The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) (11 page)

The
Landfill had burned to the ground over a decade ago, and nothing had been built
in its place. A building-sized hole still existed where the basement once had
been. Ironically, even painfully so, people had thrown refuse in it: liquor
bottles, apple cores, all sorts of things. Bendelof shut her eyes and said a
quick prayer for the soul of Sedder Foden, a Leaguesman who had died here. For
a man named Wilhem Horn, one of Rexson’s spies, who had breathed his last on
this spot as well.

Gratton
put an arm around her. Bennie hardly knew the man, but she was grateful for his
solidarity, for human contact, and felt no urge to shy away.

“What
is it?” he asked.

“Memories,”
she whispered. “Ghosts. I know this place.”

“From
the Crimson League?”

“I
thought I’d put those days behind me, but I’m starting to think I was merely
outrunning them, leaving them a step behind. They’re catching up to me. The
ghosts, the ones we lost, they chased me here. I didn’t realize they were
chasing me.”

Gratton
turned her around and led her away, still holding her tight.

“I
was young,” she explained. “Officially of age, but what does that matter? Some
people at sixteen are strong, I guess. They’re physically strong, emotionally
strong, but others are still innocent, and I was too young, too young for all
those deaths I witnessed. Too young to be fighting for my life.”

“How
did
you survive?”

“Zalski
let me live much longer than he should have.”

“Well,
that’s one mistake I’m glad he made. A mistake the king’s sons are lucky as
hell he made.”

“Thank
you,” said Bennie. “For coming out here with me.”

“So
will you move to Podrar, or won’t you?”

There
was an earnestness, an unselfishness about his eyes that she had not expected.
His features, too, had softened a bit; he honestly believed that finding a job
in the capital was best for her. Maybe he was right.

“I’ll
move to Podrar,” she consented.

* * *

Zacry
and Hayden were the only members of the rescue party who had not yet changed
clothes. The dew had dried from their shirts, but Zacry’s was singed and
streaked with mud, while Hayden’s had numerous grass stains. Dirt smudged one
of Hayden’s cheeks and would not rub off. So as not to soil the furniture, they
had pulled back the rug and sat on the stone floor in Zacry’s room; Hayden was
massaging a cramp in his calf, his fair head lowered. He lifted it to say, “I
almost forgot how much I don’t miss this. I
really
don’t miss this.”

“You
miss the people,” said Zacry.

“I
do miss the people. That Vane, is he really Laskenay’s son?”

“Born
months before Zalski’s coup.”

“I
never knew about him. She had no reason to tell me.” Hayden paused. “He looks
nothing like her. He has Laskenay’s cool thought in battle, though. That woman
was like ice when she had to be. That was Laskenay’s strength, one she shared
with her brother. Your sister never could be cold that way. I don’t know she
had the heart to even try. That was Kora’s strength. I’ve always thought it was
Kora’s warmth that turned Zalski’s general against him. We sent her to meet
with Argint toward the end, out of desperation….”

“She’s
told me,” Zacry said.

“Well,
there was something in her face when she got back: a mute outpouring of her
soul. I felt it burn me, I swear. If the general saw what I saw, or anything
close to it, I’m positive that’s what turned him. Not just then, not
immediately, but when all was said and done…. He denied it to his death, old
Argint. Said Kora had nothing to do with him killing Zalski. I discussed it
with him numerous times in private, and never once believed him.”

Hayden
shook his head, his thoughts far away from the present moment. “You’re right,
Zac, I miss the people. My God, I miss the people, some days more than others.
You remember Bidd? My cousin?”

“Of
course I remember Bidd. He grumbled worse than anyone when Kora had me use you
for target practice.” The first spells Zacry had ever cast, he had done so
against Bidd, Hayden, and their friend Hal.

“I’m
getting married,” Hayden said, “in December. Her name’s Tara. Damn if Bidd
wasn’t supposed to witness the vows: officially witness, by his signature. It
was all he knew how to write, was his name. We had an agreement from the age of
seven. I’d be his witness, and he’d be mine.” Hayden shook his head, then
changed the subject. Bidd and Hal were both long dead. “How’s your sister?”

