Brokedown Palace (16 page)

Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: Brokedown Palace

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To his surprise, Sándor didn’t take offense at this. “If that was supposed to be an insult, I see no shame in being lackey to the King of Fenario. It says a great deal to me that you do.”

Miklós was silent. Bölk said, “He is right, master; it does.”

Andor gave a cry and stepped back. Sándor’s eyes grew wide. Brigitta laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have introduced you. This is Bölk. Bölk, this is Prince Andor, and this is Sándor, the King’s wizard.”

Andor recovered from his surprise enough to manage a sneer. “Introduced to a talking horse by a serving wench and whore! I never thought a Prince of the realm would come to this!”

For a moment, Brigitta’s gaze darkened, then she laughed. “I take no shame in being the King’s whore,” she said. “It says a great deal about you that you think I should.”

Andor flushed. Sándor, who was still staring at Bölk, said softly, “A
táltos
horse!”

“Indeed,” said Miklós.

“A pleasure to meet you,” said Bölk.

Andor looked puzzled. “What did he say?”

But Sándor’s face grew flushed. “How dare you!” he cried.

“What?” said Miklós.

Brigitta said, “He was only stating his position, Sándor. He didn’t threaten you.”

The wizard didn’t seem to hear her. He stared at the horse long and hard. “What gives you the right to say such things to a representative of the King of Fenario?”

“I exist outside of Kings,” said Bölk.

“I will too,” said Brigitta.

“What?” said Miklós.

“What did he say?” said Andor.

“By the Goddess!” cried Sándor. “I have come by my powers by toil and risk! I will not have them sneered at by anyone—
táltos
horse or not!”

Brigitta looked at Miklós. “There is something going on here that I don’t understand.”

“Huh,” said Miklós. “I’ll say.”

Andor said, “Miklós, what has the horse been saying? I can’t understand his speech.”

Miklós put a hand up to shade his eyes for a moment, and shook his head. “I’d rather know what Sándor has been hearing.”

Bölk said, “He hears what he must hear, being what he is.”

“Gah!” cried Sándor. “I will listen to no more of this. Prince Miklós, I am here to return you to the Palace. Will you come?”

“Yes,” said Miklós.

“Good. Then let us—”

“In my own time.”

Sándor’s face was flushed; his breathing heavy. “How am I to interpret that?” he said.

“However you wish,” said Miklós.

“If your own time is not now—”

“It isn’t.”

Sándor paused, and seemed to get his anger under control. “I must insist,” he said.

Miklós laughed. “Insist away.”

Sándor looked at him. For perhaps half a dozen heartbeats, there was silence except for the sound of the River against the roots of the oak. When the wizard spoke again, his voice was softer, and more threatening.

“I don’t know what this
táltos
horse can do, Prince Miklós. But I have been sent to bring you back. Unless it has more power than I, and you know something of mine, you should return voluntarily. You know that my abilities are greater than yours. If I must force you, we will both be the worse off.”

“I understand,” said Miklós.

“Well?”

Miklós glanced at Bölk, but the horse remained motionless, staring at Sándor. “I will return to the Palace,” said the Prince.

“Now? With me?”

“No. Later. At a time, and with company of my own choosing.”

“To me, that is the same as a refusal.”

“You may take it as you like.”

“Well, then, if it is your desire—” Sándor raised his hands, and Miklós felt, as if from a distance, the faint tremblings of Power from a Pathway that wasn’t his own. Bölk moved slightly, and Miklós noticed that the sun was no longer in his eyes. Bölk had not interposed himself between him and the wizard, but Miklós was in his shadow.

Sándor relaxed. “You seem able to protect him, horse,” he said. “But can you protect yourself?”

“Sometimes,” said Bölk.

The wizard raised his hands again. This time, to the surprise of the rest of them, Bölk spun and kicked with his hind legs, the left
one catching Sándor squarely in the forehead. The latter gave a short cry and dropped senseless to the ground.

No one moved or spoke for a moment, then Andor knelt at the wizard’s side. “Is he … dead?” he asked, as if they could tell better than he.

Bölk snorted. “Such as he are not so easily destroyed,” he said. “Although they can sometimes be made harmless for a while.”

“What did he say?” said Andor.

Brigitta answered before Miklós could. “He said he should be returned to the Palace,” she said.

Miklós stared at her, but said nothing.

Andor blinked. “But … how am I to take him back? I can’t carry him.”

Bölk chuckled and said, “Throw him in the River, and let him make it flow backward.”

Miklós laughed. Brigitta gave him a puzzled look.

“What did he say?” asked Andor, hysteria beginning to creep into his voice.

Brigitta answered him. “He said if you bathe his face he may recover enough to walk with assistance.”

Andor nodded and did as she had suggested. Sándor seemed to rouse somewhat, and Andor helped him to his feet. The wizard seemed content to be led back toward the Palace.

As Andor led him away, he said, “What about you, Brigitta?”

She stared at the ground for a moment, looked at Bölk and Miklós, then said, “I’ll return soon.”

Andor nodded. “And you, Miki?”

“I will be coming, brother. I don’t know when yet, but I will be coming. You may tell that to the King our brother.”

Andor nodded and led Sándor away.

