The fifth sorceress, p.26
The Fifth Sorceress, page 26
‘In addition, assign a work detail of your warriors to begin repairing the stern of the ship. I want it set right as soon as possible.’ Then, in an uncustomary display of feelings, she added, ‘The damage brings me unpleasant memories that I have no desire to revisit.’
‘Yes, Mistress,’ he replied, bowing slightly.
‘We have another fifteen days’ sail to the coast of Eutracia, and after today nothing can stop us between here and there.’ She turned on her heel and was gone.
Kluge was left standing alone in the bow of the ship, watching the finishing sunset as he tried to comprehend all that had happened this day.
He was left with the distinct feeling that there would be much more to come.
King Nicholas took another deep breath of air from the warm Eutracian afternoon as he galloped his stallion down the little rise and toward the bubbling stream. The horses would need some water by now, and this would be a good place to stop and talk to the Lead Wizard, whom he had invited to join him on his ride. As the king’s horse bent down to drink from the stream, Wigg finally caught up to him, also walking his mount into the cool water. For a silent moment they watched their horses drink long and deep, as each man wondered how to begin the conversation that they both knew must come.
Nicholas had purposely chosen to be outside and away from the palace so he could be absolutely sure there were no other ears to hear what would be said. As of late he had come to distrust even his personal conference room in the Redoubt of the Directorate, although if someone had asked him, he probably wouldn’t have been able to say exactly why. It was just a feeling, and ever since the appearances of the blood stalker and the screaming harpy, his sixth sense had been growing stronger by the day. It had been almost four weeks since Wigg had dealt with the harpy, and the abdication ceremony was now only two days away.
Nicholas looked down at the Paragon that had been around his neck for so many years. Only two more days in my safekeeping, he thought, and then it will be passed to Tristan.
He tied the reins to the saddle and jumped down into the river. Walking a few feet from the horses, he bent down and, with cupped hands, scooped up water to rub across his face and neck. Then, leaving his horse to drink, he walked out of the stream and sat down on the bank beneath a tree. The Lead Wizard followed him.
Wigg gathered his robes around himself as he sat down next to his king. He selected and picked a long blade of green grass that he began to shred carefully between his ancient fingers, as was his custom.
‘I assume, Sire, that since neither of us really need the exercise and since there is still so much to do before the ceremony, there is a good reason why we are sitting on the banks of a stream today?’ he asked without looking up.
Nicholas pulled absentmindedly on his gray beard as he looked into his friend’s eyes. ‘I want to know, once and for all, whether there is anything of importance that you have not told me,’ he said simply, still worrying his beard. ‘The appearances of the stalker and harpy have, as you know, disturbed me greatly. And the abdication ceremony is only two days hence. What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Did I not deal with each of them in an effective manner?’ Wigg asked, knowing full well that the deaths of the creatures was not what the king was referring to.
‘Don’t fence with me, Lead Wizard,’ the king said gruffly. ‘I am trying to ensure the safety of my family, and I am having misgivings about the ceremony.’
‘We have discussed all of this before, Your Highness,’ Wigg countered gently. ‘And the report that the Directorate gave you following the death of the harpy was the best of the conclusions that could be drawn. Are we marching down a path of destruction? Only time will tell. But you know as well as I that under no circumstances can we either postpone or cancel the ceremony. Due to the nature of his birth, Tristan is the very future of endowed blood in Eutracia, and nothing can stop that. We have known of his coming since the first translations of the Tome, over three hundred years ago. We just didn’t know when.’ His heart went out to Nicholas. He could only imagine how powerless the king must feel right now, especially in light of the appearances of the stalker and the harpy, two of the Coven’s most effective tools during the war of so long ago. The Chosen One shall come, but he shall be preceded by another, he thought. Two days left.
‘I know all of that,’ Nicholas said almost angrily. ‘And I have read the Directorate’s report a dozen times, telling me that the Coven probably didn’t survive the Sea of Whispers those hundreds of years ago and even if they had that there is no conceivable way back, even if those bitches are still alive.’ He ran a hand through his dark gray hair. ‘But this is my family we’re talking about. Can’t we at least move the location of the ceremony to somewhere more remote and isolated, where it would be more difficult to find us?’
‘The entire Directorate is in complete agreement on this point as well, Sire,’ Wigg said gently, trying to make him understand. ‘Moving the ceremony would mean moving the entire Royal Guard for protection, something which does not happen overnight. And besides, there is no safer place in the kingdom than the palace, with its walls, moat, and drawbridge.’
Nicholas looked up to see a flock of Eutracian geese flying north, calling to each other noisily as they went. How I wish it could be that simple, he thought. Just to collect up my family and fly them away to safety.
‘Then if it must be in the palace and the date cannot be changed, why not hold the ceremony in the depths of the Redoubt? Wouldn’t we all be safer there?’ Nicholas asked. ‘Since we sent forth the consuls to try to help protect the citizenry from the stalkers and harpies, the Redoubt is now deserted. Would it not be perfect for our use?’
Wigg closed his eyes, remembering that the thought processes of those who had not been trained in the craft could be so scattered. He looked compassionately up at his king. ‘That idea, too, was considered briefly by the Directorate after the consuls left, and then was also quickly rejected,’ he said simply. He reminded himself that this king had never had to fight a battle, much less a war, and he needed to be patient with him.
