The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (5 page)

Gratton
confirmed, “So’s his son, Evant Linstrom. Goes by his mother’s last name. I
don’t know if your Petroc ever knew about the boy, but he’s a sorcerer like his
father, and I’d daresay just as mad. Rexson, I have one magicked officer in my
Partsvale troops, and he’s sent his brother to infiltrate Linstrom’s plot.”

“That’s a
start,” said the king.

The soldier
continued, “Our plant can make objects explode. Says material’s no factor, only
size. I guess Linstrom’s thinking he can get rid of swords and weapons used
against his men, crossbows especially. The sorcerer trusts him.”

Vane nodded.
Few with magic nowadays were born true sorcerers, though many, like this spy,
held vestiges of sorcery in their blood that manifested through some power or
other. The duke asked, “What’s the plant’s name?”

Rexson furrowed
his brow. “Why do you ask?”

“He’ll need
assistance, and I’ll give it. I’ll need to know whom to trust.”

The king
protested, “You’re not joining this man.”

“You need a
spy in Linstrom’s ranks with power beyond causing small explosions.”

The king insisted,
“You’d be recognized. You’re known in Partsvale. You take your wife there on a
regular basis.”

“I’ll change
my appearance. I’ve a spell for that. Rexson, I can join Linstrom’s movement
and transport back and forth to keep you in the know, as well as the Partsvale
authorities. It’s our only option.”

Gratton told
the king, “He’s right. I’m no happier about him risking his neck than you are,
seeing my wife died to protect his family, but he’s right. Your Majesty, do you
think I want him involved in this?” Looking resigned, the soldier turned to the
Duke of Ingleton. “Our man’s Ryne Howar. He’s bald and bulky, and he’s waiting
for some help. Linstrom’s cronies meet almost nightly at an ill-reputed tavern
called The Dancing Drake. For secrecy, they leave from there to transport to
the Hall of Sorcery.”

Vane
blinked. “The Hall of Sorcery?”

The king
noted, “Linstrom must have been curious about his father. He made the same trek
to the Hall that I did with Kora, which means he’s found the old library, Vane.
The entire collection of magic the ancients compiled.”

The Duke of
Ingleton gulped air. He hoped Gratton and the king failed to notice, and gave
no other signal of the dread that had descended upon him. Anyone who knew a
thing about sorcery knew it had degraded through the years, that ancient spells
were more powerful as well as more daring in their focus.

Vane
observed, “This is a full-blown crisis, then. How many men did you say
Linstrom’s gathered, Gratton?”

“Two
hundred, a few more than that. All empowered.”

“How many
sorcerers?”

“Twenty.”

Vane cursed.
“Should I go for Zacry, Rexson? Bring him with me?”

The duke
would have liked his teacher’s help in this. He hated to involve Zacry Porteg,
but the thought of doing so calmed his nerves a bit. Wishful and selfish
thinking, all: the king was right when he reasoned, “The subtler our
infiltration, the less likely Linstrom is to suspect it. Does the scoundrel
have a date in mind for his assault, Gratton?”

“Two weeks.”

Vane swore
again. “We have to stop them. Before they do anything violent.”

“Before,”
Rexson agreed. “Even should we beat them back, if they attack, all the advances
we’ve seen in Herezoth since I took power are undone. Your school would close.
I could well have to disband the Magic Council.”

Gratton
said, “We’ll stop the son of a bitch. Between Ingleton and your army….”

Vane felt
like vomiting. Instead he said, “I’ll be in Partsvale first thing tomorrow.
Gratton, I’ll meet with your soldiers there, no?”

“Afraid not.
Far too risky. I can give you a full briefing, because my men shouldn’t know
what you’re doing. No one should but Howar. No visits even to the Duke of
Partsvale, you got that? Your cover can’t be blown. Linstrom won’t only slit
your throat, he’ll know the king’s aware of him and launch his assault the
following hour.”

Vane muttered,
“Damn it. Damn it to hell, I thought I had a rough time of it joining the Magic
Council….”

