The Singer's Crown (17 page)

The duchess nodded her dismissal to Jordan, but he bowed to the throne, and said, “As His Majesty has requested, but may I perform a blessing?”

“You are no longer a man of the Goddess,” Kattanan said sharply.

“Not as a monk, but as the Liren-sha. My blessing will prevent the wizard from performing any magic beyond what you yourself request.”

“This sounds much like magic in itself,” the wizard observed.

“It is more like a lingering sense of my presence on the person so blessed.”

“Useful,” she commented as he turned back to Kattanan.

Kneeling before the throne, Jordan held out his hands. “Will you suffer my touch?” he asked under his breath.

Kattanan stiffened, but recalled the words of the ancient priestess. “Do it quickly.”

Jordan laid his hands upon the young king's head, and said, “By the blood in my heart, defend this man from magic. May the clouds come down to guard you. May the earth rise up to save you. May the light of the Goddess dance upon you. Your voice alone can divide this blessing, but none shall ever dispel it.” A strange lightness rose in Kattanan. The touch hovered there like a caress, even when the Liren-sha had let himself out.

The wizard's form wavered and grew into voluminous robes, stitched with gold. Lines wandered about her face, and her hair grew long and grey down her back. The old man she had become smiled at their renewed confusion. “He is gone. I can begin whenever you ask it.”

Kattanan forced himself to relax and nodded. “Wizard, will you give me a new voice?”

“Aye, Sire. Imagine the voice you would choose. It should be strong, but not intimidating. Not so deep as to be unbelievable. A voice that you yourself would trust. It may help if you shut your eyes.”

He did so, and was only vaguely aware of the chant of the wizard as it rose around him. A voice he would trust. He cast back in memory for such a voice, and found it in a young man who found him left by a gate, a novice who carried him gently, who stayed with him for so long. The voice was tenor, not too deep, with the echo of a ready laugh. But that voice later betrayed him. He tried to reject it and find another—too late, he felt the voice become his.

The wizard stepped back then. “It is done.”

“So, speak,” the duchess prompted.

“I do not feel well,” he said softly, but he jumped a little when he heard the voice.

“A good voice,” the wizard commented, and the duchess nodded to herself.

“The chamberlain will find a room to suit you, wizard. Thank you for your service.”

The wizard bowed to both of them and moved aside.

The duchess stood and signaled the guards as well. “My grandson has had a difficult time and will need to recover. I will handle all other business before this court.”

Kattanan rose unsteadily and followed the guards back to his room, shutting the door behind him. He flung off the strange clothing and curled up in the blankets, shaking. He shut his eyes against the mourning red of the berries and tried to remember his own voice.

A LONG WHILE
passed before Kattanan stirred from his bed. Hunger got the best of him, and he bit into a roll as he paced through the room. The bed was twice as large as any he had been in, and all the bedclothes bore the badge of the Royal House of Lochalyn, as did the curtains and chair backs. Two tall windows opened out onto a small patio, with an unkempt garden beyond. The wardrobe held a variety of tunics, robes, cloaks, and hoods, plus a few finer jerkins and hose in various shades. Seeing that his own undertunic was somewhat disheveled, Kattanan put on one of the others. He returned for some fruit and settled by the shelf between the two windows. Aside from the texts, a miniature painting showed his family in exquisite detail. His father was tall and proud, hand on his sword; Alyn, then crown prince, did a fine imitation of his father. With solemn eyes, Duncan stared out of the frame. Queen Caitrin tilted her head to smile at the shining blond of her youngest son's hair. He perched on her lap, grinning, holding his middle brother's hand.

Kattanan replaced the portrait but looked at his younger self a moment. A knock sounded at the door, and the wizard, in the old man's guise, stepped up to the door and looked down at him. In this form, the eyes were dark, near black, and Kattanan could not see his reflection in them. “How fares the new voice, Sire?”

“Strange.”

The old man nodded. “It will take some time to get used to it. Have you recovered?”

Kattanan shrugged and found himself some wine. “I feel better, but not good.”

“I am both glad and sorry to hear that.”

The duchess brushed aside her wizard. “Where's the Liren-sha?”

“He was told not to come near me.”

“He hasn't been seen since court, and that was hours ago.”

“Should that be important to me?” When he spoke, the new voice sounded strong, firm, not at all like his own.

The wizard shrugged. “I have no sense of him myself, and my power is intact.”

“He talked for weeks about how he'd never leave again,” said the duchess darkly. “I asked him to be cautious because of the new voice, but this is going somewhat too far.”

“I asked him to go,” Kattanan said, with a faint smile. “Apparently he went.”

“Where?” the duchess asked.

Kattanan studied his meal. “Away.”

“A king must learn to face his enemy as he lies. Where did he go, Sire?”

