Magician’s End (67 page)

He returned the embrace, content to let future dealings with her work themselves out and simply to enjoy the moment of shared intimacy with what was there of his mother.

‘I was so worried,’ she whispered.

‘I’m alive, though by what agency I have no idea.’

Nakor grinned. ‘No doubt your father had a hand in it. It was the sort of thing he always seemed to manage, no matter what the odds.’

‘I may never know,’ said Magnus. Looking around the room, he said, ‘What happened here?’

‘A lot of very tired, wounded, sick, and otherwise impatient moredhel warriors, with a sprinkling of those from Elvandar and E’bar tossed in, as well as a few of our boys and girls from the island,’ said Nakor.

Magnus weighed his knowledge of those involved, then looked at Nakor and said, ‘You offered to buy everyone a drink?’

Miranda could barely contain her amusement. ‘For a start.’

‘Are we at war with Lillian and the nations of the north now?’ asked Magnus with a laugh.

‘No, but we did have a few tense moments during the first night and into yesterday morning as everyone was leaving for their various destinations,’ said Miranda.

‘The city watch, what’s left of it, felt giving a few hundred dark elves a wide berth was their best choice,’ added Nakor.

‘Calis and Calin?’

‘They left immediately with the surviving Spellweavers,’ said Miranda.

Magnus nodded. ‘Their mother will be relieved to see them.’ He said nothing about Tomas, for he was certain the majestic warrior had not survived. He wasn’t even sure Tomas had been alive by the time the confrontation with the Dread began.

‘What of you two?’ said Magnus. ‘Are you returning to Sorcerer’s Isle?’

Miranda’s expression turned sad. ‘That’s what we were discussing when you arrived.’ She motioned him to the table. ‘Please, sit down … No, we are not returning to Sorcerer’s Isle.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Magnus felt a mixture of regret and relief at her answer, for as much as he struggled with her true identity, the part of her that was his mother had been a comfort to have nearby.

‘We must return to the Fifth Circle,’ said Nakor. ‘It will be in shambles, a far worse state than we left it in, but with the Dread vanquished, perhaps we can reverse the damage done.’

‘We are unique in so many ways that we should have no trouble organizing things down there,’ said Miranda.

‘Of that, I have no doubt,’ agreed Magnus.

‘Dahun was something of a savant, in his own way,’ said Nakor. ‘He sought to ensure order that he knew was beneficial, to mimic what had existed in the innermost circle of the Fifth Realm.’

‘But he lacked perspective,’ said Miranda, with a wry smile. ‘He knew families and caring for one’s young, and passing along knowledge were good things; he just didn’t know why they were a good thing.’ Her eyes held affection for the man who was never truly her son. ‘It’s a matter of perspective.’

‘And you bring that perspective,’ said Magnus.

‘Love,’ said Miranda. ‘No demon understands the … reality of love. It is something we must learn.’

‘It is a very worthy thing to do,’ said Magnus, not entirely certain how introducing such a concept into the Fifth Realm would change it. ‘I’m happy you have found a purpose beyond what we’ve already accomplished.’

‘Yes,’ said Miranda, taking his hand in her own, and giving it one last squeeze. ‘I was unsure if you’d survived, and was waiting for some perfect moment to find out, and if you were on the island, to say goodbye there, but now that you’re here …’

‘There’s no need to tarry,’ finished Nakor.

Magnus stood up. ‘I hardly know what to say. We could not have survived this without your knowledge and wisdom, and if there is anything I can do in the future to aid your … ambitions, I will willingly do it.’

Miranda looked at the man who was not her son, but felt as if he was, and tears gathered. ‘I think we shall never see one another again.’

He let her hug him and then suddenly he was alone. The twist of magic he felt as other men feel a gust of wind told him they were now as far from Midkemia as one could possibly be. He looked around the inn one more time, then willed himself back to Sorcerer’s Isle.

Alone for a moment beside his family’s quarters, he looked as the afternoon sun sent sparkles shimmering across a sea driven to a light chop by a freshening breeze. Taking in a deep breath and luxuriating in this simple pleasure, Magnus knew it would take a long time to recover from the losses he had endured – his entire community had endured – yet he also felt good.

