The Lords of Anavar (15 page)

Alec Endria held a finger to his lips and smiled. He walked to a shelf on the far wall and reached under a shelf and the wall swung inward. He bowed and gestured for the others to enter first. He closed the panel behind them.

"Speak very softly," whispered Alec Endria. "The echoes will carry throughout the castle if luck is against us. Best to be safe and sure. I will lead to an exit to the great hall. There we will separate. No more talking. Gerrand's own luck be with you."

They followed him through the damp narrow passage. The only sound they heard was the rats that moved around them as if they were not there. Yanor felt chagrin that they were below the rats' interest. Perhaps Tyman Stile felt the same way and they could procure their escape. A slim hope, but one Yanor could cling to in the darkness.

The panel opened inward and they peered out into the bright torch lit chamber. It appeared empty. They moved as one slipping out of the passage and dispersed in different directions. Techna Vole reached the top of the stairs without incident. He paused and looked about him. He saw no one. No servants, no Tyman. The silence of the castle was oppressive and he shuddered.

Techna Vole walked slowly down the hallway, pausing and listening as he went. He was surprised at the coolness of the air. It shouldn't have been so cold in the upper levels. He found the stairs up to Tyman Stile's quarters. The cold damp air penetrated his cloak and his teeth clattered. He bit his finger to stop the tremors. The thought occurred to him to return for assistance, but were his fears grounded? Should he ask for help because he was cold? It sounded foolish to him and he dismissed it. He pressed on.

He thought Gerrand might hide his artifacts right under Tyman Stile's nose. Gerrand was bold enough and Tyman vain enough that it might work.

It was positively freezing in the corridor near Tyman's door. There were several rooms used for storage in the same area. Techna Vole opened one creaking door and slipped inside.

He waited for several moments to get his bearings. The room seemed colder than the corridor if that was possible. It was pitch dark, but he heard a strange noise on the far side of the room. It sounded like breathing, but long, deep and slow. Perhaps someone asleep. He took a few steps and the breathing quickened. He stopped. The breathing remained at the quicker pace. Then something moved.

"Who's there?" asked Techna Vole.

The breathing came closer.

"Stay back!" Techna Vole readied a spell to protect himself. Suddenly, he felt his spell melt. A low chuckle came from the spot where the breathing continued at a faster pace.

"Tyman? Who's there?"

A faint glow illuminated the room. He saw an old balding man with a long beard grinning at him. Relief washed over him.

"Gerrand. Am I glad to see you. How did you get in?"

"You think I am Gerrand?"

"I don't understand," said Techna Vole. "Of course, you're Gerrand. Tyman doesn't have the power for such a shape change."

"Well, you are right about that. I look like Gerrand. Hmm. You have answered many questions for me with one mere question. For that, I must thank you, but I shall do no more for you."

"Who are you?"

The room became so cold that Techna Vole crumpled to the floor, unable to control himself.

"I am Macelan, and I have returned."

Zae Pol was surprised at the commotion in Finald, capital of Wierland. People raced through the street with carts and livestock as if preparing for a siege. Such colors of their clothes, Zae Pol had never seen. She was reminded of the plumage of parrots far to the south on the isle of Tohlor.. The colors of the birds were not so bright as some cloaks and dresses she saw here in Finald. The commotion overpowered her and the noise rose all around them so loud that she feared her head would crack. They shouted to each other to communicate. Finally, they asked the guard at the gate what was happening.

"Orders from the Queen. Seems rumors from Curesia started it. Curesia is supposedly raising an army against us."

"We heard nothing of this."

"I wouldn't think so being closed up in Lathor. Everyone knows the Mage Council is up to something. Most think you have a hand in this war that's coming. Of course we know you will defend Wierland if nothing else but to protect your castle. However, aren't some Council members from Curesia?"

"Yes. We do not have enough facts to discuss this situation. However we do need to speak to the Queen about serious matters."

"You shall, you shall. Forgive my long wind. I think that's why the Captain always assigns me the gate. The Queen gave orders for all Mages to be presented to her as soon as they arrived. I have two men prepared to escort you through the commotion."

