Reign of Madness (Revised Edition) (52 page)

“You, yourself, can attest that there is more than one way
to obtain a desired result. This is the method I learned, and it seems to work
for me. The fact that I am not a mage only supports the argument that it
is
possible
for a mundane to accomplish the things you think are impossible,” Rezkin
argued.

Wesson sighed but begrudgingly admitted, “Yes, I suppose you
are correct.” Still, his brow remained furrowed, and he watched Rezkin
carefully as he performed the next test.

It was half past the dinner bell when Rezkin finally
finished the test for the second poison. To everyone’s surprise, the poison was
once again triania extract but in a powdered form.

“So,” the warrior said, “someone wanted to make you sick.
The second dose would have been much worse, and you probably would have been
laid up for at least a day or two, or longer if you were continuously exposed
to the substance.”

“Could it have killed me with prolonged exposure?” Tieran
asked.

“Hmm, I suppose the constant nausea and fatigue would
eventually take its toll, but it would take years for you to waste away in such
a manner. If that was someone’s intention, then I would expect it to be someone
in your own household like that manservant of yours,” Rezkin supplied.

“Colton would never do such a thing,” Tieran protested.

“It is always the one you trust,” Rezkin commented
pessimistically. “No, I do not think this was of a long term nature, anyhow. I
think someone wanted you too sick to fight in the tournament.”

“What?
Why
? I am not even competing in the main
event. No one in Ytrevius’s household is competing in the rapier division, as
far as I know,” Tieran argued.

“No, I think not. I do not think it was about the tournament
itself. What would people think if you suddenly took ill the night before the
tournament and could not compete or performed very poorly? You are tired,
listless, and vomiting, probably slurring your speech,” the warrior suggested.

Tieran’s eyes widened as he exclaimed, “They would think I
was drunk or hungover! It would be shameful. I would be branded a worthless
drunkard who could not even put down his bottle to show for the King’s
Tournament!”

“And, when it came time to support a replacement for an
empty throne?” Rezkin inquired.

“Ytrevius and Hespion would remind everyone of how I drank
myself through the King’s Tournament while enjoying the hospitality of the
duke!” Tieran finished.

Rezkin nodded and continued, “If they were not discussing killing
you
…”

The young lord blurted, “Caydean!”

“Perhaps – or your father,” Rezkin supplied. “It would
do little good to defame you with your father as the next rightful contender
for the throne. Your father could simply say that you are still young and will
grow into your responsibility. The fact that your father’s claim is through
your mother, and that he can only hold the throne as regent until you are
ready, means that your mother is also a target. Even if you and your father
were to die, she could still remarry and bear more heirs, assuming she is
capable of carrying more children. This is obviously a small move that is part
of a larger plan.”

Tieran lurched to his feet and said, “But I do not even
want
the throne! And…and…I am not even rightfully the next in line! It is this
True
King
and his heirs!”

“You follow this
True King,
now?” Wesson asked
curiously.

Tieran stared at the mage for a moment as though processing
another language. He began furiously pacing back and forth as he vented his
frustrations. “What would
I
do with the throne? I am not prepared for
that kind of responsibility. I am a coward. Just look at me. I overhear one
clandestine meeting and go running to
you
with my paranoia.”

“It is hardly paranoia, Tieran. Someone tried to poison you,”
Rezkin reassured.

“Yes, and
you
found the poison, and
you
figured out the plot.
You
-…you would make a better king than I,” the
young noble continued as though Rezkin had not spoken. “You always know what to
do. You are always so calm and certain. You are a Dual-Blade Swordmaster, and
you have to be the smartest person I know,” he said waving a hand at the
glassware and potions arrayed over the table. “If your master does not wish to
be king, then have him denounce the throne and name you his successor. Yes,
your master…” he stopped mid-sentence and turned to stare at Rezkin.

