The Queen of Mages (40 page)

“No, by all means, come in,” Dardan said.
“It seems we have no secrets here.”

Hugh stepped inside, doffing his hat, and
introduced himself to Dardan. “Um, Missus Howard…” He glanced at
Dardan again for a moment, but Amira’s husband was staring up at
the ceiling and turning an alarming shade of red. Hugh cleared his
throat and went on. “I was wondering… thinking, I mean, about the
bear. It came awful close, and another one could, I mean, it might
come to the edge of the trees, which ain’t far from our house. I
been clearing the trees meself, but it’s slow work for a man alone.
I was wondering if maybe you could cut down some trees for us,
clear them farther from the house.”

Amira looked at Hugh’s thick arms. “Wouldn’t
you be better suited—oh! I see.” He meant, couldn’t she use her
power? “Hm. I’ve never tried that. I suppose it could work…” She
considered for a moment how she’d do it, her latent argument with
Dardan fading away. Could she maybe push her ember into a line, and
use it like a saw? “Well. I can try, at least. Lead on.”

“Indeed. Why start exercising caution now?”
Dardan muttered, and followed them.

It took Amira ten minutes to do what would
have taken Hugh hours of exhausting labor. She hooted and laughed
as the pine nearest the Hamms’ house crashed down through other
trees—away from the house, since Hugh had showed her where to make
the proper cuts.

Dardan remained grumpy, but Hugh Hamm sang
Amira’s praises. Whatever doubts the rest of the townsfolk might
have had, within a week Amira had daily visitors asking if she
could come help with this task or that. Half of them simply
wondered if she would relight hearthfires that had gone out; she
suspected some of them had quenched their fires on purpose just so
they could see her power in action. A farmer asked if she could
break up some rocks in a field; a mason wanted her to apply heat to
his mortar so that it would dry faster.

Even Magistrate Baxter gave in and sought
her help when a wandering minstrel came to Stony Vale. This was a
rare treat, as far off the main road as they were, and so everyone
wanted to hear the minstrel sing, but the common room of the
Giant’s Foot was too small to fit the whole town. So they held the
performance outside in the square, but as the evening deepened, the
air grew unexpectedly, bitterly cold. Baxter wondered if there was
some way Amira could warm them all up, without the expense and time
of building fires. She obliged, casting her bead in a wide net over
the whole area and slowly warming the air.

Amira was happy to help them all. The
townsfolk came back with unexpected gifts of food and clothing,
still somewhat skittish around a witch—“mage,” she insisted on
reminding them, was the term she preferred, lacking as it did the
suggestion of macabre, gruesome rituals practiced under moonlight.
She felt a persistent satisfaction, glad that she had found a way
to make some use of her power without scaring people off. Dardan
had been wrong, and it was all she could do not to rub his nose in
it.

Even Garen eventually revealed his power to
the townsfolk, when he saw how well they’d reacted to Amira. Oddly,
the townsfolk were more worried by Garen; many of them had known
him since he was a little boy, and he was well-liked, so it jarred
them to see this side of him revealed. But they accepted this
change and tried to figure out ways to put his power to use as
well.

———

The silver bead sped through the air and
buried itself in a boulder the size of a foal. Garen pushed energy
into the bead, and the boulder cracked in half, little shards of
granite careening through the air. “That’s as small as I can make
it now,” he said, frustrated.

Amira gazed at the cloud of dust that had
risen off the rock. It was becoming evident that this power was
wielded by men and women in very different ways. Garen’s power had
grown with terrifying speed in these few weeks; he was easily as
strong now as Edon had been at Foxhill Keep, able to smash huge
boulders to rubble. A rocky hillside beyond the edge of town was
pocked with craters the size of horses, the remnants of Garen’s
practice.

Amira herself had gained a great deal of
control and finesse. She could etch black lines into parchment
without burning through it; she’d never need an inkwell again. If
she pushed her ember faster, she could cause a small tree to burst
into flames in an instant. But that was the limit of her strength.
Garen, by contrast, could no longer light a candle, because his
smallest detonation would obliterate it, not to mention the room it
was in. They’d had to find open space to practice in, lest he
destroy the cottage and kill them both.

Dardan had come with them the first few
times, but after a while he’d admitted he was bored to tears and
instead stayed at the cottage—or, more likely, went to the
malthouse. He’d been drunk a time or two when she’d come home, but
he’d said nothing except to ask how it had gone.

Amira shook her head. Why was she thinking
about Dardan? If he wanted to be a wet blanket, there was no reason
to let that infect her mood. She focused on Garen again, thinking
about what they’d learned of his power. He had no ability to
stretch his bead into a line or a net the way Amira could. All he
could do was cause explosions of varying sizes. Amira could spread
her ember into a line or a sheet, to heat the air under a scrap of
silk and make it float, or fry a fish from the inside out.

