The Fifth Sorceress, page 12
‘Perhaps I could have one of the court physicians sent to your estate to tend to him,’ Tristan offered casually, deciding to keep the subject of her husband foremost in the conversation. He folded his arms across the laces of the dirty vest that he suddenly realized did little to conceal the fact that he had nothing on underneath it. ‘It would seem the least we could do for such a close friend of my mother’s.’
Her smile showed perfect teeth in the flickering candlelight of the chandeliers. ‘Thank you, Your Highness, but I have a feeling that as soon as I return home, the malady will leave him as quickly as it came.’ She tilted her head slightly to one side. A hidden meaning, perhaps? If it was, he didn’t understand it. She once again curtsied.
‘And now if you will excuse me, Your Highness, I am late for a visit with the queen. It has been months since I have visited the palace, and she has granted me the rare honor of a private audience. But I do so look forward to continuing our conversation later, after the ceremony. Could you be so kind as to point the way to the royal chambers?’ The ever-present fan sent some of her perfume his way.
‘Of course, Duchess,’ he said. ‘The royal quarters are in the west wing of the palace, where you will no doubt find her.’ Looking around, he summoned a lieutenant of the Royal Guard forward, resplendent in his dress uniform for the evening. Tristan felt shabby by comparison, but still the duchess’s intent eyes never left his.
The lieutenant approached the prince and saluted crisply. ‘Your Highness,’ he said simply.
‘Please escort the duchess to my mother’s quarters,’ Tristan ordered him. Turning back to Natasha, he noticed her outstretched hand. Sighing inwardly, he again brushed his lips against the back of the gloved hand and bowed.
The look in Natasha’s dark eyes now seemed even more bold, possibly due to the fact that she was about to take her leave of him. Her head still tilted slightly, she slowly looked him up and down. When her eyes at last returned to his, her tongue darted out playfully to touch the beauty mark at the left corner of her mouth. Then, turning away with the lieutenant, she was suddenly gone.
Tristan was standing there alone, smiling and quietly shaking his head, when a different voice – a deep, rich male voice – came up from behind him.
‘A wink from a pretty girl at a party doesn’t always result in climax,’ he heard it say, ‘but only a fool won’t take the opportunity to find out.’
He turned around to the familiar voice and smiled to find Frederick of the House of Steinarr, his brother-in-law and one of his best friends, smiling broadly at him. He stood before a small contingent of the Royal Guard, each of them already in dress uniform. ‘I’ve heard about that one,’ Frederick said slyly, watching her walk away. From the first day they had met, Frederick had inexplicably refused to address the prince formally, instead treating Tristan as an equal. And it was precisely that endearing measure of disrespect that had made him one of the prince’s closest friends. A great, hulking bear of a man, Frederick always seemed too large for his uniform. But underneath that uniform was pure warrior, perhaps the best fighter of the realm, and now the commander of the Royal Guard. Tristan had never had a brother, but if he could have, he would have chosen this man. He smiled again into the face that was framed by the short brown hair and the great forest of brown beard.
‘So how long have you been standing there?’ the prince asked. He felt even more out of place in his dirty clothes as he stood next to the company of colorful soldiers.
‘Long enough to know that you’re obviously slipping,’ Frederick retorted. He stepped closer to Tristan, out of earshot of his troops. ‘I had heard you had a bad day, but I never thought I would live to see you this tired. When I finally saw her open her mouth that last time, I thought she was going to undress you with her teeth.’
‘No, thanks,’ Tristan said, wryly shaking his head. ‘I already have enough trouble.’
‘So I have heard.’ Frederick’s smile evaporated, and he seemed genuinely concerned. ‘And by now most of the palace has heard, as well. Not the details, mind you, but enough to know that the seven rather powerful men behind those portals are not particularly happy with you just now.’ He tilted his head in the direction of the double mahogany doors. ‘I have spoken to your sister, and I know how worried she is about you. Apparently the two of you, each in your own way, have had quite a day.’
