The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare (8 page)

She had barely taken her seat when the door opened again, and a tall young man, dressed in colorful leggings and tunic, stepped in. Feathered hat in hand, hesitant, he cast an awed glance over the furnishings in the enormous room. Jorelial put a hand up to her mouth to stifle a giggle. He had obviously picked out his best performance outfit, and while she had seen him behave with great self-possession in the Great Hall while plying his trade, a high-level audience without a harp in his hand was another matter altogether. Noting his vulnerable expression, she relented a bit.

“Mark! Please come in, and welcome. I owe you a debt of gratitude for delivering me, just now, from the shameless self-promoting of my last visitor. Thank you. I understand as well from my dear sister that you have been waiting many days for a chance to speak with me on a matter of some importance?” She was not about to let on that she knew his mission. She wanted to see just how he would attempt to win his prize. “My apologies, sir; my time has not been my own for some while now, and a thousand details of statecraft battle for my attention every day. There always seem to be more issues than hours. I appreciate your patience, and hope that you will not hold the delays against me. Come up, come closer where I don’t have to shout…there, that’s better.” The man was nervous, fraying the edges of his best hat with his fingers as he stood there, knowing this to be the audition of his life. But there was a sweetness and an open quality to him which Jorelial noticed, particularly in contrast to the guarded, calculated manner of Lord Drogue. No wonder Delphine was drawn to him.

“My Lady Rey,” he began, in a strong, trained baritone that only trembled a little, “Thank you for seeing me now, when I know you have so many other matters to attend to. And if my timing was of service to you, I am doubly glad.”

A good beginning, she thought. He raised his face for the first time to meet her sharp, probing gaze. His eyes were soft and kind and brown. Taking courage from the silence, he went on, “If I have been insistent in requesting a moment of your precious time, my excuse can only be the deep devotion I bear your sister, Delphine. Over the past year, I have been fortunate enough to come to know her and her quality, and the desire to have her always by my side fuels my boldness. It is not her loveliness alone that has snared my heart and made it her servant forever. It is her inquisitive mind, her generous heart, the sunshine that radiates from her being wherever she goes – these all enchant me completely whenever I am in her presence. To me, she is like a lovely song that is so perfect by every standard that one begs to hear it over and over again, never tiring of the repetition, but only growing fonder in familiarity. I cannot imagine a life ahead without that song in my heart always, without Delphine in my arms. We are destined for one another, of that I am certain.” With that he dropped to one knee, hat in hand, brown eyes lowered. “You hold the key to our future, Lady Jorelial Rey. Here and now, I humbly ask your permission to take Delphine as my cherished bride.”

Jorelial was impressed with his effusive request, and even more with how he seemed to believe every word. But then, he was a bard by trade; how could she be sure? She leaned forward in the great chair, eyes narrowed, as if that could help her see more clearly into his heart, “Well spoken, sir. I confess I have sounded my sister on the subject, and to be frank, she seems to be of the same mind as you. But she is very young to be bound in a lifelong commitment. You are attractive and accomplished, sir. How do we know she does not suffer from a schoolgirl’s crush, which she will outgrow in time?”

A shadow crossed his face, but passed swiftly, leaving behind a most determined expression. “Lady, you of all people should know your sister is a maid of uncommon wisdom, far greater than her years would suggest, and is not given to rash decisions or hasty judgments. I would beg you to take seriously her professed desires in this matter, if you value her happiness.”

“Well parried!” Jorelial sprang from the chair, and stepped off the dais, circling the young man, who was still on one knee. “There is almost nothing on this earth dearer to me than the happiness of my sister. Besides Tashroth, Delphine is the most precious treasure in my world. But I am entrusted with the task of looking out for her welfare, beyond her desires alone. You must realize that it would be…unusual…for the daughter of a high-ranking courtier to be betrothed to a landless artisan, regardless of his skill. And you are a minstrel, making his fortune on the road, travelling from village to town across the kingdom, most likely barely earning enough for your own keep. What sort of life do you think that would be for a high-born maid as delicate and noble as Delphine? And how far would your affections carry you in times of scarcity?”

