Two Magicians, concluded
Aug. 30th, 2007 12:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerCHAPTER THIRTEEN
"Begin?" Shurath said calmly. "Why begin? All this will be ended, along with this miserably smug little backwater of a kingdom, when the Panergodyne destroys itself."
"You know about the Panergodyne?" Mordecai said, taken aback. "Then you know I have to get to it, to re-establish the link with my mind, or--" The full import of Shurath's words reached him. "What?" he said weakly.
"I could hardly credit my good fortune," Shurath said softly, beginning to move towards Mordecai, "the other morning in your office, when that terrible little boy brought the damned thing downstairs in his hat. I could hardly have arranged it better. I can only assume that some force of cosmic justice put the thing within my reach."
"Your reach?"
"I only had time to plant a very simple suggestion in the girl's mind, hastily wrought on the spur of the moment, but it sufficed. She took the thing, hat and all, and brought it to a shopkeeper of my acquaintance. Unfortunately he recognised it as an artifact of power and tried to act contrary to my interests--never a wise thing to do."
"But I don't understand," Mordecai said. "How could you know of the Panergodyne? Only the King and the Court Magus--"
"Oh, come now," Shurath scoffed. "It was never that secret. Just because Tam never actually named it in the Tomes, were we to believe he managed everything solely on his own merits and power? Nobody ever wins without cheating, del Aguila. You should know that."
Understanding stabbed into Mordecai's mind. "You were Zivano," he said. "You were Tudny's rival."
"I could have made Tamland great," Shurath said. "As Court Magus I would have advised King Thorn on a path of conquest. We had power then. Briom was torn by internal conflict, Tsenesh was economically weak. We could have extended our borders to the farthest shores, brought the blessings of the Panergodyne to every living soul."
"Only by conquering and ruling them," Mordecai said. "That is not what it is for."
"No," Shurath said with bitter irony. "Not for everyone, only for the élite. The exalted peasantry of Tamland, descended from a traitor and his band of outlaws. Do you really think that this pocket kingdom is entitled to its prosperity? Do you think it deserves to survive?"
"I do not think it deserves to be destroyed," Mordecai said. "And I am quite certain that you would never have been content with being Court Magus to the Emperor of the World."
"As to that," Shurath said carelessly, "terrible things can happen during a war. Besides, the King and the Magus are, as you so adroitly pointed out, ideally one person..." His face darkened. "But the Panergodyne chose Tudny, a tired old man with a nice line in pretty spells, and rejected me, who would have spread its power across the world. Well, so be it. My activities as the Steel Wolf have enabled me to amass a considerable fortune in my new homeland--"
"Where is that exactly?" Mordecai inquired.
Shurath laughed shortly. "Somewhere," he said, "where magic is not allowed to interfere with the course of nature."
"Where bullying and treachery alone can get you whatever you want," Mordecai translated. "One of the Northern Kingdoms, beyond the Lost Sea. They don't like magic, do they?" He feinted to the left. Shurath blocked him. "But you don't mind it at all, do you, Shurath? I should have guessed. All those amulets..."
"My teacher said I was very good at amulets," Shurath said, blocking Mordecai's feint to the right. "But don't reproach yourself. I think I covered my tracks remarkably well. Are you in a hurry to go somewhere, del Aguila?"
"If you are still here when the Panergodyne overloads, you will die too," Mordecai said. "You have to let me get to it and stop this."
"Ah, but I shall not be here." Shurath smiled. He took a small ball out of his pocket. "Ingenious spell, this. Doesn't mind in the least who uses it, or where they want to go."
"And you call me a traitor," Mordecai marvelled, feeling in his pocket.
Shurath's face closed up. "I was betrayed first!" he snapped. " The Magusship should have been mine. That thing rejected me, and now I return favour for favour." He hefted the ball in his hand. "Farewell, del Aguila. Not that you will."
As the ball left Shurath's hand, Mordecai flung a missile of his own. The wolfshead pin, his last, hit the ball dead centre. It wobbled in flight, seemed to hesitate, and then dropped to the floor, an ordinary ball, all magic gone. Shurath stared at it, shocked, and Mordecai seized his chance and leapt for the door.
"No!" Shurath shouted, and lashed out. Mordecai tried to duck, saw the wicked little dagger in the Chancellor's hand, and crashed into the wall. Shurath moved back to block the doorway completely as Mordecai got to his feet, feeling the first throb of pain from the slash across the back of his hand.
"Very clever," Shurath said through his teeth. "Well, then, since I am to end here, I shall at least have the satisfaction of giving you as much pain as possible before we both die." He lunged again, and Mordecai leapt back, shaking and flexing his fingers. There seemed to be no serious damage. The thunder and lightning were now directly overhead and almost continuous, and Mordecai fancied he could feel the ground tremble beneath his feet. If all this land goes back to marsh at once...
"So I did you a favour," he said, "putting the Panergodyne within your reach. How was your original plan supposed to go?"
"I do believe you are trying to delay me till rescue arrives," Shurath said with a smile. "How quaint. Still, we might as well make sure." He moved his hand in a series of gestures and spoke two sentences in a harsh language. Mordecai reflexively began a counterspell, but broke off, knowing it to be pointless. He saw Shurath's features and clothing shift and blur into a copy of his own, and knew that he now looked, to the unmagical eye, like Shurath.
"That should clear up any lingering ambiguities when the Prince finally gets here," Shurath said, advancing towards Mordecai. "If there is a chance to escape this cataclysm, I do not intend to let anyone or anything prevent me from taking it." He slashed again with the knife, and Mordecai, backing away, found the bottom stair with his foot.
"My intention was always to identify you as the Wolf," Shurath continued calmly. "In a dramatic climax to my investigation, you would have been found standing over a body which would have been readily identifiable as my own. Crazed with grief for the loyal Chancellor so cruelly slain, one of the Guards was to shoot you out of hand...whether fatally or not, I had not yet determined. I, of course, would be long gone." He was at the bottom of the stairs now, and Mordecai on the first half-landing.
"And Tamland?" Mordecai prompted.
A whimsical look crossed Shurath's--Mordecai's--face. "Do you know, I don't think it had occurred to me to include Tamland in my revenge. I think perhaps I simply didn't care enough about it. Now, of course..." He swung the dagger again, and caught Mordecai's arm as the mage negotiated the turn. Mordecai broke and ran for the hoist hatch, but Shurath outdistanced him with a shocking turn of speed and held him back from the opening. Lightning made of him a silhouette.
"Why hate me?" Mordecai demanded. "Why kill me? I was never your enemy."
"You are Court Magus," Shurath said. "You are in my place. That is enough. That is what I hate."
"Shurath," Mordecai said reasonably. "I am sorry that you were not chosen. You must have been an exceptional magician then, to get to the final stage. You still have a brilliant mind. You know that this thing you are doing is unreasonable, insane. Why not--"
A shout from below interrupted him. Shurath looked down. "Ah," he said. "Here come the gallant rescuers. Thank you for the eloquent appeal, but I really rather think not." He took a deep breath. "Time to bring our little comedy to a close."
Before Mordecai could react, he plunged the dagger into his own left shoulder and staggered, wincing and gaping with the pain, back into the frame of the hoist hatch. Mordecai followed, aware of what was happening but seemingly unable to do anything to prevent it.
He saw a crowd of people standing on the street below in the pouring rain, caught random glimpses of Guard uniforms, Varnak's tousled red head. The ground was definitely trembling. He could feel it through the metal of the hoist. Shurath, clutching at the spreading dark dampness on his disguised clothes, cried out in well-simulated pain, and at the same moment Mordecai's foot touched something on the floor that clinked, something that sent a shiver through his body and caused Shurath’s eyes to widen in shock. He looked down, saw the glint of silver next to the bag in which he had put the warding amulets, and stooped quickly.
"Shoot him, quickly!" Shurath shouted. "He's disguised!"
