Heriot (26 page)

Later they sat around the fire, Magician, Assassin and Lady of Hagen, their horses fed and tethered in a sheltered space between two tumbledown cottages.

‘What
has
happened to you?’ Linnet asked again, for now she could clearly see that Heriot’s face had been altered. His nose was bent out of shape and his long hair was gone. The ghost of his old beauty was still there, in a damaged way, and he gave off a strange power just as the fire was giving off heat.

‘I spent some time in Hoad’s Pleasure,’ he told her.

‘You? How could they keep you there?’ Linnet asked incredulously. ‘You’re the Magician of Hoad.’

‘I’ve always been a faulty Magician,’ Heriot replied. ‘They took me by surprise. And then the magical part of me hid somewhere deep inside, while Carlyon paid me some attention.’

‘Carlyon? The Hero?’ Linnet exclaimed, watching a strangely intent, wry expression forming on Heriot’s firelit face.

‘He’s never been a hero to me,’ Heriot replied. ‘And he’s no true hero to himself these days. Carlyon may have some deep plan to become King in due course, and some of the counties might jump at the chance to join him. There are men out there nostalgic for the old days and the adventure of war.’

Linnet looked over at the silent Wellwisher, stretched out on the other side of the fire. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t work out why.

‘What shall we do?’ she asked.

‘Oh, no doubt about it,’ Heriot said with a sigh. ‘We make for Diamond, hoping we’re not too late. Mind you, I think it would be a different thing for Betony to smash up the King’s Magician than it would be to kill his own little brother. Even Betony might hesitate over that. After all, some of the counties might move against him, reminding him he isn’t King yet … just standing in for his father. On the other hand, if he has a valuable hostage or two they might keep their distance until the King returns.’

‘If he’s taken Prince Dysart, he’ll have taken others as well,’ said the Wellwisher. ‘But the Wellwishers will stand apart from him. They belong to the King … not to his Princes, not even to his heir.’

‘Except for you,’ Heriot said. ‘And you belong to me.’

‘I never forget it,’ the Wellwisher replied.

The glance they exchanged was brief, but a strange thing happened. Linnet was suddenly flooded with recognition.

‘You!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re that boy who used to run at Heriot’s heels.’

‘Right,’ said the Wellwisher. ‘But that was back then.’

‘And … and you’re not a boy,’ she cried incredulously.

‘You’re not a man. You’re …’

She couldn’t describe to herself just what had happened. It wasn’t just the shape of the Wellwisher’s face, though that was part of it. That damaged husky voice could have belonged to either man or woman. Yet suddenly, looking into the blue eyes that looked calmly back at her, and taking in Heriot’s expression as he looked over at the Wellwisher, she knew she was right.

‘You’ve turned into a woman!’ she exclaimed.

‘It’s what I’ve always been,’ cried the Wellwisher, laughing, ‘but I made a good boy for a while back there, didn’t I?’

‘I’m such a Magician,’ Heriot said. ‘I’ve enchanted her. I can’t take total credit, mind you. She was born female.’

‘Living my sort of life as a child it was always better to be a boy and then a man,’ Cayley explained. ‘I worked at it. And I can take on any man, mind you, any man in Diamond. The Wellwishers know that, or they would never have taken me in.’

‘And you …’ Linnet looked from Heriot to Cayley and back again.

‘Never mind that,’ Heriot said, smiling. ‘You’re right, though, and if we get through the next bit, we’ll make good gossip. The thing for us to do now is to get back to Diamond … to make sure Dysart’s all right and to help him if he isn’t. We zigzagged along old Traveller tracks getting here, but how long will it take if we go straight along the main roads?’

‘Five or six days perhaps,’ said Cayley. ‘We’ll have to go steadily.’

‘Well, let’s do it,’ Heriot said.

‘That Betony Hoad will be glad to have you back in his clutches,’ Cayley said. ‘He’s already broken your nose. Of course you’ll have me beside you this time round and that’ll make a difference.’

‘There’s more to it than that,’ Heriot said. ‘I’m remade in more ways than one. Prince or not – King or not – he won’t be able to touch me.’

And suddenly Cayley and Linnet found themselves staring across the flame of the fire, not at a man but at a different sort of flame, a blue burning fire. A new heat beat out on them and with that heat came words.

‘I am the one man, the one fire … a single thing at last, fused into myself at last. I am entirely … I am totally … the Magician of Hoad.’

T
he room in which Dysart sat, the room in which he had been imprisoned for the last few days, was not a cell, but it was certainly a prison. The bed was comfortable. A bowl of fruit sat on the little table, and, above the little table and that bowl of fruit, there was even a shelf of books. But there were no windows and the door was locked.

Dysart, the royal reader, refused to read. He found reading was quite beyond him. Slumping and sighing in his chair, he found himself wondering, over and over again, just what Betony had in mind for him … wondering what had happened to Heriot the Magician of Hoad … and dreaming about Linnet, grateful that she was safe in Hagen.