“Wishing
she were here right now, if I know her at all.”

“She
should
be here. She doesn’t belong in
that place. Her husband’s not a Traigland national, is he? There’s no way he
is.”

“Parker’s
from Yangerton.”

“I
knew it! If Rexson could have had more time to think of a way to save her…. He
had none to work with, that was the problem. He could exile her or let them
kill her then and there. That mob, I swear to you….”

“Kora
told me everything, Hayden. Well, just about everything.” Zacry had been trying
not to picture his sister admitting to Zalski she had invaded his mind on a
regular basis. The thought made the young man feel twelve again, wracked with
guilt to know her confession had been to protect him. His stomach flipped.
Hayden kept right on.

“To
be exiled like that…. She belongs here, Zac. You too. You should come back, or
stay, since you’re here now. You weren’t banished.”

“My
wife would move here if I asked her. She’d like Herezoth, always wanted to see
it. I’d come back in a heartbeat myself. The thing is, Kora can’t come back,
and I’d be an ungrateful cad to leave her alone over there. She’s working on a
book, has been for years. Besides her family, that’s all she’s got. She and I
talk every day. I couldn’t take that away from her, not after what she’s been
through. Besides, I want my daughter to know her aunt. I won’t rob Viola of
that.”

“I
get it,” said Hayden, “I do. Bidd and I were like brothers. If it was him in
Kora’s place, I wouldn’t leave either. But hey, you were at Wheatfield with us,
weren’t you? At the barn.”

“For
a while I was.”

“How
bad was my cooking? When I had to cook? No one ever complained to my face about
it. I’ve never cooked for my fiancée, you see, and I want to give it a go, but
I mentioned the idea to Bennie, and she told me to try something else. Said my
talents were elsewhere.”

“Honestly,”
said Zacry, “your cooking’s one of the things I remember most about
Wheatfield.”

“So
it was all right?”

“It
was awful. If you haven’t learned to cook since, I’m with Bennie. You’ll scare
the girl off, or you’ll choke her. She’ll choke on the first bite. The first
bite was always the worst, and if she doesn’t know what’s coming….”

Zacry
grinned to imagine the scene, complete with a slender, busty woman in a house
frock who looked horrified as she spit a mouthful of stew into Hayden’s face.
Hayden, for his part, feigned insult. The sparkle in his dark eyes was too
strong to be convincing. “Listen, it’s not like we had a proper kitchen. Or
cooking tools. Or spices.”

“Everyone
else made it work,” insisted Zacry. “You’re no chef, not even close.”

Lacking
both menace and conviction, Hayden said, “Go to hell.”

“You
don’t want that. I broil the best chicken you’ll ever eat. If I’m in hell, I
can’t broil you one and let you take the credit.”

“First
of all,” said Hayden, “I seriously doubt your chicken’s that good. Even if it
was, Tara’d want me to cook it on a regular basis. The secret wouldn’t last.
But thanks.”

Hayden
kneaded his calf some more, then stretched out his cramped leg with a low
groan. “You all right?” Zacry asked.

“Good
enough to go wash up. I can’t leave the Palace looking like this. I’m a duke
now. Kind of funny, isn’t it?”

“I
thought that was more of an honorary thing?”

“In
a way. But I do represent Crescenton at court, and I take that seriously.
Rexson didn’t make up some title for me. He gave me the duchy his best friend
should have governed. Neslan left no siblings, you see. His mother outlived
him, and her sister had three daughters. Gracia’s the oldest of them.”

“I’d
heard she was Neslan’s cousin.” Neslan Dormenor, the Crimson League’s scholar.

“On
his mother’s side, yes. When Rexson took the throne, Neslan’s father was dead
with no living blood relatives. The old duke’s widow, as duchess, fulfilled his
duties at court but when she died, his duchy reverted to the crown. I ended up
with Neslan’s title, and I try to do it justice.”

Zacry
said, “He’d appreciate that.”

“You
remember Neslan well?”

