the air at him again, this time from overhead. Tristan stepped quickly, not back but directly forward, and turned on his heel 180 degrees to end up standing virtually neck-to-neck with Frederick, and facing the same way. He quickly extended his arms and cut his sword around his body in a plane level with the ground as if to cut Frederick in two, but again the larger, older man was not to be denied. Frederick stepped back with almost unheard-of speed for a man his size, missing Tristan’s sweep altogether, and stabbed his sword directly at the prince’s midsection. Another sharp parry from Tristan, and they once again found themselves on equal footing, swords raised, their dirty faces smiling at each other as they slowly circled.
After doing his gentlemanly duty by watching Evelyn depart this morning in one of the palace carriages, Tristan had decided to shake off the cobwebs of the previous evening by joining the Guard in some training, and Frederick had been the willing recipient of the prince’s need for exercise. Tristan had hoped that it would help take his mind off the upcoming abdication ceremony. Evelyn, although lovely, had not proven to be an important enough occurrence in his life to change his outlook about the future, and he doubted he would see her again.
And so he had taken to the Royal Guard training grounds to sweat his depression out of himself.
The two friends circled each other slowly, each trying to decide the right time to strike again. ‘You’re getting too old for this,’ Tristan taunted. ‘But I suppose it’s good that I give you the benefit of my great expertise while I still can, since you will soon be spending all of your time attending the changing of the diapers instead of the changing of the Guard.’ He smiled nastily and waggled the point of his sword in front of Frederick’s face. ‘But don’t worry, Brother-inlaw,’ he continued. ‘I’m sure in my position as king I can persuade my sister to let you out of the palace once in a while – say, once every other month or so.’
With unexpected speed, Frederick launched himself at Tristan. But the prince gave no ground, and they found themselves locked against each other, their swords crossed between their bodies, their grimacing faces only inches apart.
‘At least I showed up dressed for the occasion last night,’ Frederick grunted, straining against Tristan’s surprising strength. ‘I couldn’t tell whether you were part of the royal family or just a particularly grubby servant. I almost ordered you to fetch me a glass of wine, but then again, I heard you had plenty of that yourself.’
Then, suddenly, Frederick did something odd. Instead of carrying on the fight he looked directly over Tristan’s shoulder. The prince saw his friend’s face fall, as if Frederick had just seen something horrible. Tristan started to turn his own eyes to the right, but that was exactly what Frederick had been hoping for. In the split second that Tristan’s attention was diverted, Frederick stopped straining against the prince and reached down to Tristan’s right ankle, quickly pulling it up and over, launching the prince to the hard ground on his back in the dust of the training yard. Frederick’s blade was at Tristan’s throat in an instant.
‘Do you yield?’ It wasn’t as much a question as a command.
It was over, the prince knew. There could be no escape from this position, and truth be known, had Frederick really wanted him dead Tristan would have been so several moments ago, a bloody hole where his larynx used to be. ‘I yield,’ he said begrudgingly. Then Tristan looked up in momentary horror as the point of Frederick’s broadsword came hurtling straight down at his face, only to bury itself finally in the ground about three inches away from his right temple.
Despite the fact that it was the prince who had lost, the crowd erupted in hoots, applause, and catcalls. Tristan smiled. These men were his friends, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Frederick’s great bear’s paw of a hand came to pull Tristan back up to his feet. The two of them began to brush the dust off themselves. Frederick smiled broadly and put an affectionate arm around the prince’s shoulders, and the two walked side by side to the well on one edge of the courtyard.
‘That was quite a trick,’ Tristan said, first pouring a carafe of water over his head and then shaking some of the water out of his hair. He raised the carafe high and took several long swallows from it before looking again at Frederick. ‘When did you learn that?’
‘That wasn’t a trick, it was a technique,’ Frederick said rather impatiently. ‘And when I learned it isn’t as important as how I learned it.’ He took the offered carafe from Tristan. ‘You’re missing the point again. Although you did very well today, probably better than anyone else in the Guard could have, you still spend too much time looking at my face during battle. As I have told you repeatedly, keep your eyes on my abdomen, so that you can more quickly tell where both of my arms and legs are, and when they are about to move against you.’ He paused, looking into the dark blue eyes of the brother-in-law he had come to love so much. ‘After all, it isn’t my face that can harm you, it’s my sword.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Tristan said with an expression of mock seriousness. ‘Have you looked in the mirror lately?’
Frederick flat-handed the prince so hard on his left shoulder that Tristan almost fell off the bench. After the two of them had stopped laughing, Frederick’s face became more serious. ‘Truthfully, Tristan, are you all right? A lot of people are worried about you, and not just those of us in the family. I have heard from several places this morning that the wizards of the Directorate are virtually beside themselves with you. And I have it on good authority that they’re in yet another of their famous closed-door sessions with your father right now. What in the name of the Afterlife did you do yesterday up in those woods to get everyone into such an uproar? I haven’t seen them all this upset since that time you were found in your bedchambers pursuing your “studies” with one of your nannies.’ After a brief and knowing smile between men, Frederick’s face grew grave again. ‘Seriously, is there anything you would like to talk about? You know I am always here to help.’ He looked down in obvious distaste at the prince’s clothes. ‘And are you ever going to get out of those?’