A lone quarrel whizzed past Mordecai's head. If I find that Guard who keeps shooting at me, he thought, I'll tie his crossbow round his neck.
"Not him, you clot!" Varnak roared. "The other one!"
Mordecai gripped the amulet in his hand and launched himself at his own lying image, icily aware of events on the periphery of his senses: his own name called in a familiar-unfamiliar voice, Shurath's dagger coming up to meet him, one of the hoist's steel rails introducing itself to his bare left foot and refusing on any account to allow it to proceed, a bellow of thunder that seemed to shake the whole building and something thrown, something intolerably bright that flashed and flickered crazily as it arced towards them, so slowly that even as Mordecai fell forward he had ample time to roll in mid-air and bring his hands up to close around Shurath's as Shurath's closed around the screaming, sun-bright Panergodyne--
Searing spears of crystalline fire shot through every muscle of his body. He was distantly aware that there was nothing beneath his feet and that something wanted him very urgently down on the ground, but he had no time to worry about that. His mind was reaching through his hands, through Shurath's hands, trying to reach the Panergodyne, trying to rein in its wildly fluctuating power, and there seemed to be a world in the way. It was a strange world, like nothing he had ever seen before, and yet a part of him was surprised to find that it was not what he would have expected.
This new world was a bright, busy, happy place, designed and maintained entirely for the benefit and pleasure of its sole occupant. Within its sealed borders shadows moved and spoke, danced amusingly on occasion, came and went about their incomprehensible, unimportant affairs without noticeably affecting anything much. For those who behaved well there was occasionally a sort of condescending affection, as for a dog or other dumb creature; those who misbehaved were ignored or, in extreme cases, removed. And the bright world ticked on, regardless, smooth and shining and self-sufficient.
One of the shadows was named Mordecai, and Mordecai saw to his chagrin that even he did not matter very much to the Being who ruled this world. All the hatred and revulsion he had expected to face were--not exactly a pretence, more a necessary tool for the sweeping away of a very minor nuisance, a mask to be taken up and then put aside. He, King Bran, the Panergodyne, all these were nothing, and had always been nothing: for in the world of Shurath's mind there was nothing, now and evermore, nothing real except the one central figure, alone and untouched, presiding over a dance of shadows, devoid of all significance.
Mordecai had just time to be aware that Shurath was also perceiving his mind in the same way, and to wish him joy of it, before his own push and the Panergodyne's pull became too much to resist and he burst through into the realm of limitless light he had last seen years ago when he had first made the link. Power poured into him like clear cold water, filling him to the brim and sweeping away all the pains he had barely been alive enough to feel. It came to him that even this, this torrent of power washing over him and overflowing out of him, was just a droplet in the ocean of power stored inside the small grey pyramid.
If Shurath had ever had this much power... The thought was too terrible to keep in focus. He loosened his hold on consciousness, and time stopped.
When he opened his eyes again he got rain in them.
"Are you all right?" said a voice. Varnak's.
"Beware him," Mordecai tried to say. His voice was rough, his throat dry. "Beware..."
"What?"
"Beware...the dangerous child."
"The dangerous what?" Someone shook Mordecai's shoulder. He opened his eyes again, and whatever he had been trying to say fragmented and faded like an astral vision. Full awareness returned, and with it a cold fear.
"Oh my gods," he said, starting up.
"What is it? What's the matter?" Varnak said anxiously. They were on the road outside the wine factor's. The rain had slackened considerably, and the thunder faded to an occasional rumble in the far hills.
"I knew it," Mordecai said bitterly. "I knew it." His eye lighted on the Prince. "This is all your fault, you know that?"
"What, this?" Varnak gestured around him at the situation in general. "You can't mean to--"
"You," Mordecai went on, "grabbed me straight after Court for your little revolutionary meeting, and then Willibald had to get me out of the palace, and since then I have been chased, shot at, interrogated, astrally kidnapped, and kept on the run without a moment to think--as a result of which," he concluded savagely, "I am now lying here, in the rain, in the mud, in my very best cloth-of-silver cloak which is now completely ruined!"
He put on his fiercest frown, and Varnak, after a moment of blank incomprehension, laughed a little uneasily.
"You're joking," he said, "aren't you?"
"Pay for a new cloak and I'll tell you," Mordecai retorted, holding up a ragged handful of cloth. "Magic won't fix this."
"Mordecai, you exasperating--"
"Wait a minute," Mordecai cut the Prince off. "Where's Shurath?"
Varnak looked over at a huddle of Guards round a figure seated on the kerb. "He hasn't spoken or moved since we pulled the two of you apart. I think he's a little upset."
Mordecai looked at him, and he flushed. "Well, I mean, apart from the obvious," he said, and his voice caught on the last word. "Tam take it, Mordecai--"
Mordecai reached out and took the Prince into his arms, patting him gently on the shoulder. "Ssh, ssh, there there, Your Highness," he said over Varnak's sobs. "It's all over."
"Do me a favour, Mordecai," Varnak said damply.
"Yes, yes," Mordecai said soothingly. "Next time you say you're bored and you want adventure I will hit you over the head repeatedly with a large blunt object like maybe your father. It's all right. You are allowed to feel like this. Mind you, a really considerate person would have waited till I had finished collapsing first, but I guess royalty has its prerogatives."
Varnak laughed half-heartedly. "I'm all right now," he said.
"Good," Mordecai said. "You can help me up before I catch my death from this cold wet ground."
Varnak hoisted him to his feet, and Mordecai approached the cluster of Guards round Shurath.
"Not much of a Steel Wolf now, is he?" one was saying.
"More like a Stuffed Rabbit," said another, nudging the motionless man with his boot.
"What d'you think the King'll give him?" said a third.
"No sentence long enough for the likes of him," said the first Guard, and spat at Shurath's bowed head.
Mordecai gestured, and all three Guards turned to him as if pulled by strings, which in a sense they were.
"Listen to me," he said coldly, "and think before you judge this man. There is nothing you or the King could do to him that would be more cruel than what he has done to himself, nothing that would make him suffer more than he has suffered tonight. He has done great evil...but be sure before you spit at him, or kick him, that you could never be driven by any force to do the things he has done." He crouched down beside Shurath and touched the old man's shoulder. "My lord?" he said softly.
Shurath's eyes lifted to meet his. There was recognition in them, and awe mixed with stark terror, and a dreadful longing.
"How..." the old man whispered. "How...how do you stand it?"
"What, my lord?"
"All the questions." Shurath's eyes looked past Mordecai into some terrible distance. "All the...uncertainty."
"We call it freedom," Mordecai said. "It makes us feel better." He straightened up. "Treat him very gently," he told the startled Guards. "I shall be watching."
"Mordecai," Varnak said as Mordecai moved away, "there's one thing that still puzzles me." He took Mordecai's arm. "This business of the Princess-Elect."
Mordecai's heart sank. "Yes," he said. "I was hoping to speak to you about that."
"Oh, it wasn't serious as it turned out," Varnak said airily, and Mordecai blinked. "Only do try and be a bit more specific next time, if there is a next time, which I fervently hope there isn't. I thought for a while there it was the Sinjara lass you were talking about."
"Uh?" was the best Mordecai could come up with.
"Fortunately Princess Amiya herself corrected me before I got myself in too deep," Varnak went on. "She really is rather spectacular. You should have seen her once I got her untied. Spell after spell, and fighting hand-to-hand at the same time, I wouldn't have believed--"
"Princess Amiya?" Mordecai echoed. "She was there?"
"Well, of course she was, ninny," Varnak said patiently. "You yourself told me she would be, if you cast your mind back a few hours. I admit I'd never have recognised her, but once she identified herself it was obvious. What puzzles me, though," he said, his brow wrinkled in honest confusion, "is why you had her trailing round after you posing as your apprentice."
"What?" Mordecai looked round wildly and finally located Willibald, who smiled and gave him a little wave.