Rezkin sat back and saw the understanding dawn on the young
man’s face as Tieran stood in disbelief. “You have no master,” he stated a
little too calmly. “You-…” his voice trembled and rose as he spoke. “You said
earlier that you have no master,” the fretful lord nearly shouted as he
furiously pointed an accusing finger at the seated warrior. “
You
are the
king!”

Wesson had erected the silencing ward as soon as they
entered the room, so Rezkin was not concerned about others hearing Tieran’s
pronouncement. He was only concerned about how Tieran would react to the news.
Tieran started pacing as he worked through the evidence. His eyes barely left
Rezkin for even a moment.

“You had a ridiculous amount of training at the hands of
Swordmasters…you have an insane amount of knowledge about history and economics
and politics and probably everything else…and, and the striker is ready to jump
at your every command.” Tieran’s scornful laugh was full of self-deprecation.
“I am an idiot. Of course, I should have seen it. Who orders a striker around
but the king?”

He thought through every interaction he could think of in
which he had been involved with Rezkin. “You have never once introduced yourself
as
Lord
Rezkin – just Rezkin. I thought you were just strangely
humble or informal – but, no, you are not a
lord
at all! You would
claim no title but that of the king!” His eyes widened, and he stared at Rezkin
once again. “You have no family name! Only the royal family carries no family
name.”

Rezkin shook his head. “You know as well as I that Bordran
had only two living sons, and I am neither Caydean nor Thresson.”

Tieran’s brow furrowed, and he said, “But you look just like
them.” He shook his head. “How could I have not seen it before? Anyone can see
that you are related.” The young nobleman sunk to the bed across from Rezkin’s
chair and stared at the warrior.

Wesson turned his attention back to his employer and
remarked, “Actually, you
do
look just like them. I did not see it,
either. Ohhhhhh…” the mage said with understanding. He looked between Rezkin
and Tieran and stated, “I think the spell is no longer working on Lord Tieran.
You might as well come clean.”

“Spell?” Tieran asked with sudden alertness. “You cast a
spell on me?”

Wesson quickly shook his head and said, “No, no. The spell
was cast on Rezkin. It keeps people from recognizing him. He can influence
their perception of him with his
will
. The spell’s influence is less
effective on mages,” he said as he looked pointedly at Tieran, “and can be
overcome with time as the person gets to know him. The more you know of him in
truth, the less he is able to influence your belief as to who he is.

“I understand
you
have always been particularly
suspicious of Rezkin,” Wesson continued. “The spell was probably less effective
due to your power ratio as a life mage and only made you realize there was
something
wrong
or you unconsciously recognized you were being
influenced in some way. We knew you would probably be the first to come to the
realization.” Wesson scratched his head and said, “Actually, it was probably
your strong desire for Rezkin to be…who he
is
…that finally broke its
influence over you.”

“So, you knew?” Tieran asked despondently.

“Wesson is quite powerful and a fully trained mage,” Rezkin
explained. “He was less affected by the spell and easily noted that something
odd was occurring. It took him some time to overcome its effects. Even he is
still subject to its power when applied properly. For my part, I did not even
know of the spell until Wesson’s discovery. I assume my former masters or
patron had the spell placed on me.”

“Your patron. You mean King Bordran,” Tieran stated. The
warrior nodded in affirmation. “I want to see it. This proof that you are
Bordran’s heir. I want to see it,” Tieran asserted.

Rezkin pulled the metal tube from his tunic and tossed it to
the anxious noble. Tieran opened the tube with shaking hands and unrolled the
parchment. He read through it once and then simply stared at the swords
sheathed at Rezkin’s waist.

“So, that is why you never use them in practice,” the young
man calmly observed.

Rezkin raised a concerned brow. Of all the things Tieran
could say, he had not expected such a simple observation.

“Will you do it?” Tieran asked. “Will you claim the throne?”