They soon found themselves lost in the winding streets watching the colorfully dressed people go about their business. A person or two looked at them, but on the whole they were ignored. The ceremonial guards at the palace bowed low as the Mages entered and were met by the steward; a tall muscular man of middle years, white hair cropped short and a faint scar from his chin to his ear. He moved precisely and appeared coiled for danger. A former fighting man with intelligence enough to rise to a prestigious position. At his belt he wore a ceremonial dagger; however, the handle was well worn. His voice was soft and a surprisingly high tenor.

"I am Karsten Roe, Chief Steward of her Majesty, Queen Beatrice. Be welcome and follow me. I have rooms set aside for you to stay and refresh yourselves. The Queen will expect you promptly in one hour. I will send a page to fetch you."

"We heard of rumors that Curesia is raising an army," said Lars Vokas.

Karsten Roe paused in his walk and turned to them, speaking low.

"Do not put faith in rumors, especially in Wierland. This place feeds on rumors and gives life to some, death to others, and the same to the followers of those rumors."

He spoke no more and they found themselves at their rooms. Zae Pol rested on her bed, sipping wine and recalling her instructions from Gerrand. Zae Pol stared at the closed door for several minutes and then opened it and ran to Lar Vokas' room. In the corridor she bumped into a tall fighting man.

"Oh, excuse me," said Zae Pol. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Nothing broken," grinned Kisle Ber. "You may run into me anytime."

She ignored the look and continued down the hallway.

Kisle Ber arrived from Curesia an hour earlier than Lars Vokas and Zae Pol and in the guise of a nobleman from Calendia, received a similar welcome and had a room next to Zae Pol. He had not asked for an audience because he wanted to limit his ties to the circumstances of the Queen's impending death. He was too well known as a mercenary and a price would be on his head. No, he would wait for his chance. He would find out what the Mages were doing and determine what Queen Beatrice planned to do. He knew that he received only part of the information from High Lord Gharom, but that was to be expected, after all, Kisle Ber was only a hired hand.

Back in Curesia he listened to the covert discussions of the Curesian lords and watched the shadowed wanderings of Petyr Wolk. He saw the changes manifest in High Lord Gharom and knew his liege lord no longer followed his own mind. The fact that the Mages were here in Wierland indicated that something was afoot. The Mages seldom showed themselves at court.

Kisle Ber sat in his room drinking wine. His door was ajar to allow him to hear if Zae Pol left the room again. She had spent an hour in Lars Vokas' room no doubt talking of whatever news they brought the Queen. Again, he was not surprised by the flow of information and would have laughed in anyone's face who said they were trustworthy. He did not believe that of anyone. He lived far too long in the world of politics and its intrigues to trust any person.

He heard someone come to Zae Pol's room and he peered out into the hallway. Hart Mariah, one of the nobles, whispered urgently to the Mage. Kisle Ber marveled at such conversations since a guard was posted every six doors so at any time two guards saw the visitors. It made no sense. Surely Queen Beatrice knew everything that transpired in her palace.

A page approached and beckoned Zae Pol and then knocked on Lars Vokas' door. Kisle Ber decided he wanted to know what the Mages would say to the Queen. He had spent enough time in the palace on previous visits to learn most of the less traveled passages. There were at least three that would give him a chance to hear, if not see, the Mages' audience with the Queen. He hoped the passages still were not well known, but it had been a year since he used them. He moved quickly past the guards, resisting the opportunity to stick his tongue out at them, and turned down a different corridor than the path of the Mages.

The listening place he recalled proved easy to find. It unnerved him that only a curtain covered it. He looked up and down the corridor, and did it once more. If he had been seen entering it he would be in peril. The curtain would not be able to stop a knife blade. However, his choices were few and he wanted to hear what Queen Beatrice would say to the Mages and what news the Mages brought the Queen.

"Yes, Karsten?"

"Your Highness, I present Zae Pol and Lars Vokas from the Mage Council."

"Excellent! Be welcome. Chairs for our guests." She clapped her hands. Kisle Ber tried to find a hole large enough to see into the room, but did not succeed.