“I
remember books. I never saw him without a book.”

“Neither
me,” said Hayden. “You know, it’s funny, but the son Rexson named after him’s
most definitely the bookish one.”

With
that Hayden rose to his feet, bending back to rub his calf one last time. He told
Zacry goodbye and headed to a washroom.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Diary

Dorane’s
tone was deadpan. “He won’t be letting us live now,” he said.

Arbora
replied, “The king? I imagine not. We have nothing to bargain.”

The
officers of the Enchanted Fist had gathered around Arbora’s kitchen table. The
room was small and cramped; the only luxury Arbora allowed herself was a sanded
and stained wood floor. Dirty dishes filled the washbasin.

The
three magicians would be safe here long enough to decide where to go next. The
king would not begin the hunt for them just yet; he would see his sons settled
in the Palace first. Ursa leaned over the tabletop, holding a wet rag to the
knot on the back of her head where she had hit her basement wall, and
harrumphed with oomph.

Ignoring
Ursa, the sorcerer asked, “That woman with the red hair, who was that? She
looked like Gretta Yastly.”

Arbora
told him, “We knew her as such. Her real name’s Bendelof Esper. I’m sure it is,
from the Crimson League. I spoke with her just yesterday.”

“Gretta’s
a brunette.”

“It’s
called a wig, Dorane. I should have recognized her. I should have realized….
One of the king’s old companions, you see? I never thought he’d find our
headquarters, that’s the trouble. It never struck me he might….”

Expressionless,
Ursa said, “The king sent her to spy, fantastic. Even better, like Dorane said
before, he’ll be determined to kill us now he’s got his boys. He’ll kill us,
an’ we won’t even have no council to show for it. Maybe we should just run.
Leave Herezoth.”

Dorane’s
face looked tortured. Incredulous, like it had all afternoon. He lamented, “We
would have ended it in days with terms Rexson could have lived with, terms we
all could live with. No one had discussed my imprisonment. He would have had
his sons, and us our council. Why couldn’t he wait? Why couldn’t he just have
waited? And who, who was that kid? The sorcerer?”

“Judging
by his age and the fact he knows the king, he’d have to be Zalski’s long lost
nephew.” Arbora, in her fascination with the sorcerer-dictator, had researched
Zalski’s roots years ago. She’d discovered his sister had given birth to a
child, only one, who for all intents and purposes had vanished before his first
birthday. “I always assumed he died as an infant.”

“And
the other?” asked Dorane.

“There
was two of ‘em?” said Ursa. She lifted her head.

“Where
did Rexson find the other?” Dorane pressed.

“Traigland,”
said Arbora. “Traigland, where else?”

“Traigland?”
said Dorane. He clutched the end of the table with both hands, with white
knuckles. “Was that Zacry Porteg?”

Arbora
laughed, a hysterical laugh. “Who else could it have been? Why wouldn’t that
man help the king? Why wouldn’t the king turn to him after what he did to
Zacry’s sister? His blasted sister? He only banished her under penalty of
death. That’s trifling, apparently. It’s perfectly logical, perfectly, don’t
you understand?”

Ursa
remained impassive. “Maybe we can ask Porteg what he’s doin’ here before him
and his cronies do us in. We should have time between ‘em showin’ up and the
end of everything.

“By
the way,” she added, “where’d my sister skedaddle off to?”

Dorane
said, “She didn’t skedaddle anywhere. The boy took her away with the hostages.”

With
that, Ursa’s stoicism broke. She jumped up, slamming a fist on the tabletop,
making it shake. She threw her rag. Arbora winced as Ursa’s chair toppled over,
scratching the floor.

“The
boy? Zalski’s nephew? If he thinks he can be snatchin’ my sister….”

“Calm
yourself,” said Arbora, taking strength from Ursa’s rage. “We can’t exact
vengeance. We’ll be lucky to escape from this alive.”

“He
can’t. Be takin’. August. It ain’t fair play.”

