The Last Enchanter (8 page)

“You remember Clovis and Lael?”

“Yes, Clovis the bow maker. And Lael, did you say? Lael, that troublesome girl from the village?”

“I tried to make her go back, but she refused,” said Marcus. “I had no choice but to let her come along.”

“I see,” said Zyll.

Lael's face went red, but Zyll's smile set her at ease. “Such a pleasure to see you again, my dear.”

Lael and Clovis excused themselves to finish gathering the necessary wood.

“And Bryn is with us, too,” continued Marcus. “Oh, you've never met Bryn. He's the groc I told you I met before.”

“How did you run into him?”

“It's a long story, actually.”

“And I'd love to hear it, but it appears as though you are setting up camp. May I be of assistance?”

Another voice sounded from the thicket, accompanied by a frustrated squawk.

“Leave me behind, will you?” cried Xerxes. “If I wasn't made of wood I'd—”

Zyll reached a hand into the thicket and pulled out Xerxes. “There now, old friend. I had no intention of leaving you behind again.”

“Again?” asked Marcus.

“Seems I was a little absentminded the first night in the forest,” replied Zyll, rolling his eyes.

“A little absentminded?” said Xerxes, ruffling his feathers indignantly. “I laid there for an hour before you returned for me.”

“I was bathing in the stream.”

“And then there was last night in Noam.”

“It was merely a joke, Xerxes.”

“He threatened to use me in a game of stick ball!”

“I should have endowed you with a sense of humor when I made you. Marcus, how did you endure so many days with him as a companion?”

“It wasn't easy,” replied Marcus, laughing.

Xerxes clicked his beak angrily. “Well, now that I know my company isn't wanted—”

“Now Xerxes, really,” said Zyll, trying not to laugh. “You are far too sensitive. Come now, we are only having a bit of fun at your expense.”

“At my expense is right. No, I shall endure no more of it. And don't expect me to come hopping the next time you need a thorn plucked from your backside!”

And with that, Xerxes went still, returning to his inanimate form.

“I think you hurt his feelings,” said Marcus.

“It wouldn't be the first time. Don't worry, my boy. He may have an ill temper, but he's the only true friend I've ever had. He'll forgive me . . . eventually. In the meantime, we must get our rest. We still have a day's more travel before we reach Dokur where your brother, Kelvin, awaits us.”

Twenty-two

T
he heat from the fire was more than the small flame could possibly produce on its own. Marcus suspected Zyll had cast a spell so that it could warm everyone present despite the chill in the air. In time Clovis, Lael, and even Bryn nodded off to sleep, huddled peacefully beneath their blankets. Marcus thought Zyll must have had something to do with that, as well. Soon only Zyll and Marcus were awake, watching each other over the flame.

Looking at Zyll now, Marcus could still see the vision clearly in his mind. The sight of his grandfather lying in a pool of his own blood made his stomach churn.

“You seem troubled,” said Zyll, stirring the embers at the edge of the fire with the point of his walking stick. “Are you going to tell me about it, or do I have to slip you
a vial of noorweed serum to loosen your tongue?”

Marcus smiled at Zyll's good-humored threat. “It's hard to explain,” he began. “When you left, I tried to use your divining bowl.”

“And what happened?”

“Nothing at first. But then later I saw . . .” Marcus stopped. He turned away from Zyll, ashamed to let him see the tears that formed now against his will. “I saw you.”

He looked back at Zyll and saw in him the man who had raised him, loved him, taught him everything he knew. Zyll had been more than a grandfather to him. He had been his mentor and friend. He could not imagine his life without Zyll in it.

Marcus stood up and took several steps away from the fire. He couldn't sit still. “It was a mistake,” he said. “It had to be.”

“What did you see?” asked Zyll.

“Enchanters see the past,” continued Marcus, the words tumbling out of him, “but you're here, right in front of me. So it had to be a mistake.”

“Marcus, tell me what you saw.”

Marcus could hardly continue. The tears came freely now, and he choked them back. Zyll stood and walked over to Marcus, placing his aging hand on the boy's shoulder.

Marcus felt the gentle weight of Zyll's hand, but he could not meet his eyes. “I saw you, Grandfather,” he whispered, “and you were dead.”

Zyll nodded thoughtfully. “Enchanters do only see the past.”

Marcus sighed with relief. “I knew it,” he said, almost laughing. “I knew it was a mistake—”

“But you are not an enchanter.”

“What?”

“You're not an enchanter,” repeated Zyll, “at least not merely an enchanter. From the time you were a small boy, I knew there was something special about you. You see, enchanters are nothing more than magicians. We cast spells, manipulate objects. Once there were many of us, but now I believe I am the last of my kind.”

Marcus sat down again beside the fire, but the chill he felt was not from the night air.

“Do you know what a seer is?” asked Zyll.

Marcus shook his head.

Zyll continued. “A seer sees the future, translates languages, can look into people's very souls.”

Marcus recalled his visit to the Noamish library during his quest, searching for information about Ivanore. It was there he learned that Ivanore was Lord Fredric's daughter—a princess—and that she had disappeared fourteen years earlier. Marcus had not yet learned that Ivanore was his mother. When he first arrived at the library, he saw an inscription above the door in the ancient tongue. Though he had only a basic knowledge of the language, Marcus translated it easily, as if the words themselves changed before his eyes.

“How does someone become a seer?” asked Marcus.

“Oh, seeing cannot be learned or taught,” replied Zyll. “A seer is born a seer.”

