The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare (20 page)

The morning labored on, speech after speech, some well-crafted and enervating, some pedestrian. Tvrdik kept careful track of who was who, and committed to memory his impressions of each. At one point he had to work hard to stop himself laughing out loud (and how would
that
have sounded coming from an owl?) to see how comically stereotypical the ministers appeared. Master Verger, the Minister of Finance, was a smallish, soft man with vaguely rodent-like features and a perpetual squint, he guessed from poring over figures all day. Tvrdik made a mental note to speak to him later about the miracle of spectacles. Perhaps they could invest together in a local cottage industry. The Commander in Chief, General Boone, was a simple, plain-spoken sort with graying, close-cropped hair, barrel chest, muscled arms and short, thick neck. One would not be likely to mistake this very pragmatic - looking character for a poet. The Minister of Justice, a man named Alanquist, was tall and lanky, with sharp features, a slightly hooked nose, and an expression that revealed him as a complete stranger to laughter. His head seemed overly large in proportion to the rest of him, as if his body were merely a vehicle to carry his oversized brain.

Colorful as they were, Tvrdik could find nothing to dislike in any of them. They all seemed devoted to duty and the Crown, and each seemed supremely competent, even ingenious, at his discipline. Besides, they all reported good news during Jorelial’s tenure as regent: revenues were up, trade agreements forged or renewed, budget balanced, capital projects begun, treaties shored up or newly negotiated, crime relatively low, highways safe for travel, some innovative public works programs on the drawing board. Despite the kingdom’s recent tragedy and resulting uncertainty, times were still good for most of the citizenry. There seemed to be a sense that what had happened had somehow drawn all of Eneri Clare together in solidarity, transcending the smaller issues that at times divide disparate peoples. In addition, an outpouring of support and sympathy from neighboring nations who were shocked at the terrible news, insured peaceful borders and friendly allies for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t that the precipitous loss of the royal couple was in any way a good thing – rather it was that with the proper handling of the situation, good could indeed come out of grave misfortune.

Hours passed, and the speeches and reports went on. The Lord Mayor was a jovial and somewhat theatrical sort. He had been a local businessman – an owner of several popular taverns. His ruddy complexion and ample girth suggested that he also partook of the wares that were his stock and trade. He spoke in a robust baritone, encouraging everyone present to make sure and allow time for spending their coin on goods and services in the nearby capitol city of Therin before heading back to the provinces they called home. This got a hearty laugh, though the young wizard was certain the man had hopes that many of the visitors would take him up on his suggestion.

The Farmers’ Guild expected a banner year for crops and livestock, assuming the lovely spring weather they had enjoyed thus far eventually succumbed to rain. The Merchants’ and Crafters’ Guilds all had equally positive news to share. Tvrdik found himself musing that the disciplines of Arts, Culture, and Education, as well as Wizardry (understandably) seemed woefully under-represented at this conference, if they were even mentioned at all. He thought of Mark and Delphine, their innovative plans, and the exciting conversation they had had on their first meeting. They had the right idea, he decided, and prayed that they would all live to see a future where the three of them could throw their lot in together and manifest their dream of a school.