A breathless servant trotted up behind. “He took his horse, Excellency, but not his red saddle, a different one. He had a very long black cape, the stableboy said.”

“So he is riding in disguise,” the wizard observed. He raised a shaggy eyebrow at Kattanan. “And you don't know where.”

“And he didn't tell me, so he's doing something he shouldn't.” The duchess's eyes grew sharp as daggers. “The message! You wanted a message sent to the prince! You asked him to ride to the enemy? And say what?”

“It doesn't concern this place, or you”

The wizard growled something from deep in his beard. “It doesn't matter what he was told to say, if he gets near the king, we are most likely ruined.”

“I have always said you should have killed the king outright,” the duchess said. “He has a four-hour lead on anyone we could send. Can we get a message to the earl?”

“No,” Kattanan said forcefully.

“He is our ally. I am more sure of him than I am of you.”

The wizard said, “We don't know what road he's taken, and unless the earl is already riding that way, he would never catch him.”

“What is our real danger?”

“Assuming your grandson is telling the truth, and nothing about your affairs is revealed, only that the Liren-sha gets near King Gerrod. I have no way of knowing how weak the king is, or how much the sudden disillusionment would reveal. If the doctors have stopped bleeding him, he could recover very quickly. So far as I know, this has no effect on your plans, but the earl could be ruined. If he thinks the Liren-sha was sent for this purpose, he may betray you.”

“What can we do?”

“If he does meet the king, I must be there as soon after as possible to reinstate the spell.”

Kattanan stumbled back and sat down hard. “You're the Wizard of Nine Stars. I let you work magic on me.”

“We can spare you for a time,” the duchess said, “but return quickly, if you can. Presumably, he will simply deliver the message and come back, so it should be two days at the most.” She turned to Kattanan with a hard look. “I will spend them in helping my grandson to define his loyalties and finding a way to convince the earl that this was not our doing. Rhys does not understand our cause well enough to give it his full support. Starting now, Rhys, you are in training to serve as our king. Do not defy me again.”

 

WHILE HIS
former student was being introduced to new tutors, Jordan rode hard down a narrow track. The coming of night forced him to slow down, picking out the trail by moonlight and the lights on passing boats. He rested just before dawn as he waited for the first light of the sun. The horse he tethered to a tree by the river just before mounting the climbing trail. He rounded a final bend and emerged from the shadows not far from the tower.

“Halt there! Tell me how ye're called.” A deep voice rolled down at him.

“I am a friend of one who was your friend, Rolf of the Prince's Mercy!”

“Ye be no wizard!”

“Gracious, no!” He tugged at his red gloves and smiled a little.

“Then whose friend are ye?”

“Kattanan duRhys.”

“By the mount! I'm coming to the gate, but I'll be armed!”

“As well you should be.”

Armored feet clumped down inside the tower as he approached the gate. The man who appeared was as tall as Jordan himself but much more broad, especially with the helmet and breastplate. “How are ye his friend, and how come ye here?”

“To the first, it is a difficult story; to the other, I have a message for Prince Wolfram. Kat thought it was important. He told me you were the watchman here.”

The big man mumbled to himself in a foreign tongue. “If I let you in, it'd be my head.”

“Can you bring the prince here?”

Rolf set down the butt of his spear. “Ye've got no army waitin' round the bend?”

Jordan checked behind him. “If one comes, I'll hold the gate as long as I can.”

The guard let out a snort of laughter.

Jordan fumbled in his pouch, pushing back the cloak. Rolf took a step back at the sight of the red garb and matched swords, but relaxed a little when they were not drawn. Jordan tossed the carved figure between the bars. “Kattanan said to show that to the prince.”

Rolf caught it, then raised his head to Jordan. “If that army arrives, tell 'em I'll be back in a blink.” Rolf hurried off, disappearing through a door on the far side.

Jordan paced a while, stretching his legs, in the shadow of the tower. As the sun rose overhead, he made the sign of the Goddess, and began to sing Morning Prayer until he heard the guard's return behind him. He turned with a brief bow for the newcomer.

“I have heard only Kattanan sing it that way,” the prince said, coming up to the bars. “Where's the key, Rolf ?”

Jordan allowed himself a smile. “I am glad to hear he still does.” The smile faded as he thought of leaving his friend with a wizard. “I am also glad you have decided to trust me.”

“The token you sent means I should either trust you, as he apparently did, or kill you, if you got it by some other means.” Despite the hurried appearance of his clothing, and his tawny, uncombed hair, the prince looked grave, as did Rolf as the gate was opened.

“Your Highness, harm intended for him would first have to get past me.”

“In that case, come in. We'll talk in the tower if that suits you.”

“Not as much as talk in the kitchen, Your Highness, but I'll manage.”

Wolfram gave him a sidelong glance and a little smile. “That can be arranged. Rolf, to your duty. I do not think this man intends me ill.”