It was so good to be alive.

•
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
•

Renaissance

B
ELLS RANG.

Rillanon was festive, for the threat of war was now behind it and the armies that had camped for months outside the city were gone. From the back of his horse, Hal resisted the urge to feel any joy over their victory. He still had a duchy that was controlled by foreigners and had watched too many good men die recently. He was in no mood for the politics of the Congress of Lords, which he was required to attend as a noble of the Kingdom of the Isles and as a potential claimant to the throne by dint of blood ties. He nodded in acknowledgment of the crowd’s cheers, but his mind was miles away.

Jim Dasher had assured him that this particular ratification of the new king would be relatively short since the issue had already been decided and whatever politicking might occur in the Congress would merely amount to jockeying for the king’s favour, rather than trading support for favours, which was a vastly different enterprise, according to Jim.

Hal glanced to his left and saw his brothers smiling and waving at the crowd lining the street from the docks to the palace. They rode behind the palanquin which carried Prince Edward. At last they would have a coronation ceremony, with Edward named king, and then try to return the Kingdom to some degree of normalcy.

As they entered the main gate of the palace, Hal wondered how that would be possible. Reports from the west indicated some monstrous upheaval, perhaps a volcanic eruption in the Grey Towers area. Details were still sketchy, but the destruction appeared enormous. Even without that additional disaster, he still had to deal with the matter of thousands of Keshian settlers in northern Crydee and parts of Yabon. He knew that he would have to leverage his newfound alliances with Yabon’s duke, and especially with LaMut’s earl, to regain any significant part of Crydee. And at this time another war was the last thing he wished to contemplate.

At least the civil war was over, Hal conceded with some relief as a lackey came to take his horse. Oliver was in chains, in a wagon which would soon roll into this courtyard, from whence he would be escorted to a small but well-appointed apartment where he would reside under guard until his family bankrupted Maladon and Simrick to raise the ransom for his return. That ridiculous amount of wealth would help restore the damage done to the Kingdom, as well as ensure that Maladon and Simrick would have years of debt to repay before they considered financing another war.

Chadwick of Ran was being treated with a bit less deference, and there was one school of thought among Edward’s advisors that considered a short trial and a long rope or the headsman’s axe were a fitting end to the question, while others took the position that Chadwick was only supporting the man he thought had the best claim to the Crown.

Hal was glad he didn’t have to deal with those decisions. Edward was mending slowly, and he was still very weak, but he had Jim Dasher and his grandfather to advise him, as well as other committed nobles like the dukes of Bas-Tyra and Silden.

Hal and his brothers were shown to quarters surprisingly close to the royal apartment and rested there before taking a quiet supper, just the three of them together. They spoke little, as the enormity of what they had endured since the Keshian invasion of Crydee was now finally settling in, and suddenly the question of what was next loomed.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired,’ said Hal.

Martin nodded, looking distracted.

Brendan grinned. ‘He’s waiting for Bethany to arrive, along with our mothers.’

Hal grinned. ‘Miss her?’

‘Like my left arm,’ said Martin. ‘I still don’t know how her mother took the news.’

Hal laughed and leaned his chair back. ‘It doesn’t matter. Your liege lord has given permission.’

Martin winced. ‘She may be your vassal’s wife, Hal, but she’s going to be my mother-in-law.’

Brendan laughed. ‘Have a baby soon. That always makes them happy, being a grandmother.’

Martin grinned. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘We’ve got a busy day tomorrow,’ said Hal. ‘You know we have to be there.’

Neither brother looked happy with that fact. ‘We know,’ said Martin.

‘It’s just a formality,’ said Brendan.

‘But an important one,’ said Hal. ‘This is the longest we’ve had without a king and our second civil war since the founding of the Kingdom. We need to show our support for Edward. Even shirt-tail cousins like us have to be clearly behind the new king.’

‘There are no other claimants for the Crown – unless Montgomery has developed ambitions?’ said Martin.

Hal shook his head.

‘Then at least the ceremony will be relatively short.’

‘Or so Jim Dasher assured me,’ replied Hal.