They’d both gained firm control over the aim
and placement of their beads. Either of them could hit a rock
thrown into the air; Amira could crack it in half with a
well-placed strike, focusing all her power into a single spot, a
sort of archery of the mind. Garen’s attack would simply cause it
to vanish in a cloud of dust.

Men had power; women had finesse.. as far as
she knew. She’d only witnessed two other mages using the power,
both men.
I’d have to find more mages to be sure.
Not that
there were any others in Stony Vale, not that she’d seen.

Garen plopped down angrily onto on a dead
log. It was late afternoon; Orville Walker had given him half a day
off, thanks to a lull at the forge. Amira sat beside Garen. “Are
you all right?”

“It’s not fair,” he said. “You can do all
sorts of wonderful stuff with it. All I am’s a glorified
hammer.”

“The world still needs hammers,” she said,
wanting him to cheer up. “Just think, you could… you could dig a
quarry, or an entire mine all by yourself! That’s got to be worth
something, hasn’t it?”

“I suppose,” he groused. His bead appeared
before him. Amira watched as he spun it around in circles, then
made it soar high above them. He pushed, and a crack echoed through
the air. Amira looked over her shoulder at a couple of townsfolk
who stood at the edge of the field, watching. Their practices
attracted gawkers sometimes, but they never ventured close.

“What if… what if I became a warrior? Or a
knight?” Garen said. “Imagine, fighting off Vaslander berserkers!
They wouldn’t know what hit them. How do you become a knight?”

“You join the army, and rise through the
ranks. Knights command many other men. It takes years of work,
though. Supposedly men are raised only on merit alone, but everyone
knows that noble sons find the path to knighthood much easier.”

“Everyone? Everyone where?”

Amira froze. She’d still never revealed her
or Dardan’s true identities, not to Garen or anyone else in Stony
Vale. And here she was, talking as if she had the insight of
nobility. “Well, that’s what I always heard. Anyway, let’s not
speak of such things,” Amira said. “You don’t want to be a knight.
Killing is not pleasant.”

Garen laughed. “How would you know? You’ve
never killed anyone.”

Amira looked away to hide her expression.
“Let’s speak of something else,” she said, and stood up. She really
didn’t want to think about it. About the bandits. About Gaelan
Thoriss. She’d forgotten what he’d really looked like; in her
mind’s eye, she saw him as a kindly old man covered in blood. The
image did not please her.

But something had gripped Garen’s
imagination. “What if… what if two mages were dueling? Trying to
kill each other with the power?”

Amira sighed. It was a good question. If she
ever did confront Edon again… how would it go? “I’m not sure,” she
said. “I suppose it would come down to whoever got their bead out
the fastest.”

“If you could block it, that would really be
something,” Garen said, getting excited. His earlier dejection had
vanished. He often went from exultation to melancholy and back in a
trice.

“Block it with what? It goes right through
everything we’ve tried. Stone, metal, cloth, water…”

“What about another bead?” He came around to
where he could see her eyes. She forced herself to stop scowling.
“What if you set off your bead inside mine? What if it, I don’t
know…”

“It… it might disrupt it, or something, I
suppose. We could try it.”

“Yes! Let’s try it.” He had his bead out and
hovering before Amira could draw another breath.

She sighed again and pushed her own bead
out. “Wait. Farther away. Just to be safe.”

Garen nodded sheepishly and sent his bead
all the way over to the rocky hillside. The importance of caution
had become apparent early, when Garen had unintentionally caused a
blast mere yards away from them. It had been weak compared to what
he could do know, but the bang had knocked them both down and left
a ringing in Amira’s ears for half a day. One misplaced bead could
kill them both in an instant.

Amira sent her bead after his. “All right.
I’ll move my bead into yours and then fire it.” She took a
steadying breath—the beads were about a hundred yards away, which
was as far as either of them could reliably control—and prepared
herself. She moved her bead to touch his, and got ready to fire
it—

The instant they touched, before she could
fire, both beads winked out of existence, and a sound like bees
swarming filled her head for a split second, overlaid with an echo
of ten thousand squeaky floorboards all being scraped with rusty
saw blades.

She fell to one knee, grunting, but the
sound was gone in an instant. Garen had clamped his hands over his
ears. “Augh! What in the black spirits was that?”

Amira shuddered and stood up. “As soon as
they touched…”

“That was horrible. I heard—no, I
felt
an awful buzzing, like I was covered in bees.”

“I felt the same.”