The warrior sighed and said, “You and the others have
convinced me that it is my responsibility to claim the throne from Caydean. Kai
is convinced that I am meant to
keep
the throne. I am not so certain. I
have little desire to be king. You and Kai have both impressed upon me Prince
Thresson’s unsuitability for the throne, assuming he is still alive. I think
that, given enough time and guidance, you could make a decent king. I will
claim the throne on your behalf if you so desire. You need feel no threat or
rivalry from me.”

Tieran’s jaw dropped. “Rivalry? Rezkin, how many times have
I said that I do not
want
the throne?”

Rezkin nodded and said, “I know. I just want to assure you
that I have no ill intentions toward you because of your place in the line of
succession.”

“You would do that? You would claim the throne and then just
hand it over to
me
? Me, having done nothing to acquire it on my own?”
Tieran asked with disbelief.

“Tieran, it is as you said. I was trained for this. I am far
more capable of succeeding than you, and with that certificate,” he said,
nodding to the parchment still clutched in Tieran’s grip, “I have the legal
authority to do so. It does not mean I have to keep it once I have it. And, as
you have pointed out before, you are of blood relation.”

“So are you,” Tieran asserted. “No matter what your spell
does, I can see it now. There is no doubt in my mind that you are of the royal
family. You may not be Bordran’s, but you
are
of the royal bloodline.”

Wesson perked up. “I can test for that.”

Tieran and Rezkin both abruptly turned their attention on
the mage. “You can?” they both asked.

“Of course,” Wesson stated. “Mages have been certifying
bloodlines for…well, all of history. You could do it, as well, Tieran, if you
were trained. Life mages are especially skilled with the spell. It is just
within my abilities. It took me a long time to learn not to burn up the
samples.”

“Samples?” Rezkin asked.

“I need a sample of blood freely given from the two parties
I am to compare,” Wesson replied. Both men stared at him uncertainly. The mage
shrugged and said, “The blood does not give up its energies easily. Even the
energy in your blood recognizes your
will
.”

Tieran studied Rezkin and then turned to Wesson and said, “I
will consent.”

The mage and the young lord both turned their attention to
the warrior king. Suddenly, the prospect of finding out whether or not he was
of blood relation to Tieran seemed daunting. Not only would Rezkin discover if
he truly had a
blood
claim to the throne, in addition to his designation
as Bordran’s successor, but he would also have
family.
Rezkin had no
training for how to deal with family. He knew there was supposed to be a bond
and that family bonds were supposed to be the strongest, but aside from the
friendship
he had developed with Tieran, he felt no other bonds. He rubbed his jaw with
the back of his thumb in an uncharacteristic, albeit subtle, display of
anxiety. Finally, he stood and nodded once.

Wesson shuffled forward and selected two small, clean
ceramic plates from the table of glassware. He handed one to Rezkin and the
other to Tieran. “I only need a few drops of blood from each of you. When you
drip them onto the plate, keep in the forefront of your mind that you are
giving them willingly. I will burn up anything that is left. You do not want to
leave samples such as this lying around for anyone to collect.”

Both young men gave samples of their blood, and Wesson set
the samples next to each other on the table so that the men could see what he
was doing. The mage focused his will and sent a tendril of his vimara into each
of the samples. He then tied the ends of each of the tendrils together and
focused carefully on the spell. If he lost focus now, he would burn up the
samples, which he really did
not
want to do in front of the two greatest
contenders for the throne of Ashai.

At this point, Wesson was fairly certain that either both
young men would end up dead or one of them would become king, especially since
it appeared that at least two of the dukes were already plotting to claim the
throne. The mage thought that Caydean’s rule was certain to come to an end one
way or another, and the tyrant did not seem to be in any hurry to produce an
heir of his own.

When he was finished constructing the spell, Wesson released
it into the connected vimara strands. The blood in both dishes reacted
instantly. With a faint glow, the liquid quickly began moving up the strands.
When the blood samples collided in the middle, they glowed brightly and popped
with a spark before the entire spell collapsed. Both samples had been
completely vaporized.

“Huh,” the mage said with surprise.