The Arcanist (12 page)

Edouard kept trying to wake him up. He had to make certain he was all right. But Marcus had other ideas and they didn't involve waking. He just ignored him as best he could and kept snoring.

“The physician's here.” Kyriel poked her head in the doorway far sooner than he'd expected, but the news was welcome.

“Send him in.”

Edouard didn't look around as the physician came in, but he was grateful for his quick arrival. Not so much though for the physician's obvious disbelief when he explained what his big brother had done and what he feared might be wrong with him. He was even less pleased when the physician kicked him out of the room so he could examine his patient. Still, Edouard knew it wasn't a choice, and he submitted meekly to the physician's demands. He even closed the door to the bed chamber behind him as he left.

After that came the waiting. The long, never ending wait as the physician checked his patient over. Edouard spent the time pacing the hallway outside his bed chamber. Marching all the way from the first floor landing at the top of the stairs, past the small round sitting area in the middle of it, and on to the back wall of the house, before returning again and starting over.

Kyriel and Mara meantime made themselves comfortable in the small sitting area in the middle of the hallway, saying very little save that they thought he'd be all right. That Denetta would never deliberately harm a man. They were probably right he knew. He doubted she held any great desire to harm his brother. But in the throes of passion who knew what a demoness might do?

It was some time before the physician emerged from Marcus' bed chamber, and when he did it was only to announce that Marcus was fine and that he'd send them his bill in a somewhat irritated tone of voice. Then he stomped off down the hallway and out of the house. He seemed annoyed, possibly because he had other patients to see and a man worn out from his time in the bed chamber probably didn't warrant a lot of his time. But Edouard didn't care how upset he might be. He was only relieved that Marcus was all right.

Of course there were other matters to consider, and he discovered the first of them when he wandered downstairs to see to the servants only to find them gone. It seemed they had left for the day. He could only hope they would return. A note from Mrs Menzies announced that dinner was to be cold cuts.

Cold cuts! It just didn't seem fair. He'd worked hard. He'd uncovered a plot and maybe helped with the recovery of the city in his own small way. And his reward was a cold dinner? Maybe many cold dinners to come if the servants didn't return. All while his older brother snored away contentedly, pleased with his day’s work!

Chapter Nine

It was late, the meal such as it was was done, and Edouard’s former good humour was restored as he relaxed back into the comfort of his chair with a cup of hot tea. The afternoon's embarrassment had passed, the only reminder of it his brother’s strident snores that occasionally echoed down from the upstairs, and he was hopeful that in the morning it would be completely forgotten.

Mara, Kyriel and he were alone in the great room. The fire was roaring away merrily and the light from the oil lanterns was making the oversized room with its cold stone walls seem almost cheery for once. Usually it was simply too large for that. The fort had been built to house a patrol of up to fifty men at arms and their attendants. It was simply too large for one man alone. If nothing else every sound Edouard made echoed forlornly through the empty fort. And at night when he retired for bed he found it ridiculous that he should sleep in his bed chamber, a room large enough to hold four family sized beds, while knowing that a further eleven similarly oversized rooms lay empty. And that was only the top floor.

Most of the time he left much of the house closed off. The doors to the spare bed chambers were kept shut and the rooms never entered. On the ground floor he used only the four front rooms; the kitchen, dining room, formal sitting room and library. But another four rooms behind it were again closed off. Even though they had all been made serviceable, who really needed a drawing room, private sitting room, games room and study as well? Even the basement was largely closed off. The armoury and storage rooms were full of cobwebs and dust, the servants quarters closed off, while his massive workshop barely covered a fourth of what was left.

The house was simply too large for one man.

Still, with three of them in the sitting room, comfortable in the overstuffed tapestry covered couches, the fire crackling away, and a huge silver urn full of hot water for tea, it felt like a home for once. As it had ever since the attack. If there was one good thing to come out of such a terrible event it was that.

Upstairs, Marcus was snoring away contentedly. Loudly. Would he never stop Edouard wondered? The sound was echoing down the stairs reminding everyone of why he was slumbering so heavily. And the fact was that he might not stop. After the town's physician had seen him and pronounced him well, if a little exhausted, and prescribed some rest, he had sent a boy with a tonic to help him sleep. It seemed to be working. If anything a little too well. That was the best news from the afternoon.

