The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (32 page)

Hune
paused as he noticed the crowd behind his father for the first time. He told
the king, “You’ve had much on your mind this morning, I’m sure. You must have
forgotten to summon me here, but no matter. I’ve come.”

Rexson’s
mouth became a taut line, but he nodded at his son. Vane sensed the king needed
someone to take command, to restore order, so he offered, “I’ll have Hayden
Grissner sent for.” Another archer, commonborn but now the Duke of Crescenton.
One of the king and Kora’s companions in the days of the Crimson League. “We
can post him and Hune at the stairwells with guards at their backs. I’ll send
for Thad Greller too. We can use his sword. He’ll fight beside me. I’d like the
rest of the sorcerers in pairs. Zacry and Lottie. Wil and Walten. The Wolding
twins. Jane and….”

“Rexy
Plaint,” offered Jane’s female student. Her bony face held no sign of slight
taken.

“Jane
and Rexy. As you know, your powers are stronger together. That’s why, as much
as possible, I’ve grouped you with someone you know well, someone whose actions
you might anticipate. You’re to support one another. If your partner’s muted,
undo the spell; such things are common sense. The general will have zoning
assignments by this afternoon. That’s five stations for the sorcerers, Bruan.”

The
king told Vane, “I want you with another sorcerer, not a swordsman.”

“I
trust Thad’s blade as much as anyone else’s magic.” He sent Rexson a pointed
look, one he meant to say,
I’ll have
Kora.
The king understood him, for his expression soured.

Zacry,
perhaps, would be better grouped with Kora, but the king had assigned him to
spend the day with Lottie. They would get to know one another, and their shared
preference for directness might bind them. Zacry would understand how unnerved
she was to join the king’s forces; he would have the sense not to antagonize
her.

The
king asked Lottie to describe how Linstrom and his men had trained for battle.
She warned him the account would not be brief, and those in the room arranged
themselves as comfortably as possible to listen. The king sat on a settee with
his general, his son, and his duke. Gratton stood beside the furniture, as
though keeping guard. The military man, Vane realized, did not much trust the
blonde and thick-cheeked sorceress. Zacry took up a similar post at the other
end of the couch. His nephews, Jane Trand, and her students sat before them all
on the parlor’s plush carpet. Hune’s dogs lounged with them, after sniffing
them out and judging them friendly. The sharp-featured Rexy scratched one
behind the ear.

“Evant’s
sorcerers divided into groups to train,” Lottie began. Her expression was one
of resolve, Vane assumed to hold nothing back, no matter how the tidings might
dishearten her new allies or cast her in a poor light. At least, that was what
he prayed she’d determined to do. “They call themselves bands, with each band
forming a military unit. Every group set to mastering a specific type of magic.
Since Evant uses the Hall of Sorcery as a meeting place, his supporters have
access to knowledge gathered by the ancients. The power of those incantations….
They’re beyond anything I’d seen before.”

The
king told her, “We understand that. Magic lost its potency as, by and large,
those with the ability to use it chose to forsake it instead.”

“There
are three bands in all. The members of the first one—mine—had
previous training in some weapon or other. We sought spells to augment our
speed, energy, and strength. I’ve always been handy with a sword, myself.”

Vane
said, “I know such spells. I’ve used them. They can be useful in a tight
situation, but to make a major impact….”

Lottie
insisted, “You’ve seen no spells such as these.”

“Show
us, then,” said Vane. “Spar with Gratton, here and now.”

The
king approved Vane’s suggestion, so Lottie retrieved her sword from its sheath,
which she had propped against the wall next to the door when she walked in. Her
blade was shorter than Gratton’s, but thicker at its base. When the gray-haired
soldier advanced on her, she matched him blow for blow, parry for parry,
falling back and then using the wall to propel herself forward and gain
momentum, forcing Gratton away.