After watching them leave, Miklós resumed sitting with his
back against the oak. He sighed, then smiled at the horse. “Thank you once again, my friend,” he said.

“It is only my duty, master.”

“Is that what it is? Why?”

“I serve those who can use me,” he said. “As I told you two years ago.”

“I see. Then tell me this: why is it that everyone who hears you, hears something different?”

“Because no two people who listen to me are the same. And because not everyone listens to me.”

Miklós looked at Brigitta, who seemed puzzled but was remaining silent. He spoke again to Bölk.

“I suppose,” he said, “that if I asked who heard you correctly, you’d only say, ‘all of you,’ or ‘none of you,’ or something obscure like that.”

Bölk chuckled. “Not quite, master. It is a question of understanding. Sándor is a part of the kingdom and the Palace, and hears all with the King’s ears. Andor is torn between King and family, so, hearing both, he understands neither.”

“I see. And Brigitta.”

“For that, you must ask her.”

Miklós looked to where she sat with her back to the River. Her knees were pressed against her chest, her arms wrapped around them, and her face buried in her arms.

The Prince turned back to Bölk. “It seems that you can’t be hurt by the Power. You protected me from it, and earlier, when I attacked you, you didn’t seem to notice. Why is that?”

Bölk considered. “It isn’t completely true, master,” he said at last. “It isn’t easy for the Power of Faerie to hurt me, but it can. The Power of Faerie is a manifestation of something that I have little to do with, and has little to do with me. It is rare that we can hurt each other.”

Miklós nodded. “Then that is why you couldn’t cross over to Faerie itself.”

“Yes,” said Bölk.

“The power is manifestation, you said. Of what?”

“Of the use men make of it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know that, master.”

Miklós considered for a while longer. “Is it the Demon Goddess?”

Bölk’s head snapped up. “No, master. But the question is astute. The Demon Goddess is a manifestation of the power of Faerie. That is why I am powerless against her.”

“Against her? Why should you be against her?”

“Because I am what I am.”

“The thought makes me uncomfortable.”

“I hope it will become less uncomfortable. You must defeat her.”

Miklós gasped. “Defeat her!”

“Certainly,” said Bölk. “The Goddess is a tool in the hands of your enemies. You must defeat her to gain what you want.”

“How—? I don’t even know what it is I want! How can you say—?”

Bölk chuckled softly. “You wish to assume your rightful place as Prince of Fenario. The Goddess aids those who would stop you.”

Miklós started to argue, then remembered László’s dream and how the mention of the Goddess had caused Andor to betray him.

“I can’t fight a Goddess, Bölk,” said Miklós. “I can’t fight anyone. I’m not a fighter.”

“That is the problem, master. As for the Goddess, I cannot fight for myself, but I may be an effective weapon against her. Not alone, but I may be useful in the right hands.”

Miklós shook his head again. “I still don’t understand.”

“No,” said Bölk. “You cannot. Your weapon is the Power of
Faerie, but you cannot best Sándor with wizard’s tricks; he is better at them than you are.”

“I already know that.”

“Then you must find other weapons and learn to use them.”

“What? Swords? László is better than I ever will be. Longbow? There are guards who—”

“None of these, master.”

“Then what?”

“That I cannot tell you. All I can say is before you can pick up another weapon, you must drop the one you carry.”

Miklós felt himself flushing. “How can you tell me—?”

“Another thing, too, master,” said the horse.

Miklós stopped. “Yes?”

“You must decide to fight. That is the first thing. I am a warrior’s mount, master. Remember that.”

So saying, Bölk turned away and trotted up to the River and stared upstream toward the Palace. Miklós watched him and then saw that Brigitta was no longer looking down. He caught her eye.

“Were you listening?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I tried to at first, but what you said and what he said didn’t make any sense. I gather that that is what you were talking about at first. After that, I don’t know.”

“He explained it—a little. But tell me something. When I asked you why you’d warned me—”

“No,” she said.

“All right.”

They sat facing each other, both of them glancing at Bölk periodically. Suddenly Miklós said, “Do you really consider yourself to be the King’s whore?”

She caught his eye, her face somber, and he felt as if there were an explosion in the pit of his stomach. But she said, “You must understand,
Prince Miklós, how great an improvement that is over my previous state.”

She stood up. “I think I’ll return to the Palace now. Perhaps I’ll see you there.”

Miklós stood up also. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

She met his eyes and gave him a small smile. “You didn’t, Miklós. Don’t worry.”

He bowed his head. “Very well, then. And Brigitta—thank you.”

She nodded and turned away. “Farewell, Bölk.”

“Farewell, Brigitta,” called the horse.

Whatever she heard made her gasp. She turned and hurried away back up the River. As Miklós watched her leave, Bölk returned and stood next to him. After a moment, Miklós sighed and seated himself once more.

“What now, Bölk?”

“What do you wish to do, master?”

“I don’t know. I want to return to the Palace, but—”

“Why?”

“Eh?”

“Why return to the Palace?”

Miklós chewed his lip, then said, “Because it is my home.”

“No,” said Bölk. “It is László’s home.”

“Oh? At least one room of it is mine.”

“I had thought László took that room two years ago.”

“He was going to, but it seems he didn’t.”

Bölk cocked his head to the side. “That is interesting,” he said.