He was prepared for this question. “Lady, I am a harper out of love, not need. Before Delphine graced my life, music was ever my greatest joy, and source of nourishment. My parents hold a small estate in the hills outside the city limits. I will one day inherit this property, along with a modest sum. With these, and some savings I have been putting away, it has long been my hope to found there a school of the harpers’ art. There is not yet anything of that sort in these parts. Lady, are you aware that your sister has an extraordinarily beautiful singing voice and a natural talent for music? Not to mention an easy manner with folk of all ages. I can imagine no fitter helpmate in transforming my dreams to reality. We had hoped this would be an enterprise which would meet with your approval.”

Jorelial had not seen this coming. A school, eh? What a remarkable idea. She had to give this fellow credit – he had certainly thought the whole thing through. That would solve the problems of roots and income, even a purpose and passion for her baby sister. She was beginning to like Mark. Stepping to his side, she gently cupped a hand under his elbow, indicating that he should rise. “A most noble enterprise, and one which I could support with a glad heart. I think our Father might have been excited by the idea as well, had he lived.”

Standing, he was more than a full head taller than her, but she met his hopeful gaze full on, and for the first time in the interview, spoke to him as herself – no masks, no courtly ornaments, no manipulation.

“Look, Mark, you seem to be a fine fellow, honest and decent, sincere in the love you bear my sister. I can see why Delphine is charmed by you. I know you to be excellent in your craft, and am heartened to hear you speak of bigger plans. You obviously have a practical side, and have considered many options. I like you – what I know of you. I must admit I have been preoccupied with bigger events these last months, and haven’t been paying attention to my own household. The whole idea of my baby sister getting married is something of a surprise – no, more of a
shock
to me, and I have to get used to it. I suppose it would be wonderful to have a happy event on the horizon for a change, something to look forward to? That would be refreshing. It has been a very long time since anyone laughed or sang or danced.”

She was pacing again in front of him, fingers drumming on her palms as she spoke. Mark’s face relaxed as her meaning began to settle over him, his wide mouth twitching by degrees into a radiant grin, his breaths deepening audibly in relief and joy. Rel faced him again, “I don’t know that I am ready yet to give my unqualified consent, or tell you to choose a date. At the moment we are all somewhat overwhelmed with the Grand Council election and the Coronation just ahead. But I would like to hear more.” She took his arm and led him toward the table and chairs, “Sit with me a few moments, and tell me about where you come from, your family and home, and this school you envision…” She planted Mark in a chair, but before she could sit down herself, she heard the door to the chamber creak open, and looked up to see the doorman hesitating on the threshold.

“Something wrong?” Jorelial called across the room. The doorman had been a trusted palace employee for decades, knew protocols, and followed them with impeccable care, except in very extreme circumstances.

“My lady,” he called back, “I regret the intrusion, but may I speak to you a moment?” He sounded uncomfortable. Rel’s brows drew together as she excused herself and strode toward him. He met her half way, and spoke for her ears alone, “Lady, I am sorry, but there is a man outside who is most insistent that he
must
see you and only you,
today
, on a matter of utmost urgency.”

“Warlowe, everybody wants to see me right away over a million matters of utmost urgency. I still have more to do here, and I am sure dinner is about to be served. I really ought to make an appearance tonight. You’ll just have to send him away.”

“He won’t go away, Mistress. I’ve tried. He insists you will
want
to see him.”

Jorelial was perplexed. “Well, who is he?”

“I don’t know, Mistress, he won’t say.”

“Well, then, what does he look like?” The pitch of her voice was beginning to rise in frustration.

“That’s the thing, Mistress – the man is dressed in rags like a beggar, with packs and sacks draped all over him as if he had travelled a great distance with all his worldly possessions. He talks like a stranger, and yet, something about him seems vaguely familiar. I feel I should know him, but I can’t quite place it. And he seems so earnest…”

Jorelial hesitated. Warlowe should know better than to interrupt an official audience for some beggar, when there was already a long list of petitioners waiting their turns for her attention. But she trusted his judgment, and could not dismiss his intuitions. She looked at him and cocked an eyebrow.