Hune’s
dogs growled, threatening to attack on behalf of the uniform they had been
trained to obey, but their master called them back, and the hounds did nothing
more than watch as tensely as the human spectators. The dogs sat on their
haunches, poised to come to the soldier’s aid at a command from the prince.
After four or five minutes, the sorceress and guardsman halted, sweat
glistening on their brows and darkening the edges of Gratton’s hair. He asked,
“Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“My
father was a guardsman. One of Zalski’s. Was waiting until I turned ten to turn
me over to him for magic lessons, because my magic came a bit out of nowhere.
My great-grandfather was a sorcerer, but he was the last one in the family,
until me. My father kept me a secret…. I was six when Zalski died, and my
future with him.”

“Your
father?” pressed Gratton.

“A
festering wound killed my father ten years ago. He refused to let me heal him,
said the Giver had spoken through dreams it was his time. Personally, I think
he was hallucinating, but he was firm in his wishes, and I respected them. I
couldn’t stand the thought of angering him, not after I’d already disappointed
him worse than I’d ever thought possible.” Her eyes flickered to the king. “The
Magic Council had just formed. Without me.”

Gratton
asked, a bit too quickly after Lottie’s final statement to sound natural, “What
you just did, that was you fighting without spells?”

Only
then did Lottie bring sorcery to her aid. First came an energy spell, Vane
surmised from his studies, though the incantation was not the same as the
Energa Crez
spell he’d used consistently
over the last few days. Lottie’s pupils turned a dull red, giving her a
horrifying appearance that only amplified when another spell,
Fwerz Plumayr
for strength, increased
her body mass. Lottie’s biceps and other muscles bulged beneath her dress. She
signaled with a hand for Gratton to attack her, and he did so, with all his
skill.

The
guardsman found himself stymied. Within ten seconds, Lottie had forced him to
fall back to defending himself against her. Within thirty, she had swung her
sword with enough force against his to notch them both. Through it all, her
eyes glowed that terrible shade of crimson that would have reduced any one of
Vane’s children to panicked tears. Gratton held her off for another minute,
nothing more. A solid strike from Lottie bent the metal of his blade some sixty
degrees before she cut his legs out from under him with a sweeping foot that
moved far too quickly. Unnaturally quickly. Three seconds after that, Gratton
was on the floor with Lottie’s blade against his throat. He banged his head
with a thud on the wood beneath the carpet.

With
a bow toward the king, Lottie backed away. She muttered
Desfazair
, and her muscles shrank back to their natural size. Her
pupils faded to black. Vane could only gape as Lottie cast a stretching spell
to restore Gratton’s sword to its previous condition; the most talented
swordsman the duke had ever known clambered to his feet in a daze, his eyes
unfocused. Zacry cast a healing spell, which seemed to restore his faculties,
though the soldier spoke nothing. No one did for a good thirty seconds that
seemed five times that long, until Lottie suggested, “The red pupils will be a
signal of what you’re dealing with, with that particular band. As you might
imagine, you’ll want to strip them of their weapons.”

Walten’s
voice was calm, much calmer than Vane expected given what they had just
witnessed. The boy, Vane realized, had no concept of the skill Gratton actually
possessed. “What weapons would that be?” he asked. “All swords?”

Lottie’s
tone was bleak. “Sword, staff, and battleax.”

Next
to Vane, Hune’s face betrayed his stupefaction. The youngest prince had always
resembled Gracia more than Rexson, but the stoicism that, bit by bit, he forced
into his expression was just like his father. So was the assertiveness, the
command in his tone as he asked Lottie, “What of the other bands?”

“The
second specializes in befuddlement spells. The ancients were fond of such
magic, had entire books devoted to it. I’ve seen Linstrom’s men practice spells
to wipe a mind blank. They stop a person in his tracks. Other spells can
confuse friend with foe, or make you feel safe in the midst of your enemies.”

From
his seat on the floor, one of the olive-skinned twins protested, “How is that
possible? Magic can’t touch human will.”