Mordecai, the blindingly obvious truth of what Varnak had said crashing slowly about his ears, allowed himself to be helped into a carriage and driven back to the palace. When he had eaten a little food, he revived enough to undress and bathe himself, and when he had done that he went to bed and fell into a dreamless, fathomless sleep; but he spoke not a word from that moment till the next day, and when he woke up in his big soft bed in the marth tower and looked around, Willibald and all trace of him was gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"And I've left a note on the door downstairs saying you'll be seeing petitioners again from the day after tomorrow," Gisel said, with her mouth full.
"Fine," Mordecai said, picking at his food listlessly.
"Did I thank you, by the way," Gisel went on, " for mentioning me to Bran? I have to admit I was a little worried, sitting there in the dungeons with old Shurath firing questions at me."
"Mm."
"Still, when the King stands surety for one's conduct it takes a little more guts than even Shurath had to start chopping lumps off one." Gisel eyed Mordecai for a moment. "Well, thanks anyway," she said.
"Don't mention it."
"Shurath seems to have started a new furrow," Gisel went on doggedly. "He's sold all his estates except for one little farm, and given the money to the Merchants' Guild--as if they needed it, but they say they're going to start some kind of benevolent fund with it, so that's all right."
"Good."
"Bran and Varnak are both going to start studying magic seriously, even though neither of them have any more talent than this pickled onion, so that they know what you're talking about next time you panic at them."
"Mm."
"Donna del Ynestro still thinks you had your wicked way with her chick, but then she isn't planning to do anything about it as far as I could tell, and the girl's magical abilities seem to have picked up quite phenomenally, so she's happy."
"Wonderful."
"So, everything's fine," Gisel said pointedly. "You're off the hook with the Witchring because you rescued the Princess-Elect--not that you did of course, but Varnak's always been far too modest for his own good--you've got your power back, the kingdom's back to almost normal, and if you don't stop moping this instant I shall plunge this pickle fork deep into your hand."
"Good idea," said Mordecai.
"Look, what did you expect?" Gisel demanded suddenly. "You spent the whole time she was here shouting at her, trying to get rid of her and taking her for granted. She helped you save the kingdom and you just handed her back to the Witchring without a murmur."
"What could I have done?" Mordecai snapped. "She belongs to them. I mean with them. If I hadn't let her go back they would have castrated me."
"As if it would make any difference. Your sex life has been non-existent for the past two years."
"I've been busy." Mordecai did a double-take. "How do you know?"
"How could I not know? Every woman in the palace who thinks about it at all thinks about it with you, or did till you made it clear you were more interested in your magic."
"I flirt with women all the time."
"And that's all you do. Anyway, we were talking about the Princess."
"There is nothing to talk about. She is back where she belongs."
"That's not what she thought."
"She was just having a holiday. A couple of those drugged candies of hers and she will forget all about--" Mordecai stopped. "Everything," he said lamely.
"You're just pissed off because she fooled you for so long."
"I am not--" Mordecai lowered his voice. "She did not fool me. I was just too busy to take her up on the matter. Anyway, I put a truth spell on her and she said Willibald was her name."
"It was the name those Borderland farmers gave her last time she escaped," Gisel reiterated. "She wore it for six months. It's as much her name as any other."
"That is not the point," Mordecai insisted. "That spell should have worked properly--"
"There, you see?" Gisel was triumphant. "You're just upset about your bedamned spells not working on her. Just because she's a better magician than you are, you let her go back to that slave-pen of a carriage--"
"Gisel," Mordecai said. "I wish you would stop trying to do whatever it is you are trying to do. The Princess is gone, and nothing I or anyone else can do would bring her back even if I wanted to, which I do not. The kingdom, as you say, is back to normal, and so is my life, and I am very happy about that, do you understand?"
"You sound it," Gisel said sardonically.
"I am."
"Stop hitting the table."
"I'm not. Not now."
"So you're happy."
"Yes."
"Good."
"Yes."
"Fine."
"I think so."
"You really are a miserable worm, you know," Gisel said judicially. "I wish--" She broke off, got up and left the room. Mordecai listened to her angry footsteps pattering down the stairs, pushed away his plate and sighed.
It wasn't as if he'd had a choice, for Tam's sake. By the time he had gone looking for Willibald--for Amiya--for whoever, he--she--had vanished, and a coldly smiling Duenna had informed him that after two days of uninterrupted meditation in her carriage, the Princess-Elect had reconsidered her judgment and was pleased to announce that the whole series of incidents had not taken place. Mordecai had considered his options, looking at that smooth, closed face framed by the elaborate architecture of hair, and had mumbled something that sounded like thanks and turned away.
It wasn't as if he had told the girl to go. She'd gone without even trying to talk to him. Well, then, if she felt guilty about the trick she'd played on him, the trouble she had caused him, that was only fair. Mordecai brightened up considerably at that thought. All right, so Gisel might be able to sympathise with the poor little Witch girl, but when it came down to it, how much sympathy could he in fairness be expected to feel for the author of so much chaos? He could only hope that her recent experiences would leave her resigned--no, "resigned" was the wrong word; "reconciled", that was better--would leave her reconciled to her cloistered, cosseted life of dubious pleasures.
Actually, when he came to think of it, he found it rather difficult to square the image in his mind of the waif-thin, vibrantly alive Willibald with the sybaritic lifestyle suggested by the contents of the carriage. Somehow they seemed to belong to a different person. Over the years, though, Mordecai had evolved remedies for this kind of unhealthy preoccupation, and he buried himself at once in the construction of a particularly complex theoretical spell. By the following morning he had recovered himself enough to watch from his window as the Tseneshi caravan rolled out of the palace gates, the big black carriage flanked by outriders and preceded and followed by baggage carts.
"Goodbye," he said softly to his empty room, and wanted to add "Good riddance" but couldn't quite manage it. He stayed there, watching, till the last black-clad rider had ceremoniously spat on the threshold and passed out of sight, and then he heaved a deep breath and returned to his spell construction.
The next few days were busy for Mordecai, and Gisel soon found it too time-consuming to stay angry with him, which was a relief for them both. King Bran had issued a proclamation declaring the services of the Court Magus available to any who had suffered consequential loss or damage to property as a result of the storm or the earth tremors, and this brought a wider range of petitioners than usual to his door. Mordecai threw himself into the work with dedication and something like his old flamboyance, insisting on visiting every damaged building and performing the necessary spells in situ, and also resumed his occupation of the Seat of Magic at daily Court. This was a relief to Prince Varnak, who was also standing in as Chancellor till a replacement could be found, and therefore had been compelled to dart from seat to seat several times in the course of a session. A young, terrified journeyman Lector had already taken Pergwit's place on the right. Tamland was healing itself.
Two months or so later, a black carriage without entourage rattled into the courtyard. Mordecai heard the noise from his workroom window and glanced at it once without much interest. There had been a lot of comings and goings lately. Briom had sent an ambassador, full of apologies for the fact that no-one of sufficiently exalted status had been available till now to fill the post. King Bran had sent one back, personally selected by himself from the palace's junior cleaning staff, with a letter saying exactly the same. The Guard had been expanded by the reintroduction of compulsory service, and the border forts were being remanned. Tam's wisdom was being read a lot more and interpreted a lot less these days. Probably this was some Tseneshi diplomat come to complain about the difficulty of getting spies through the border.
Mordecai dismissed the matter and returned to the spell he was constructing, a complex third-order transformation on five levels at once with no less than six dependent subcantrips and a Grand Traverse at every multiple junction. If it were cast, it would have the effect of saving a great prince from flying death that would descend from a tower of learning. At least that was the theory. Mordecai had no intention of casting it. Carefully he took the fragile construct in his mental grasp, eased a few strands out from the centre so that the last element could be slotted in. He held his breath as he made the necessary gestures and visualised the requisite thought-forms. The final expression slid in perfectly, locked at both ends, and Mordecai gently relaxed his grip, sealed and closed the spell, and sat back to admire it.