“Mistress, there is just something about him, and he
will not
be turned away.”

She sighed, paused, shook her head, and began to usher him back to the door, “It simply is not a good day for this. Take him to the steward, and see if you can’t get him on the list somewhere in the best possible position, and then find out if he needs something to eat. We can’t deny the man hospitality, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do tonight.”

Warlowe seemed almost disappointed. “Yes, Lady Rey,” he replied, bowing slightly, and crossed back to the door, disappearing behind its heavy oak paneling. Rel turned back to Mark, who was still sitting at the table, trying to look casual. “Now, where were we?” she asked.

SIX
Over the Threshold

T
VRDIK STOOD IN A REMOTE
corner of the palace courtyard, gratefully munching on the generous portion of bread and cheese he had been given at the steward’s command. The sun had just about disappeared below the horizon, and within the walled yard, shadows lengthened across the cobblestones. It was quiet now, almost emptied of the usual crowd of hopefuls daily vying for official attention. An occasional servant scurried by on an errand, and a few lords conversed in low voices in dim corners, punctuating their points of view with gesticulating hands. A lovely young girl sat opposite him on a low bench, twirling a hank of long, bright red hair in her nervous fingers, and, at intervals, jumping up to look toward the Hall of Audience. After a moment she would pace for a bit and find her seat again. She did not seem to notice the pale, weary, ragged young man in glasses, chewing a sandwich and talking to himself.

It hadn’t taken him long to arrive at the palace, from his waterfall in the deep woods. Eight days, to be precise. It seemed ironic that all those years, he had never really been so far from home, or from what he had once called home. For this journey, the mage and the naiad had travelled to the nearest village where Tvrdik was known, and traded some simple healing work and kitchen magic for a few provisions and a sturdier water skin in which Ondine could travel. Every few days he stopped again, wherever he could work for food or ask directions. But though he was often offered shelter as well, Tvrdik always chose to camp alone in some remote place under the stars by a stream or a lake. There, Ondine could spend the evening out in the open, and he could practice the wizarding skills which were still new to him, without fear of being noticed. Ondine would spend hours watching the young mage levitate, transmute, transform, dis-apperate and apperate any number of items, occasionally jumping up and down in the water, clapping her hands in glee at his accomplishments. Just as often, she would be giggling at his near-misses. Her favorite trick was the one where he’d turn himself into a big white owl, his spirit beast, and fly all around the campsite. The transformations were always thrilling, but the landings, where he would attempt to morph back into his natural human form – not so good. He was a diligent and tireless student, though, and she delighted in his rehearsals. Where he dealt with other humans, he kept her hidden in the wine skin, for fear that she would end up as a carnival sideshow somewhere. But in the lengthening spring evenings, and on some of the long empty roads they travelled, he would uncork the container, and they would talk. She taught him all about the life of a water sprite – probably more than any human ever knew on the subject – and he filled her in on the mission he was about to undertake, and of Xaarus’ plan. Tvrdik left out the details of his past, his flight to the woods, and his state of mind when she first saw him at the waterfall. Somehow, he did not want to seem smaller in her eyes, and was convinced the real story would disappoint her. Truth be told, he was enjoying her effervescent company, a new phenomenon after twelve solitary years. Why, he had actually laughed at her antics, on several occasions!

One evening, camping by the riverside, far from any village, they found themselves hungry, and staring at the last of their meager provisions. Tvrdik chewed on a bit of hard crust, deflated. But Ondine splashed down into the river, shook the drops from her curls in a cascade of spray, held up a finger, and disappeared into the deep. In a moment, Tvrdik heard what sounded like a very loud and raucous song being sung under water. Before he could wonder at its source, two large fish leapt from the river and beached themselves at his feet. A tiny blue face appeared next, grinning at him from the water. With amazement and gratitude, Tvrdik blessed the fish, conjured a fire, and roasted them to a turn. Often, afterwards, he teased her that her singing had been so horrible that it sent the fish flying up from their watery lairs, just to escape the torment.