Frederick’s appearance suddenly had Tristan feeling rebellious again. ‘Walk with me,’ he said to Frederick, despite Wigg’s imperious command to stay put until he was called for. ‘I want to stretch my legs.’
Tristan’s brother-in-law narrowed his eyes in disapproval. ‘Won’t Wigg be angry?’ he asked. ‘From what I’ve heard, that old wizard is already upset with you enough.’
‘He’s the supreme, all-knowing Lead Wizard of the Directorate, isn’t he?’ Tristan asked sarcastically. ‘If he can find me in all of the Hartwick Woods, then he can certainly find me in this drafty old palace.’ He turned on his heel and purloined two crystal wineglasses from a serving tray that one of the waiters held as he bustled by, offering one to Frederick. Next, Tristan stopped another of them and promptly commandeered an entire bottle. ‘Reinforcements,’ he said proudly. ‘Let’s go.’
As the prince sauntered along the ornate marble halls with Frederick, it felt good to be away from the hubbub and out on his own again. He quickly drank a full glass of wine, and then another, Frederick doing the same. Eventually they stopped before a large staircase, walked down it, and found themselves standing in the midst of one of the queen’s many magnificent gardens. The stars were out, as were the three red moons, and the night sound of the tree frogs could be heard all around them. The prince found the peacefulness reassuring.
Tristan poured himself some more wine and turned to Frederick. ‘They’re all pretty concerned, aren’t they?’ he asked.
‘Not just them,’ Frederick said, ‘but your sister and I, as well. And we have a right to be. Sometimes it seems you care more about your horse than you do your family. Do you want to go into more detail about what really happened up there today?’
Normally, Tristan would gladly have told Frederick about his bizarre experiences. But today something stopped him. He wasn’t even sure himself what exactly had transpired in those caves.
‘I probably couldn’t explain what happened to me today if I tried,’ he replied. ‘All I really want right now is to relax a little and forget it before Wigg, the grand inquisitor, comes looking for me again. You know, he can be a huge annoyance. I know he means well, as do the others of the Directorate, but sometimes I just want to be Tristan the citizen, not Tristan the prince.’ He smiled conspiratorially. ‘All too often I quite enjoy doing exactly what they tell me not to,’ he added, the wine beginning to swim in his head. ‘And if Wigg can’t find me tonight, then they can all go to thunder, the whole lot of them.’
Tristan and Frederick had met during the prince’s training in the Royal Guard, and the two had become so close that Frederick eventually took over personal responsibility for all of Tristan’s training. As a result they were without doubt the finest two swordsmen in the realm, with Frederick holding only a slight edge due to his size and strength. It had been a logical step for the prince to introduce Frederick to his sister Shailiha, and the romance had blossomed from there. Everyone in the royal family had approved, and the two had been married the following year in one of the largest ceremonies ever seen in Eutracia. A year later Shailiha was pregnant with her first child, and the entire kingdom was in joyous expectation of a new royal family member.
Smiling, Tristan put the wine bottle aside and punched Frederick on the arm, hard, as was his custom.
Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps the fact that the two of them had such a healthy rivalry in all things physical. In any event, the challenge had been made, and Frederick smiled knowingly as he uncoupled the silver breastplate from his chest. He immediately struck the prince in the chest so hard that Tristan dropped his wine glass and fell to the ground.
And so it began. In a second, they were on top of each other like a pair of schoolboys at play. Tristan jumped up and grabbed Frederick from behind, only to find himself back down on the ground again. Frederick promptly tried to jump on top of him, only to discover that the prince was gone and standing above him, grinning wickedly. Too late, Frederick saw that the bottle had reappeared in Tristan’s hand, and before he could escape the inevitable, his head had been drenched in wine.
‘There!’ the prince shouted happily. ‘That serves you right for making my sister pregnant, you scoundrel!’ Soon the two of them were laughing so hard that Frederick needed help up, but Tristan was barely able to give it, as they found themselves slipping and sliding in the mud created by the spilled wine and the crushed flowers that lay in ruins around them. Eventually the prince fell down next to Frederick, and the two of them sat there in the mud, laughing. Tristan grabbed a small handful of mud and pushed it into the side of Frederick’s cheek. They were now both completely filthy, Tristan even worse than before, and they each felt as if their laughter would never stop.