Someone chose this moment to knock at the door. Mordecai might have reflected that it was fortunate they had not done so five seconds ago: as it was, he looked up irritably and snapped "Who is it?"
"Oh, just the King," came the response. "Am I at home to myself, or should I try myself later?"
Mordecai got up hastily and opened the door. "My apologies, Your Majesty," he said. "This is an unexpected surprise. I mean--"
"Best kind," King Bran said with a grin. "Well, I did think of popping in through the dresser now the old passage is cleared and the skylight unblocked, but then I thought, no, might be a bad move. So," he said, "I came this way, and--er--here I am."
"Er--yes," Mordecai agreed.
"Mordecai," the King said, seeming a little embarrassed, "I've decided it's time you took on an apprentice. I know there's no need to worry about the succession just yet, but, well, you spend far too much time cooped up in here fiddling with theory. You need to get out and about a bit more, farm out the work to someone younger, take some time to yourself. Work off some of those frustrations, eh?" The King winked and chuckled.
"What frustrations?" Mordecai said blankly. "I mean--Your Majesty, I have no need--"
"Now don't worry about a thing," the King said. "There's absolutely no need to go through all that tiresome rigmarole of choosing and testing. I have the ideal candidate for you. Already quite a brilliant magician, knows the job as it were, and-- well--it would be a very great personal favour to me, as well as a signal service to Tamland, if you'd consider taking her on." He stepped aside as a figure in black glided forward.
Her blonde hair was arranged as elaborately as possible, given its extreme shortness, on a Tseneshi hair-frame of copper set with amethysts and citrines, and her blue eyes appeared like jewels themselves as they flashed mockery at him from her pointed face. She wore a low-necked black bodice, boned and worked with iridescent black sequins and beads, over a black silk tunic with voluminous sleeves, and her full hooped skirt was embroidered black on black in complex geometric figures. She bowed in the curt Tseneshi style and offered her hand.
"Reverend Lady--" Mordecai stopped and stared.
Amiya turned to the King. "Be at it again," she said. "Gawking like a mooncalf. What dost tha do with un?"
"Don't trouble yourself, my dear," the King said with a twinkle in his eye. "He always did have little brain and less manners. As you well know."
"Aye," said Amiya with a sigh. "Well, can't be stood here all day, me. Will tha take me or no?"
"Take you?" Mordecai echoed.
Amiya snorted in disgust. "As thy prentice, tha dirty-minded cull. Tha'll have to buck thy ideas up an tha does, mind. Can't be having with all this silent admiration, me."
"Admir-- Silent-- I--" Mordecai took two deep breaths. "Your Majesty," he said, "you say this would be a service to Tamland?"
"A very considerable one," King Bran said, twinkling even more.
"In that case," Mordecai said, "I call upon you, Your Majesty, to witness that I do here and now take this woman as my apprentice, with all rights and duties thereto appurtenant."
"Good." The King was twinkling so much now he looked like a stout red-haired chandelier. "I'll, er, let you get started then."
Amiya sailed past Mordecai into his workroom, and the King closed the door on a positive storm of scintillation.
"Daft old bugger thinks we be soft on each other," Amiya said with a derisive snort of laughter.
"How did you-- I mean--" Mordecai began.
"I told the Duenna," Amiya said, in a voice suddenly much less accented, "that I couldn't be Witch Queen any more on account of we'd had it off."
"Had what off? You mean--" Mordecai's jaw dropped. "You do mean--"
"Aye." Amiya smiled happily. "I went into a fair bit of detail. Had to make up a bit, but she knew no better nor I, so that was all right."
"But--but--the implications--the repercussions--" Mordecai was panicking and knew it. "This will mean war. I'll be--"
"Nay, chuck," Amiya said gently. "If the Duenna admitted I had it off with thee, she would have to admit as she lost sight of me afore we were two days into Tamland, and then I would tell about the other time, when I were missing for six months, and then she'd get it in the neck. She'll crack on I failed my Advanced Thaumaturgy and that'll be that." She grinned. "I'm off the hook. Never wanted to be Witch Queen anyroad. No fun."
"I-- but--"
"So when they kicked me out of Tsenesh," Amiya continued calmly, "I thought I'd come by and give thee a chance to say sorry."
"Sorry!" Mordecai exploded.
"Tha didn't need to get so passionate about it," Amiya said.
"You have the bare-faced gall to come in here and--and--" Mordecai waved his arms, lost for words.
"Well," Amiya said, turning to him, and no longer smiling, "think on. I didn't ask thee to come barging in here, waking us up and getting thysen in a tiswas, when if tha'd just let me be I'd have been gone before tha knew I were there."
"You--"
"I didn't ask thee," Amiya continued, "to hand me that Panergodyne thing in my hat. I didn't ask thee to try to work through the backlash and get mixed up in rebellions and whatnot. And I'm not too sure I recall asking to get trussed up to a chair by big hairy blokes with no conversation, leave alone getting my little fingers broken by your friend Shurath. So I reckon, since tha's been blaming me for all and sundry, I deserve an apology." Her attention switched suddenly from him to the spell. "Ooh, what a beauty!" she breathed, going over to it. "I've never seen one so big nor that afore."
"Willib--Amiya," Mordecai cautioned. "Be careful. Don't--"
"Oops," Amiya said as she caught her sleeve on a corner of the dresser and lurched forward. Her outstretched hand, flailing for balance, touched the spell. For a split second the intricate construction seemed to turn on several axes at once, and then it was gone. Reality rippled once and steadied again.
Mordecai put his hand over his eyes. "Do you have any idea," he said with forced calm, "where that spell has gone to?"
"Wherever it be most needed, I fancy," Amiya said. "What else were tha minded to do with un? Stick un on thy mantel?"
Mordecai opened his mouth to yell, and gave up. It was no use. Some forces in the universe were too powerful to fight.
"All right," he said. "Never mind. It wasn't important." He frowned at her. "But if you are to be my apprentice, you must dress practically. There is no place for that kind of nonsense in a serious workroom like this."
Amiya eyed his gorgeous purple brocaded robe and peacock-blue underrobe with interest. "Oh, aye," she said. "I'll be back in breeches afore tha can say knife. Be more comfy that way anyroad, me." She grinned again. "Tha can go back to calling me Willibald an tha list."
"It might be easier," Mordecai said. "I will have enough trouble coping with an apprentice who is more powerful than I am."
"No bother," Amiya said confidently. "Tha can learn from me same as I learn from thee. Give us a few years we'll be level pegging. I tell thee, tha'll not regret--" She tried to turn round, and found that her skirt had hooked on to one of the arms of Mordecai's new orrery. The movement dragged it half out of its niche, and two of the arms broke off, their model planets coming loose and rolling across the floor. Amiya pulled at the skirt to try and disentangle it, and four more satellites came loose. Mordecai, hurrying to prevent further destruction, found the moon beneath his feet, and slid helplessly into her. They tumbled to the floor together amid tearing cloth and bouncing planets, just as Gisel knocked and opened the door.
"Oh," she said, starting to grin. "Oh. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything."
There was a short silence after the door closed again.
"Did tha say sorry to me?" Amiya said.
"No," Mordecai managed from underneath her.
"Oh." Amiya thought a moment. "Tha will," she said definitely.
Mordecai, on reflection, decided she was probably right.
THE END
"Begin?" Shurath said calmly. "Why begin? All this will be ended, along with this miserably smug little backwater of a kingdom, when the Panergodyne destroys itself."
"You know about the Panergodyne?" Mordecai said, taken aback. "Then you know I have to get to it, to re-establish the link with my mind, or--" The full import of Shurath's words reached him. "What?" he said weakly.
"I could hardly credit my good fortune," Shurath said softly, beginning to move towards Mordecai, "the other morning in your office, when that terrible little boy brought the damned thing downstairs in his hat. I could hardly have arranged it better. I can only assume that some force of cosmic justice put the thing within my reach."
"Your reach?"