The not so good was that he might well need some new servants. Mrs. Menzies was understandably scandalized by the events of the afternoon, and when he had visited her to apologise in person for Marcus' actions she had been talking about finding employment elsewhere, far away from his brother. The two maids had left for the day – somewhat earlier than their usual finishing time – and despite his apologies he somehow doubted they'd be coming back in the morning. Not after they told their families of the events of the afternoon. No doubt he would have to visit their families in the morning and apologise again. Then he'd have to find some more maids.

But aside from familial matters Edouard was more concerned that while he had been over the remains of the portal one more time before he'd left – this time with every device and spell at his command – he could not find anything that told him who had created it or even how. The few others with the gift in the city had had a similar lack of success. So all he'd managed to give the king was a new enemy to search out. And that when most of the king’s efforts needed to be directed at repairing the city.

For the moment though it was a nice change that he had some pleasant company to speak with instead of simply spending his evenings down in his workshop tinkering away with his devices as he normally did. He loved his work as an arcanist, but even he liked a change now and then.

The conversation as usual was limited. There was much that the women didn't want to speak of – or couldn't. And they didn't appreciate him asking. So he had learned not to ask about the temple and their Mother's thoughts on what had happened. That wasn't for him to know. Nor did he ask about what they had found with the mammoths. That also wasn't for him to know. And the city was probably just grateful that the women had been able to slowly lead the great beasts out of Theria to the high fields. And that in a few more days or a week they would have led them the rest of the way to the high plateau a dozen leagues to the west where they could graze peacefully and endanger no one.

The handmaidens in turn didn't ask him about his morally challenged ways as they no doubt considered his self-indulgent life, or even worse, about Marcus'. Edouard didn't know what they actually thought of him but he was sure it wasn't good. However, since they were guests in his home and presumably didn't want to offend him they limited what they said.

Instead conversation was limited to a range of more inoffensive topics. How the woman were getting on with the beasts, what his latest project was, what book he was reading and so forth. Or it had been until Kyriel unexpectedly decided to violate the peaceful neutrality.

“You are of noble family?” Kyriel asked, catching him off guard. She had stayed with both him and Marcus for nearly a week and he was surprised she didn't know everything about House Barris and his family already. Though in fairness to her she was not a local, and both she and her sister had not spent a lot of time in the city of late. They spent most of their time with the mammoths, slowly leading them away from Theria. Similarly they had not been back to Tyrel's temples in that time either – as far as he knew – and the shrine in the city had been destroyed. She had likely had no one to ask.

Besides, he and his family followed the custom of the land in using titles. Only the head of the family used their surname in common parlance. The rest used their forenames instead. So his father was Count Severin. He was Lord Edouard, one of two in the realm.

Of course what she was really asking wasn't if he was of noble birth, it was how noble. She already knew that he was rich and that his servants addressed him as m' lord. But that didn't make him a member of the king's court or grant him any specific title. Many of the more affluent members of the realm would be treated the same regardless of their actual titles. As they said, there were lords and then there were lords.

Perhaps in truth it was only surprising that she had waited so long to ask. Nearly a week in fact. If she was curious she could have asked him on the first day. He would have been happy to tell.

“My father is Count Argus Severin of the House of Barris, Left Hand to King Byron the Sixteenth.”

And a man who was still unfortunately away on the trade mission for Therion. He would have been a boon in these difficult times as his role in the realm was more or less to run it – something he was remarkably good at. But messages had been sent by the king and his own family, and with luck he would be on his way back to Therion in another week or so. And when he arrived Edouard had no doubt that he would start putting things in order. His father was a wonder when it came to practical things. To organising people and running businesses. It didn't matter whether it was a house, a trading concern or a realm; he always seemed to know what to do.

“But Marcus is your older brother and so you will not inherit?”

A fair question he thought from a woman who herself was obviously of noble birth. He hadn't asked, and if he had it wouldn't have helped. She wouldn't have told him. He knew little of the houses of Tenarri. But her manners were impeccable and her knowledge of matters of state impressive.

“No, but neither will he. Marcus is the second son, I am the third son and the fourth child. Our eldest brother Simon will inherit the title and estates.”