“Not unless he's a cannibal, Your Highness.” Rolf climbed back into his tower.

“There's a servants' kitchen not far from here.” The prince led the way across the courtyard. “Who are you, if I may be so bold?”

“I was a tutor of Kattanan's a long time ago; as to what I am, I think I'd best wait on that until you have heard the message.” They walked silently to the kitchen. Only a pair of scullery maids worked there now, as the servants had already eaten, and the nobles were not expected up for quite some time. The men took a tray of food into a small pantry away from prying ears.

Pouring each of them a drink, Wolfram said, “Speak your message, stranger. We are as safe here as anywhere in the castle, I warrant.”

“There were two things he wanted you to know. The first I cannot elaborate on, as I don't know the parties involved, but he said that Earl Orie and Lady Faedre are lovers.”

“That blackguard is to marry my sister! Bury him; we knew he was hiding something.”

“There's more, Your Highness.” Jordan set down his cup. “The Wizard of Nine Stars was hired by the earl.”

“Goddess's Tears! What is he up to?”

“I can't say specifically, but, taken to its logical conclusion, I would assume he is after the crown. You say he is marrying your sister. As I understand it, the wizard is responsible for your father's illness. That leaves only one obstacle to the earl, Your Highness, if this is indeed his intention.” Jordan met the prince's gaze.

“Thank the Goddess you came while there is still time to do something.” Wolfram took a deep swallow, then started. “How did Kattanan find out these things? Is he all right?”

“The earl did send someone after him; I don't know why he was leaving there. We were able to save him, though, and he was not greatly injured. I have not had much chance to talk with him since then. It was very important to him that this message reach you.”

“Where is he, then?”

“He is in,” Jordan paused, wrestling with the need for trust over secrecy, “I will not say good hands, but at least in the care of people who mean him no harm.”

“You don't trust them.”

“Their goals and mine coincide about Kattanan's well-being, but not beyond that. Before you ask, I cannot discuss their plans.”

“Then what are yours? You said you would tell me who you are,” Wolfram prompted.

Jordan nodded. “I said that I was his tutor. We were separated against our will some six years ago. I was a monk at the time. What I am, what I have always been, is the Wizard's Bane. Kattanan did not know until yesterday. I had forsaken my fate to go to the Goddess; now I have forsaken Her.” He fell silent, as wonder spread across the prince's face.

“You are anathema to all magic?”

Jordan nodded.

“Then you can cure my father.”

“Perhaps. I don't know the nature of the spell, so it's hard to say what would change, especially if he has taken many medicines since then. What with lying abed and being looked after, he may well be more sick without the magic.”

“We have tried everything else. I set myself to find the wizard and try to—I don't know what, actually.” Wolfram swirled his goblet with a rueful look. “I did not know what else to do. If I had known you were more than a legend, I suppose I would have looked for you. Will you come to my father?”

“If he will see me, then I will do what I can, Your Highness, for the sake of your friendship with Kattanan.”

“Well, he won't be accepting visitors at this hour, so we may at least finish our breakfast. How did you become the Liren-sha?”

Jordan snorted. “I did not become, I was born, although my power seems to have grown with me. My father was a wizard, my mother, a priestess. Shadow-shaper—my father—gave up most of his other studies to try to find out all he could about me. He discovered that I affect stronger wizards, and stronger magic, at a greater distance. He had a certain rival he wished to be rid of, so he arranged to meet the man just outside of the distance at which he would himself lose power. You see, he thought the other man was stronger and so would have less power than himself. He turned out to be wrong and died in the duel. I was responsible for his death.” He fell silent, the old ache returning.

“So you went to the Goddess to atone.”

“I thought that She had taken me in, freed me. Years later, I killed again, that time in a rage. I was never worthy to wear those robes.” He studied his hands. “The wizard I killed had traded Kattanan to an emir for a chance to look at a book of magic. Obviously, I could not be around when he did, so he asked the man to have me killed. He did not know the guards were ordered to kill him as well. Imagine their amusement when I beat them to it. The guard captain started my new vocation, he dared all wizards to come, and other men as well.”

“A wizard I had business with hinted at some of that, that one of his brethren had given in to temptation and met his fate.”

“They all believe that weaker wizards are the ones who lose their power, and, being as haughty as they are, each new wizard thinks he will be strong enough to overcome me. I have been tempted more than once to reveal what my father learned, just to stop them coming. They don't believe me, though. Some of the men who came were hired by wizards who hadn't the courage to come themselves; the rest sought only their own fame.”

“And the red?” Wolfram prompted softly.

“No man should die without someone to mourn him. I mourn them all.” Jordan almost laughed as he inspected his garb. “It also has a good effect on the morale of my opponents. So much of what I am is rumor and dramatics that I surprise myself by being flesh and blood.”

“You have surprised me, also. Do you have a name beyond your title?”