The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) (27 page)

Amison
scowled. “Vintners? That was an excuse. You would never snub me over a
vintners’ squabble. If that squabble were somehow of importance, then it was
Yangerton’s concern as well, and you should have outlined the discord that so
needed your mediation.”

“Surely,
Amison, your domains are expansive enough to provide you ample crises, without
needing a scroll-length description of concerns that have nothing to do with
you? I can promise, I had more urgent business than outlining such things for a
nobleman not involved with the capital’s wine supply.”

“Yangerton
consumes vast amounts of Podrar’s wine, Your Majesty. Its wine and mushrooms.
You know this. Such matters will always concern me.”

Vane
had never heard Rexson speak so curtly. “The matters of which we speak have
been settled, Amison. Before they reached any point where they threatened to
affect trade with your duchy. Had that point been approached, I would have
involved you. As I always do. Though I thank you for your worries over my
health, and especially my daughter’s. She’s recovered, by the way.”

Yangerton
bowed to plead his dismissal, though the king had drinks coming. They were both
busy men, Vane assumed, and Amison had accomplished what he’d come to do:
register his insult at the king’s supposed snub, and see for himself what state
the man was in. Suspicions of royal illness among the higher-ranking nobles
could not bode well for Rexson.

The
king granted his duke’s mute request, and Amison swept from the room with a
gait stiff enough to betray his resentment. Vane, gaping, watched him go. The
door fell to behind him. The sorcerer took in a breath to cancel his
invisibility. Rexson must have heard, for he reminded, “The brandy,” and Vane
said nothing.

The
servant knocked within two minutes, to deliver a tray with four glasses and a
thick, corked bottle to the table where the king still sat. When Vane found
himself alone with Rexson again, he made himself visible and took Amison’s withdrawn
seat.

“You
can be sure,” the king told Vane, “that if any count or duchess called upon him
before he came here, he threw in some passing references to concerns for my
health, to a letter that alarmed him. Carson Amison’s no man to miss an
opportunity, especially one to paint me as weak.

“Don’t
get in his way,” Rexson warned. “The man barely respects my authority, as you
just saw. He’s older than you by far, and more experienced, and won’t take
kindly if he thinks you hope to cut into the name and the power he’s made for
himself since Zalski’s fall.

“My
coronation made things precarious for him, Vane. He was often seen about the
Palace in your uncle’s days, drinking his wine, fraternizing with his guests,
and ensuring the new social structure wouldn’t crush him as it developed. The
Crimson League’s victory astounded me no less than it did Amison, but it came,
and all that work he’d considered a safeguard became a liability over the
course of nothing more than a few hours. I’ve never truly trusted him, and he’s
no fool to think I’d grant him favors. He’s only recently begun to feel
comfortable enough to insult me to my face as he did upon occasion when my
father still ruled.”

The
king explained, “You can’t escape your uncle’s legacy. We all know that. Amison
will know for sure, and since he can’t make people forget Zalski, he’ll oppose
Zalski after the fact by standing against his blood.”

Vane
had to admit, “That makes sense. I suppose it’s even smart, in his situation.”

“He’ll
use Zalski’s bad name to undermine you, if you give him that opportunity. Don’t
invite him to suspect you of impropriety.”

“Rexson,
you know I wouldn’t.”

“Treat
him with deference, but without giving an impression of weakness, and you’ll
have nothing to worry about from Amison. He’ll test your strength, but he can’t
do you harm if your loyalties are transparent. If your life after joining court
is an open book, not only to him but to all. Remember he’s your peer, not your
superior. Stand firm but don’t antagonize. Assert yourself his equal, one with
no desire to disrupt his affairs, and he’ll have no warrant to act against
you.”

Vane’s
head began to spin as he contemplated the balancing act he must perform. “Is
that all I must do? Just that?”

“Few
truly respect the man. Some fear him, I’d say, which he confuses with some
nobler sentiment, but actual respect.... Remember, Vane, you needn’t join the
court. If you’d prefer....”

“Is
that why you had me watch? To talk me out of this?”

“To
inform your decision. Nothing more. The choice is and has always been yours,
yours alone.”

“I’m
taking up the title, Rexson. I must. You know I must.” Vane sighed. His
insecurities threatened to overwhelm him. Looking at the man who sat beside
him, Vane saw not his king, but the closest thing to a father he had ever
known. It was to that father he admitted, “I don’t feel prepared for this.”

“I’d
never imagine you did. I’d worry if you did, in fact. It would be a mark of
pride that could only cause you ill. Nonetheless, Valkin Heathdon, you are
prepared. I saw to it that when you reached this point in life, the future your
parents envisioned for you would be an option. I made sure you were taught to
read and write as a child in Fontferry. Those years you spent with your aunt in
Podrar before going to Traigland, I saw you prepared more extensively then. You
might not have realized that’s what I was doing, but the hunting and archery
lessons, the equestrian who trained you.... Many agreements between nobles are
made over sport.