Throughout the morning, whenever a speaker would wander into some longwinded extemporizing, Tvrdik would turn his attention to Lord Drogue, sitting stone-still, leaning far back in his chair with his feet rather disrespectfully propped on the table before him, one elbow resting on the arm of his great wooden chair, and the fingers of that hand curled in front of his mouth. His attention seemed riveted, but it was obvious that the cold flames dancing in his eyes had nothing whatever to do with crop reports or budget manifests. Hour after hour he sat without moving a muscle except for those fingers in front of his face. Tvrdik had never even met the man, but something felt wrong about him. A cold shiver ran through Tvrdik’s tiny bird bones, and for a moment, he felt with a certainty he could not explain that the man practiced some sort of sorcery himself, and not a kind that Xaarus approved of. Indeed, he could be weaving some sort of unholy spell at this very moment – some manipulation or mind control on a weaker cohort perhaps. With a flash of righteous indignation, Tvrdik threw out as much psychic shielding around Drogue as he thought he could safely generate without being detected. This had an immediate effect. Drogue broke concentration and shifted position, ever so slightly, glancing all about as if at an annoying insect.
Aha!
Tvrdik thought, ruffling his feathers excitedly,
got him.
Still, the thought that their adversary might also have some magic at his disposal was most disturbing, and sharpened his resolve to stay alert for anything unexpected. Two or three regional lords caught his attention as well among all those assembled. Their manner seemed somehow sullen, their body language pointing
away
from the various speakers instead of toward the proceedings. Their eyes darted to Drogue frequently as if they were watching him for some cue, or for instructions. Tvrdik made a mental note to find out from Lady Rey and Tashroth who these might be, and if they had reason for discontent, so that they could be closely watched.

As the reports drew to a close, and it neared the time when midday refreshments would be served, a motion was made and a vote taken to certify once and for all the Council’s intention to crown the infant prince ‘king’ as soon as possible. Jorelial Rey had been eager to nail down a public declaration that the leadership’s clear intent was for the boy to assume the throne, along with assurances that no other plan was on the table. The motion passed unanimously, as she had hoped. After her rousing speech that morning, invoking patriotism, loyalty, and sacred duty, no one would dare contest the succession publicly. Debate consisted of a few brief, florid words of affirmation from various delegates eager to position themselves as loyal subjects. After a bit more wrangling, a formal coronation was planned for just one week and a day hence, in order to make it official as soon as possible. Thinking practically, those from far off who wished to participate in the ceremony would not need to make a second expensive and arduous journey this season. They might, however, just have time to send for family members, gifts, or supplies as needed. Of course, Jorelial had already consulted at great length with Steward Bargarelle, who considered the palace resources could be stretched another week to accommodate all the visitors, without severe strain. It seemed a fair and considerate solution, and as far as the Lady Rey was concerned, the sooner the better. Now, with only one important item of business left on the agenda, it was time to break for lunch.

Heaping platters of baked goods, cheeses, fruits, and hot and cold vegetable casseroles were brought in, along with pitchers of clear water and cider. The musicians resumed their earlier places and broke into a lively dance tune. Everything had been prepared, summoned, and posted just outside the Great Hall doors, only awaiting a cue. At the right moment, it all appeared as if by magic before the eyes of the impressed participants, who were grateful for the chance to move about, stretch their legs and whet their whistles. In a few moments, the entire room was plunged into a delighted chaos of new greetings, animated conversations, and self-indulgence.

Letting out her breath in a long sigh, and searching for a quick exit from the noise, the bustle, and the confused aromas, Jorelial Rey chewed around the edges of her fingernails and told herself that up till now the entire event had been smooth and successful. Her speech had been well-received, and all her priorities had been accomplished thus far without opposition. Most of the reports shared had been full of good news. People seemed genuinely happy with the palace’s hospitality. So far, a good day.

She palmed an egg and watercress sandwich off of a passing tray and squeezed out through a small side door into a little-used courtyard which was empty at the moment. Finding herself surrounded in relative silence and warm, bright sunshine, a fountain burbling away only meters away, she leaned backward against the door to prevent anyone following her out. Jorelial Rey let the tension fall slowly from her muscles as she bit into her sandwich. It was a good feeling to have gotten this far, but she was aware that the most difficult part was yet to come. The odd thing was that if Tvrdik had never arrived to predict his gloomy scenario, she might have felt elated now, so close to anticipated freedom. She might have assumed the positive momentum of the day would carry forward to the unanimous choice of some worthy, seasoned lord as regent, and that would be that. Armed with Xaarus’ information, though, it was difficult to cling to the hope that things could play out as easily as that.