“That is for the good.” Mara spoke up for once. She had been silent most of the evening, he suspected because of his brother's actions of the afternoon. Or maybe her sister's; he wasn't completely sure which of the pair had embarrassed her more but he was sure that she had been scandalized by their actions. “He is prone to recklessness and a house needs a steady hand.”

“You wouldn't say that my lady if you knew Simon,” Edouard replied ruefully. And she wouldn't. No one would. They called him the Weasel for good reason. He was fast and sneaky, and eternally concerned with filling his coffers with gold. And when it came to games of chance, it was always a mistake to bet against him. Simon never lost.

“He is reckless too?”

“Reckless no. Greedy and lucky in equal measure. Corrupt and of legendary cunning with it. Worst of all he is reputed to deal on the black market.” He felt no shame in admitting it. The whole city – probably the whole kingdom – knew it. The shame was in the fact that it was so. His brother was the reason merchants had a bad name. He was likely also a criminal, though it could never be proven.

“Simon Severin?” Mara looked at him quizzically, apparently having finally made the connection. “The Weasel?”

Edouard nodded, disappointed that she knew the appellation, but not completely surprised. It wasn't a proud name but it was one well known and well earned. And it brought down the name of the house which was why he had been asked by their father not to use the name of House Barris or even his family name in any of his dealings. In such matters he was simply Lord Simon. Even so, thanks to Simon House Barris was reviled in some quarters and the name Severin mocked. And the entire realm knew of the Weasel. And probably most of the other nearby realms as well.

“Then Lord Marcus is -?”

“Marcus Severin, The Bull.” He was equally well known, but for his exploits on the battlefield not his endless manipulations. Simon might well not become the Left Hand when their father died. In fact it was highly unlikely he would achieve any good office at all. King Byron disliked him intensely, not that Simon would give a damn. He wanted gold not titles. But Marcus would almost certainly become the Right Hand. He was already Captain of the Royal Guard and the protégée of Lord Julius, the current Right Hand. But more than that he and the king were close. In fact they drank together frequently and often had to be scraped off the floor by the servants and carried to bed.

“You know the family Mara?” Kyriel looked at her sister.

“Everyone in Farring Cross knows the Severin family. The menagerie as they're known. The Count has six children, all remarkable in their own ways. Simon Severin, the Weasel, and the gambler. He never loses in a game of chance, or so the bards claim.”

“They claim correctly.” Edouard answered her. “I've never seen him lose at anything where chance is concerned. He is favoured I think by Virius. More than favoured.”

Favoured by others of the Seven as well if he was honest. His skills with the sword and the learning of books had come easily to him. He had the face of youthful innocence, blond where all the other children were dark of hair, and he never sickened. Maybe all of the Seven favoured him. Why, he didn't know. Simon didn't follow any of them and he would not have spent a single copper in worship at any one of their shrines.

“Next is Marcus Severin, the Bull, and the strongest man alive so they claim. He has won countless victories in the arena and on the battlefield. Master of weapons, combat and strategy. But he is also a known defiler.”

Edouard cringed a little when he heard Mara add the last, but he also knew her words were tinged with the truth. As he recalled her Honoured Mother had known it too. Which made him wonder once more why the hamadryad had let them go so easily. He suspected she had reasons he didn't know about. Reasons too for sending two of her handmaidens to deal with the mammoths and stay with him, who were both strangers to the land and thus knew little of his family. And he knew that if you wanted to get an unbiased opinion on someone, it was best to use an outsider.

Plans were afoot in the temple. Edouard was certain of it. But he was equally certain that if he asked he would get no answer – just acrimony. So he kept his thoughts to himself as he defended his family.

“He is a force of nature in all things, and his appetites are simple and powerful, but do not ever believe him wrongful.” Edouard felt he had to defend his brother, even if he was an embarrassment at times. Especially at this particular time.

“Marcus is gifted on the battlefield, in the alehouse, and so they say, in the bed chamber. But in none does he do harm that is not deserved. He fights with honour and spares his enemies where there is cause. He pays for his drinks and when a fight breaks out he is not the one to have started it. And when he beds a woman of the night, he always pays in full and never uses force. In truth, he is considered a valued client of many of the houses of ill-repute and the abesses often send their girls around to him as a courtesy.”