“He
rescued August, all right? He rescued her from Dorane.” Arbora knew she
shouldn’t speak, that she would only cause dissention, but the truth would out
one way or another. Truth had a way of doing that. Better to admit everything
now, fix the damage, and move on. “Dorane was smothering her.”

Ursa
froze. Her face twisted in pain and anger. She swelled, anyone would have
thought because of outrage, but it was more that she felt her heart deflate;
she sucked in air to fill the gap that had appeared in her chest. She cried, “He
did
what
?”

“You
attacked August yourself,” the sorceress reminded her. “Or you tried to.”

“She
was attackin’ Dorane, so I tried to
help him. I wasn’t tryin’ to kill no one. Dorane, how could you? My
sister
?”

“I
snapped,” said the sorcerer. “I snapped, all right? She stopped me casting
spells. She interfered, and I panicked. I could see the hostages would get
away, and without the princes we have nothing. Look, I’m glad she got away. I
hope I scared her senseless, but I’m glad she got away. Killing her would have
been pointless.”

Ursa
looked as though her limp and lifeless heart had been ripped out. “Are you
sayin’ that if killin’ August could
have
gotten us the council, you’d have done it an’ not felt bad? Is that what you’re
sayin’?”

“We
all need to sacrifice something. If that something’s the girl, well….”

Ursa
did not care he was a sorcerer. She slapped him across the jaw. “Damn you!” she
shouted, her cheeks and ears scarlet. “Damn you! You won’t touch my sister, not
for nothin.’ Not for no damn political power, you hear me? Hell, Dorane, I
wouldn’t hurt your boy, and you wouldn’t neither, not him. You’d give up on the
council ‘fore you did that. We don’t. Hurt. Our own. My sister? You’re a piece
of shit, you are! August probably thinks I’d rip her eyes out on sight, thanks
to you!”

“Stop
it,” Arbora demanded. “Both of you, just stop. Your ineptitude drew me into
this. My life’s in danger thanks to you oafs, and I won’t have you endanger me
further by bickering about things we can’t do a thing about. No one’s going to
hurt August. But I think…. Yes, I think we just might be able to use her
absence to our advantage.”

“And
how’s that?” asked Ursa.

Arbora
lowered her voice. “Would you be opposed, Ursa, to putting her in another
situation like the one you put her in with your bear?”

Ursa
shook her head in grief. “My poor old bear….”

“A
situation where’s she theoretically in danger, but really isn’t, because it’s a
danger she’ll avoid instinctually?”

Ursa
rubbed her chin. “That depends, I think. If I had to. I mean….”

“Then
listen….”

* * *

The
scene Vane interrupted when he entered the king’s antechamber was so striking
in its beauty, so picturesque, that he regretted being present to bring it to
an end, even though Rexson had sent for him. The king and the boys had gathered
around the writing desk, where Queen Gracia sat with a cooing Melinda on her
lap. The six-month-old reached out for Valkin: more specifically, for his
eyeglasses, which he held to his face while gently breaking his sister’s grip
on them.

“She
got bigger,” said Neslan.

Rexson
was the only one to glance at the intruder. He beckoned Vane forward.

“I’ll
be the one to watch out for her,” Hune told his brothers. “You’ll have other
things to worry about. You’ll be a king and an ambassador. I won’t, ‘cause I’m
the youngest, so I’ll take care of Melly. I’ll be her favorite brother.”

“You
will not!” protested Neslan. The king tousled his son’s hair before directing
Vane aside. The two men might as well have been alone in the room for all the
mind its other occupants gave them.

Rexson
said, “I figured it’s time to discuss your inheritance.”

“What
inheritance?”

“Your
father’s title and wealth.”

Vane
blinked. “Didn’t Zalski steal his possessions? His money?”

“Your
uncle confiscated what Laskenay couldn’t carry off, but he never squandered the
smallest part of it. He was saving it for when you came of age and he could act
as your executor. He always hoped you would join him one day.”

“He’d
have wanted that,” Vane conceded. He shivered.

Thank God my mother
hid me. If I meet her when I die, that’ll be the first thing I do, is thank
her.