A fluttering above her head caught her attention as a large white bird squeezed itself through a high window propped open to allow some fresh spring air into the Great Hall. The owl hovered in mid-air for a moment, blinking, and then landed heavily on her shoulder. With a gesture calculated to look like he was picking at her ear, the bird leaned in close and whispered, “So far, so good…I am taking careful notes. You were magnificent out there, my lady. You had the whole room at your command.” The bird was bobbing oddly now and sidestepping back and forth along her shoulder. Trying not to turn her head, but concentrating on what was left of her sandwich, Jorelial Rey giggled despite herself, “Cut it out! You shouldn’t be making me laugh, today of all days.”

“I was in earnest, but why not laugh, in any case? Laughter has a wonderful restorative power, and at this moment, you look as if you need some restoring. Truly, you
were
magnificent out there. Drogue, by the way, is into some sort of nasty sorcery. I suspected it, but I am certain now. I think he might be using it to control some of the other lords’ thoughts, in order to garner support for his bid. There are two or three I don’t like the look of. I’ll describe them later. I would judge the whole morning a smashing success, though. I can feel the positive energy building in the room. I even learned a lot from all of those reports.”

“So, you still think that he is going to go ahead and spoil the whole thing?”

“Oh, yes. He’s been building up to it all day.”

“Drat. You know I have no desire to be regent any longer. I would rather almost anybody else would take this millstone from around my neck – except Drogue! We simply cannot let him take the helm. He will destroy the kingdom.”

“Agreed. Don’t worry. Most of the others would never trust him in that position. They will not be persuaded by rhetoric, nor by sorcery. They will choose the best person for the job; I have an uncanny sense about that. The rest is up to destiny.”

A deep, inarticulate, primal growl seemed to issue from the depths of her being, expressing all the conflicted feelings that battled within her heart. Then, “Tvrdik, how can I leave this quiet little courtyard with its sunshine, its birdsong, and its peaceful fountain, and go back into that room? How do you suggest I make myself walk into that uncertain future?” There was a long pause, but no answers. Jorelial Rey absently took another bite from her sandwich.

“Would you save me some of that? I’m starving.”

“Tvrdik!”

“Well, it’s not like I can be seen picking my favorite morsels off of the trays in there.” She laid the rest of the sandwich on the ground in front of them.

“Here. Take it. I have to get back in there. Luncheon is supposed to last an hour, but it would not do for me to be absent the entire time. I am supposed to be the hostess. If you are willing, I’d appreciate you back at your post when the proceedings resume.” She turned on her heel.

“Jorelial Rey.”

“Ummhh?”

The little owl sidled gently along her shoulder, closer to her ear, and leaned its warm downy weight against her head and neck. The feeling was oddly comforting. “How did I leave my little cottage in the ancient wood that I had built with my own two hands, and lived in contentedly for over a decade? How did I turn my back on my beautiful waterfall, and the birds and trees who knew and nurtured me, in order to return to a world that had last represented grief and pain and confusion to me? I honestly don’t know. I guess one day I just decided that it was time I became what I was born to be…,” and in a whisper so soft she almost missed it, “…and I have not regretted it for a moment since.” Tvrdik felt the girl’s shoulders slowly release with a deep, shuddering sigh.

“You’d better eat. The best part of the show is about to start.” A little shrug dislodged the bird from her shoulder, and with a few flaps he descended to the sandwich remains on the cobblestone. Jorelial Rey took the door handle in her hand, but then turned back, with a smile that dazzled him like a sunrise revealing home after a long night’s journey. “Thank you,” she said, and she was gone.

FOURTEEN
The Wheel Turns

I
T TOOK SOME TIME TO
get everyone settled back in their seats and ready for business again, but even when the official proceedings began, things got off to a slow start. It seems there were not many in the room who wished to put themselves, or even their neighbors, forward for consideration as regent. There were quite a few folk who were not interested in such a demanding occupation. This became evident when the first few lords who rose to recommend some distinguished friend were answered by the proposed candidate with a polite, but firm, “Thank you for the honor, but I could not possibly…,” “Responsibilities on my estate…,” or, “I have elderly parents and a new baby to care for….” The dance was warm and gracious, but not terribly constructive.

