The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) (3 page)

In
response, Vane took her off-guard with a goodbye hug that brought a teary smile
to her face. Zacry was holding his kicking and cooing eight-month-old, who had
her mother’s skin and rounded nose. The younger sorcerer slipped off, he said
to pack a few necessary items, but Joslyn knew him well; his real priority was
giving her family a private moment.

Once
she saw his door close down the hall—the kitchen was open to the rest of
the house—she asked, “What is it about your homeland? Why is there always
such violence?”

Zacry
tossed his daughter in the air, and she laughed as he caught her. “
Vee!”
she shrieked.

“It’s
like she’s trying to say her name,” he said. He tickled her stomach, and she
cooed “
vee”
again.

“She
doesn’t know what she’s saying,” said Joslyn. “She’s saying
Vee
, not
Vye
. Her name’s Viola. There’s no
Vee
in it anywhere, and you’re ignoring my question,” she accused.
“Why is there such violence?”

“Be
fair,” said Zacry. “There’s not always unrest in Herezoth. If that were the
case, you wouldn’t have dreamed of going there as a girl. It’s been almost
fifteen years since the last real threat.”

“You
were in the thick of that too,” said Joslyn. She laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Must you be in the thick of this as well? You and your family, why must you
tangle yourselves in these horrors?”

“Joslyn,
the king’s a friend. He saved my sister’s life.”

“I
know,” she said. She swallowed. “I know he’s a friend. I know he needs your
help, and I know if you refused him, you wouldn’t be the man I fell in love
with. You wouldn’t be a person I’d want anything to do with. But Zacry, I was
raised in an orphanage. I never had a father, and I don’t want Viola to grow up
without….”

“Take
her,” said Zacry. His wife scooped the baby from him, and he wrapped his arms
around them both from behind, speaking in Joslyn’s ear.

“I
spent time in an orphanage too, and not like yours. We didn’t study six hours a
day, and there were few apprenticeships. There were days I never thought I’d
see my family again. I may have had a father, but I lost him young. I know what
that does to a child. I promise you, Viola will always have me: always, do you
hear? I won’t take unneeded risks. I’ll be back before you know it, good as
new. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“You
don’t know that, Zacry.” Joslyn’s voice was firm, but the rate at which her
words tumbled forth betrayed her fear. “You don’t know anything, not who has
the king’s children, not how many the foe number, not what powers they have.
Don’t you give me empty promises you can only keep by chance. That’s worthless,
and it’s not like you.”

“What
should I promise, then?”

Joslyn
shut her eyes. Soaking up his presence, she let his touch, the strength of his
arms, his soft breath on the side of her neck overpower her.

“Promise
you’ll do everything you can to aid your king. Promise you’ll act worthy of his
brother’s ring, the one he passed to you all those years ago. Promise me you’ll
protect Vane.” Vane held a special place in Joslyn’s heart as a fellow orphan.
An upstanding woman had raised the boy, not the state, but Joslyn still felt
defensive of the young noble. “Promise that whatever may come, whatever
tragedies occur, Herezoth and I, I especially, will be able to honor you
without shame.”

“That
I can promise,” he whispered. “And I do. I swear I will never shame you.”

“Thank
you,” she said, and turned her head to kiss him. Zacry was all she had in life:
no family but his, no training beyond moderate skill with a needle and thread
that had allowed her to eke out a living before her marriage. Zacry was all she
had, and she stood to lose him, but for that moment she had him yet.

“As
far as promises go….” began Zacry.

“What
do you need from me?”

“I
need you to keep busy while I’m away. If you’re busy, you won’t make yourself
sick worrying. And I want you to go to Parker and Kora if you need anything:
help with the baby, anything at all.”

“I
will,” she said. “I have plenty of trousers and dresses to mend. I’ve actually
fallen behind, and I’ll be fine with Viola, you know that. She’s much happier
now her cold’s gone. She hardly fusses at all, and most nights now she sleeps
through to morning, which means I too get to sleep.”

“Good,”
said Zacry. He kissed Joslyn one last time, then cradled Viola in his arms,
stroking her cheek. It was time for her to go to bed. Her eyelids were growing
heavy, and within two minutes she was fast asleep, her fist wrapped around
Zacry’s index finger. He pressed his lips to her tiny hand as he pried himself
loose and handed her back to her mother. “You remember your promises,” he said.

