The Wizard King (32 page)

“All but five squadrons of your guard have been sent out to the city to help put out fires, force back the attackers, and try to keep the populace from panicking worse than they already are. The rest are here manning the battlements. I asked the captain to hold another squadron or two in reserve should the Sage reach our walls sooner than we expect,” he added, his irritation revealed only by the slight angle of his brows, “but he felt that securing the castle accomplished little if the entire city fell around it.”

Durek shot his captain a scathing look for refusing to heed Hedric’s counsel, but refrained from giving the man a tongue-lashing… at least for the time being.

“Jaren and I have taken the liberty of warding the castle,” Hedric continued, moving toward the window. The hem of his forest-green robe stroked the flagstones as he walked, picking up a whisper of dust. “That won’t keep anyone out physically, but it should keep them from spying on us with spheres.”

Athaya tilted her head up just enough to see the misty-white ward curtain shrouding the castle environs, suspended in the air as if some giant spider had cocooned the fortress in cobwebs. Hedric’s wards were strong, and if Jaren had reinforced them it should keep them all safe enough from the Sage’s prying eyes.

“Our best guess is that the Sage’s men slipped inside the city walls before dark,” Jaren ventured. “Most likely under cloaking spells. Then, at some prearranged signal, they attacked several different quarters of the city in unison.”

Durek muttered a curse under his breath. “Damned bad luck that this happened when neither Athaya nor I was here.”

“Luck?” Jaren shook his head dubiously. “It was planned that way. Without the two of you, this alliance was fraying badly at the edges.” He cast a quick glance to Captain Parr and the members of Durek’s council, but diplomatically opted to say nothing. “The Sage might have suspected Athaya could return to the capital in time to lend a hand, but I seriously doubt he expected both of you.”

Athaya sat back in her chair with excruciating care, but the walls around her still seemed to tilt crazily to one side. “Have any of the Sage’s wizards reached the castle yet?”

“Not that we know of,” Hedric told her, “but it won’t be long.”

“Mason and the others have stationed themselves around the city and are trying to counter the Sage’s spells,” Jaren added, “but they’re barely holding their own. About the only thing the Sarians aren’t doing is attacking us by sea, but the storms they’ve conjured make escape by boat all but impossible anyway.” The remark was punctuated by another flash of lightning, this with a sickly tint of green that lit up the chamber like daylight.

“Escape?” Durek asked, his royal pride bruised by Jaren’s suggestion. “What are you talking about?”

“We can’t afford to deceive ourselves, your Majesty. The reinforcements from Kaiburn will be close to three days in coming. We simply can’t hold out that long… not unless Athaya’s idea works.” He studied her worriedly, questioning her ability to stand without assistance, much less channel her power through a corbal crystal. “We’ll need you as soon as possible,” he urged quietly.

Athaya nodded weakly, but made no move to get up from the table.

Slowly, as if uncertain he truly wished to see what awaited him below, Durek walked to the bay window and looked out upon his city—the crown jewel of Caithe was now a city under siege, trapped in the grip of peril more dire than had befallen it in centuries. The streets were clogged with terrified citizens fleeing their homes, streaming into the castle courtyard with fragile hopes of sanctuary; fires both real and illusory painted the skies a hellish orange; the air was ripped by the drum of rain and thunder, and cut by wails from both human and inhuman mouths; and last, glowing dragonlike creatures swooped rabidly about the spires of Saint Adriel’s Cathedral like living gargoyles, mocking those who thought to find comfort within God’s walls. The chaos was all at a distance for the moment, but inching steadily closer. And like the swelling tide, Durek knew he did not have the power to turn it back.

“My God,” he breathed, surveying the growing ruin of his capital, “it must have been just like this during the Time of Madness.”

Master Hedric moved to stand beside him, his head slightly bowed. “Except this magic is very much under control,” he said solemnly. “These are not untrained novices setting off spells by accident because their teachers had all been slain; these are highly trained magicians casting practiced sorcery. Granted, much of it is harmless show,” Hedric added with a critical shrug, “but Caithe is unaccustomed to magic. Even the most benign illusion can spark a panic here, making it all the harder for our scant collection of wizards to fight back.”