Marcus realized Zyll was staring at him. No, not at him, but into him as if there were something inside of him to be marveled at or admired. Marcus didn't like being looked at that way. There was nothing special about him, about the boy who spent his mornings in the company of goats, his afternoons cleaning out the fireplace back home. He preferred it that way, preferred to be like everyone else—though somehow he knew Zyll was right. He had never been like everyone else.

“But I'm just an enchanter's apprentice,” he said, as if saying the words would make them true.

“No, my boy,” said Zyll, “you are more. Much, much more.”

A GUARDED SECRET

Twenty-three

T
he rest of their trek to Dokur was uneventful. Marcus didn't mind their slow pace now that he knew Zyll was all right. When their journey brought them within a mile of the Celestine mine, Clovis reminded Marcus that he had never been there and asked if they could see it.

“It's just a big hole in the ground,” said Marcus. “It's been abandoned since the Agoran slaves were freed.”

But Bryn and Lael both wanted to have a look, too, so off they went. When they arrived, however, the mine was all but abandoned. Four log buildings had been constructed near the rim of the pit, and the area around the mine was dotted with dozens of fires. There were soldiers everywhere, some by the fires, some grooming their
horses, and others keeping watch. Three drew their swords the moment Zyll, Marcus, and the others came into view.

“State your business!” shouted the largest of the three. They all wore red tunics with embroidered yellow crosses, the symbol of Fredric's army.

Zyll did not hesitate but stepped forward with his hands up in a show of peace.

“The grandson of Lord Fredric is in our company, Captain,” he said calmly. “We are accompanying him to Dokur where his brother, the young King Kelvin, awaits his arrival.”

The captain kept his sword raised, a cautious expression on his face. “The king is dead,” he said.

“Yes, we know,” replied Zyll. “We just thought we'd take a little detour and visit the mine. We expected it to be abandoned.”

“It is,” said the captain, “except for thieves intent on getting their hands on whatever Celestine they can manage to steal. Our duty is to protect it until a more permanent solution is worked out.”

Behind the guards, Marcus could just make out the rim of the pit where he had first seen Agorans being whipped. Though he knew the captain spoke the truth, he wished he could see for himself that they had all gone.

He felt a tug on his pant leg. Bryn gazed up at him, fear in his childlike eyes. The last time they met Fredric's guards, Bryn had been taken captive. No wonder he was afraid now.

“We should get going, Grandfather,” said Marcus. He took Bryn by the hand and started away from the soldier's camp.

“Wait,” said the captain. Marcus froze. He felt Bryn's hand stiffen in his. He heard the scrape of metal as the captain sheathed his sword. “You should not be traveling alone,” he said. “You never know what trouble you'll run into. Even Dokur isn't safe anymore. Just two days ago the royal navy's flagship was burnt to ashes by rebels.”

“Rebels, you say?” said Zyll.

“Yes,” the captain continued. “Let me send an armed escort with you to Dokur. One of my men was just about to leave to deliver our weekly report to the king at the Fortress. He could accompany you.”

Marcus heard Xerxes squawk in surprise. Bryn's grip on his hand tightened, yet he dared not say anything to Zyll. What would happen if the guard discovered that Bryn was a groc?

Zyll scratched thoughtfully at his whiskers. “Your offer is a generous one,” he said, “but Dokur is less than a day's walk from here. I'm sure we'll be fine.”

The captain waved off his two companions. One strode over to the men with the horses and said something to them that Marcus could not hear. The other mounted his horse and took off at a gallop toward Dokur, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

“We'll be on our way then,” said Zyll. “Good day, Captain.”

Zyll said nothing to Marcus as he led them back
toward the road. Clovis and Lael were silent, too, but the captain called after them.

“My rider will let the Fortress know where you are and when you are expected to arrive. That way,” he said, “if you never show up, they'll know something's happened to you.”

Twenty-four

D
espite the captain's warning, they arrived in Dokur early the following morning. The town had changed since Marcus saw it last. He remembered all too well how it had looked after the invasion by the Hestorians: its blackened buildings, charred by flaming dragons' breath, and the heap of bodies in the center of town. As he entered the city now, however, Marcus noted that many of the buildings had been repaired. Instead of the horrors of death and battle, the streets of Dokur were lined with row upon row of colorful silken tents. Tables laden with scarves, blankets, jewelry, pottery, weapons, and all kinds of food crowded every inch of space. Merchants haggled with customers. Drums, pipes, and dulcimers filled the air with music. Some people actually danced in the street.

Xerxes did not hide his disapproval. “After all this city has suffered,” he said to Zyll, “you'd think they'd show a little more self-control.”

“Now, now, Xerxes,” replied Zyll. “These people have mourned long enough. This is their annual harvest celebration. I imagine after all the hard work of rebuilding their city and caring for the families of those who died in battle, the Dokurians deserve a little merriment, don't you?”

In contrast to all the celebration, however, were the soldiers standing guard throughout the square. Bryn stayed close to Marcus as they followed Zyll through the crowd. When they reached the immense stone fountain at the center of the city, they drank from it and splashed water on their faces. Once refreshed, Marcus sat down at the edge of the fountain. The smell of freshly baked bread made his stomach rumble.

Zyll raised an eyebrow. “Those meat pies over there look delicious,” he said, placing a coin in Marcus's hand. “Why don't you buy a few to hold you until supper? In the meantime, I'll find a courier and send word to the Fortress of our arrival.”

“Don't tell me you plan to leave these children alone?” squawked Xerxes. “They're certain to get into trouble.”

“Calm yourself, Xerxes. They will be fine. And besides,” Zyll added with a wink, “whatever trouble they get themselves into, I will not hold you accountable.”