Frederick finally found his footing and stood up, still laughing. ‘You’re in a particularly rebellious mood today.’ He snickered. ‘May the Afterlife help you once the Directorate gets their hands on you tonight! But in case you have forgotten, I have other places to go, and other things to attend to. There is still much to do this evening, and that doesn’t include spending any more time with the likes of a ne’er-do-well such as you!’ He looked down at Tristan’s dirty vest and red-stained trousers with a look of mock superiority, quite understanding that he was equally dirty. He started to strap on his breastplate. ‘You might also consider a change of clothes.’ He chuckled. ‘In case you have forgotten, this evening is all about you.’ He waved a great tree trunk of an arm at the edifice of the brightly lit palace. ‘And despite how grand I’m sure tonight will be, I’m told that it’s nothing compared to the actual coronation itself.’ He shook his head slightly as he looked down at the recalcitrant member of the royal house who sat in the mud at his feet, and one corner of his mouth came up. ‘Take care of yourself,’ he said ruefully, thinking of the Directorate. ‘I believe there may be much more to come for you this night that you may not be pleased with. And now a good evening to you, Prince Filthy.’ Frederick then smiled, bowed mockingly to the prince, and slowly walked back into the palace.
Tristan stood and watched as Frederick made his way back into the palace. A good man, the prince thought. And the father of Shailiha’s unborn child.
But Tristan’s good mood slowly began to dissipate as he resignedly made his way back through the crowds, his head slowly clearing from the wine. He tried to ignore the even more bizarre looks he received as he negotiated his way down the halls and back to the Chamber of Supplication. The ornate, congested room seemed even busier than before, but blessedly there was as yet no sign of Wigg.
Once more alone and lonely in a crowd of hundreds, Tristan resignedly sat down in one of the plush supplicant’s chairs and cast his eyes apprehensively to the double mahogany doors at the other side of the room.
Chapter Four
Tristan had indeed been correct in guessing that Wigg was in a foul mood. In truth the wizard realized he had no right to be angry with Tristan, or Shailiha either, for that matter. Instinctively he knew that the prince must have found the Caves by accident, except how he had found them the old one could not imagine. No one had visited the Caves for centuries. Until today. Of all of the people to have gone there, Tristan was the worst possible choice for so many reasons. And now, this close to the coronation, was the worst possible time. In addition, the appearance of the blood stalker had badly unnerved the old wizard, partly because a stalker had not been seen in over two centuries, and partly because it had been his old friend Phillius. He knew it was not anger at the prince and his sister that drove his emotions. It was worry for the future.
Now he stood before the Directorate of Wizards and King Nicholas in the rather dark but luxurious meeting room deep below the palace. This was one of the secluded places where the seven of them came to discuss matters of importance, and Wigg had specified this room because he knew he could allow no one to overhear, just as he could tolerate no interruptions.
He looked at the six of them seated at the highly polished circular conference table, the other wizards on either side of him and King Nicholas on the throne at the center of the far side. The king’s usually regal bearing was tense with concern for his son as he pulled with worry upon his iron-gray beard. He was already dressed in the ermine-trimmed dark blue velvet robes of his office in preparation for the inspection ceremony. Wigg was comforted to see the ever-present Paragon hanging around Nicholas’s neck on the usual gold chain. The square-cut bloodred stone sent out shimmering highlights of deep scarlet even in the dim light of the subterranean room.
Wigg looked to the other five wizards, his friends of so long. Tretiak, Egloff, Killius, Maaddar, and Slike. Their traditional plain gray wizard’s robes stood out in stark contrast to the king’s richer clothing.
How do I begin this? the old wizard thought. What I tell them here today will forever change all of our lives. He took a breath to speak, but the king, no longer able to contain his worry, spoke first.