Now, at last, they had arrived at their destination, and found themselves locked out. Here they were, standing in the palace courtyard, the sun sinking, the day ending, and a chill breeze beginning to ruffle Tvrdik’s pale hair, and he did not have a clue as to what to do next. Of course, he had gotten himself put on some list for an audience with the Lady Rey, but it was a very long list, and who knew when the actual meeting would materialize. It could be weeks, or months even, and his business could not wait that long.
Hmmph
, he thought with bitter reflection,
a list for a simple audience? Still full of herself, if you ask me,
despite Xaarus
sticking up for her.
XAARUS! He stopped mid-chew, struck by the lightning bolt thought of the bond he and his Master had forged in order to make their lessons more efficient. Xaarus had said he felt it might work to keep the lines of communication open even across time and space, but only sparingly, only in Tvrdik’s mind, and only in the hour of greatest need. Tvrdik had not tested the theory yet, not wishing to abuse such a privilege. But if this was not greatest need, he could think of none. If he could not even get in the door for an interview, they were stopped in their tracks. He felt certain that Xaarus would know what to do.

Swallowing, he closed his eyes and poured all his intention into conjuring his memories of the older wizard. Holding these pictures in his thoughts, he focused on reaching out for Xaarus’ mind. It should feel familiar – the path had been well-worn in the final week of his training – but it was so far away now, it felt like a very long stretch into a vast unknown space. Tvrdik’s face began to sweat as he poured a little more energy into isolating his teacher’s unique energy. Then, with the scent of sage and old wax, there stood the older wizard before him, a bit translucent, perhaps, but very recognizable. Not wanting to waste precious moments with his master, Tvrdik seized the opportunity to present his dilemma. Meanwhile, peering over the rim of the wooden tankard in which she was temporarily housed, Ondine watched in fascination as her ‘Lovely Man’ seemed to be conversing most passionately with the air.

“Master, I am here at Theriole, but the lady will not see me. It is as you said here: chaotic, much fear and grief everywhere, uncertainty and confusion. The Lady Rey is in such demand that she will only receive petitioners who have registered on a list weeks in advance. We do not have the luxury of time or patience, nor am I sure she will see me looking like a threadbare beggar in any case. I tried to be as firm as courtesy would permit, but I do not think breaking the door in would be well-regarded. What do I do?”

Xaarus’ image flickered, but remained, the old wizard seeming to be considering this new information. Now his mouth moved, but the familiar voice seemed to come from a place inside of Tvrdik’s brain, as if from a great distance, while at the same time as close as his own heartbeat. It was a strange sensation, but Tvrdik could only freeze mid-breath, listening for the response his mentor might give.
Use the coin,
he heard, and shook his head blankly.
The coin I gave you
–
my calling card
.
I daresay she will remember it
.
That should get you inside.
Like a sunrise inside his head, Tvrdik recalled the small gold piece he had been carrying around in his pouch. Reaching a hand now inside the small one reserved for important personal items, he felt within until his fingers closed around the cool, flat circle, and he pulled it out, releasing his breath in relief to find it still there.

Good, that’s it!
Xaarus’ image continued,
Once you meet her, you must convince her of your sincerity
,
and the truth of what you have to tell her
.
As for the first, be honest if she questions you.
Hold nothing back. If you have opportunity to meet the dragon, submit without question. Tashroth will be able to read your heart, and could prove a valuable ally. For the latter, relate to her all we have discussed, and stress what I have told you about the coming war. Mention the name of Lord Drogue; it will resonate with her today, I think. I must go. I cannot hold the link. All my faith rests in you, my boy. You will succeed if you only believe it….
And he was gone.

