The Wheelwright's Apprentice (29 page)

“Mine doesn’t seem to care. I’m simply a tool he’s using. I think he wants me to do idiotic things just to see what happens. How many siblings do you have?”

“Three brothers.”

“So you are his precious only daughter, made doubly precious as you have the Will and will be by his side for a couple of centuries at least. I’ll bet he keeps you well protected and hardly lets you do anything.” She blushed, and her hand bounced away from his cheek without hitting it. “Others have tried that before,” he noted carelessly. “It’s almost a reflex.” She went redder.

Before things got worse, the Earl and Baron came in together. “There you are,” the Baron said with a paternal smile towards Iria. “The siege has been lifted. They’ve all gone, vanished in the night!”

“Do you think they discovered our plans?” Iria was almost breathless with interest.

It was the Earl who answered. “No. They must have been moving their soldiers out before we started moving ours in. They may have been responding to another threat elsewhere.”

“What could have happened to make them move their people from such a strategic location?” Art had caught on that the situation had changed completely.

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to guess.” The Baron was deadly serious. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not anything good.”

46

The atmosphere in the room was tense, to put it mildly. Although none of them would admit it, every one of them was holding all of the defensive spells they knew. All except one. The self-styled Emperor Draman was in the worst mood any of them had seen, and he was the sort who was hardly ever happy to begin with. “Why did none of you see this coming?” he thundered. “Why did none of your agents suggest Galland would invade us?” Everything on the table, a vase, a couple of ornaments and several paperweights all rattled in response to his anger.

Understandably, no one answered. As Draman’s oldest and most trusted advisor, it fell on Duke Nordin to speak before the mood got even worse. “Emperor, it appears that your adversary, the Count, must have predicted your moves and planned this response.” He knew that wasn’t going to lift the mood one little bit, so he continued, “We have to anticipate his moves and out-think him.” Draman’s scowl, if anything, got larger. “I’m sure that would be easy for you.” Nordin hoped a little flattery would mollify him.

The head of the Jeerean delegation, Duke Krava, stood and added, “I’ve been watching the Count and his actions for nearly three hundred years now, and I can tell you one thing definitely. He is following his own agenda. Whatever reasons he has for his actions, at least one of them will be something we can’t even guess at.”

An aide tiptoed into the room quietly, whispered to one of the Jeereans, and quickly backed out. Draman noticed his fleeing back, and asked, “You have news?”

Duke Krava consulted his colleague, and said, “Your Majesty, we have confirmation of events at Earl Damon’s castl怅oe. The siege was lifted, our adepts are all missing, presumed dead, and the two companies of soldiers were captured.”

“Who was responsible?” Draman was now almost apoplectic. The vase rolled off the table and broke. Everyone pretended they didn’t notice.

“Your man Boban was in charge.” Duke Krava was taking a risk. He tensed.

“I mean, what enemy adepts were responsible?” Now the table itself was trembling.

“Our agents believe that it was one of the Count’s sons.” This was a shock to Draman, and the table stabilized while he digested the news. “Our sources say it was the one who killed High Priestess Aravia.”

The Emperor was quiet for a spell while the company breathed a sigh of relief. “What game is the Count playing?” he asked. The question hung in the air, waiting for inspiration.

* * *

“They never saw us coming, did they?” The Count sat upon a folding chair in his tent, half a mile from the gates of Threehills, Duke Nordin’s city. He was beaming. “Draman was too concerned with his own war, and didn’t have an adept within thirty miles of the border to warn him.”

Beech agreed. “It’s all going the way you said it would.”

The tent flap opened, and Arch came in, followed by two aides. “Smooth as silk. The mayor himself came out to greet us, smiling wide enough to crack his face. There was only the one adept left, Duke Nordin’s heir, and he skipped out as soon as he saw your standard. He hasn’t come back. The city is ours.”

The Count stood. “Let’s show ourselves as benign conquerors. We’ll spend a couple of days doing good works. We can do some healing, we can repair roads and buildings, and clean out the sewers. All the stuff Draman should have been doing for his people. It should get him really annoyed.”