“You
also had books to read, did you not? About Herezoth’s history and foreign
relations. Did you notice how many of them focused on Podrar in particular, and
its political geography? The economies and customs of each duchy? I left you
with a right tower of books in Traigland, and you promised you would read every
one.”

“I
did,” Vane told him. “Every one, at least once. They’re in Zacry’s office now,
most of them.”

“There’s
not a nobleman your age who was schooled by a finer tutor than Zacry Porteg.
You had your share of debates and discussions with him on political topics,
no?”

“Of
course. Almost daily.”

The
king smiled. “You might not have thought of that as training. It was, Vane.
Zacry wrote me regular letters, outlining your progress. I didn’t leave just a
boy with him all those years ago. I left a program of studies as well, topics
he was to make sure you could discuss with competence, ranging from your
uncle’s reign to how Hogarane’s population compares in size with the Fishing
Villages, and which noble families have estates in each.”

“I
suspected what that was about, Your Majesty.”

“You
can thank Zacry for much, not least for the example he set you. You learned
from watching him what it means to be a leader a man can respect, I’ve no doubt
of that. There are finer points of etiquette and protocol you lack, but Gracia
would prove an apt instructor there. Three weeks with her, and you’ll know all
you need. Should you choose to pursue this course—and you have, if I’m
not much mistaken—you’re lacking nothing you would need to make as fine a
duke as your father and grandfathers.”

It
was Vane’s turn to smile, as he tried to believe the king’s words. “Thank you,”
he said, “for that explanation. Thank you for bringing me here tonight. It’s
given me much to think about, later. We’ve still the Fist to deal with before
any court matters.”

Rexson
nodded. “That’s true. And the Fist needs our attention tomorrow. You should
sleep while you have the chance.”

Vane
knew he would not be able, not between the journal’s latest revelations about
his mother and what he had seen of Carson Amison, but he took the king’s words
to constitute a dismissal to his room, where he returned with a transport spell
after bidding Rexson good night. Only when Vane climbed in bed did he realize
they had forgotten the brandy. He thought he could have used a glass of it, or
three or four, to calm his nerves. He flipped to his side to jolt Carson Amison
from his mind. His brain sought a lighter topic to consider, something
pleasant.

Vane
wasn’t sure why that something was August Hincken. He didn’t trouble about the
reasons. Thinking about her calmed him, and allowed him to doze off.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dorane’s Demand

The morning after the king’s
confrontation with Carson Amison, Vane transported to Yangerton while Rexson
stayed behind. The king told Vane, “I don’t trust myself not to slaughter
Dorane on sight. Besides, there are matters here that demand my attention. You
know my bargaining points where each kidnapper’s concerned.” The two had spent
the previous afternoon discussing them. “Get this settled, won’t you? Once and
for all.”

So Vane met up with Zacry at Yangerton’s prison.
Two jails in two days: he had never experienced anything like it, and hoped
never to again. Yangerton’s prison was more similar to Podrar’s than Vane
expected, it being a converted palace. The visiting rooms, the secure
conference room, and even, Vane suspected, the cells and guards’ quarters had
more space without seeming any airier, any bit more cheery. A lighter stone sat
in the walls, but one just as drab, with the same eerie lanterns fixed to it.
One of the greatest differences was a square table in the room where Vane
awaited the Enchanted Fist.

Zacry, still posing as a guard, was one
of the men who escorted the prisoners and the only man in uniform to stay
behind. He was not surprised when Vane passed him a clean roll of parchment, a
quill, and an inkwell with which to record notes on the proceedings. As strange
as he would feel letting his student take the lead, Vane had talked to the king
more recently, and likely had instructions the elder sorcerer knew nothing
about.

Vane erected the customary sound barrier.
Everyone took seats in uncomfortable, armless chairs. Rexson’s absence startled
Zacry, but he asked no questions. As for the Fist: Dorane could have been sleepwalking,
so deadened was his air. With half his face purple and swollen, he might have
passed for an ogre. Ursa, in contrast, was more than alert, alternating between
a suppressed nervous panic and a deep sadness that somehow gave her energy and
motivation. Only Arbora was in command of herself, her hair more frazzled than
usual but her intention to apply her leverage written on her brow. Whatever her
capture had done to her, however it might have weakened her resolve, that
resolve had strengthened once again, as the king’s entire party knew it must.

“Where is His Majesty?” asked Arbora.

“Not here,” responded Vane. “You’ll
negotiate with the two of us.”

“What’s there to negotiate?” asked Ursa,
her eyes wide.

“The king’s willing to let you live,”
said Vane, and Ursa’s panic subsided for the moment. “He’s even willing to
spare you the indignity of a trial.”