Durek laid his palms flat against the windowsill, steadying himself. “Thank God that Cecile and the children aren’t here to see this,” he murmured under his breath. He dropped his gaze to the ruby signet ring adorning his right hand. “My son,” he added, so quiet that only Master Hedric could hear, “look what has become of your inheritance.”

A crimson-clad sentry slipped into the chamber just then, begging the king’s pardon with a bow. “Sire, a priest has come from the cathedral with news and two of the guard have returned to report and then see to their wounds. Will you see them?”

“Yes, yes… but not here,” Durek said, turning away from the turmoil in the streets below. “Send them to the Great Hall. At least from there I will not have to watch my city burn to ash before my eyes. Come, all of you,” he bade the others. He paused to touch his sister’s shoulder in genuine concern. “Athaya?”

Athaya leaned back, eyes closed. “I’ll be along in a few minutes; I just need to rest for a little while longer.”

And Jaren
, she sent privately, cracking open one eye,
have that pouch of corbals ready. I don’t know what spell I’ll try to channel through them yet, but I’ll think of something.

Frowning concern at her weakened state, Jaren reluctantly followed Master Hedric, Durek, Captain Parr, and the rest of the king’s council down to the Great Hall.

Left alone with only the distant sounds of bloodshed and havoc in the city below, Athaya put her head down again; the worst of the dizziness was receding, but she still felt weighted by bone-deep fatigue.
Not that I wouldn’t be exhausted anyway,
she grumbled to herself, knowing it was fast approaching midnight. It hardly seemed possible that she and Durek had stood before the people of Kaiburn that same afternoon; had she known she would be battling the Sage that night, she would have stolen some sleep during her brief stay at the camp.

A subtle rush of air brushed against her cheek, air carrying the faint scent of leather and smoke. Suddenly, Athaya knew that she was not alone—nor had she ever been. The door had not opened, she was sure of it. No, something had remained when the king and council quit the chamber; from somewhere very close came the sound of breathing and the delicate chime of an earring…

Her experience with Lukin’s assassin made her wary and she jerked her head up—far too quickly, for it brought the dizziness back. But her vision did not blur so much that she failed to recognize her companion. There, standing near the bay window against a backdrop of destruction, was the Sage of Sare himself, a playful smile glowing white upon his face. He struck her as a pirate dressed for plunder, clad entirely in black leather but for the single gold earring gleaming at his jaw. Shoulder-long hair was tied back in a queue and a sheathed sword hung unused at his hip. Reflections of fire danced in his eyes, rendering him a demon.

Athaya scrambled to her feet, fighting back the vertigo, and opened her mouth to scream—

“Do not cry out,” the Sage suggested calmly. “It will be Prince Nicolas’ life if you do. One of my men hovers near him even now, waiting for my word.” The glowing smile broadened, delighted that he had taken her so completely by surprise and bent her to his will so quickly. “Do not doubt my capacity for murder, Princess. Nicolas is not important to me. I have scried his future and found no seed in him; he will never be one of us. However, he proves himself quite useful in making you tractable.”

Although shaking with the urge to strike him, Athaya knew the price of defiance was far too high. Whether he lied or no, it was too great a risk to take, and so she kept her silence, knowing the Sage would have no qualms about killing one brother when he had already tried to use him as a tool to murder the other.

Only then did she fully digest the rest of what the Sage had said—
he will never be one of us.
Athaya felt a sharp pang of regret that she would never share the miracles of power with Nicolas, with whom she had shared nearly every other joy in her life. She did not think the Sage was lying; had Nicolas carried the seed, he would most certainly be dead by now, no longer a rival for the prophesied role of the wizard king.

“How did you—”

“Get here?” he finished for her, strolling casually to her side as if taking a turn around the garden. “Actually, I’ve been here for quite some time. Since long before you arrived, in fact. I’ve been listening to the Caithan council argue amongst themselves like fishwives.” He rolled his eyes skyward. “They’re really quite pathetic.”

Athaya didn’t bother to reply; in this, the Sage was sadly correct.

“So you have a plan, do you?” he went on, clasping his hands behind his back. “Some clever little ploy that you think will frighten me away?” He didn’t bother to ask what it was; it did not matter, so certain was he of victory. He shook his head and emitted a quiet rumble of laughter. “I assure you, Princess, it is far too late for that now.”