The dragging stillness that had engulfed him was broken by a grating sound, a sound that seemed to have hidden secrets. The outside bolt of his door was shifting. A key was turning in the great lock. Then the door opened.

Dysart straightened abruptly … glimpsed a guard in the space beyond the door. However, the man who now loomed over him was no guard but Carlyon the Hero of Hoad. He was being rescued. Leaping to his feet, Dysart felt his face suddenly shining and creasing into a wide smile, a great noisy sigh of relief bursting out of him.

‘Lord Carlyon, I’m glad to see you. Hurrah for the Hero!’

A moment later he was regretting his childish cry of relief.
Ignoring him, Carlyon made a sign, and the door was closed. The key grated and clicked in the lock, and only then did Carlyon raise his hand in an approximate greeting, avoiding Dysart’s gaze. He pulled the chair away from the table and sat down. Dysart sank on to the edge of his bed, feeling his own expression changing yet again, as he tried to hide the dismay that now came rushing in on him, finally becoming blank and impassive. It seemed that, after all, the Hero of Hoad was not there to set him free.

‘Greetings, Lord Prince,’ Carlyon said at last, mild irony sounding in his voice.

‘You’re with my brother,’ Dysart declared abruptly.

Carlyon nodded slowly. ‘To some extent,’ he agreed. ‘The Lord Prince Betony Hoad came up with a proposition that appealed to me. But it isn’t as simple as that.’

Dysart knew he was supposed, at this stage, to ask about that hovering proposition, but he chose silence, swinging around, thumping back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. He felt Carlyon glancing over at him, but Dysart refused to look back.

‘I think your father hoped your brother would betray himself in some way,’ Carlyon said at last. ‘But I think he underestimated just how extreme that betrayal would be.’

‘Well, it seems he did,’ Dysart said. ‘Because you …’

Carlyon interrupted him, speaking impatiently now. ‘Listen to me! Your brother is a madman. He longs to step outside the cage of human limitation. He wants to be more than King. I’m not that ambitious, but I certainly want to be a King rather than a Hero … a Hero stuck out there on a little island, living alongside a King whose peace leaves me with no function.’

‘You want to replace my father?’ asked Dysart. ‘I don’t see him going along with that. He’s given up too much to be what he is, and he’s not going to surrender kingship easily.’

‘I don’t want to replace your father,’ Carlyon cried. ‘It’s been
said before, but I’ll say it again. Your father has set up a time of peace. He has dedicated his kingship to a time without war … a time of negotiation, and he has succeeded to a considerable extent.’

‘And it’s done well for Hoad, hasn’t it?’ Dysart exclaimed.

‘The trade between Hoad and the Dannorad has brought prosperity to both. Young men have the prospect of growing into middle age …’

He was interrupted once again.

‘But what about
me
?’ Carlyon yelled, releasing a sound so unexpected that Dysart jumped with shock, and the little room seemed to shake with mad echoes. ‘I’m a true man of Hoad,’ shouted Carlyon, ‘and I struggle to live out there on that wretched rock, ruler of what they choose to call an island kingdom. But it’s a dog of a place, a tamed dog chained to the mainland. Sometimes I come into Diamond and stand at the King’s right hand so I can be displayed but I have no function in a time of peace. I’m not allowed to marry in case I have a son who would grow up to challenge the sons of the King. Oh, I have women, I’m certainly not the pure virgin the Hero is traditionally supposed to be, feeding all his energy into Heroism, but, believe me, I make certain I don’t have any embarrassing children.’

Dysart had speculated about this chilling possibility in a long-ago conversation with Heriot. He had been nonchalant about it back then but suddenly unexpected horror welled out of him, stiffening the line between nose and mouth, twisting the corners of his mouth down and forcing his eyes to close, in case Carlyon took offence at anything he might read there. But Carlyon had already seen something of Dysart’s shock.

‘Do you think I like what I am forced to do?’ he cried, smashing his fist sideways against the wall. The blow must have hurt him considerably more than it hurt the stone, but he gave no sign of pain. ‘Do you think I like impaling a pregnant woman or
a newly born child? I want to move beyond such necessities. I want to be a twin King to your father. I want some life other than the damned, empty, peace of Cassio’s Island. If I am not allowed the thrill of war, I want a wife. And Betony Hoad would be happy to entertain me with one or the other. Or both!’

A long silence fell. Dysart didn’t know what to say. The structure of his world was going through further disintegration. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asked at last.

‘I want to tell someone the truth,’ Carlyon said. ‘But there’s something more. I’ve watched you over the years just as I watched your brothers. One of you tried to replace me. We know about that. And Betony Hoad wants to be as close as he can to being a god … He wanted to take on the power of the Magician, but the Magician has escaped and lost himself in Hoad, or so Betony tells me, and I think he is telling the truth. He may have the Magician tucked away somewhere, or it may even be that the Magician is dead. I certainly wouldn’t put it past that brother of yours to have had Heriot Tarbas killed and cooked and served up as a meal in the hope of digesting him … absorbing the nature of a Magician. But what I want is what I think
you
want. I want you to be King of Diamond and to declare that the Hero can be a man, not a symbol, who can marry and own estates on the mainland and be chief among the Lords of Hoad.’