Brendan stood up, suppressing a yawn. ‘When did you see a temple ceremony that was short? I’m for bed.’

‘Me too,’ said Martin.

Both brothers bade Hal a good night and left. He called for servants to clear away the plates and cups, and went to his bedchamber. He walked to the window where a pale, large moon was rising, the little moon already high in the sky, and saw the ships at anchor in the bay of Rillanon. He felt so different from when he had last seen that vista, as he prepared to play his part in the war.

He sighed and decided to turn in. The war might be over, but his service to the Crown would go on for years to come. Martin and Bethany would wed as soon as they could, perhaps in the next few weeks, given the chaos on the Far Coast and her father arriving for the meeting of the Congress. Brendan? Hal smiled. His youngest brother would probably become Ty Hawkins’s comrade-in-arms, carousing in every tavern, inn, gaming house, and brothel in the Sea of Kingdoms before he settled down.

Hal stared out at the few lights aboard ships in the harbour and couldn’t keep his thoughts from speeding across the sea to Roldem, where … He let the thought drift away. His future was to serve the nation, and being with the woman he loved would not be part of that, so he tried to turn his mind away from the most beautiful face he had ever beheld to a meeting of critical importance on the morrow.

Sleep was very slow in coming.

The Congress of Lords was subdued and there was simmering anger below the surface. Some of those within the chamber had been opposing one another on the battlefield just a short time earlier, or had been bitter political rivals before that. The leaders who supported Oliver were either dead or in prison, but many of their vassals had received a blanket pardon from Edward, as they were only obeying their lawful masters.

Yet all here bowed to the inevitable: they were here to see a king crowned. Three young men stood ready to advance their claim to the throne, by right of blood, though all three would defer to the man who reclined in a veritable sea of cushions nearby. Edward’s colour looked better to Hal, though he still appeared very weak. He sat back patiently in a sedan chair that had been carried in.

All wore the red mantles of the princes of the Kingdom, though Hal felt self-conscious in his. Martin seemed indifferent, only having eyes for Bethany, who stood in the gallery with other minor noble families; while Brendan positively preened in his. Hal whispered to his youngest brother, ‘No, you can’t wear it to impress the tavern girls in the city.’

Brendan’s mouth opened and he said, ‘How did you—’

Gongs rang and Ishapian high priests entered the hall. The ancient vaulted room was used only for formal meetings between the king and the Congress, and to crown a new monarch. It reeked of history. Following the Ishapians were sixteen priests, each from one of the four greater and twelve lesser orders. Hal noticed that some of them were very young and nervous and began to wonder just how much truth there was in the rumours that a large number of priests had been killed by some as-yet unrevealed cataclysm.

The sound of large bolts being thrown to lock up the side doors, as was traditional, echoed through the hall, and a sense of solemnity settled over the proceedings. An Ishapian closed the last door into the hall and affixed a wax seal to it, and Hal wondered whether it was a magic seal as the old tales told, meaning no one could break it save the priest until a king was crowned.

The most senior Ishapian came to stand before the throne, facing the four claimants to it. He struck his staff on the floor, evenly sixteen times, one for each of the gods, and then intoned, ‘We come to crown the king!’

‘Ishap bless the king,’ said the other priests.

‘In the name of Ishap, the one god over all, and in the name of the four greater and twelve lesser gods, let all who have claim to the Crown come forth!’

Four guards picked up Edward’s sedan chair and carried him forward two steps, while the three brothers moved as one.

The Ishapian came to stand before Brendan. ‘Now is the hour and here is the place.’ He touched Brendan on the shoulder with his staff. ‘By what right do you come before us?’ Brendan felt a sudden compulsion and realized the staff possessed magic preventing him from speaking anything but the truth. As he had been coached, he answered, ‘By right of birth.’

The priest repeated the question to the other three, then returned to stand before Brendan. ‘State your name and your claim,’ he said.

Brendan replied, ‘I am Brendan conDoin, son of Henry, of the royal blood,’ as he had been instructed.

Then he moved before Martin and repeated the question.

Martin answered, ‘I am Martin conDoin, son of Henry, of the royal blood.’