The Forgotten King (Korin's Journal) (9 page)

“Sorry, just a simple sawmill operator,” Briscott answered with a ghost of a smile.  “I can make sure you get a nice coffin, though.”

Even in such an ominous situation, I couldn’t help but laugh.

****

Slamming the door to my room in a fit of childish anger, I threw myself onto the soft pallet that served as my bed.  I couldn’t believe how unfair Mother and Father were being.  All the other kids were allowed to play in the hills at the base of the Ravenspire Mountains.  I was stuck with parents who were scared I’d be attacked by grazils or hornbears.

My door didn’t have a latch, so Max just pushed his way in and sat on his haunches next to the pallet.  His gray fur, striped with black, was, as always, cleaner than any farm cat I’d ever seen.  He stared at me with eyes that always made me feel that he understood more than a cat should. 

I scratched at his ears with one hand, wiping my eyes with the other.  “I bet you’d let me go, Max,” I muttered.

“I am not so sure about that,” Max replied in a raspy voice, his mouth forming the words in a in a very un-feline way.

I gasped and sat up, pushing myself backwards with my feet until my back hit the wall.  There was no way that a cat had just spoken to me.  Max was just . . . a cat.  “You—you—”

“Yeah, yeah, I am just a cat.  Now just take a deep breath and listen to me . . .”

****

My head jerked up as Briscott entered the tent with a man dressed in similar dark brown clothing behind him.  The man’s black cloak was drawn back over his shoulders.  Shaggy brown curls framed his rounded, ruddy face, his beard a patchy mess.  Stern green eyes glared at me above a thin line of a nose.  He was almost short enough to stand up straight in the tent but had a stoutness that would make it unwise to dismiss his strength due to his height.  Two sheathed daggers were strapped to one hip, a heavy-headed hammer with a leather-wrapped handle hanging from a loop on the other.

I couldn’t discern whether I’d only been thinking about the day Max had revealed his ability to talk, or if I’d actually fallen asleep.  My head was still a little fuzzy.  If I had been asleep, it was a direct result of the tashave leaf.  Emotionally, I was too worked up for sleeping.  Realizing what the curly-haired man’s hammer was for, I didn’t think I’d ever sleep again.

Briscott crouched before me, giving a rueful shake of his head and letting out a deep sigh.  I’d viewed his friendliness as an insult before, but now I found myself missing his easy smile and pleasant voice.  “This is Oslen.  He’ll be implanting the rock.  I’ll be right here holding your legs.  It’s best if you don’t struggle.”

Oslen spit something dark to the side as if chewing pipeleaf.  “Yeah, those who struggled before got a shallow grave for their efforts,” he added gruffly without a hint of threat.  He was simply telling me the truth of it.  Unlike Briscott, Oslen showed no sign of friendliness in his voice or expression.

“Oslen!”
Briscott scolded.  “There’s no blighted cause for that.”  Oslen simply shrugged.

Briscott retrieved a bottle and a cloth from the chest.  He wadded the cloth into a ball, pressed it over the glass lip of the bottle, and then flipped the bottle, soaking the cloth with whatever was in it. 

Briscott gestured with the saturated cloth.  “This’ll give your skin a bit of a chill, but it should help ward off infection.”

Briscott rubbed the cloth in concentric circles starting at the center of my chest.  A slight odor of alcohol rose from the cloth, but I had no idea what it was.  Briscott had been right, though; it was cold to the touch and sent a chill deep into my skin that didn’t go away as it dried.  My naked torso was already cold from the fall-day chill, but where he’d applied the
solution, it felt as if my skin were covered in frost.  I began to shiver.

My brain shouted at me to beg them to release me, to simply untie my limbs and send me away.  However, I knew that with the gems in their chests, they had to fulfill the orders they were given.  So instead, I dropped my head to the side and closed my eyes. 

“Don’t warn me when you do it,” I requested solemnly, fearing the pain and the potential for death. 

“We can at least do that for you,” Briscott replied softly, a hint of his affable voice coming through.  His hands pressed down on my ankles.  What felt to be one of his shins pressed down across my thighs right above my knees.  “I’m so blighting sorry.”

I responded with a deep breath through my nose, keeping my eyes shut tight.  I heard some movement and then felt a cold pinprick in the center of my chest.  I tried not to think of the gem breaking through the bone of my sternum.  I tried to not imagine the gem accidentally piercing my heart and spilling my life out in pints of blood on the ground below me. 

But I
did, and my heart sped and my breathing deepened in response.  Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cool air.  My pulse throbbed at my temples, my bound wrists, and my chest.