"I only had time to plant a very simple suggestion in the girl's mind, hastily wrought on the spur of the moment, but it sufficed. She took the thing, hat and all, and brought it to a shopkeeper of my acquaintance. Unfortunately he recognised it as an artifact of power and tried to act contrary to my interests--never a wise thing to do."
"But I don't understand," Mordecai said. "How could you know of the Panergodyne? Only the King and the Court Magus--"
"Oh, come now," Shurath scoffed. "It was never that secret. Just because Tam never actually named it in the Tomes, were we to believe he managed everything solely on his own merits and power? Nobody ever wins without cheating, del Aguila. You should know that."
Understanding stabbed into Mordecai's mind. "You were Zivano," he said. "You were Tudny's rival."
"I could have made Tamland great," Shurath said. "As Court Magus I would have advised King Thorn on a path of conquest. We had power then. Briom was torn by internal conflict, Tsenesh was economically weak. We could have extended our borders to the farthest shores, brought the blessings of the Panergodyne to every living soul."
"Only by conquering and ruling them," Mordecai said. "That is not what it is for."
"No," Shurath said with bitter irony. "Not for everyone, only for the élite. The exalted peasantry of Tamland, descended from a traitor and his band of outlaws. Do you really think that this pocket kingdom is entitled to its prosperity? Do you think it deserves to survive?"
"I do not think it deserves to be destroyed," Mordecai said. "And I am quite certain that you would never have been content with being Court Magus to the Emperor of the World."
"As to that," Shurath said carelessly, "terrible things can happen during a war. Besides, the King and the Magus are, as you so adroitly pointed out, ideally one person..." His face darkened. "But the Panergodyne chose Tudny, a tired old man with a nice line in pretty spells, and rejected me, who would have spread its power across the world. Well, so be it. My activities as the Steel Wolf have enabled me to amass a considerable fortune in my new homeland--"
"Where is that exactly?" Mordecai inquired.
Shurath laughed shortly. "Somewhere," he said, "where magic is not allowed to interfere with the course of nature."
"Where bullying and treachery alone can get you whatever you want," Mordecai translated. "One of the Northern Kingdoms, beyond the Lost Sea. They don't like magic, do they?" He feinted to the left. Shurath blocked him. "But you don't mind it at all, do you, Shurath? I should have guessed. All those amulets..."
"My teacher said I was very good at amulets," Shurath said, blocking Mordecai's feint to the right. "But don't reproach yourself. I think I covered my tracks remarkably well. Are you in a hurry to go somewhere, del Aguila?"
"If you are still here when the Panergodyne overloads, you will die too," Mordecai said. "You have to let me get to it and stop this."
"Ah, but I shall not be here." Shurath smiled. He took a small ball out of his pocket. "Ingenious spell, this. Doesn't mind in the least who uses it, or where they want to go."
"And you call me a traitor," Mordecai marvelled, feeling in his pocket.
Shurath's face closed up. "I was betrayed first!" he snapped. " The Magusship should have been mine. That thing rejected me, and now I return favour for favour." He hefted the ball in his hand. "Farewell, del Aguila. Not that you will."
As the ball left Shurath's hand, Mordecai flung a missile of his own. The wolfshead pin, his last, hit the ball dead centre. It wobbled in flight, seemed to hesitate, and then dropped to the floor, an ordinary ball, all magic gone. Shurath stared at it, shocked, and Mordecai seized his chance and leapt for the door.
"No!" Shurath shouted, and lashed out. Mordecai tried to duck, saw the wicked little dagger in the Chancellor's hand, and crashed into the wall. Shurath moved back to block the doorway completely as Mordecai got to his feet, feeling the first throb of pain from the slash across the back of his hand.
"Very clever," Shurath said through his teeth. "Well, then, since I am to end here, I shall at least have the satisfaction of giving you as much pain as possible before we both die." He lunged again, and Mordecai leapt back, shaking and flexing his fingers. There seemed to be no serious damage. The thunder and lightning were now directly overhead and almost continuous, and Mordecai fancied he could feel the ground tremble beneath his feet. If all this land goes back to marsh at once...
"So I did you a favour," he said, "putting the Panergodyne within your reach. How was your original plan supposed to go?"
"I do believe you are trying to delay me till rescue arrives," Shurath said with a smile. "How quaint. Still, we might as well make sure." He moved his hand in a series of gestures and spoke two sentences in a harsh language. Mordecai reflexively began a counterspell, but broke off, knowing it to be pointless. He saw Shurath's features and clothing shift and blur into a copy of his own, and knew that he now looked, to the unmagical eye, like Shurath.
"That should clear up any lingering ambiguities when the Prince finally gets here," Shurath said, advancing towards Mordecai. "If there is a chance to escape this cataclysm, I do not intend to let anyone or anything prevent me from taking it." He slashed again with the knife, and Mordecai, backing away, found the bottom stair with his foot.
"My intention was always to identify you as the Wolf," Shurath continued calmly. "In a dramatic climax to my investigation, you would have been found standing over a body which would have been readily identifiable as my own. Crazed with grief for the loyal Chancellor so cruelly slain, one of the Guards was to shoot you out of hand...whether fatally or not, I had not yet determined. I, of course, would be long gone." He was at the bottom of the stairs now, and Mordecai on the first half-landing.
"And Tamland?" Mordecai prompted.
A whimsical look crossed Shurath's--Mordecai's--face. "Do you know, I don't think it had occurred to me to include Tamland in my revenge. I think perhaps I simply didn't care enough about it. Now, of course..." He swung the dagger again, and caught Mordecai's arm as the mage negotiated the turn. Mordecai broke and ran for the hoist hatch, but Shurath outdistanced him with a shocking turn of speed and held him back from the opening. Lightning made of him a silhouette.
"Why hate me?" Mordecai demanded. "Why kill me? I was never your enemy."
"You are Court Magus," Shurath said. "You are in my place. That is enough. That is what I hate."
"Shurath," Mordecai said reasonably. "I am sorry that you were not chosen. You must have been an exceptional magician then, to get to the final stage. You still have a brilliant mind. You know that this thing you are doing is unreasonable, insane. Why not--"
A shout from below interrupted him. Shurath looked down. "Ah," he said. "Here come the gallant rescuers. Thank you for the eloquent appeal, but I really rather think not." He took a deep breath. "Time to bring our little comedy to a close."
Before Mordecai could react, he plunged the dagger into his own left shoulder and staggered, wincing and gaping with the pain, back into the frame of the hoist hatch. Mordecai followed, aware of what was happening but seemingly unable to do anything to prevent it.
He saw a crowd of people standing on the street below in the pouring rain, caught random glimpses of Guard uniforms, Varnak's tousled red head. The ground was definitely trembling. He could feel it through the metal of the hoist. Shurath, clutching at the spreading dark dampness on his disguised clothes, cried out in well-simulated pain, and at the same moment Mordecai's foot touched something on the floor that clinked, something that sent a shiver through his body and caused Shurath’s eyes to widen in shock. He looked down, saw the glint of silver next to the bag in which he had put the warding amulets, and stooped quickly.
"Shoot him, quickly!" Shurath shouted. "He's disguised!"
A lone quarrel whizzed past Mordecai's head. If I find that Guard who keeps shooting at me, he thought, I'll tie his crossbow round his neck.
"Not him, you clot!" Varnak roared. "The other one!"
Mordecai gripped the amulet in his hand and launched himself at his own lying image, icily aware of events on the periphery of his senses: his own name called in a familiar-unfamiliar voice, Shurath's dagger coming up to meet him, one of the hoist's steel rails introducing itself to his bare left foot and refusing on any account to allow it to proceed, a bellow of thunder that seemed to shake the whole building and something thrown, something intolerably bright that flashed and flickered crazily as it arced towards them, so slowly that even as Mordecai fell forward he had ample time to roll in mid-air and bring his hands up to close around Shurath's as Shurath's closed around the screaming, sun-bright Panergodyne--
Searing spears of crystalline fire shot through every muscle of his body. He was distantly aware that there was nothing beneath his feet and that something wanted him very urgently down on the ground, but he had no time to worry about that. His mind was reaching through his hands, through Shurath's hands, trying to reach the Panergodyne, trying to rein in its wildly fluctuating power, and there seemed to be a world in the way. It was a strange world, like nothing he had ever seen before, and yet a part of him was surprised to find that it was not what he would have expected.