Athaya was infinitely grateful that she had avoided all mention of the corbals in front of the council and prayed that her relief did not show on her face.

Passing behind her—too close for Athaya’s taste—the Sage sank into the throne at the head of the council hall as if he already held rights to it, knowing himself king in fact if not yet in name. He slouched down, crossing his booted legs at the ankles, and steepled his fingers before him.

“I anticipated you would return, although I thought it would be alone. I did not expect your brother to accompany you; the notion of his stooping to magic…” The Sage sighed resignedly and then fixed a studied gaze upon her. “Again you have surprised me. That isn’t easy to do once, much less a second time.”

He waited for her reply, as if expecting mumbled words of thanks for his compliment, but Athaya offered him none. “Why are you here?” she asked coldly, perfectly aware of how absurdly obvious the answer was. But it was time she needed; time to get her strength back. If the only way to buy that time was to lure him into recounting in loving detail the brilliance of his plan, then she would do so.

“You were expecting me somewhere else?” he replied glibly. “Kaiburn, perhaps?” He looked away dreamily, as if thinking back upon pleasant memories of his youth. “I considered taking Kaiburn next. In fact, Couric urged me to it strongly. He said it was far better to wipe out both of your largest nests than to leave one full of hornets to sting me later. But if Kilfarnan was any indication, your wizards have little sting to them—they are young and relatively untutored. It would have been crude of me to hand you two such defeats in short succession, and I thought that my time would be better spent elsewhere. And I also realized that you would be expecting me to target Kaiburn next,” he added, favoring her with a courtly smile, “and I very much dislike being predictable.”

“And that’s why you deceived us into thinking you were close to Kaiburn already. Those soldiers we saw were only decoys…”

“Diversion is one of the first rules of war, Princess, whether one is using magic or not. I shouldn’t expect you to know the intricacies of battle,” he added, with an intentionally patronizing edge to his tone, “but I rather thought someone at this court might. In any event, it made my task here all the easier; and, one might argue, will save more lives in the long run than otherwise. If I’d taken Kaiburn first, you surely would have realized that I would target Delfarham next. It would have been the only logical choice. And thus, the casualties would have been far worse.”

“You are magnanimous,” Athaya replied dryly, without dropping her gaze.

The Sage inclined his head slightly, pretending that she had meant it as a compliment. “I know you’ve sent to Kaiburn for help, but they will be vastly outnumbered and able to do little more than hurl shadow spells at me. This city will be mine by dawn. Enemy wizards will be imprisoned in the castle dungeons and those without the gift will swear obedience to me or die. We are their betters, you and I,” the Sage reminded her, grasping the arms of Durek’s throne, “and they must be made to see that.”

‘Then as their venerated leader, why are you not out riding in the streets with your sword aloft and showing the people who rules them?”

“All in good time, Athaya,” he replied, enchanted by the image she had conjured, albeit sarcastically. “But I think it wise to deal with you first.”

Athaya felt her innards recoil as the Sage rose from the throne and approached her. “Deal with me?” she echoed. Time… she needed more time! Her dizziness was gone, but her magic would still be weakened to near uselessness; it was unlikely she could defend herself for long against the Sage’s newly enhanced spells.

“You needn’t fear me, Athaya. I simply want you out of the way until my dominion in Caithe is undisputed. The enemy always sags when it sees its banner go down, and you, my dear, are that banner. You would lend considerable strength to this conflict, and I do not wish to deal with the added inconvenience. Although,” he added wryly, “you are not particularly imposing at the moment.”

Athaya tilted her chin up a bit, but knew the gesture of defiance was futile. He had seen her condition upon arriving in the council chamber; it was no use trying to deceive him into thinking her spells were at full potency. At least he didn’t know about the corbals; a corbal, she knew, would likely be her only chance of escape.

If, of course, she had one.

The Sage drifted to her side and extended one hand, as if in silent invitation to a dance. “Without you,” he said softly, “this alliance will crumble and Delfarham will quickly fall to me. And without Delfarham, Caithe itself will do likewise.”