Arbora asked, “And why would that be? Out
of the goodness of his heart, is it?”

Vane said, “Don’t play games with me. You
know why it is. He wishes your silence.”

Arbora replied, “If he wants my silence,
he’ll do better than you’ve offered. Let us live? He thinks that’s a
concession? My entire life’s work collapsed around me. I don’t care if I die.
Let him haul us off and murder us, all three of us….”

Ursa looked just like a frightened deer.
“Shut up, Bora!”

“The king would never kill us without a
trial, you idiot. He’d never be able to live with himself. You’ve met the man,
haven’t you?” Arbora turned back to Vane. She stared him down. “No, you can
scurry back to the Palace and tell Rexson he can put us on trial, where I
personally will reveal everything I know about his family and his tart’s return
to Yangerton.”

Zacry warned, “Watch your tongue.”

“I’ll tell you plainly, I have no great
need to destroy that woman, but I’d have no qualms about it either, slew of
children or not. Kora should have considered them before she involved herself
here. As for Rexson, he can have us tried or eliminated straight off, I dare
him…. Or, he can create the council I’ve been asking of him for months.”

And there it was. Vane’s insides froze.
His last irrational hopes of avoiding a council evaporated.

“Let him do as he will,” Arbora finished.
“I have nothing more to say.” She rose, and Vane and Zacry barked in unison for
her to sit. She obeyed.

“I
have
more to discuss,” said Vane. Arbora would want a public council. The king would
never risk a private one, but she wouldn’t know that. She probably thought he
preferred the thing private, that he assumed he could keep it so and avoid
scandal. “This council will be secret. The crown will determine its size and
its members, as well as its function.”

“That’s not good enough,” Arbora claimed.

Zacry glanced up from his notes to
counter, “It’s fifty times what you deserve.”

Arbora said, “This council
will
be public. It
will
have no fewer than four members, and it
will
meet a minimum of three times a year. Anything less and I blab
everything I know. If you care about your sister, you’ll convince the king to
do this.”

Zacry argued, “I’d sooner convince him to
kill you. Don’t think I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t and wouldn’t are different
things, Porteg. I’ll take my chances.”

Vane said, “Your chances will improve if
you sacrifice a little something with all those demands.”

“Like what?” Arbora asked.

“You’ll instruct every member of your
group that it’s their responsibility, as well as in their interest, to support
the king and council, whatever their resolutions. You’ll explain to them why
you three buffoons will be in prison for the rest of your lives, and you’ll do
so using whatever story the king provides to you. You’ll mention nothing
about Kora or the royal family’s magic,
not ever, and my involvement in your arrest stays hushed too.”

Arbora raised an eyebrow. “That’s all, is
it?”

“Hardly. You three will be separated. You
will never get your powers back. I don’t know if you even could, but it’s not
to be attempted by any one of you. Also, each of you works however many years
of hard labor the king deems just, be that none or three or seventy. If you
want a public council, you’ll concede to all of that. You’ll concede, and
Rexson just might consider your request.”

Ursa looked close to a panic again.
“Separate us? You’d separate us?”

Arbora said, “I want visitors, for all of
us. No restrictions. Those two have families.”

Zacry smiled. “Nice try. No restriction
on entry, that we’ll grant. The king reserves the right to have visits
monitored by anyone he chooses.”

“Such as…?”

“Such as myself. None of your friends are
trying to reverse my spell. Your magic’s gone for good. That’s non-negotiable.”

Zacry’s words brought Dorane to seeming
life. Revolted and battered, the man raised his eyes from the ground to peer at
his rival. He wore the same expression as after Rexson’s beating. “You? Are you
returning then?”

“Have I been banished, Polve?”

“That’s not an answer,” Dorane observed.

“It’s answer enough for you. Anything
else for the king to consider?”

Ursa said, “If he’s gonna separate us,
I’d rather not go south, where people know me. But that don’t matter, really. I
just wanna live.”

Vane asked, “You all agree to our
conditions, then?”

“I have something to add,” said Dorane.
All vestiges of his lifelessness, of his numbness, were gone. He and Zacry
glared at one another with pure loathing in their eyes. Dorane’s considerations
of suicide vanished as he found a reason to live, a reason beyond his child,
whom he was sure he had no chance of seeing until Zate exited the realm of
Drea’s influence in fifteen years or so.

Dorane told Zacry, “You’re a poison.
You’re a poison to the magicked, and your essays poison Herezoth. If you come
here to live, it will only lend more credence to what you say. You’ll be more
dangerous than ever. I won’t have that, Porteg. Publish another word or move
your family back, and I scream to all the inmates and guards who come my way
that your sister was among the party who stripped me of my powers.”