“And
you yours, Love. Watch your step, every step. I don’t think I could live if you
never made it back to me.”

“You
could, and you would, if God forbid you had to. You could bear that burden, for
the sake of the one you bear right now.”

Her
daughter.
Their
daughter, with
Zacry’s dimples and strong chin. Joslyn sensed Zacry needed a response from
her, some kind of affirmation, so she looked him in the eye and said, “For her
I could bear that. Your memory would give me the strength.”

“Joss,
you know I’m coming back.”

“You
take your time,” she said. “Don’t get yourself killed rushing the operation.
Whether it takes a day or a decade, I’ll be here, Viola too.”

He
kissed her again, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. Without conviction
she fussed, “Take your sandwiches and stop that.” He reached for her, and she
slapped his hand away with a gentle smile. “Stop that, you! You’ll never leave
if we keep this up.”

CHAPTER
TWO

Rexson and
Gracia

A three-hour time difference worked in the
sorcerers’ favor. It was only nine o’clock when Vane and Zacry appeared on
Herezoth’s soil, though in Traigland midnight had come and gone. A few merchant
ships were moored off the coast, but no one was on the pier for the lateness of
the hour. The land breeze was strong, the air salty, and it stung Vane’s
nostrils. He gazed inland at a coastal town’s thin line of houses, visible as a
deeper darkness than that of the shell-strewn beach. As the ocean swelled
behind him, so did his heart.

Vane would never leave Herezoth again, not to
live elsewhere. That conviction pulsed through his blood, invigorated him
despite the hour. After four years away he was home—
home
—and could ask the question that had been gnawing at him
all evening. He finally found the gumption.

“What did you mean back at Kora’s, when you said
the princes were younger than you were? Younger than you were when?”

Zacry sat upon the shells. The hard, jagged
shells: it was a mark of how tired he was. To transport vast distances was no
small feat and required great amounts of magic energy, or Lin. Lin was
different than physical energy, could not deplete in the same way, but to draw
upon its stores as Zacry had done gave one the need to rest. Vane settled
beside his teacher, grimacing as a broken bit of conch dug into his hamstring.
Zacry said, “It’s not important.”

“Did someone kidnap you? Who could have wanted
to do that, what for?”

The answer came to Vane before he voiced his
question’s final preposition. His chest began to burn with a dull chill. He
said, “Zalski did it.”

Ever since Vane had learned he shared the blood
of the dictator-sorcerer he had struggled with this pain in his chest, as
though his uncle were a part of him. As though all the twisted ideals the man
had held were locked inside his nephew, pushing to get out, seeping through
what the boy pictured as a black spot on his heart: a mass of tissue frozen
dead or covered with a cold, thriving fungus. So far Vane had kept the rot from
spreading, but his greatest fear, the terror that woke him at night with a gasp
and prevented him falling asleep again, was the thought that the inky blemish
might take him over bit by bit. The prospect that he might turn out like Zalski
plagued him. Stories of the sorcerer’s wickedness disturbed the boy, and not
only because wickedness ties all sensitive souls in knots. Vane felt
responsible for the deeds, as though he was doomed to work his own version of
them in the future.

Zacry
knew this better than anyone. Zacry was the only person Vane trusted with his
doubts; that was the reason he had tried to dodge Vane’s question. Now he said,
“Zalski locked me in a tower when I was twelve. He wanted to teach me magic,
and I was testier with him than was wise.”

Vane
felt as though Zacry had slapped him. “You met Zalski, and never told me? Kora
refuses to speak of him, you know she does. I never dared to ask Rexson. He
lost too much. I never thought that you….”

“I
didn’t tell you,” said Zacry, his voice gruff, “because my meeting him in no
way concerns you. That man has nothing to do with the person you are and the
things you’ll accomplish in your life. Understand?”