"Zae Pol, where are you from?"

"We hail from Calendia."

"I see. Are all nations are represented in the Mage Council?"

"Yes, your Highness," said Zae Pol.

"I assume then Petyr Wolk is a member?"

"Yes, and Techna Vole, your Highness."

"Ah, so Curesia still has a presence there. Why are you here?"

"The tale is long, your Highness, and Petyr Wolk figures into it. He did not attend our Council meeting and Gerrand spoke against him."

"I am listening. Tell me the entire story."

Zae Pol spoke of Cehana's vision and of Macelan's return. She emphasized Gerrand's belief that Macelan was indeed coming back.

"A very interesting tale, Zae Pol. It would seem that these rumors of Curesia's army have a basis of merit. If this Petyr Wolk is at the heart of your tale, then he is at the head of our troubles. As for what I shall do this I must think on this evening. I will speak with you again at dawn. Be ready, for I believe we must move quickly."

Kisle Ber could not believe what he heard, yet it made sense with what he discovered on his own. He sat considering his options.

"You shouldn't spend too much time here for the guards check it periodically."

He turned to see a beautiful redhead grinning at him. Then he saw the tiara. She noticed the change in his face.

"Oh yes, I'm Princess Alicae. Come with me before the guards come. I need an escort to walk in the gardens. Mother demands that I do not venture anywhere alone."

"You don't know me."

"But I do. I've watched you since you arrived and I've asked around. You are Kisle Ber, the mercenary. Hurry, before we are found out."

"You don't fear me?"

"Should I?"

"I could kidnap you. You don't know who is paying me now."

"That is true," said Princess Alicae. "However, you know very little about me. Do not be quick to judge. Now, move quickly Kisle Ber. We must reach the gardens unseen."

"I thought you needed an escort."

"I do, but you do not appear to be the sort Mother had in mind. The guards will try to stop me from leaving the palace, but if I am already outside, it will prove most difficult. Let us be gone from here."

She took his hand and pulled with surprising strength. Kisle Ber thought the princess to be thirteen or fourteen, but now he believed her three or four years older than that. It wasn't her strength of arm, rather the strength in her eyes. He saw something there that seemed unfamiliar to him. He felt his experience with women gained him much insight. Of all the eyes he had gazed into, none showed the fire and power of Princess Alicae. He wondered where she spent her time and why her presence eluded the spies. He certainly never heard of her before today. To his knowledge the Queen never had a daughter. Here before him set a puzzle and he would decipher it.

They slipped out of the palace unseen. Kisle Ber smiled at the bright flowers ringing the garden. Everything in Finald shone with color. Was it the Queen's command, or nature's; he did not know. Noise seemed muted in the garden. Outside noise that is. The birds of the garden chirped loudly and piercing. The Princess sat on a wooden bench and beckoned Kisle Ber to do the same.

"Why are you here, Kisle Ber?" asked Princess Alicae. "You are not attached to any noble here, nor have you advertised your sword."

"You do not sound like a young princess. Where did you test your mettle?"

"I have been away for several years. Now, do not try to evade my questions again. You cannot leave this garden without my leave."

Kisle Ber laughed and glanced back to the path, expecting to see a guard or two, but the path had closed, blocked by huge rose bushes with inch long thorns.

"This garden is mine and responds solely to me. If I wish it, the thorns would hold you tight for eternity. You may think me a young woman or perhaps a child still, yet I warn you, I am neither. My power reaches deep into the earth to the very roots of the mountains and forests. I claim you, Kisle Ber, as my sword bearer."

A touch of cool breath washed over him and the hair on the back of his neck rose. She didn't give him a chance. What did she do to him?

He felt the heat in his face and breathed slowly trying to contain his anger. His fingers twitched from his tension and the Princess laughed a silvery sound that tingled up his spine. He released the tension and anger fled his body.

"You are precious, Kisle Ber. Realize this, that you may never hurt me. Save your anger for my enemies."

"Who are they?"

"All in its time. I believe your command comes from Curesia. The High Lord Gharom perhaps. Tell me what it is."

Without thinking, he spoke. "To kill Queen Beatrice."