‘Wigg,’ he began quietly, ‘I can only assume that this meeting is of great importance, given the fact that the inspection ceremony is less than two hours away.’ He looked around the table at the others. ‘And, since the prince has been missing all day, we can only assume that our presence here concerns him.’ He leaned forward intently, the Paragon gently swinging back and forth on the chain around his neck, then looked Wigg dead in the eye. ‘I have asked the other wizards of the Directorate seated here about my son’s whereabouts today, but all I get in return are concerned, polite stares.’ He slowly laced his fingers before continuing. ‘Tell me, Lead Wizard, is my son safe?’
‘Indeed, Sire, he is well, as is your daughter, who was also with me today.’ Wigg paused, wondering how to continue. ‘Yes, both your children are well, and back here at the palace awaiting your orders.’ He looked down at his long, gnarled fingers, then raised his eyes back up to those of his king. ‘But as to whether any of us are to remain safe is a question that I truly cannot answer at this time.’
Before any of the others could ask him what he meant, Wigg turned and left the room. In a moment he returned holding the blood stalker’s battle ax and tossed it unceremoniously upon the conference table. It screeched and scratched its way along the varnished wood for a few feet before stopping in the center, some of its various brain-matter stains still visible. The head of the ax slowly tipped to one side and finally came to rest upon the sharp edge of one of its shiny blades.
Before any of the other six men could speak he dryly added, ‘For any of you who do not remember, I don’t recommend touching any of the places stained in yellow.’ He sat down heavily in his high-backed wizard’s chair and let out a long sigh.
The room had become as silent as a tomb.
Nicholas’s eyes went wide. He seemed to be about to speak, but then apparently found his last remaining measure of patience and drew back, obviously deciding to wait for the explanation to come to him. The five other wizards of the Directorate initially showed surprisingly little outright emotion at the sudden appearance of the ax, but Wigg could see the color draining from their faces.
Tretiak was the most powerful of the Directorate next to Wigg. He was also Wigg’s best friend among the wizards and the man the Lead Wizard had known the longest. He was the first to speak.
‘Where?’ he asked simply, in his low, commanding voice.
‘The Hartwick Woods,’ Wigg replied. He had been sure that this would be the first question asked, just as he had been equally sure that Tretiak would be the one to ask it. Tretiak gave Wigg a hard look. There was a meaning to the location, and they both knew it.
‘And we can presume that you killed him?’ Tretiak calmly continued, turning his gaze from the ax back to Wigg.
‘Yes,’ Wigg said sadly. ‘But there is more that you must know. The stalker carried a red birthmark upon the inside of his left forearm.’ He paused. ‘It was Phillius.’
At the mention of the dead stalker’s human name, mouths dropped open and several of the wizards turned to each other in disbelief. Wigg let only a moment slip by before commanding their attention by speaking again.
‘As for the identity of the skull atop the ax, although it undoubtedly belonged to a wizard, there is, of course, no telling who he was. I suggest that, out of respect for Phillius’s first victim of endowed blood, the ax be taken apart and the skull be placed to rest in the Graves of the Unknown in the wizards’ crypt. As a precaution, I destroyed the body of Phillius by fire, as has always been the custom.’ He looked down. ‘In addition, I know that all of you, including our king, are aware of the recent disappearances of a number of the lesser rural wizards over the course of the last several months. I do not profess to know whether Phillius acted alone, but I believe it fair to say that we at least have our answer regarding their recent vanishings.’
From the left side of the table next to the king, Slike looked up at Wigg, his green eyes full of questions. ‘Blood stalkers were maintained by time enchantments,’ he said incredulously. A look very close to horror began to creep into his eyes. ‘Do you suppose it possible that—’
‘I don’t know,’ Wigg purposely interrupted, sure that he could guess the remainder of Slike’s question, but not ready to enter into the inevitability of that discussion. ‘Whether he somehow survived in hiding for over three centuries, which I doubt, or whether he was recently recalled no one can say at this time, and further speculation in this regard is pointless.’ He folded his hands before him and looked solemnly at the others. As Lead Wizard he meant to have control of this meeting. ‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘it is my unpleasant duty to inform you of an even more threatening occurrence this day.’