Rexson put a
fatherly hand on Vane’s shoulder. “You can manage this, son. I would never let
you try if you couldn’t manage this, understand?”

Vane nodded.
He said, “It’s got to be done, and it will be. Let’s leave it there, no?”

*
* *

The crown
prince had never seen Vane so stoic, so expressionless, as when the man walked
into the library to fetch Kansten. The duke’s air confused Valkin more than
anything else; the king’s son began to worry when he saw all color had drained
from his father’s face, and felt queasy when he recognized the gray-haired man
in uniform who followed Rexson two steps behind, like one of Hune’s dogs.

“Gratton,”
said Hune, his voice doubtful. He shook the soldier’s hand. “What are you doing
here?”

Rexson told
his sons, “We’ll talk tomorrow. First thing. Right now, I need to fetch your
mother from her sister’s. Vane and Kansten are going to Oakdowns.”

Valkin’s
shoulders tensed, because something was wrong, all right. Exceedingly, horribly
wrong, for the king to speak of taking a carriage to the outskirts of Podrar
after dark to get his wife. The queen had planned for a weeklong stay with a
sister she rarely saw.

Vane left
with Kansten. The duke made no acknowledgment of anyone beyond the fraternal
arm he slung around her shoulder. With the girl gone, Valkin looked to his
brothers, but they both displayed the same unease and exasperation that plagued
him. Neslan echoed Hune’s question, and the king repeated, “In the morning. I
promise, we’ll speak in the morning.”

Hune sighed,
which brought his beagle to him, and Gratton told the princes, his tone
distracted, “Always nice to see you three.”

The king
beckoned his soldier and the two set off, leaving the brothers in silence.

Neslan bit
his lip, as he sometimes did when lost in contemplation. He dropped into an
armchair, while Hune shook his head and scratched his dog behind the ears. The
men and the animal all jolted when Valkin flung a book that Kansten had left on
the settee.

“What do you
think’s happened?” Hune dared to ask.

Neslan
reasoned, “It’s to do with Partsvale, whatever it is. Kansten heard as much,
and Gratton’s been in Partsvale for years. He must have rushed to the Palace.
Didn’t stop on the way to wash, by the smell of him. This bodes ill.”

“Perhaps,”
said Hune. “At least we know the trouble’s there. Partsvale’s small, with few
people. Things are fine in the capital.”

Valkin
huffed. His spectacles trapped a puff of air near his face. “You sure about
that? Did you see Vane? He’s never looked so…. Defeated, that’s what it was.
Lifeless.”

“Numb,”
Neslan specified. “He looked numb.”

Hune
insisted, “Things are fine in Podrar. Father would have told us if….”

Neslan cut
Hune off, glaring at Valkin. “Things are not fine here. A woman we met once in
our lives, a decade ago, knows we have magic and just went prancing out the
room. Valkin, what in God’s name were you thinking? We should have told
Father….”

Valkin said,
“Told Father she knows we’ve magic? What bloody good would that do but get her
sent home? It’s not her fault she knows. And don’t forget what we owe her family:
her uncle rescued us after we spent a month with kidnappers, and her
grandmother saved your life healing that snakebite.”

“We were
mere boys then,” Neslan argued.

“You won’t tell
Father she knows we’re telekinetic?”

“I keep my
word, Valkin. I keep my word, but I should never have given it. Kora Porteg’s
daughter! Magic or no magic, she doesn’t belong in Herezoth. No good will come
from her being here. Why in the Giver’s name would you let her stay?”

The Giver
was Herezoth’s creator, its only deity, so many referred to him as “God”
instead of (or in addition to) his proper title. Some chose not to believe in
him, for his devotees claimed he inspired the human heart to saving action
rather than worked blatant miracles, and as such, they possessed small proof of
his existence.

Valkin
countered, “Why let her stay? Neslan, why would I send her back? You heard her:
she wants to see the world. She felt trapped in Triflag. She’s finally escaped,
and I say bless her for it. I won’t be the one she blames for them dragging her
back to captivity.”