Jorelial Rey felt that she should keep a low profile during this part of the process, neither appearing too eager to embrace the position, nor to run from it – indeed, not to remind anyone of her existence at all for the moment. Her father, of course, would have been the obvious choice, had he been alive. And therein lay the tragedy of the situation; his absence created a void without an obvious remedy. Jorelial was still hoping the cream would rise to the top. Someone stood, cleared his throat, and proposed that the reins of government be turned over to Defense Minister Boone: the army’s Commander and Chief, a seasoned veteran of foreign wars, an experienced High Council member already in residence at the palace, and a man whose integrity could not be impugned. Jorelial Rey winced. Boone was brilliant at what he now did. It was something he understood to the depths of his being. She felt him to be of vital import in the future training of the young king, but regent? She was convinced that the myriad details, the pace, the sheer volume of tasks involved in the job might come close to overwhelming him, and would take him away from his true calling, where he was genuinely needed.

To his credit, this good-hearted, plain-spoken man stood up, bowed to the friend who had suggested him, stroked his chin and addressed the group, “My old friend Julian does me great honor. Earlier in the week, I actually thought about putting myself forward for consideration. You all know I would give my best for this king. You could do worse than to choose a tough old brick like myself, who knows a thing or two about the world. And there is that within me that reaches for excellence, which would enjoy the honor, the privilege, the notoriety, and yes, the raw power inherent in this position. But… (he paused and sighed) I am not the right man for the job (there was an audible groan of disappointment from the assembly). I am a simple man who knows one thing, and does it very well. I am in the position I hold now because it is the very top of my field, I know what I am doing, and I can make a real contribution. But I am not a man of vision, nor of much imagination. The world spins ever faster, changing and evolving, and we must be led by those who keep pace with it, or even run ahead of it. Our young king will be of the next generation of rulers, and we must give him a regent who will nurture in him a hunger to reach for the stars – not one who will hold him back with old ways. We can give him the wisdom of our experience and the counsel of our maturity. But the person who rules in his name must be prepared to take risks, to see possibilities we have not yet imagined, and to model for Darian, as he grows, these traits of a great leader. That is why I am content to stay where I am, at the new regent’s pleasure, and be the best support I can be for them both. I am moved, more than I can express, at all of your high opinions of my character, but I am afraid I must decline.

“I think, from our conversations, that I may also speak on behalf of my fellow High Ministers, that they feel the same way as I do, (there were curt, but meaningful nods from both the Ministers of Finance and Justice), and I urge you to look deeper into our midst to find the person who will be our best hope in this difficult time of transition. I thank you all.”

Boone sat. At that moment, Jorelial Rey wished she could run up and hug the man, who had so clearly and honestly assessed his own abilities against the necessary qualifications for the position in question. Boone was a man she had always respected, but found difficult to read and hard to connect with. She felt she had never understood or appreciated him as deeply as she did right now, and silently vowed to let him know that at the first opportunity. Likewise the other Cabinet Ministers, who had obviously discussed this eventuality, and laid aside their own personal ambitions in order to be of best service. These were men she could admire, and emulate – men her father had trusted, and whose quality she was just beginning to recognize.

But, all of this still did not solve the problem at hand, and in the uncomfortable silence following Boone’s speech, chairs creaked, whispers echoed, and an air of anxiey began to creep over the assembled participants. Jorelial Rey could stand it no more. She rose to her feet, and in her most powerful formal voice, spoke out, “My lords, worthy all, this is becoming embarrassing. Is there no one present who will step up as candidate for this most important of callings, nor knows of someone fit for the task?”