Garen stared out at the rocky slope. “Let’s
do it again!”

Amira sighed, and nodded. They tried again,
and the same thing occurred: the beads vanished as soon as they
touched. The sound of bees filled Amira’s mind for a fraction of a
second, although since she expected it, it was somewhat less
startling—but still unpleasant. They tried colliding the beads at
close range, and found that they gave off no heat or shock. And at
that range, it became evident that the beads did not quite have to
visibly touch; when they came within a few inches of one another,
about a handspan apart, was when they vanished.

They practiced trying to get their beads
past one another, as if dueling. Inside of a hour they had both
become relatively expert at stopping the other’s bead before it
could reach them. “Two mages might fight to a standstill, it looks
like,” Garen said, grinning.

His earlier doldrums had vanished, which
heartened Amira. She smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “See?
There’s something you can do besides blow things up. You could
defend people. Protect them.”

Garen nodded, and met Amira’s eyes. It was
hard to tell, in the fading light of early evening, but she
realized he was blushing. “A—Amira, I—”

“We should get back,” she said, and turned
away abruptly. Dardan would be waiting at the cottage; she should
get home.

She glanced back at Garen. Now he looked
dejected again, and Amira’s heart nearly broke from the shame. Had
she been making him think she bore some romantic interest in him?
He certainly was a handsome boy, when the sweat and grime of the
smithy were wiped away. But that ship had sailed; she was bound to
Dardan. Well, Garen knew that, of course. Dardan… Dardan did too,
didn’t he?

Dardan lifted his head off the table when he
heard noise outside. He’d fallen asleep in the kitchen, waiting for
Amira to come home. It had gotten late. Well, not that late; late
if you counted by the number of drinks he’d had at the malthouse.
Leary’s, the place was called. Somehow he’d gotten home, gotten
through the front door. He could see the door of the cottage from
here, or something blurry that looked like a door.

Footsteps shuffled in the dirt outside. A
laugh. The door creaked open and Amira came half inside, then
stopped to look back and say something to someone—to Garen,
obviously. Who else would it be?

Dardan wished she was speaking to him
instead. Her smile brightened every room and warmed Dardan’s heart.
Usually. Right now he did not feel warmed.

When she closed the door and turned around,
she jerked to a halt and gasped, because Dardan stood right there.
He blinked and started back a little. When had he gotten up? Well,
he was here now. “W’that Garen?” he slurred.

Of course it was. “Of course it was,” she
said, her facing closing up a little. Her nose wrinkled. Did he
smell? His breath probably did. “We were practicing out in the
field. We discovered something interesting about our power.
The—”

“I wouldn’ understan’,” he said. “Might
s’well be talkin’ about smithin’, for all I can…” He trailed off as
he listed against the doorframe. Why was he so drunk? He’d been
drunk before, plenty of times. It was always easier.
Liam.
That’s why. He’d always had Liam to look after him. Now he had no
one. Just himself.

“You should lie down,” Amira said. “You need
rest.”

“I don’t wan’ rest!” he shouted. “I been
restin’ for weeks. I wan’ somethin’ t’do. Got nothin’ t’do in
this—
hic
—speck ’f a town.” It felt good to let his anger
free. He could do his duty, if he had any. He couldn’t do that, but
he could do this. Wasn’t it his right?

Amira’s warming smile had vanished. “You’re
drunk. Come, lie down.” She took his hand but he yanked it away.
She wasn’t going to control him, not again. She always had a plan,
didn’t she?

“Y’didn’ keep yer promise,” he said, jabbing
a finger at her. At one of her. Why were there two? Wasn’t one of
her hard enough to deal with?

“The townsfolk have all been good to us,”
she said. “You know that.”

“To th’ black spirits w’them. None o’ them
can stop the prince… the Edon… king. King Edon. Not even him, th’
boy.” He glared at the door.

“Dardan, dear, please, come to bed,” Amira
said, reaching for his hand again.

Dardan shouted “No!” and shoved her away.
She stumbled back, fetching up against the settee, and a look of
horror and revulsion came across her face. But she said nothing.
Dardan turned away, went back to the kitchen, and put his head down
again. He was vaguely aware of footsteps, something moving,
something nearby, then far. A door closing. And then blackness.

———

At some point he must have gotten up and
stumbled to the bedroom, because he awoke there, half-dressed.
Amira still slept, pointedly not cuddled up against his side.

Sometimes, when he got very drunk, he forgot
some of what he’d done the night before. But not last night. Every
moment of it came drifting back, along with a pounding headache,
and he learned that grief and hangovers complemented one another in
a fitting duet. He slipped quietly out of bed and went to get
water, which helped a little.
Now what?