Vane
nodded, but he still felt betrayed. He and Zacry rose, turned invisible, and
Vane was the one to transport them to the capital city of Podrar. They materialized
outside the gates of the Crystal Palace. The courtyard with its colonnade had
lanterns hung on tall steel poles, to give light to the handful of guards in
crisp gray uniforms that marched rounds within the walls. By the lanterns’ glow
Vane found the empty alcove to the right of the Palace’s main doors, the alcove
with no statue to fill it. People said the statue there had been one of the
casualties in the final battle to take the building from Zalski: a logical
theory enough, as its fellows were all of crystal. Rexson had never ordered the
human likeness recarved. Some considered the gap a tribute to his older
brother, whose reign had never been. Zalski had killed the crown prince. One
day, Vane would find the nerve to ask Rexson who had killed Zalski himself.
That was one of the great mysteries of the age.

Vane
and Zacry sneaked their way westward along a wrought-iron fence, turned a
corner, and eventually reached a small gate defended by one guard who wore no
cap and had gone prematurely gray. He had to hold his lamp; there was no pole
here to support it for him. With his free hand, the man drew his sword against
the open air when an invisible Zacry said, “You’re expecting me. Or you should
be.” Zacry, however, had the foresight to stand out of range, and Vane was
behind his fellow sorcerer; he had taken his cues from the barely perceptible
sound of Zacry’s boots against the cobblestones. The guard came to his senses
with little trouble and opened the gate for Zacry to slip through. Then he
knocked four times on the servants’ entrance of the Palace. Vane could hear
bolts sliding from within.

Though
Vane knew the Crystal Palace he had never seen this wing, which housed the
servants’ quarters. The halls were narrower here than in the rest of the
building, and architecturally, the Palace was famous for narrow corridors. The
rug thickened and turned from a faded green to a sumptuous blue as the guard
and sorcerers moved on, single file. The wood of the floor became stone. They
climbed two stone staircases, and after about five minutes the guard who guided
the visitors stopped before a pair of oaken double doors carved with the Phinnean
crest: on the right a maned lion, paw raised to strike, and on the left a
grazing lamb.

The
guard walked on. Zacry tapped the left door and waited for the king’s
admittance.

The
room Vane entered looked to be the king’s antechamber. The monarch, disrobed
for the evening, was clad in a farmer’s cotton undershirt and pants he might
have borrowed from a servant. Rexson’s style of dress was the one idiosyncrasy
he had maintained from the days of the Crimson League, though few could know he
dressed that way. Rich robes typically concealed his inner garments.

Gracia,
his queen, was with him, in a gown with full embroidery. She had taken off her
jewelry and let down her chestnut hair to brush her tresses less than
thoroughly. She made an impressive figure, human dignity turned vulnerable. The
younger sorcerer, who had always loved her for her sincerity, could hardly look
at her.

The
four years since Vane last saw the king had aged him much—or, the boy
realized, perhaps the last few weeks had done it. Rexson was not yet forty, but
the lines around his mouth had deepened as well as multiplied, and grooves to
match them set off the corners of his eyes. His blond hair had thinned. He had
clearly been sitting at a tall, baroque desk with various rolls of parchment,
but had risen to admit his guests.

“Zacry,”
he said, as the sorcerers appeared as from nowhere. “Thank God.”

Gracia
sat in an armchair with perfect posture and an open book she did not even
pretend to read. She dropped her tome with no incentive to retrieve it.

“Vane,”
she stammered. “Vane, you came as well.”

The
king shook Zacry’s hand, then clapped Vane on the back. The queen walked up to
the new arrivals and threw her arms around the boy. “Thank you,” she whispered
in his ear. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

“
Contenay Ruid
,” Zacry said, and the
walls took on a subtle golden glow. Queen Gracia twisted her hands.

“A
sound barrier,” her husband explained. “I’ve seen my share of them. We can’t be
too careful.” The queen nodded, her lips pressed tight.

“What
happened?” Zacry asked.

“It’s
the boys,” said the queen. “My three sons. I don’t know how many times I warned
them not to wander off by themselves. They go out to the meadow, you see,
rather often, with an escort of two guards. I’d prefer they stay closer to the
Palace, but they’re boys, and they crave the open air. All children do. It
would be cruel to coop them here like fowl.”

“Of
course it would,” said Vane.

“It
was forty days ago,” continued Gracia. “A full forty days. They left late
morning, and by dusk had not returned. Neither had their guards.”

Rexson
said, “I suspected the worst from the start. I went out myself to search for
them, with four or five companions I knew were trustworthy. We found the boys’
escorts sure enough, dead, covered with leaves, as though someone had wanted to
hide them. It’s lucky I found them and not a random passerby. I was able to
avoid a scandal. The public still doesn’t know the boys are gone.