This new world was a bright, busy, happy place, designed and maintained entirely for the benefit and pleasure of its sole occupant. Within its sealed borders shadows moved and spoke, danced amusingly on occasion, came and went about their incomprehensible, unimportant affairs without noticeably affecting anything much. For those who behaved well there was occasionally a sort of condescending affection, as for a dog or other dumb creature; those who misbehaved were ignored or, in extreme cases, removed. And the bright world ticked on, regardless, smooth and shining and self-sufficient.
One of the shadows was named Mordecai, and Mordecai saw to his chagrin that even he did not matter very much to the Being who ruled this world. All the hatred and revulsion he had expected to face were--not exactly a pretence, more a necessary tool for the sweeping away of a very minor nuisance, a mask to be taken up and then put aside. He, King Bran, the Panergodyne, all these were nothing, and had always been nothing: for in the world of Shurath's mind there was nothing, now and evermore, nothing real except the one central figure, alone and untouched, presiding over a dance of shadows, devoid of all significance.
Mordecai had just time to be aware that Shurath was also perceiving his mind in the same way, and to wish him joy of it, before his own push and the Panergodyne's pull became too much to resist and he burst through into the realm of limitless light he had last seen years ago when he had first made the link. Power poured into him like clear cold water, filling him to the brim and sweeping away all the pains he had barely been alive enough to feel. It came to him that even this, this torrent of power washing over him and overflowing out of him, was just a droplet in the ocean of power stored inside the small grey pyramid.
If Shurath had ever had this much power... The thought was too terrible to keep in focus. He loosened his hold on consciousness, and time stopped.
When he opened his eyes again he got rain in them.
"Are you all right?" said a voice. Varnak's.
"Beware him," Mordecai tried to say. His voice was rough, his throat dry. "Beware..."
"What?"
"Beware...the dangerous child."
"The dangerous what?" Someone shook Mordecai's shoulder. He opened his eyes again, and whatever he had been trying to say fragmented and faded like an astral vision. Full awareness returned, and with it a cold fear.
"Oh my gods," he said, starting up.
"What is it? What's the matter?" Varnak said anxiously. They were on the road outside the wine factor's. The rain had slackened considerably, and the thunder faded to an occasional rumble in the far hills.
"I knew it," Mordecai said bitterly. "I knew it." His eye lighted on the Prince. "This is all your fault, you know that?"
"What, this?" Varnak gestured around him at the situation in general. "You can't mean to--"
"You," Mordecai went on, "grabbed me straight after Court for your little revolutionary meeting, and then Willibald had to get me out of the palace, and since then I have been chased, shot at, interrogated, astrally kidnapped, and kept on the run without a moment to think--as a result of which," he concluded savagely, "I am now lying here, in the rain, in the mud, in my very best cloth-of-silver cloak which is now completely ruined!"
He put on his fiercest frown, and Varnak, after a moment of blank incomprehension, laughed a little uneasily.
"You're joking," he said, "aren't you?"
"Pay for a new cloak and I'll tell you," Mordecai retorted, holding up a ragged handful of cloth. "Magic won't fix this."
"Mordecai, you exasperating--"
"Wait a minute," Mordecai cut the Prince off. "Where's Shurath?"
Varnak looked over at a huddle of Guards round a figure seated on the kerb. "He hasn't spoken or moved since we pulled the two of you apart. I think he's a little upset."
Mordecai looked at him, and he flushed. "Well, I mean, apart from the obvious," he said, and his voice caught on the last word. "Tam take it, Mordecai--"
Mordecai reached out and took the Prince into his arms, patting him gently on the shoulder. "Ssh, ssh, there there, Your Highness," he said over Varnak's sobs. "It's all over."
"Do me a favour, Mordecai," Varnak said damply.
"Yes, yes," Mordecai said soothingly. "Next time you say you're bored and you want adventure I will hit you over the head repeatedly with a large blunt object like maybe your father. It's all right. You are allowed to feel like this. Mind you, a really considerate person would have waited till I had finished collapsing first, but I guess royalty has its prerogatives."
Varnak laughed half-heartedly. "I'm all right now," he said.
"Good," Mordecai said. "You can help me up before I catch my death from this cold wet ground."
Varnak hoisted him to his feet, and Mordecai approached the cluster of Guards round Shurath.
"Not much of a Steel Wolf now, is he?" one was saying.
"More like a Stuffed Rabbit," said another, nudging the motionless man with his boot.
"What d'you think the King'll give him?" said a third.
"No sentence long enough for the likes of him," said the first Guard, and spat at Shurath's bowed head.
Mordecai gestured, and all three Guards turned to him as if pulled by strings, which in a sense they were.
"Listen to me," he said coldly, "and think before you judge this man. There is nothing you or the King could do to him that would be more cruel than what he has done to himself, nothing that would make him suffer more than he has suffered tonight. He has done great evil...but be sure before you spit at him, or kick him, that you could never be driven by any force to do the things he has done." He crouched down beside Shurath and touched the old man's shoulder. "My lord?" he said softly.
Shurath's eyes lifted to meet his. There was recognition in them, and awe mixed with stark terror, and a dreadful longing.
"How..." the old man whispered. "How...how do you stand it?"
"What, my lord?"
"All the questions." Shurath's eyes looked past Mordecai into some terrible distance. "All the...uncertainty."
"We call it freedom," Mordecai said. "It makes us feel better." He straightened up. "Treat him very gently," he told the startled Guards. "I shall be watching."
"Mordecai," Varnak said as Mordecai moved away, "there's one thing that still puzzles me." He took Mordecai's arm. "This business of the Princess-Elect."
Mordecai's heart sank. "Yes," he said. "I was hoping to speak to you about that."
"Oh, it wasn't serious as it turned out," Varnak said airily, and Mordecai blinked. "Only do try and be a bit more specific next time, if there is a next time, which I fervently hope there isn't. I thought for a while there it was the Sinjara lass you were talking about."
"Uh?" was the best Mordecai could come up with.
"Fortunately Princess Amiya herself corrected me before I got myself in too deep," Varnak went on. "She really is rather spectacular. You should have seen her once I got her untied. Spell after spell, and fighting hand-to-hand at the same time, I wouldn't have believed--"
"Princess Amiya?" Mordecai echoed. "She was there?"
"Well, of course she was, ninny," Varnak said patiently. "You yourself told me she would be, if you cast your mind back a few hours. I admit I'd never have recognised her, but once she identified herself it was obvious. What puzzles me, though," he said, his brow wrinkled in honest confusion, "is why you had her trailing round after you posing as your apprentice."
"What?" Mordecai looked round wildly and finally located Willibald, who smiled and gave him a little wave.
Mordecai, the blindingly obvious truth of what Varnak had said crashing slowly about his ears, allowed himself to be helped into a carriage and driven back to the palace. When he had eaten a little food, he revived enough to undress and bathe himself, and when he had done that he went to bed and fell into a dreamless, fathomless sleep; but he spoke not a word from that moment till the next day, and when he woke up in his big soft bed in the marth tower and looked around, Willibald and all trace of him was gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"And I've left a note on the door downstairs saying you'll be seeing petitioners again from the day after tomorrow," Gisel said, with her mouth full.
"Fine," Mordecai said, picking at his food listlessly.
"Did I thank you, by the way," Gisel went on, " for mentioning me to Bran? I have to admit I was a little worried, sitting there in the dungeons with old Shurath firing questions at me."
"Mm."
"Still, when the King stands surety for one's conduct it takes a little more guts than even Shurath had to start chopping lumps off one." Gisel eyed Mordecai for a moment. "Well, thanks anyway," she said.