As the last words she uttered spun out into the hall, she heard an odd flurry of wings and a frantic cooing from somewhere in the rafters. She glanced up and took its meaning; Tvrdik was signaling her from the floor – Lord Drogue was about to make his move. Her eyes dropped to his and met them, halfway down the great table, blazing and intense. She watched him pull his limbs from their casual position on the table, and gather himself to rise. There was something vaguely reminiscent in that move of the way a snake coils itself tighter while holding your gaze, in preparation for its venomous strike. But before he could complete the intended gesture, someone pre-empted him – someone at her elbow was already speaking. The fire in Drogue’s eyes banked for a moment, and released her, as he sank back in his chair. Heart pounding, she turned to see who had rescued her. It was Corbin Maygrew, one of her father’s oldest friends, and the current head of a family so old, powerful, and respected that the River Maygrew was actually named for them. Corbin was a big, robust man of middle years with a round, friendly face; ruddy, prominent cheeks; thick reddish- brown hair and beard, streaked with gray; blue eyes always dancing with humor, mischief, and intelligence, but often softening to deep kindness and compassion. He had been a frequent and welcome visitor to their home while she was growing up. She had always looked forward to seeing him. He often had a sweet, or a little game reserved for the children, and was always able to make her beloved father laugh, even when they were discussing weighty matters. In short, a man of prominence, wisdom, and goodness. Corbin Maygrew – of course! Why ever had she not thought of him before? The perfect choice. But he had already begun his address…

“…embarrassing it is, but only because we all know our own strengths and limitations, and await the word of the one person among us who is truly fit for this task. My good friend Boone has eloquently expressed so many of my own thoughts and feelings on the subject, and in his remarks on the need for vision, imagination, energy, and innovation in our new regent, I take him to be in agreement with me that the best person for this position is none other than she who has already done such a fine job of discharging it. And that is none other than you, yourself, Jorelial Rey!”

She was completely taken aback by this unexpected vote of confidence from one she considered her better. But as she spluttered ungracefully in response, her speechlessness was covered by a growing chorus of “Hear, hear!” from the Hall, and pounding on the table. Maygrew lifted his hands for quiet.

“What say you, Jorelial Rey? Will you step up and answer the call?” He spoke for the crowd, theatrically, but his eyes twinkled at close range for her, challenge and expectation shining from them. Somehow she found her voice.

“My esteemed Lord Maygrew, I am flattered by your confidence in me. But…but…I have not sought this election. I am content to be released from my duties in favor of a more appropriate candidate…”

He interrupted, “Who could
be
more appropriate? You have already shown your worth in these months of ruling so admirably. And it is precisely
because
you do not seek the election that I am comfortable nominating you. Many of us might be drawn to this position for all that it offers – wealth, status, power, glamour…. But a good regent only holds the throne in trust for the true king, and hands it over to him without reservation at the proper time. How many of us could honestly say we could easily relinquish the perks of royalty? But you, my dear, you find no attraction in any of it, and would gladly be quit of the whole mess. Service and duty are your only motivations, and the desire to continue to do what all your family has done for generations: to protect and support the
K
ing. That is enough for me. Lady Jorelial Rey, you are truly your father’s daughter, and I hereby throw the weight of my vote behind you for regent.”

More noise from the floor, mostly approbation and relief. A landslide was beginning to build. Tvrdik, from his perch, was both thrilled and horrified at the same time. It was all happening so fast. Jorelial now gestured for quiet.

“My lords all, you do me great honor, but, as has been noted before, I am young, inexperienced in the ways of the world. A great man of proven quality and maturity, a man of wisdom, intellect, statecraft, and diplomacy stands right before you as a superior choice. Lord Maygrew, permit me to defer to your greater years and to nominate you, the head of one of the oldest and most respected families in our kingdom, as a perfect candidate.” Her voice was clear and sincere, but held a bit of a strident quality born of desperation. Slowly, a silence fell in the room – a silence of confusion – no doubt few there had ever witnessed an important competition where the prime candidates were trying with all their might to give the wreaths of triumph to each other.