“The
bodies were in a wood I’ve forbidden the boys to explore, which makes me think
my sons slipped away somehow, probably under Valkin’s instigation. He’s the
oldest, and curious. No, fearless is what he is, more so than his brothers. Add
cleverness to the bargain, and you’ll understand his personality’s potency….
Perhaps they were lured away. In any case, they wandered off into some kind of
trap.”

“Someone
had been watching your sons,” said Vane. “Someone knew their routine.”

“So
it seems,” agreed the king. “There could be a conspirator in my very walls. I
couldn’t investigate, not fully, not without causing alarm.”

Queen
Gracia said, “We’ve told anyone who asks the boys are off to tour the kingdom.
A kind of holiday. Only Rexson’s chief adviser knows the truth.”

“The
Duke of Podrar,” the king specified. “I’ve been direct with him. He kept up appearances
when Zalski ruled, but he gave Vane’s mother support. Money he couldn’t part
with—Zalski made his nobles keep strict record of all expenditures—but
the man actually hid Laskenay when business took her to the capital. He was the
only noble she trusted for that. So I told him about the boys. I also told him
he was to have nothing to do with arranging their return, that the culprits
were magicked, that involving himself could endanger his grandchildren and that
I had, well, other people I could turn to, people with more experience than he
in such matters.”

The
queen told Vane and Zacry, “These monsters, they’ve demanded a quiet
negotiation. They say they’ll cut the boys’ throats if the abduction’s known.
Like pigs. Like swine, as though my sons were swine.” She buried her face in
one of her hands, unable to say more. Her husband took her other.

A
nerve twitched in Zacry’s jaw. “Who’s done this? Where are they holding them?
What have they asked in exchange?”

The
king answered him. “The faction calls itself the Enchanted Fist. They’re a
secret society, founded by a sorceress who stayed neutral during Zalski’s rule
because a lot of his civil policy she couldn’t support, though she was all in
favor of uniting the magic community. Arbora grew interested in politics,
ironically enough, soon after I came to power. She saw disturbing tendencies in
my rule, principally my banishing your sister at the start of it.

 
“To her credit, she and the Fist have been
largely respectable in expressing their frustration. They’ve petitioned me.
I’ve held conference with Arbora, usually without the outcome she desired, but
she appreciated my offering her an ear, my debating her supporters behind
closed doors.”

“What
changed the Fist’s tactics?” asked Vane.

Rexson
sighed. “Arbora Anders decided Herezoth needs a Sorcerers’ Council. An official
council, which would require the crown’s backing. Not only does the kingdom
need this council, she says, it needs it now. We discussed the proposal, and I
told her it would be too much, too soon. People wouldn’t understand the
purpose. They’d grow frightened. There are other groups, with honest hatred for
the magicked, that would stoke the fear to create unrest. I tried to make her
see I’d spent the past fifteen years trying to stabilize the kingdom’s simple
infrastructure. After Zalski’s oppressive tax code and the poverty it caused;
the old tensions he exacerbated; his draconian penal law, which had more
support from the nobility than you might think…. I told Arbora I needed at
least three years to lay more of a foundation, culturally. She was beginning to
concede the delay, but when we stood to leave, she pushed her chair back
farther than she intended. It jarred the wall in my office, where an ancient
suit of armor hangs. Most of the pieces fell, and the helmet would have struck
her in the head. I was faster than she was, though a table stood between us. I
diverted the helm’s trajectory….”

“Your
telekinesis,” said Zacry.

The
black spot on Vane’s heart doubled in size. He demanded confirmation of his
mentor’s words.

“You’re
telekinetic?”

Rexson
said, “For a decade and a half I kept my secret. There were times, with the
League, that I used my power in public, but it would have been hard to notice
as a bystander. On top of that, no one thought I was alive back then. No one
connected me with the power I’d shown, not even after the Restoration. I broke
myself of the habit of using it, but when there’s no other way to prevent concussion….”

Vane
stepped up to the king, shaking in his disbelief. “You have magic? You’re one
of us, you personally, and you’ve done nothing in fifteen years to give the
magicked some forum that…?”