He knew what. When Amira rose, Dardan had
already packed a small leather case with some travelling essentials
and stood by the front door. She stared at him from across the
sitting room. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to Seawatch. You clearly don’t
need me here. Perhaps House Eltasi will help us where House Arkhail
could not. I will return with an answer.” He opened the door and
walked outside.

He expected Amira to say something, some
parting shot. “Be careful” was all he heard, and when he looked
back, the door of the cottage had closed.

———

Dardan stopped a few times to let his horse
rest, and once for luncheon at a roadside inn on his way to the
city. He was having doubts about this; what kind of trouble would
Amira get up to while he was gone? But he wasn’t about to go
rushing back to her. He had to do this. It wasn’t as if his
presence had ever instilled caution in her before. She could hardly
be worse while he was gone. Dardan only realized how angry he was
when his horse tried to buck him off after he’d thwacked the
beast’s hide with the reins one too many times.

The sun was about to set when he reached the
gates of Seawatch; he was one of the last travellers through before
the gates were closed for the night. The city sat on a bluff high
above a rocky beach. Its wall ran from cliff to cliff, with one
gate planted right in the middle. The cliffs to either side were
too sheer and too high to be assaulted. Huge wooden cranes stood at
the edges of the bluff, used for raising and lowering cargo to the
seaside docks below. Narrow wooden staircases cleaved to the
bluffs, allowing men to climb up from the docks, but the stairs
could be easily destroyed from above to prevent raiders or soldiers
from accessing the city that way.

The city had inns aplenty, and after a few
inquiries Dardan settled on the Vigilant Mariner, which was not
fancy, but neither was it a back-alley fleatrap: small and cheap
and tidy, and right on the main road.

Dardan was exhausted from the ride, and even
though there was a malthouse literally a stone’s throw away, he
immediately put it out of his mind.
You’ve had enough of
that.
He planned to call on the duke in the morning, at his
castle on the tip of the bluff; the last thing he needed was to
show up nursing a hangover.

But getting in to see the duke proved enough
of a headache on its own, and in the end he did not quite manage
it. He came to the gate, wearing innocuous garb that might befit a
merchant’s clerk, prepared with the same ruse he’d used at
Thorncross—claiming to be a messenger from Duke Surroi, in the
south, with a private message for Duke Eltasi. But this time he was
not greeted by the duke himself, or even his seneschal; instead, he
was taken to a small chamber just inside the castle’s gate, where
he was told to wait. After near an hour he began to wonder if he’d
been forgotten, but then the door opened and a man came in whom he
recognized at once.

“Dardan Tarian?” the man said, jerking to a
halt. Lord Gennevan Helgar was Duke Eltasi’s grandson, the son of
his eldest daughter. She’d married one of the younger brothers of
the previous Count Helgar of Elsingham, the very county that Stony
Vale was in. This made Gennevan a lord in title only, with nothing
to rule over, though a barony might awarded at some point, if the
stars aligned just so. All this Dardan knew offhand, for Gennevan
had once stayed at Tinehall on his way to Callaston. They’d met a
few other times as well, at this dinner or that masque. There had
also been one particular incident in the capital, a year or more
ago… Dardan wouldn’t call the man a close friend, but they’d gotten
on reasonably well the few times they’d met. Gennevan had the squat
broadness common to Eltasi men, a pug nose, and wide blue eyes.
Some said that House Eltasi had ruled Seawatch so long because they
had sea eyes.

Dardan stood up and shook Gennevan’s hand.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you. Actually, I’m here to see your
grandfather. Or try to.”

“No doubt, but the duke’s always very busy.
And he’s old enough now that he’s decided he can be picky about how
he spends his time. I get the honor of dealing with unexpected
visitors.” His
valo
had come in behind him and stood by the
wall, watching the nobles with bored indifference.

Dardan knew it would be impolite to ask, but
he needed this to stay private. “I hate to ask this, Gennevan, but
the matter I have to discuss is quite delicate. Could you…?”

Gennevan blinked and glanced back at his
valo
. “What could possibly be so—” Gennevan huffed, then
paused. “I see your
valo
isn’t here either. Very well.
Davis, wait outside.” The
valo
bowed and withdrew. Gennevan
sighed and sat down opposite Dardan. “Your presence here is already
quite odd. We’ve heard that there was some trouble with the king,
but reliable reports have been hard to come by.” He shook his head.
“Your father… I’m terribly sorry, Dardan. He was a good man.”

Dardan froze. He’d heard rumors on the road.
Had he known it in his heart, and denied it? But this was no time
for weeping. He nodded slowly. It would not do to let Gennevan know
that this information had been a surprise. “Yes. Thank you.”