The
king continued, “The material things are the less contentious matter. We’ll go
through them later if you wish. More delicate’s the fact that the title of
duke, with all its privileges, is yours by birthright: your father’s as well as
grandfather’s.”

Vane
gulped. “Zalski’s title. The one he should have had.”

“That’s
right. To be frank, I would leave that duchy be. I’ve been administrating it
for years, and would gladly continue to do so. Your grandfather was a good man,
Vane, and you know in what esteem I held his daughter. I don’t imply that you
are or should be ashamed of them in the slightest, but the fact remains, the
title of Lanceton is inextricably linked with Zalski, and you’d do better to
distance yourself from him in any way you can. Even putting your uncle aside,
two duchies would be too much for anyone to manage without experience.
Concentrate on Ingleton. That’s my advice, if you decide to return to Podrar.”

Ingleton.
His father’s duchy. “That does make sense, Your Majesty.”

“I
could not, and will not, deny you assuming your place at court, should you wish
to take it up. There isn’t a noble alive who would dare call me to act against
you. Your parents were too beloved, and I refuse to snub your father by taking
his legacy from his son. The choice is yours, then. Think on it. I’ll support
you in whatever you decide. Don’t let a sense of duty, or familial obligation,
pull you to become a public figure if you’d rather do otherwise. Neither
Laskenay nor Valkin would desire that.”

Vane
said, “People would discover my secret, wouldn’t they?”

“They’d
have to.”

“By
the title. They’d know my family line, know I’m a sorcerer.”

“As
far as the nobility, I just told you the vast majority respected your parents.
They understand that Laskenay never supported her brother, and that your
father, had he lived, would have opposed the new regime. They’ll accept you
with open arms for your parents’ sake. The handful who would think you
presumptuous or dangerous—I know precisely who they are—can do you
no real harm. They’d do nothing more than talk and turn their backs to you.
They aren’t worth worrying about. They’re certainly not worth bending to. Don’t
forsake what’s rightfully yours on their account. If you have other reasons,
personal reasons, for continuing as you are, that’s a different matter.

“I
realize,” said the king, “that I seem a bit of a hypocrite right now. If I’ve
let dissentious groups prevent me, in the past, from reaching out to the
magicked more openly, it’s because those groups had it in their power to stir
up violence. There lies the distinction. The dukes and earls who would object
to you are nothing but loquacious fools drunk with their own wealth, who speak
because their money gives them no influence of the type they would need to be
an honest threat to you, not as long as you can boast my goodwill.”

“They
could hire someone to kill me.”

“That’s
beneath their dignity, most especially Carson Amison’s.” Vane knew the name:
the Duke of Yangerton. “He would be a foe, your greatest. Listen, no hired
assassin would take a chance against a sorcerer.”

“I
see,” said Vane.

“There’s
no reason to rush a decision.”

“I
understand that.”

“Good.
I also wanted to tell you that I intend to seek out Dorane, and won’t require
your aid.”

“Your
Majesty….”

“He
and his stooges will be more dangerous now, like cornered animals, and I won’t
have you risk yourself again, not to satisfy my thirst for vengeance. Those
three would kill you out of spite. You, you personally, crushed their leverage
when you saved the boys. Your mother would curse me to kingdom come if I
allowed you to plow on, and I’ve enough people to avenge as it stands without
adding you to the number.”

“Your
Majesty, I want to go after the kidnappers. After Dorane. I saw what he tried
to do to August, and he deserves to hang for it.”

“He
will, Vane.”

“But
I want to be the one to catch him, I….” Vane sighed. “I promised Kora I’d
follow your orders. Yours and Zacry’s. Are you ordering me not to take part in
this?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll obey.”

The king clapped him on the shoulder. “If you
want to do something for August, you can stay at the Palace and help her adjust
to Podrar. Let her talk through some ideas for a long-term plan about where she
can go, how she can make a living. She feels a bit groundless at the moment.”
The king smiled. “And she now understands you’re not a spy, which is a step in
the right direction. Maybe she’ll open up to you. I’m curious, what do you
think of the girl?”