Tvrdik sank to the ground, his back propped against a stone wall. Holding their communication link open for only a few moments was exhausting. But he had gotten what he needed and more. Somehow, even the shadow of Xaarus made him feel powerful, energized, hopeful. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. As soon as his strength returned a bit, he would go approach the doorman again, coin in hand.

A cold splash full in the face startled him awake. Ondine was staring at him, an expression in her wide eyes somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment. “Lovely Man, you sick?” she asked innocently, and then with a sharper tone, “Or maybe brain-addled?”

Tvrdik laughed out loud, “No, no, I’m fine,” he reassured, “I was asking for help from my Master, but no one else can see him…” She leaned backward like he might be contagious. Tvrdik laughed again. “It’s a long story – I’ll try to explain later. Sorry to say I need you back in your little house, Ondine. We have more work to do this evening.” He held the water skin out to her, and shaking her curls with exasperation, she disappeared inside. The sun had dipped low and the courtyard was fully in shadow now. Tvrdik noticed the young girl still sitting rather dejectedly on her bench, as he gathered the rest of his possessions. No time now to find out her story. Perhaps another day. He stuffed the last morsel of cheese in his mouth, tossed the gold coin in the air, caught it as it tumbled down, and started back toward the giant doors of the Hall of Audience.

Not five minutes later, the enormous door swung open again in the Hall of Audience, and Jorelial Rey, still in conversation with Mark, found herself again summoned to private conference with her doorkeeper. His eyes were as round as saucers as he addressed her, “Pardon again my intrusion, Lady…”

Annoyed at the turn the day had taken, Jorelial was not her best self as she snapped, “What is it this time?”

Warlowe stammered, “My lady, that man I spoke of earlier…”

“I thought I said…”

“He gave me this, and bade me present it to you by way of introduction.” The doorman handed her the small metallic object. Jorelial took one look at it, turned it over in her hand, and gasped, “Holy cat-tails and dragon’s bones, Warlowe! Did he say where he got this?”

“No, Mistress. Just said he thought it would interest you, and repeated that he had urgent business to discuss with you on behalf of the original owner, at your earliest convenience.” Warlowe blinked.

“At my earliest convenience, indeed…” Rel swore under her breath as she spun about. “Mark, I am afraid we will have to continue our discussion at a future time. Something has come up – you understand?”

Mark rose at once and attempted a little formal bow, almost unbalancing himself, “At your pleasure, lady, and I hope to call you ‘sister’ very soon.” She stared after him, deep in thought, as he disappeared through the large doors, and then turned back to Warlowe. “I apologize for my ill temper; it has been an excruciatingly long and trying day. You did exactly the right thing. Give me two minutes and then show him in, please. Oh, and could you please find the steward and tell him not to wait dinner for me? And if you happen to see Tashroth hanging about out there, could you tell him for me that I will join him on the north tower as soon as I can? Thank you, Warlowe.” She touched his arm in genuine appreciation. He bowed to her and stepped outside, raising a single eyebrow on the way out in response to the suggestion that he speak to a dragon.

Jorelial looked at the coin in her hand one more time, then strode over to the formal throne on the dais. It would be important to start this particular interview from a position of authority. The door creaked open again, and Warlowe reappeared, ushering in a stranger. As the man crossed the long room, she had a moment to take his full measure. He was tall and lean, dressed in some sort of odd rustic clothing that was patched and threadbare. He carried a collection of packs slung over both shoulders and on his back. His age was difficult to assess, as one moment he looked quite young, and then, in another light, lines of care appeared on his face that made him seem much older. Around his head was an aureole of hair so pale as to be nearly white, while his piercing blue eyes peered out from behind gold-rimmed spectacles that seemed to give him a perpetually surprised look. Facing this man, Jorelial felt a powerful impulse both to laugh and to cry. Instead, she tried to look stern. The man approached, made a perfunctory bow, and spoke first. “Jorelial Rey, I hope you will forgive my forwardness, but I am sent here on a mission of grave importance.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and brandished the coin, “Where did you get this?”

“From him whose image appears upon it.”

“That is not possible, for he is long dead.”