“I’m curious to learn what happened there,
if you would,” Gennevan said.

“I can provide quite a reliable report of
what went on, which is in fact why I’m here.” Dardan took a breath
and glanced away for a moment. He then gave a quick outline of
Edon’s kidnapping the day after the summer ball, the retreat to
Hedenham, the attack at Foxhill Keep, and his and Amira’s travels
since. He did not mention Stony Vale in particular, saying only
that Amira was waiting somewhere outside the city. He also omitted
Amira’s power; that was a card he would need to play at the right
time. “So you can see why we seek the duke’s assistance.”

“I don’t know what he could reasonably do
for you,” Gennevan said. He’d interrupted Dardan’s story to have
his
valo
send a footman for some refreshment, which now
arrived: hot tea, and wine, and lemon cakes. The nobles remained
silent until the footman and
valo
were both gone. “Raising
arms against the king, or anything of that sort, is of course out
of the question.”

Dardan waited, but Gennevan said no more.
“What? Just like that, we’re finished? Surely House Eltasi is
willing to make more of a stand than that. I know you and Relindos
have rarely been on the same side of anything. How many times since
the war has Eltasi asked for more funds for ships to protect
against pirates, and been rebuffed?”

Gennevan snorted. “That’s all part of the
game, Dardan. We ask for too much so that we might be granted what
we actually need.”

“Then consider that you might get nothing at
all, if Edon has his way. He’s obsessed with Vasland, and wants to
invade it wholesale. And not by sea, mind you. Do you think Eltasi
or Seawatch would benefit much from that?”

The other lord hesitated. “We might benefit
from more men for the Crags,” Gennevan said, tapping his fingers on
his winecup. But then he rapped it down onto the table. “But that’s
all concerns for my grandfather. I still don’t see why we ought to
take sides against the king in whatever this little tempest of
yours is about.”

“At least you could get me in to speak with
the duke. You owe me that much.”

“Owe you?” Now Gennevan looked irritated.
Did he even remember? Dardan’s stomach had knotted up; he hadn’t
even wanted to bring up the… particular incident. It seemed crude.
But it was also the only leverage he had at the moment.

“Yes, owe me. I think you’ll recall a year
or so past when you and I happened to be in the capital at the same
time. Countess Rambul had thrown a masque, do you remember? And you
requested my assistance in… cornering a particular young woman out
in the gardens. Lady Sira Rambul, the count’s daughter?”

Gennevan had looked perplexed at first, then
suddenly went white. “What… That was just a bit of fun.”

“Yes, I’m sure she thought so as well, until
she turned up pregnant a few months later. You weren’t in the city
then, but I was. She called at our manse and spoke with me, saying
her mother had found out and was demanding to know who the father
was. She didn’t know what to do. It would have been the right thing
to convince her to name you, but I took pity on you, fool that you
were, and said she should stay silent. Better to ruin one
reputation than two, yes? Her mother took her to the countryside to
sequester her until the baby came, which would have happened by
midsummer, though I haven’t heard any news of it yet.”

Gennevan was staring down at his hands.
Dardan looked there and saw matching marriage rings, diamonds on
gold. “You wouldn’t…”

“By the Caretaker, what do you take me for?”
Dardan said. “I’m no blackmailer. I tell you this because I did you
a favor—two favors, really. I prevail upon your good nature to
return me a favor in kind.” Dardan trod on thin ice here and knew
it; it would profit him nothing to reveal Gennevan’s misdeeds, and
men had been known to kill to protect lesser secrets than this.

After a long minute, the other lord raised
his eyes and nodded. “You are right, of course. I will speak with
my mother and see what I can do.”

“I’m sure your mother is a remarkable woman,
but it is the duke to whom I need to speak.”

Gennevan shook his head. “My mother controls
much of the duke’s calendar. If you would speak to him, you must
convince her. I will go to her today—at once—and convince her of
your import.” Dardan stood when Gennevan did. The other man did not
offer his hand this time, and instead bowed slightly. “Let my man
know where you are staying and I will bring you news when I have
it.”

———

It was only a first step, Dardan knew, but
he had weathered it. He returned to the Vigilant Mariner, ate
luncheon in the common room, and then waited, watching craftsmen
and milkmaids and sailors and constables flowing up and down the
street. It was not until the sun had just slipped below the tops of
the buildings across the way that he spied something of a
procession coming down the road toward him, parting the crowd as
they went. He recognized Gennevan Helgar in the lead, mounted on a
white steed and accompanied by several other men who all looked to
be either nobles or
valai
. A few Eltasi house guards trailed
discreetly along behind the group.