"Don't mention it."
"Shurath seems to have started a new furrow," Gisel went on doggedly. "He's sold all his estates except for one little farm, and given the money to the Merchants' Guild--as if they needed it, but they say they're going to start some kind of benevolent fund with it, so that's all right."
"Good."
"Bran and Varnak are both going to start studying magic seriously, even though neither of them have any more talent than this pickled onion, so that they know what you're talking about next time you panic at them."
"Mm."
"Donna del Ynestro still thinks you had your wicked way with her chick, but then she isn't planning to do anything about it as far as I could tell, and the girl's magical abilities seem to have picked up quite phenomenally, so she's happy."
"Wonderful."
"So, everything's fine," Gisel said pointedly. "You're off the hook with the Witchring because you rescued the Princess-Elect--not that you did of course, but Varnak's always been far too modest for his own good--you've got your power back, the kingdom's back to almost normal, and if you don't stop moping this instant I shall plunge this pickle fork deep into your hand."
"Good idea," said Mordecai.
"Look, what did you expect?" Gisel demanded suddenly. "You spent the whole time she was here shouting at her, trying to get rid of her and taking her for granted. She helped you save the kingdom and you just handed her back to the Witchring without a murmur."
"What could I have done?" Mordecai snapped. "She belongs to them. I mean with them. If I hadn't let her go back they would have castrated me."
"As if it would make any difference. Your sex life has been non-existent for the past two years."
"I've been busy." Mordecai did a double-take. "How do you know?"
"How could I not know? Every woman in the palace who thinks about it at all thinks about it with you, or did till you made it clear you were more interested in your magic."
"I flirt with women all the time."
"And that's all you do. Anyway, we were talking about the Princess."
"There is nothing to talk about. She is back where she belongs."
"That's not what she thought."
"She was just having a holiday. A couple of those drugged candies of hers and she will forget all about--" Mordecai stopped. "Everything," he said lamely.
"You're just pissed off because she fooled you for so long."
"I am not--" Mordecai lowered his voice. "She did not fool me. I was just too busy to take her up on the matter. Anyway, I put a truth spell on her and she said Willibald was her name."
"It was the name those Borderland farmers gave her last time she escaped," Gisel reiterated. "She wore it for six months. It's as much her name as any other."
"That is not the point," Mordecai insisted. "That spell should have worked properly--"
"There, you see?" Gisel was triumphant. "You're just upset about your bedamned spells not working on her. Just because she's a better magician than you are, you let her go back to that slave-pen of a carriage--"
"Gisel," Mordecai said. "I wish you would stop trying to do whatever it is you are trying to do. The Princess is gone, and nothing I or anyone else can do would bring her back even if I wanted to, which I do not. The kingdom, as you say, is back to normal, and so is my life, and I am very happy about that, do you understand?"
"You sound it," Gisel said sardonically.
"I am."
"Stop hitting the table."
"I'm not. Not now."
"So you're happy."
"Yes."
"Good."
"Yes."
"Fine."
"I think so."
"You really are a miserable worm, you know," Gisel said judicially. "I wish--" She broke off, got up and left the room. Mordecai listened to her angry footsteps pattering down the stairs, pushed away his plate and sighed.
It wasn't as if he'd had a choice, for Tam's sake. By the time he had gone looking for Willibald--for Amiya--for whoever, he--she--had vanished, and a coldly smiling Duenna had informed him that after two days of uninterrupted meditation in her carriage, the Princess-Elect had reconsidered her judgment and was pleased to announce that the whole series of incidents had not taken place. Mordecai had considered his options, looking at that smooth, closed face framed by the elaborate architecture of hair, and had mumbled something that sounded like thanks and turned away.
It wasn't as if he had told the girl to go. She'd gone without even trying to talk to him. Well, then, if she felt guilty about the trick she'd played on him, the trouble she had caused him, that was only fair. Mordecai brightened up considerably at that thought. All right, so Gisel might be able to sympathise with the poor little Witch girl, but when it came down to it, how much sympathy could he in fairness be expected to feel for the author of so much chaos? He could only hope that her recent experiences would leave her resigned--no, "resigned" was the wrong word; "reconciled", that was better--would leave her reconciled to her cloistered, cosseted life of dubious pleasures.
Actually, when he came to think of it, he found it rather difficult to square the image in his mind of the waif-thin, vibrantly alive Willibald with the sybaritic lifestyle suggested by the contents of the carriage. Somehow they seemed to belong to a different person. Over the years, though, Mordecai had evolved remedies for this kind of unhealthy preoccupation, and he buried himself at once in the construction of a particularly complex theoretical spell. By the following morning he had recovered himself enough to watch from his window as the Tseneshi caravan rolled out of the palace gates, the big black carriage flanked by outriders and preceded and followed by baggage carts.
"Goodbye," he said softly to his empty room, and wanted to add "Good riddance" but couldn't quite manage it. He stayed there, watching, till the last black-clad rider had ceremoniously spat on the threshold and passed out of sight, and then he heaved a deep breath and returned to his spell construction.
The next few days were busy for Mordecai, and Gisel soon found it too time-consuming to stay angry with him, which was a relief for them both. King Bran had issued a proclamation declaring the services of the Court Magus available to any who had suffered consequential loss or damage to property as a result of the storm or the earth tremors, and this brought a wider range of petitioners than usual to his door. Mordecai threw himself into the work with dedication and something like his old flamboyance, insisting on visiting every damaged building and performing the necessary spells in situ, and also resumed his occupation of the Seat of Magic at daily Court. This was a relief to Prince Varnak, who was also standing in as Chancellor till a replacement could be found, and therefore had been compelled to dart from seat to seat several times in the course of a session. A young, terrified journeyman Lector had already taken Pergwit's place on the right. Tamland was healing itself.
Two months or so later, a black carriage without entourage rattled into the courtyard. Mordecai heard the noise from his workroom window and glanced at it once without much interest. There had been a lot of comings and goings lately. Briom had sent an ambassador, full of apologies for the fact that no-one of sufficiently exalted status had been available till now to fill the post. King Bran had sent one back, personally selected by himself from the palace's junior cleaning staff, with a letter saying exactly the same. The Guard had been expanded by the reintroduction of compulsory service, and the border forts were being remanned. Tam's wisdom was being read a lot more and interpreted a lot less these days. Probably this was some Tseneshi diplomat come to complain about the difficulty of getting spies through the border.
Mordecai dismissed the matter and returned to the spell he was constructing, a complex third-order transformation on five levels at once with no less than six dependent subcantrips and a Grand Traverse at every multiple junction. If it were cast, it would have the effect of saving a great prince from flying death that would descend from a tower of learning. At least that was the theory. Mordecai had no intention of casting it. Carefully he took the fragile construct in his mental grasp, eased a few strands out from the centre so that the last element could be slotted in. He held his breath as he made the necessary gestures and visualised the requisite thought-forms. The final expression slid in perfectly, locked at both ends, and Mordecai gently relaxed his grip, sealed and closed the spell, and sat back to admire it.
Someone chose this moment to knock at the door. Mordecai might have reflected that it was fortunate they had not done so five seconds ago: as it was, he looked up irritably and snapped "Who is it?"
"Oh, just the King," came the response. "Am I at home to myself, or should I try myself later?"
Mordecai got up hastily and opened the door. "My apologies, Your Majesty," he said. "This is an unexpected surprise. I mean--"
"Best kind," King Bran said with a grin. "Well, I did think of popping in through the dresser now the old passage is cleared and the skylight unblocked, but then I thought, no, might be a bad move. So," he said, "I came this way, and--er--here I am."
"Er--yes," Mordecai agreed.
"Mordecai," the King said, seeming a little embarrassed, "I've decided it's time you took on an apprentice. I know there's no need to worry about the succession just yet, but, well, you spend far too much time cooped up in here fiddling with theory. You need to get out and about a bit more, farm out the work to someone younger, take some time to yourself. Work off some of those frustrations, eh?" The King winked and chuckled.
