Sword Mountain (25 page)

Though it was winter outside, she sensed, as she sang, a spring thaw in the hearts of the audience.
If only you were here, Cloud-wing!
she thought.

Afterward, as everybird refreshed themselves with drinks and more cake, Morgan brought up the question.

“The winner? Who has the wish coin?”

Sigrid strained her neck, peering in all directions. The crowd murmured and moved, and there was some confusion, and then a short-legged, triangular-headed figure stood up.

“I do, Your Majesty.”

Tranglarhad the owl beamed.

Sigrid had forgotten about him. Her hunger for the coin overpowered her partiality for the tutor. She could only watch in wrath as the owl shuffled toward the king, displaying a glinting silver coin left and right to muttering doubters. His expression was one of utmost humility.

Inside, however, Tranglarhad's emotions were churning.

This is my time to act!
he thought. How could he best use the wish coin to get hold of the Leasorn gem?

He could ask for the gem itself, but the king probably didn't have the legal power to give away a national treasure. He could just ask to
see
the gemstone, but there were hundreds of birds here, all witnesses. If the gem later disappeared, they would know who had taken it. Though he could formally ask for the eagles to stay away from the old mine beneath the mountain, that might draw more attention to the mine.
Oh, holy hoot
, he thought.

Perhaps it was safer to wish for something else, but … could he pass up this chance? Tranglarhad took a deep breath.

Still a decision could not be made. After he had found out he had the coin, Tranglarhad had written a wish about the Leasorn, and a second wish, on two pieces of paper, and he had put the first in his right pocket, the other in his left.

As he walked closer, he debated again with each heavy step.

Right or left? Right or left?

In front of the king, Tranglarhad stuck his talons in his pockets. He closed his eyes as he searched slowly. A few long, anguished seconds later, he fished out a grubby rolled-up piece of paper from his left pocket. Mumbling civilities and bowing, he placed it and the coin in the claws of the king.

Everybird watched as Morgan unrolled the paper with some difficulty.

The king's eyes glided across the paper. He stiffened. His eyes rolled slowly upward and his head drooped to one side, a raspy moan coming from his open beak.

“Your Majesty!” shouted the physician.

“Father!” called Fleydur.

“No!” Forlath cried out.

The crowd bellowed, “What did you wish for?”

As birds pushed in from all sides, Tranglarhad shielded himself with his claws. “No, I didn't—I didn't have … I only … I …” The owl huddled against a wall. “I j-just wished t-the king—”

Morgan stirred, shaking his head as if waking from a nightmare. “Stop, I'm all right!” he said. “It's nothing, a faint headache or some such, I've had it on and off today since breakfast, but I'm quite fine. My apologies,” he said to the owl, who nodded numbly.

“Why, this is the first time ever in my reign that a bird did not ask me for something for himself!” The king looked kindly at the owl. “You are the new tutor, aren't you?”

Tranglarhad nodded again.

“It is fortunate that we have birds like you,” boomed the king. “Thank you.” Turning toward the expectant and still angry crowd, he read from the paper. “May the king have good health and long life.”

Applause filled the banquet hall.

“Aye, to the king!” Tranglarhad laughed nervously and raised a glass. His eyes met Morgan's. “To the king!”

Morgan felt weary in his bones. The headache crept upon him again, worse this time. Perhaps it was the effects of champagne, or the noise, or maybe he was just too old and tired. “Sigrid,” he said slowly.

“What is it, Morgan?”

“I want to return to my room.”

“But the celebration's far from over.”

“Yes, but I just decided something,” said Morgan. “I think—I think I need to start on my will.”

Sigrid stood up immediately, helping Morgan stand. He was swaying now. “You stay here, my dear,” he told Sigrid. “Don't worry about me.”

“His Majesty King Morgan is retiring to his chambers!” announced a herald.

“Oh, go on and continue to enjoy yourselves. It's a royal order,” Morgan said. He was assisted out of the banquet hall.

“Well, then, we should ring the life gong early, shouldn't we?” asked a member of the castle staff.

According to tradition, on the night of a king's birthday, a special gong would be struck once for every season of the king's age, with an interval of ten seconds between strikes. For Morgan this year, there were would be a hundred beats.

“You may start,” said Sigrid.

But she wasn't thinking of gongs or age. She was thinking about the will Morgan had just said he would write. The king had actually seemed to enjoy Fleydur's foolish concert. Suppose, just suppose he chose Fleydur as his heir. And now that Fleydur's concert had been so well received, the Iron Nest might even side with him. Then it wouldn't be long before Fleydur would, vote by vote, reshape the mountain!

Sigrid could not allow this monstrosity to happen. She didn't have the wish coin today, but she did have a backup plan ready. It was riskier, but, by the
Book of Heresy
, she would see it through.

As she walked past a guard on her way back to her seat, her face staring straight ahead, she whispered, “Fleydur's package.”

The guard nodded curtly, signaled to a companion, and the two glided off.

Sigrid smiled at her son Forlath. “It's a wonderful night, isn't it?”

As they settled in their seats to watch the rest of the concert, they all heard the first gong strike.

 

When a talon strikes a mirror, a spiderweb of cracks blooms.

—
FROM THE
B
OOK OF
H
ERESY

M
eanwhile. Tranglarhad had retreated to a corner.

Was that a chance lost? Was it?
he wondered between beats of the gong. Each time the thought came to him, he raised his glass and gulped a beakful of cold water to calm down.

His wish, though, had not gone completely to waste. Touched by Tranglarhad's unselfishness, the treasurer sought to join the tutor by his corner near the door. Tranglarhad noticed the treasurer had had a little too much champagne. After draining another bubbly glass, the treasurer blurted, “Remember our talk? About my son?”

Tranglarhad nearly choked on his water. “How could I forget it?”

“It was removed,” said the treasurer thickly. “For Fleydur's music students to see, in the rehearsal room. Just before the performance. Didn't you want to take a look at it?”

This was all Tranglarhad needed to know.

“More champagne, good tutor?” the treasurer said.

“Oh, no,” said the owl. “I must, er, plan; yes, plan. For my class. It starts within the hour.” Tranglarhad hurriedly refilled the treasurer's glass before he rose and left.

“How dutiful! You are a paragon of virtue,” said the treasurer, tears glistening on his face. “I am glad that my son is under your guidance.”

Tranglarhad slipped away from the banquet hall, flinging a cloak he had hidden under his tutor robes around himself and pulling up the hood. On ghost wings he quickly caught up to Sigrid's guards. One of them was carrying a package.

They paused in front of the rehearsal room where Fleydur had held his final music lesson. Tranglarhad hung back, hiding behind one of the birthday banners on the wall. More birds were in the room!

The treasury guards inside smiled to be relieved so soon, and hurried toward the celebration, flying right under Tranglarhad.

From an intersection, the sound of more wing beats carried to the owl. This time, Fleydur and Dandelion came around a corner and headed in the direction of the rehearsal room.

The treasury guards saluted as they passed. “Evening, Prince Fleydur!”

Fleydur returned their greeting. Tranglarhad grew tense, afraid that Dandelion might glance up and notice the owl-shaped bulge behind the birthday banner, but she and Fleydur took another turn and flew away.