“It’ll also make him pause; he won’t know what we are going to do.”

“Exactly. He’ll be frightened, nervous and angry. That’s not a good combination if you have to make important decisions.”

Arch sat on another chair, first making sure it would hold him. “Any news of Art?”

The Count was smiling again. “He seems to have done rather well. My sources are not too clear; however it appears that Draman lost three adepts when the siege of my friend Earl Damon’s castle was lifted. Art was there, so I expect he was in the thick of it. If Draman hears about that, he’ll be really confused and upset. Art is progressing just as I hoped, if not better.”

“What’s he doing now?”

“I believe he’s at Baron Edgurd’s castle north of Furl.”

Beech laughed loudly. “You mean the one with the Willed daughter he doesn’t let out? If I was him, I’d shove Art under her nose.”

“Art’d be good for her; she won’t know what’s hit her.” Arch thought putting them together was hilarious. “Perhaps she’ll make a move on him?”

“She’s got no chance.” The Count’s voice held conviction.

“Don’t tell me...Vanni?” Beech was interested.

“No, not her, my devious son has another. You’ve both met her.”

“You mean that thing in the red dress he was parading around. I thought she was...”

The Count cut him off. “That’s what we were meant to think. He’s been with her for months. He quite impressed me with his attempted misdirection. More so because that told me he didn’t fully trust me any more.”

Arch asked the question Beech wanted answered, “How did you know about her?”

The Count allowed himself a little smirk. “Magic.”

* * *

There was confusion at Baron Edgurd’s castle. Although the siege had been lifted, the fact that no one knew why the enemy had suddenly disappeared was very unsettling. One thing was certain, all the extra troops that had been imported for the relief of the castle needed to be sent somewhere else, as there wasn’t room for them.

Art had his own problem. It was Baron Edgurd’s daughter, Iria. She had the Will, but as his only daughter she had been coddled to death, and protected from the world. Once she had discovered that Art had been involved in what she saw as exciting exploits, she had pestered him relentlessly for his stories.

It had been easy to begin with, and he didn’t mind relating a string of minor incidents, as well as what it was like to be a healer. Unfortunately, she had found out from her father that he had killed High Priestess Aravia. Since then all she wanted was to hear about it. Those were memories he didn’t want to dredge up, and he had refused.

He was doing a sterling job of avoiding her and praying that they would be leaving soon. He was in fact sparring with Davi in a side courtyard. Was it less than a week since he had joined Captain Hanna’s mercenary troop and been tested by Davi with wooden swords?

“You bastard! You were holding back when we first fought.” Annoyed, Davi picked up his sword for a third time.

“Perhaps you could test me, if you aren’t too tired?” Art turned to find Baron Edgurd looking at him.

“I’m sure I’d be the one to have the testing time, sir. Of course I’d be happy to give you a bout, but I only learned the sword recently. Please don’t expect too much.”

“Who taught you?” The Baron removed his jacket and an aide handed him a sword. “Real blades fine with you?”

“My father had his arms master, Master Jeffy, teach me. Real blades are fine, he made me use them.”

Davi, along with Captain Hanna and three of the Baron’s aides now became interested spectators. “Please don’t hold back,” the Baron told him. “I don’t often have a Willed opponent.”

Art didn’t quite know what to expect or why. He took his time unsheathing his own blade and putting up the practice one he had been using. What did the Baron actually want? Surely there were better swordsmen. Why him? He resolved to be very careful.

The bout started normally with both of them feeling each other out and testing each other’s form. Slowly the Baron increased his tempo, and then attacked aggressively. At first Art concentrated on defense while watching for any openings. There were none. He was more skilled than Master Jeffy, but then again it shouldn’t have been a surprise as he was most likely a couple of hundred years more experienced. He found himself backed up against a wall and knew it was time for him to attack. Reminding himself ting himso be careful, he moved from a counter to a wicked slash aimed at the Baron’s head. Things started to move really swiftly after that, with Art doing his best to break through a defense which gave him no openings.