Then there was silence.  I could only hear my own deep breathing and the thump of each of my rapid heartbeats.  A cold tear fell down my cheek.  Before it could drip from my chin, there was a rush of air against my chest, the clink of a hammer against stone, pain beyond words, and then, there was nothing.

Chapter 10

Day 12

Day 12

All hope is lost.

Let me explain.  This morning we stopped at a roadside inn.  Apparently my captors believed I was looking quite haggard and needed the chance to clean up.  If I could’ve gotten away with it, I swear I would’ve ensured that they could never produce children by giving them each a swift kick to the . . .

It’s just the audacity of these bastard Third-Rankers.  They lock me in a box for well over a week with nothing but a ceramic chamber pot that they empty once a day, and what, they expect me to smell like flowers and radiate sunshine from my skin?  No one would ever guess that my father was Nehril Fellway, the Grand Wizard of Amirand, with how they treat me.  I may as well be a lowly brigand or murderer. 

I can’t help but get a little worked up about it.

Anyway, three of my captors—save Alix—took me into the inn.  Boakler, that curly-haired know-it-all, escorted me into a back room, where there was a copper tub of steaming water waiting for me.  Stemon and Jisan waited outside the only door into the room, standing guard in case I was able to overtake Boakler in an escape attempt. 

My aching muscles yearned for that hot water; a week in a jostling carriage will do that to you.  I would’ve truly enjoyed the steaming bath if I’d just been able to relax.  Instead, I spent the whole time making sure that Boakler didn’t ogle my naked body as I washed.  He kept his back to me, but I wasn’t about to take my eyes off him.

I highly considered drawing magic energy from my own body to bring Boakler down and wipe the insufferable smugness off his face, but I knew no good would come from doing so.  There was only one door out of the room, and Boakler was blocking it.  Also, with my rare ability to see the magic energy used in spells and imbued in objects, I could identify the glow of a protective wall of concentrated air around him.  Behind that wall, Boakler’s body emitted a soft yellow aura, a barely perceptible glow that I can always see around anyone able to use magic. 

Most anything I could’ve used to attack Boakler would’ve been halted by his barrier.  Fire would’ve broken through it, but I didn’t have the desire to hurt him
that
bad.  Then again . . .

If nothing else, Stemon and Jisan stood right outside the door, likely using magic to listen in on each and every sound coming from the room.  They would’ve intervened if I’d tried anything.