But Maygrew was the veteran player. In the silence, his jovial, rich voice rang out, “Ah, that is where you are mistaken, my dear. Your very youth argues for you in this case. The infant king is but four years old. The regent we choose this day is in for a lifetime’s commitment. That’s almost two decades; an entire generation. This is not a position we offer, it is a lifework. By the time the young monarch has reached his majority, I shall be a doddering old fool, of little use to him in the transition of power and hopelessly mired in old traditions. And frankly, I should prefer to spend my twilight years relaxing in comfort in my own home, covered in grandchildren.” There was laughter from the floor. “Yes, you are young, but already grown into an impressive leader. I have watched you since your childhood, and have been amazed by you. Fearless enough to ride mighty Tashroth, and bold enough to stride into this room, unfazed, the first female to preside over Council in all the history of this land; wise enough not to be seduced by glamour and power, and humble enough to lean on those who are expert in their disciplines for guidance. You are well-trained in history, statecraft, diplomacy, economics, and the arts of war and peace; steeped in the values of courtesy, protocol and tradition, but an independent thinker, more valuing justice, fairness, kindness, and honesty. You are a Rey, through and through, as your father before you. You will do this job to the best of your ability for as long as you must, simply because you have been prepared for it your entire young life, and because your kingdom has need of you. Frankly, I agree with Minister Boone that for this land to thrive, and move into the future, the person at the helm must have courage and vision and energy and a freshness of perspective, along with a willingness to try novel ideas, and take risks. Ministers and counselors can always reach out a steadying hand, but a spark of passion and enthusiasm must light the way. I believe you have all it takes to lead us forward until Darian’s ascendancy, and to assure a smooth transition when the time comes.”

People were jumping to their feet, pounding the table shouting phrases of approval. Tvrdik was mesmerized watching the scene unfold below him. Few delegates looked uncertain in their support, swept up as they were in the emotion of the moment. Maygrew had played the crowd as if it were his own personal instrument, appealing to all of their most idealistic impulses. He was a virtual artist with words, an inspiration to watch. And yet, Tvrdik had to admit, everything he had said had been true, and made perfect sense. And now that he had whipped the room up into a frenzy, he was about to go for the finish. He was shouting over the din, Jorelial open-mouthed beside him, and his beefy arm settled protectively about her slight, purple-clad shoulders, “What say, friends? Do we have our regent? Shall we elect her by unanimous acclamation then and be done with it, or is there still one among you who wishes to contest the point?”

Maygrew’s first mistake. Drogue took his cue without hesitation this time, and rose from his seat. His tall, black figure seemed to cast a larger than possible shadow, which chilled the fervor of everyone on whom it fell. He stood where he was – still, quiet, waiting, confronting his adversaries eye to eye across the vast room, until everyone present noticed him, and a hush fell once again over the assembled delegates. “I contest.” He spoke in a cultured, slightly nasal tone that, nevertheless, carried clearly to every ear in the room. Then, without haste, or any hint of agitation, he began his own suit.

“Most of you know me. I am Lord Drogue, of the mountain regions. My family is also a very old and respected family, as distinguished as the royal family, or the Reys, or the Maygrews. You might remember my father, Lord Harrow Drogue, who was quite well thought of in every corner of this kingdom.” There were some assenting nods and murmurings.
Apparently,
Tvrdik mused,
Drogue’s father was a decent man. There’s an apple that somehow fell an awfully long way from the tree.
“My…love…for Eneri Clare is so intense, so over-arching, that I find myself unable to stand idly by and allow what seems to be happening here. Heaven knows I am not ambitious for myself – in my own fiefdom, I am called ‘Prince.’ I am Master of enough lands, power, and riches to last several lifetimes. I have no ulterior motive save my sense of duty, and a sincere desire to preserve the good of this nation.” Tvrdik gagged, and imagined anyone or anything that touched Drogue sliding helplessly down the oily aura in which he was wrapping himself; it was almost visible. The owl/mage cautiously flew to a beam nearer the speaker.