So much had been said. Dysart felt his thoughts twisting madly. ‘My father is still alive, and my brother is still the heir to the throne,’ he mumbled.

‘I think your father wants a reason to replace your brother,’ Carlyon said. ‘He is determined to wring a possible King out of Betony Hoad if he can, or, failing that, he wants a reason to replace him. He has seriously underestimated your brother’s desperation. At this moment you are a hostage, and so are several others who are your father’s men. Lord Glass, for
example, is imprisoned in rather less attractive circumstances than these. I think Betony Hoad would have had him killed and I certainly think he would have enjoyed killing you … but at this stage hostages have a value and he is enjoying his power. He can’t afford to alienate me. Most here in Diamond are deeply confused about where their duty lies. They are loyal to the King, but, after all, your brother is very much the sign of the King. They are puzzled by the forces I brought with me. But, after all, I am also a sign of the King.’

Dysart felt rather than saw Carlyon shrug. He lay on his bed obstinately staring up at the sloping stone ceiling. ‘Does my brother know you are talking to me?’ he asked at last.

‘I didn’t see anyone as I came up here, but I expect there were those that saw me. However, your brother wants my cooperation. Your father and his troop are on the way back from the Islands, and Prince Betony Hoad has sent a ship to meet them, and maybe to explain he has taken you, along with Lord Glass and others, as hostages. Your brother and I want to negotiate for change in Hoad and we think this is a way of getting your father to agree.’

‘My father might set you free from the restrictions of being a Hero in a time of peace,’ Dysart said, ‘but I don’t see how he can make Betony Hoad into a Magician, or any sort of god. Or even a King! Three Kings, counting you, might be too many even for Hoad.’

‘There are many possibilities. Your father might enjoy embracing a hermit’s life out in the Islands,’ Carlyon said easily. ‘And if you were your brother’s immediate heir, who knows? The Master of Hagen might change his mind about marrying his daughter into the Dannorad. And accidents can happen, even to men like Betony Hoad. You might become King rather sooner than seems likely at present. There are so many possibilities. Help me, and I might be able to help you.’

The huge complications of finding his longings so entangled with those treacherous possibilities somehow reduced Dysart to a man without any power of judgement. ‘It’s all too much,’ he said wearily, shaking his head on its thin pillow. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

Carlyon stood. ‘All you have to do is think about it,’ he said. ‘Weigh one thing against another.’ He moved to the door, turned the key in the lock, but didn’t open it immediately. Instead he turned back, looking down at Dysart. ‘Just don’t spend too long thinking,’ he added, smiling. Then he vanished into the space beyond the door and Dysart heard bolts being slotted carefully home again.

What sort of life is it?
thought Dysart. ‘What sort of life is it?’ he muttered. ‘What sort of life is it?’ he suddenly screamed at the stone walls. ‘What’s happening to me? I’m Prince yet I’m a prisoner. I’m a Prince of Hoad, and Hoad is so much more than Diamond and Guard-on-the-Rock. It stretches out in all directions, and yet, right now, Diamond seems to be all that matters. And Linnet! What’s happening to Linnet out there in wilds of Hagen … treacherous Hagen?’

But the walls merely turned his tormented questions back on him, until Dysart turned too – turned on his narrow bed and tried to bury his face in the thin pillow.

Two days later the King came home. Light caught the sails on the horizon, briefly at first and then more confidently.

‘We’ll arrange a decorative reception,’ Betony said to Carlyon, watching this approach from one of the balconies of Guard-on-the-Rock. ‘Of course my dear father will be expecting me, but he might be surprised to see you.’

‘Not for long,’ Carlyon said briefly. ‘He knows I am discontented with my heroic function and how empty I find it. I suspect the trap was laid for you and not for me.’

‘Was it a trap?’ Betony asked, smiling first at Carlyon and then at the wizard Izachel standing at his shoulder, also staring at the horizon, and gesturing in the air above his head.

‘Oh, I have no doubt your father wanted to precipitate some crisis … something that would justify him in clarifying the succession. I think he was hoping we would do what we have done – define ourselves in some significant fashion. But I don’t think he expected anything like this level of extremity. I don’t think he anticipated that I might ride into Diamond bringing all the authority of the Hero with me.’

‘Well, if he wanted to precipitate a crisis, he has succeeded,’ said Betony in his most cordial voice. ‘We are Prince and Hero together. And …’ he glanced at Izachel, ‘Magician too.’

‘There’s nothing we can make use of in Izachel,’ Carlyon said rather bitterly. ‘Heriot Tarbas saw to that at the time of your wedding. Any trickster down in the city markets could outdo him these days. He’s nothing but a ruin.’