Lottie
told him, “Those spells don’t try to. The spell to confuse friend with foe
can’t force you to attack your friend, but if you’re in the middle of a battle
and you mistake him for the enemy, you’ll do just that by choice. If you feel
secure, you’ll see no need to defend yourself against real danger. The spells
do nothing more than give your mind false information to process. You’d have no
way to suspect that information’s wrong until it’s too late.”

The
second twin spoke up. “Doesn’t forewarning help? Surely if you know….”

His
voice died away as Lottie shook her head. “Those spells are powerful, boy. They
counteract any previous knowledge you might have about them, any suspicions
that you’re bewitched. I know: they’ve cast the spells on me. I’ve volunteered
to help them train. If we sorcerers fight in pairs, the best you can hope is
that your partner realizes in time what’s happened. In that sense, it can help
to be forewarned.”

Zacry
asked Lottie, “Do you know any spells we can cast beforehand, to protect our
minds from that kind of interference?”

“If
such magic exists, I’ve never run across it.”

Undeterred,
Zacry turned to Jane Trand. “You’re a scholar of sorcery, more so than I am. My
focus is magic politics. Could you write a spell before Linstrom arrives, one
to reflect those befuddlement spells back at the casters, or to nullify them?”

Trand’s
voice had a shrill quality to it. The grooves in her face etched themselves
deeper as she frowned. Her straw-colored hair fell in front of one eye, and she
tucked it behind her ear. “Mere hours? I could write one given three days, but
mere hours?”

Zacry
assured her, “I’ll help. So will Lottie. With her knowledge of the spells we
have to act against….”

Vane
urged, “Please, Jane. It’s worth trying. Nothing’s lost if you don’t succeed.”

“It’ll
have to be to nullify,” Jane argued. “To make such magic rebound would be more
complicated. More useful, sure, but I can’t see myself having that finished in
time. A spell to simply nullify….”

Vane
told her, “That’s perfect. A spell we can cast before Linstrom comes, to
provide a lingering barrier against such meddling with our thoughts.”

Doubt
was plain on Jane’s expression. In her tone. “I’ll do what I can. I can’t
promise you anything.”

Vane
assured her he understood, and turned back to Lottie, anxious for her to finish
her report as quickly as possible, so that she and Zacry could start working
with Jane on that incantation. “The third band?” he pressed. “What magic have
they mastered?”

“Detection
spells,” said Linstrom’s mistress. “Mostly for looting and pillaging, to find
coin and people hiding. They also have spells to detect traps, whether
magically set or no.”

Vane
cursed beneath his breath. He had a clearer picture now of Terrance’s assault
in the bakery. The sorcerer must have walked in to find Howar by himself, or
dismissing the last of a surge of customers. Howar, who had not been expecting
the visit, had let his unease show, thinking Francie was alone and unprotected,
and Terrance had muttered a spell in the direction of upstairs, one to reveal
two individuals in a set of rooms that should have been unoccupied.

The
Duke of Ingleton asked, “Was Terrance the head of the detection band?”

She
confirmed his suspicion. “I headed the warrior band,” she added. “Evant led
those mastering befuddlement.” Her voice turned bitter. “That Agatha, she’s his
prótegée. You remember her? The one who wanted to heal…?”

Vane’s
tone was sharper than he intended. “I remember.”

The
sorceress who’d wanted to heal Francie so they could beat her more. He would
never forget Agatha’s haughty air, the way she’d held her heart-shaped head as
she argued with Lottie. By the sneer on Lottie’s face, Vane had not been wrong
to think the women grudged each other.

Unsettled,
Vane’s thoughts turned from Agatha to Terrance’s cousin, to Gertrude the seer,
the only other woman to make an impression on him at the Hall. He wondered what
effect her magic might have. To see the future a minute in advance…. She might
be young, but she’d be devastated to find Terrance gone, to fear him dead.

The
king noted, “Linstrom finds two of his bands leaderless, then, with you and
Terrance vanished.”

Lottie
said, “The bands won’t fight separately. They’ll mix and match to maximize
strengths.”

“Still,”
said the king, “Linstrom lacks you and Terrance. That can only aid us.”