Hune
frowned, and straightened up as his beagle rolled over to rest on the rug. “She
was hardly a captive back in Traigland. We’ve met her family, and they’re
lovely people. Captivity? Where’s that coming from?”

Neslan
answered. “He’s projecting his own resentment onto her.”

“What’s
that?” said Hune.

“He won’t
talk about it with the likes of us, but he feels trapped in the Palace. He’s
assuming Kansten feels the same when she’s in Traigland.” Neslan turned to
Valkin. “I mean no disrespect. And I’m not judging you. But you do feel
cornered, and it’s about time you admitted some truths to yourself.”

The crown
prince asked, “Admitted what, precisely?”

“That you’re
terrified at the thought of being king.”

Valkin
clenched his fist, a visceral reaction. He needed a second to register what his
brother had dared suggest, and then exploded, “When did I say I would rather
not be king?”

“You
haven’t, not in so many words. But it’s clear to me.”

“Damn you!
Do you think Father’s under that impression?”

“Not yet.
You’re an entirely different person in his presence than not. He’s going to
learn how you feel at some point, though.”

Valkin’s
face grew hot. He felt tempted to throw a punch, and probably would have, if
anyone but Neslan had spoken those words. “I’m not avoiding Father. He wouldn’t
blame me, you know. It’s not as though he enjoys ruling.”

Neslan
agreed, “He wouldn’t storm at you, you’re right. He’d explain why he persists
in ruling while he, in fact, does not enjoy it, until he makes you see why you
must do the same. That’s what you’re avoiding: him convincing you to accept the
crown. It’s delusional, and unhealthy, when the fact of the matter….”

“The fact of
the matter?” retorted Valkin. “The fact is I could abdicate, and what then? You
want to be king?” Neslan’s face paled, and Valkin smirked. “Stop pretending my
accepting the crown
isn’t in your
interest. Listen, I’ll speak with Father when I speak with him. The
conversation will help me rule—because yes, I’m going to rule. I wouldn’t
throw that kind of responsibility on your shoulders.”

Neslan’s
color did not return. He said, “I wasn’t meaning to…. I’m not being selfish
here. I don’t imagine for one second you would abdicate. You’re too stubborn
and you’ve too much pride. Valkin, you won’t be alone when your time comes to
take over. We’ll be at your side, and that’s something Father never had. Who
was with him, starting out?”

Hune finally
spoke, saying, “Hardly anyone. He spent years fighting for his life against
Vane’s uncle, and then, when he turned things around…. He had courage to spare,
he must have had. And a broken heart, having lost so many people: his whole
family, Vane’s parents. He didn’t even have Mother at the beginning.”

Neslan said,
“He had the army’s support. And he ruled successfully from day one, though God
knows how. Valkin, you’ll do just as well in your day.”

Would he?
Valkin couldn’t be sure which he dreaded more, the prospect of never coming
into his own as the crown prince and future king—of never finding peace
with the role he was literally born to play—or that of buckling beneath
the pressure of his brothers, his father, of everyone around him who was
pushing him step by step, day after day, to accept his birthright. He longed to
forge a different life for himself. Even lacking a clear idea of what that life
could be, he felt that his desire to leave the Palace was somehow the most
genuine part of him.

“Hang it
all, I’ll be ruling after Father. After Father, Neslan. I’ll never match the
standard he’s set with the people. He’s accomplished so damn much, and entirely
by himself, that if anything I’ll be expected to exceed him. How could I
possibly?”

Neslan
insisted, “You won’t have to. You’ll have your own crises to confront. You
won’t relive Father’s. Such things don’t beg comparisons.”

Hune,
looking hesitant, told the crown prince, “It explains a lot to hear these
things weigh on you. You’ve changed since you started shadowing Father, you
know. These last two years…. You’ve grown more sullen. A bit more brooding.
You’ve been trying for so long not to alert Father to your worries that the
strain is eating your patience away. You’ll talk to him?”

“I said I
would, didn’t I?” barked Valkin. With that, he stormed from the library to his
chambers before his brothers could say more. He was not in the mood to bother
with them. He needed to decide how to broach the topic of his ruling with the
king.