After I cleaned up, I changed into a clean, brown wizard robe.  Boakler, joined by Stemon and Jisan, shepherded me back outside.  As we approached the carriage, I made my first attempt in days to be given access to Max.  I’ll describe how it went in detail, while my resultant conversation with Boakler is still fresh on my mind.

~~~~

“Will you
please
allow me to keep the squirrel with me?” I pleaded.  Yes, now that I write that down, it sounds pretty ridiculous.  “It’s not as if it can do anything from inside that abelyr box you have it in.

“And let the carriage’s abelyr frame dispel the seal on the box?” Boakler scoffed.  “As always, there is not a chance in Rizear’s domain that we will give you access to our recent
acquisitions. 
Now, if you will quit whining and just get in the carriage, we can get moving.” 

Have I mentioned how his smug voice makes my head hurt?  And for the record, I was in no way whining.

“But why—”

“You will drop the subject, or I will—”

“You’ll what?” I challenged, drawing myself not a half step away from him, pouring every ounce of anger I could into a scornful glare.

Boakler didn’t buckle under my gaze or my taunt, narrowing the distance between us even further.  “Let us just say that the Grand Wizard has given us permission to do whatever is necessary to bring you home,” he snipped, grabbing my sleeve and forcefully pulling me towards the carriage.

“I highly doubt my father would allow this kind of treatment,” I retorted.  “When he finds out how you’ve treated me . . .”  Truthfully, I knew my father wouldn’t care, but I hoped that Boakler didn’t know that.

“You will be lucky if he will even see you when we arrive.  He has matters that are much more important than an incompetent, selfish daughter ruining his good name.  You do not even know a thing about what is happening, do you?” Boakler accused.

No, I didn’t.  I just glared at him, though, letting my pride prevent me from asking.

“I thought not,” he sneered.  “We may be going to war, and you are out embarrassing yourself as well as the Grand Wizard.  Because of
you
, four
capable
wizards are stuck having to drag a selfish brat home instead of being there to help.”  His eyes lit with anger.  His left hand twitched as if about to reach into his satchel where he kept a ferret for magic energy.

My pride disappeared quicker than fog in the sun.  Inside, I felt like cowering, but I kept my back straight and my eyes locked on his. 
“War?  There was no talk of wizards going to war when I left.”  My throat didn’t want to release the words.  Wizards have played no part in any war since the Power Wars a thousand years ago.

“Someone in Gualain is supposedly using magic to build an army,” Boakler explained disdainfully.  “And you just leave without a word, pressing another
needless worry on the Grand Wizard.” 

My captors have proof—in the form of a dragon child—that the barrier imprisoning the dragons in the Snowy Waste has been breached.  No matter my claims, they act as if the issue is of no concern, but I’m positive that one of them traveled ahead to a wizard guild to send word to the Academy about it.  I’m surprised my father didn’t send them with a Communication Stone so they could’ve done so directly.

The point is that my leaving the Academy was anything
but
needless.  I held my tongue, though; I gave up that argument days ago. 

Boakler continued snidely, “The Grand Wizard has sent a team of wizards to verify the truth of the situation.  Pending their report, if there really is magic involved, we will be going to war.”  With that, he shoved me towards the carriage. 

My heart quivered.  I couldn’t help but dwell on what Max had told me about Raijom being involved with Gualain’s war, and how Korin planned to go to there to stop to the wizard trying to kill him . . . to kill us.  I thought about how I’d left the Academy just a matter of months ago.  How had this come about in such a short time?  A million questions and worries swirled and collided in my mind, but all I could ask was, “What does this have to do with me?” 

“All I know is that the Grand Wizard wants you back yesterday,” he replied with a sneer, jerking me forward again.  “As I told you before, he has need for you.”  Boakler opened the carriage door, giving me a victorious smirk.  I wanted to smack it off his face. 

Seeing that I wouldn’t get any more information out of the Utrien-blooded man, I allowed myself to be pushed into the carriage.  “Max, are you okay?” I shouted, trying to at least get a sign that Max was alive.

I heard furious scratching from beneath the carriage.  I let out a relieved breath.  Max was all right. 
Or, alive at least.  The door slammed and latched behind me.  On one of the carriage seats sat my evening meal wrapped in cloth, an earthenware cup of water next to it.  A few moments later, the carriage lurched forward as we started on our way north towards the Academy.

~~~~

So, that’s why I find myself devoid of hope.  There’s no way that I can simply leave the Academy when wizards may be joining a war for the first time in a thousand years.  Now I worry about what “big plans” my father has for me.  Will I play a part in the war?  Will I be sent out to recruit wizards outside of Tahron?  Or will I just be locked away and forbidden to leave until the whole thing blows over?

Now that I no longer plan to openly defy my father, I’ve decided to focus solely on freeing Max.  Max
has
to be informed on what is happening in Gualain, and he
has
to be able to get that information to Korin.  While my heart tells me that Korin is coming after us, what if he decides to make his way to Gualain instead? 

If my father is considering sending wizards to intervene in Gualain, then things must be bad enough there that Korin would simply be walking into his death.  Given how much time has passed, if Korin has chosen to move on to Gualain, I may be too late.  I’d feel much better about his safety if Max were with him. 

Sometimes I think Max could put my father’s power to shame.  There’s so much more to that squirrel than he lets on.  I wish I could dig out even a fraction of his secrets.  With all the methods of magic that have been lost over the last thousand years, Max could help . . .

There I go off topic yet again.  I’m not really good at this journal thing.  I feel like Til’ with his random streams of consciousness.

Anyway, back to Korin.  On one hand, I feel that he’d never abandon Max and me.  On the other, I feel that he’d want to save the lives of all those who would die under Raijom’s warmongering if Raijom were not stopped.  His focus on others before himself is one of the many things I
love
admire about him. 

I have to free Max and get him to Korin, even if Korin’s still coming for us.  I’d love to think that I could escape to join them.  However—and it breaks my heart to admit this—if the Academy wizards are going to war, my place is with them.  Besides, my situation with Saiyre and Korin is not something that I need on my mind right now. 

I don’t see freeing Max being possible until I’m back at the Academy.  For now, I must focus on getting more information about this war so I can relay it to Max as soon as possible.  Until I’m able to get that information, I can only sit in this accursed carriage and think. 

It seems that I truly
don’t have the freedom to choose who to
love
care for.  First it was taken away by my father.  Now it will be taken away by responsibility.  By the time I see Korin again, I’m sure he’ll have moved on anyway . . .

I do have one bit of happiness to look forward to.  I’m sure my captors will take my fake journal pages soon.  I’m looking forward to it.