Zacry froze for a moment. Then he let out
a mocking laugh. “You’ll be rotting in prison. How exactly would you keep your
eye on me?”

“I demand access to news issue of the
major newsletters. You think a new publication from you won’t be mentioned? That
people won’t care if Kora Porteg’s brother returns to Herezoth? That would be
the story of the year, my friend.”

Vane cut in, “That demand’s invalid.
Suppose the king names Zacry to the council? The crown’s to have no
interference there. How could Zacry take part if he didn’t relocate?”

“I believe he could transport in for
three meetings a year and then go home.”

Zacry was no longer laughing. He jumped
up, toppling his chair with an ear-splitting clang that made everyone but him
and Dorane shudder. Dorane rose to counter him, and Zacry pounded a fist on the
table. “You cretin….”

“There can be no mention of your sister
in any documents we sign, I realize that. Just have a written record that I’m
to receive those newspapers. The rest we’ll consider a verbal contract between
you and me.

“What, you thought you’d strip my powers
and get off free? No consequence? No, Porteg. I won’t have you posing as a hero
of the magicked, as the one who brought some degree of reconciliation to the
kingdom, not after what you did to me. The king wants you on his council?
That’s his business. You’ll accept the post? That’s yours. But you’re a
hypocrite. You don’t represent the magicked after you destroy a sorcerer, and
if what you’ve done to me won’t reveal your true nature, your continued abandon
of Herezoth will. Work here on the council if you like. You won’t live here,
and you won’t respond to my rebuttals of your essays, because that’s one thing
I can do from prison. I can write. I haven’t written since my two years at university,
and I’m feeling the itch.”

“You do realize I could kill you with a
word here and now?”

It was Dorane’s turn to chuckle.

“I’ve read your essays, Porteg. I know
your ideals of justice.”

“You bastard, I’ll….”

Vane rose, his heart hammering. He grabbed
Zacry’s upper arm, half to calm, half to restrain him, and said, “Listen, we’ll
discuss this. Don’t do something you’ll regret, something Kora
might regret. Dorane’s not the only one
who knows she was here.” He indicated Ursa and Arbora, both in a stupor at what
had unfolded. “You think they wouldn’t rat her out if you killed him? You’d
kill the women too?”

“We’re done,” announced Zacry. He undid
Vane’s sound barrier and flung open the door. Four guards rushed in, and
everyone jumped up.

“Wait,” said Arbora. She caught Vane’s
eye. “We need to speak. In private. And you,” she told her fellow captives,
“you keep your mouths shut, understand?”

Vane nodded at the guards, who led Dorane
and Ursa off. Only Zacry remained. “It’s fine,” Vane told him. “Wait outside,
all right?” His mentor followed the others into the corridor, and Vane
reinstated the sound barrier. “What do you want?” he demanded. Both he and
Arbora remained standing.

“I saw you at Ursa’s. You took the boys
away. Who are you, exactly?”

“That has no bearing on your agreement
with the king.”

“Zalski’s nephew, no?” Vane went rigid,
and Arbora smirked.

“Ingleton’s son,” Vane protested. “I’m
the son of the Duke of Ingleton. I
am
the
Duke….”

“How’d you get here today? Transported? A
newbie mistake, that. The king should have known better. You shouldn’t be seen
in both Yangerton and Podrar in one day. If someone realizes that’s the case,
your secret’s out.”

“I’ll worry about my own affairs. Don’t
you have enough to occupy yourself?”

“Your concerns are
my concerns, I’m afraid. Sorcerer to sorcerer, just because those
rats bound my powers….”

Vane narrowed his eyes. “Those rats
taught me everything I know.”

Arbora changed tactics. “Well, you’re in
position to completely upstage them. Their presence in Herezoth won’t come
close to matching yours, not from Traigland. And the claim you can make to your
father’s title, to his wealth….”

“I haven’t got all day,” Vane prodded.
“What do you want?”

“I wanted to observe that you’re about to
be in over your head. You should think things through before….”

“Why don’t you want me on that council?”

Arbora crossed her arms. “Did I say I
didn’t?”

“Why don’t you want me on that council?”

“You’re young,” she said. “You’re
markedly uncomfortable with your family legacy. And I’m not sure the king
doesn’t take advantage of you.”

“Then you don’t know the king at all. And
if you gave a damn about me, instead of turning me against him you’d convince
Dorane to lay off Zacry Porteg.”

“Nice try. No, that was a stroke of
brilliance on Dorane’s part. I could try to convince him to budge in one
direction or the other, relocation or the publishing bit, but he wouldn’t. Have
Porteg in Herezoth? That’s the last thing
I
want, really. And Dorane’s violently opposed to Porteg’s essays. Listen,
Dorane will hardly know his son, hardly know the boy. I won’t deprive him of
this victory. It’s all he has.”