Out of the blue, the Baron stood back, and shouted, “Stop! That’s enough.” He handed his sword back to one of his aides, and told Art, “Come with me.”

He was led to a small room which appeared to be the place where the Baron kept his personal papers and did his business. It was not a room meant to impress. The Baron sat in one chair, waved Art towards another, and put his feet up on the desk. “What do you think of my daughter?”

Art froze. This was unexpected. Had she been telling the Baron stories that weren’t quite true? What did she want? He hauled himself back to the matter at hand and decided to give a candid answer. “She has been sheltered and craves excitement. She has been a complete pest, asking me to tell her about my few exploits. When I eventually told her “no more” she got worse. I can’t say I blame her though. It’s not her fault.”

The Baron let out a huge sigh. “You are, right of course. I have sheltered her, but I can’t any more. With the war on I’m going to have to let her out into the world. Your troop is going to the city of Furl until we decide what exactly has happened, and I intend to send her there too. I sparred with you as I have found that the way you fight reflects your character. I would like you to look after her for a few days.”

Art clutched for straws. “My Captain would have to agree, and so would Earl Damon. I work for them.”

The Baron grinned broadly. “Then I take it you’ll accept if they agree?”

Art had a bad feeling, but could now only say, “If they agree, I would be happy to help.”

He saw the Baron’s reply coming. “I’ve already cleared it with them. Thank you very much, you are doing me a big favour.” He swung his feet back down off the desk, stood and held out his hand. As they shook, he said, “This is a load off my mind, I know I won’t have to worry about her while she has such an accomplished protector.”

Art was depressed. Fate wasn’t his friend today. It was an effort not to let his face show his feelings.

He made sure he wasn’t anywhere near when her father gave her the news. Iria, of course, was delighted, though she was brought down to earth when her father passed on Art’s instructions. “Bring one bag small enough for you to carry, and be in the courtyard at six tomorrow morning.”

When she arrived the next morning, she found Art sitting on the front of a cart next to a huge man. “There you are, Iria.” Art greeted her. “This is Davi.”

Davi gave her a wave, and said, “Pleased to meet you, Milady.”

“Where do I sit?” When she had seen the cart, she had expected to sit beside Art, but he had arranged things differently.

“See the pile of wood behind us? I figured you would want to make yourself a nice comfortable chair. We’ve got a couple of minutes.”

“I..I’ve never made anything before.” Iria was taken aback.

“It’s easy. Just imagine something comfortable, the more detail the better, and then think how uncomfortable the journey will be with this lump driving.” He ducked as Davi’s hand whistled over his head. “Any time you like.Any timelikis is a lo They waited patiently.

Moments later, a solid chair appeared, with an upholstered seat. Iria was now naked from the waist up.

“It’s alright, I’m not interested in you, and neither is Davi.” That was when the screech came. When it died away, he continued, “You shouldn’t
have done that; nobody would have noticed if you’d kept quiet. Your Will looks like it helped itself to some of your clothes; you’ll have to be bit more careful next time.” A hundred or so soldiers were now staring in their direction. There were a few whistles. Art surrounded her with a privacy screen, and as an afterthought he decorated it with his best representation of her father’s face, scowling. She couldn’t see it. “Do you have a change of clothes or are you going to change it back?” He made a point of keeping a straight face.

Iria finally gathered her wits. “I have some other clothes.” Davi passed her bag over, through the screen. “Thank you.”

Art grinned at her as she was dressing. “Don’t worry about those clothes. I’ll run you up some more when we get to the city.”

Iria was quiet for a few minutes after they moved out. Her interest soon overcame her embarrassment and her first question was, “You’ve made women’s clothing before?”

This was a good opening for Art to establish that he had a girl, was serious about her, and was not going to see Iria as anything more than a chore. He wanted to nip any romantic tendencies she might have in the bud. “Yes, I made some for my love, so I have plenty of experience.” He turned towards her, and looked her up and down. “Not the same sort of clothes you’ll need.”