"What frustrations?" Mordecai said blankly. "I mean--Your Majesty, I have no need--"
"Now don't worry about a thing," the King said. "There's absolutely no need to go through all that tiresome rigmarole of choosing and testing. I have the ideal candidate for you. Already quite a brilliant magician, knows the job as it were, and-- well--it would be a very great personal favour to me, as well as a signal service to Tamland, if you'd consider taking her on." He stepped aside as a figure in black glided forward.
Her blonde hair was arranged as elaborately as possible, given its extreme shortness, on a Tseneshi hair-frame of copper set with amethysts and citrines, and her blue eyes appeared like jewels themselves as they flashed mockery at him from her pointed face. She wore a low-necked black bodice, boned and worked with iridescent black sequins and beads, over a black silk tunic with voluminous sleeves, and her full hooped skirt was embroidered black on black in complex geometric figures. She bowed in the curt Tseneshi style and offered her hand.
"Reverend Lady--" Mordecai stopped and stared.
Amiya turned to the King. "Be at it again," she said. "Gawking like a mooncalf. What dost tha do with un?"
"Don't trouble yourself, my dear," the King said with a twinkle in his eye. "He always did have little brain and less manners. As you well know."
"Aye," said Amiya with a sigh. "Well, can't be stood here all day, me. Will tha take me or no?"
"Take you?" Mordecai echoed.
Amiya snorted in disgust. "As thy prentice, tha dirty-minded cull. Tha'll have to buck thy ideas up an tha does, mind. Can't be having with all this silent admiration, me."
"Admir-- Silent-- I--" Mordecai took two deep breaths. "Your Majesty," he said, "you say this would be a service to Tamland?"
"A very considerable one," King Bran said, twinkling even more.
"In that case," Mordecai said, "I call upon you, Your Majesty, to witness that I do here and now take this woman as my apprentice, with all rights and duties thereto appurtenant."
"Good." The King was twinkling so much now he looked like a stout red-haired chandelier. "I'll, er, let you get started then."
Amiya sailed past Mordecai into his workroom, and the King closed the door on a positive storm of scintillation.
"Daft old bugger thinks we be soft on each other," Amiya said with a derisive snort of laughter.
"How did you-- I mean--" Mordecai began.
"I told the Duenna," Amiya said, in a voice suddenly much less accented, "that I couldn't be Witch Queen any more on account of we'd had it off."
"Had what off? You mean--" Mordecai's jaw dropped. "You do mean--"
"Aye." Amiya smiled happily. "I went into a fair bit of detail. Had to make up a bit, but she knew no better nor I, so that was all right."
"But--but--the implications--the repercussions--" Mordecai was panicking and knew it. "This will mean war. I'll be--"
"Nay, chuck," Amiya said gently. "If the Duenna admitted I had it off with thee, she would have to admit as she lost sight of me afore we were two days into Tamland, and then I would tell about the other time, when I were missing for six months, and then she'd get it in the neck. She'll crack on I failed my Advanced Thaumaturgy and that'll be that." She grinned. "I'm off the hook. Never wanted to be Witch Queen anyroad. No fun."
"I-- but--"
"So when they kicked me out of Tsenesh," Amiya continued calmly, "I thought I'd come by and give thee a chance to say sorry."
"Sorry!" Mordecai exploded.
"Tha didn't need to get so passionate about it," Amiya said.
"You have the bare-faced gall to come in here and--and--" Mordecai waved his arms, lost for words.
"Well," Amiya said, turning to him, and no longer smiling, "think on. I didn't ask thee to come barging in here, waking us up and getting thysen in a tiswas, when if tha'd just let me be I'd have been gone before tha knew I were there."
"You--"
"I didn't ask thee," Amiya continued, "to hand me that Panergodyne thing in my hat. I didn't ask thee to try to work through the backlash and get mixed up in rebellions and whatnot. And I'm not too sure I recall asking to get trussed up to a chair by big hairy blokes with no conversation, leave alone getting my little fingers broken by your friend Shurath. So I reckon, since tha's been blaming me for all and sundry, I deserve an apology." Her attention switched suddenly from him to the spell. "Ooh, what a beauty!" she breathed, going over to it. "I've never seen one so big nor that afore."
"Willib--Amiya," Mordecai cautioned. "Be careful. Don't--"
"Oops," Amiya said as she caught her sleeve on a corner of the dresser and lurched forward. Her outstretched hand, flailing for balance, touched the spell. For a split second the intricate construction seemed to turn on several axes at once, and then it was gone. Reality rippled once and steadied again.
Mordecai put his hand over his eyes. "Do you have any idea," he said with forced calm, "where that spell has gone to?"
"Wherever it be most needed, I fancy," Amiya said. "What else were tha minded to do with un? Stick un on thy mantel?"
Mordecai opened his mouth to yell, and gave up. It was no use. Some forces in the universe were too powerful to fight.
"All right," he said. "Never mind. It wasn't important." He frowned at her. "But if you are to be my apprentice, you must dress practically. There is no place for that kind of nonsense in a serious workroom like this."
Amiya eyed his gorgeous purple brocaded robe and peacock-blue underrobe with interest. "Oh, aye," she said. "I'll be back in breeches afore tha can say knife. Be more comfy that way anyroad, me." She grinned again. "Tha can go back to calling me Willibald an tha list."
"It might be easier," Mordecai said. "I will have enough trouble coping with an apprentice who is more powerful than I am."
"No bother," Amiya said confidently. "Tha can learn from me same as I learn from thee. Give us a few years we'll be level pegging. I tell thee, tha'll not regret--" She tried to turn round, and found that her skirt had hooked on to one of the arms of Mordecai's new orrery. The movement dragged it half out of its niche, and two of the arms broke off, their model planets coming loose and rolling across the floor. Amiya pulled at the skirt to try and disentangle it, and four more satellites came loose. Mordecai, hurrying to prevent further destruction, found the moon beneath his feet, and slid helplessly into her. They tumbled to the floor together amid tearing cloth and bouncing planets, just as Gisel knocked and opened the door.
"Oh," she said, starting to grin. "Oh. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything."
There was a short silence after the door closed again.
"Did tha say sorry to me?" Amiya said.
"No," Mordecai managed from underneath her.
"Oh." Amiya thought a moment. "Tha will," she said definitely.
Mordecai, on reflection, decided she was probably right.
THE END
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Date: 2007-08-30 12:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-31 12:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-31 01:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-31 12:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-02 09:18 pm (UTC)I'm sorry it took so long for me to reach the finish but I'm a slow reader. Very good! I was surprised by the twist, and I had Bram pegged as the Steel Wolf for a while toward the end - all that talk about boredom and all...the thought occurred to me like son, like father. I could see a man as cool as Bram devising such a plot to keep the Guild of Merchants from stagnating in complacency - and I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time a ruler set out a covert operation against his own domain to keep the public eye focused on a common foe. Consider me bamboozled. Bravo!
I think that was achieved by the device of any real likeable characters in the story. Since I couldn't identify with any of them, I couldn't really delve into their thoughts or motives. That's not a bad thing, because it blows the stereotype hero image to bits. Prince Varnak was the closest thing to one, fueled by youthful idealism and yet to run into any traumatic knowledge that would leave him jaded. It also worked as great camoflauge to fool the reader into that now famous Tamlandish ennui and operate on presumption. It's too bad they didn't take it for its length. Maybe some companion stories with it in a collection of novellas might help.
*shrug* It worked for Stephen King a few times.
An offer...
Date: 2007-09-05 05:22 pm (UTC)No promises as to when (or to be honest if) I'll find time, and (I say again) my crits are notoriously harsh, but if that hasn't put you off and you want to email me a copy, I'll try and have a read at some point.
Re: An offer...
Date: 2007-09-05 08:32 pm (UTC)I will email you a copy at some soonish point, with no expectations whatsoever. Thank you again.