‘Why?’
‘For one thing, the Redoubt was constructed to be a place of learning, not a fort from which to defend one’s realm. The Guard would be virtually useless while trying to navigate the many corridors. In addition, none of the populace could be invited, as usual, to the ceremony due to the secret nature of the Redoubt. What would you tell your nation?’ He paused, hoping that the king understood. ‘The Directorate fully understands and appreciates your concern, for while the Paragon is in the chalice we, too, are vulnerable. But despite all that, we can see no way to proceed other than by following tradition.’
Nicholas shook his head in frustration.
‘Is Tristan still adamant about wearing those same dark clothes of his, instead of the traditional ceremonial robes of his upcoming office?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ Wigg sighed. ‘And I see little that we can do at this point to change his mind. Considering all of the decisions about his life that have already been made against his will, I suggest we honor his demand. I dare say he will wear those things even to the ceremony and well beyond, into his reign.’ He paused and picked another blade of grass. ‘Besides, in the scheme of things, what does it matter?’
I can’t really blame him, the king thought. My own beginnings were humble. Perhaps it is only fitting that my son serve as king in the clothes of the people.
Nicholas’s mind went back to the early days of his youth, when he had been a smith. A simple smith, at the outskirts of Tammerland, living with his parents. He still had the muscular arms and broad chest of his craft. A smith, just like his father before him, and his father before him. And then had come the day when he had looked up from his anvil and hammer to see the Wizards of the Directorate standing before him, impossibly telling him that he had been selected as king. That the king before him had a barren wife, and that there was no prince to succeed him.
And that on the previous night their king had died in his sleep.
And then he had met and married Morganna, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and Tristan and Shailiha had followed. His own parents were gone now, but they had lived to see their son become king, just as he would see his son do the same. Today he is my son, he thought, and two days from now he will be my king.
Seeming to have made up his mind, Nicholas stood, and Wigg stood with him. The king looked into the wizard’s ancient aquamarine eyes in a way that Wigg had never seen before.
‘Lead Wizard,’ he began, ‘if the worst befalls us, can you at least save my children? They are the ones of the greatest importance.’ The question was painfully simple, and the wizard thought his heart might break merely at hearing it asked. A blatant tear was tracing its way down Nicholas’s cheek, the first of the king’s that Wigg had ever seen.
‘In truth, Your Highness, I can only do my best,’ the old wizard said. ‘But I love them both like the children I was never blessed to have, and will protect them at the cost of my own life, if necessary.’
Nicholas reached out and put his hand on the old one’s shoulder for a moment. Then he turned and headed back to his horse, the Lead Wizard of the Directorate following slowly behind him.
Chapter Eight
Tristan stood rather uncomfortably on the raised dais, facing what he guessed to be at least 4,000 finely dressed people standing expectantly on the black-and-white-checkered floor of the Great Hall. And he knew that there were thousands more waiting outside of the palace, with members of the Royal Guard gently but firmly holding them back. The great room smelled pleasantly of potpourri, fresh-cut flowers, and anticipation.
It was late evening. The many lighted chandeliers and candelabras gave the room a golden, surreal presence, and seemed somehow to accentuate the colorful, ornate clothing of the visitors. Tristan, however, was still in his usual outfit, complete with his quiver of dirks, and he smiled slightly to himself at having made good upon his promise of wearing these garments to the abdication ceremony. When he, his family, and the Directorate of Wizards had first entered the room, he had seen the expected surprise at his appearance. But by now the finger-pointing and hushed tones had virtually all subsided.
He had never known any room of the palace to have ever been so beautiful. Frederick had been right when he said that the rehearsal preparations would be nothing compared to the actual ceremony itself. The thousands of visitors commanded almost every square inch of the floor, along with 100 or so of the Royal Guard. The musicians and entertainers were huddled together near the orchestra pit. All eyes were glued upon the people on the dais as everyone waited for the ceremony to begin.
The time of my coronation is finally here, he thought solemnly. He glanced down at his clothes. If it is a king I must be, then it is a king of the common people that I shall strive to remain.
He looked into the crowd, scanning for faces that he knew, and saw that there were many. There was Natasha, the duchess of Ephyra, and her husband, Duke Baldric. Rather embarrassingly, he came upon the face of Evelyn of the House of Norcross, standing uncomfortably near the dais with her mother and father. She smiled up at him knowingly, and he managed a little smile back. Her father, the prince saw, didn’t quite seem to share her great admiration for Tristan just now, despite the fact that the young man was about to become king. Tristan looked away. There were also a great many of his personal friends from the Royal Guard present in the room, as well as the seemingly countless people from throughout the realm whom his father and the Directorate had made sure he met during the course of his youth.
Inwardly, he sighed. It was going to be a long night.
Before him stood the marble altar with the red velvet runner and the gold Chalice of the Abdication Ceremony. Behind him, his mother and father were seated next to each other on their respective thrones. His father was wearing his official robes, the dark blue velvet with the white ermine collar. As always, the Paragon could be seen hanging around his neck. His mother looked as beautiful as ever in a white gown with matching elbow gloves. To Tristan’s right sat the wizards of the Directorate in their row of thrones, and to his left stood Frederick and Shailiha, arms linked, both beaming with pride.
And just in front of him, between himself and the altar, stood Wigg, Lead Wizard of the Directorate and, therefore, the conductor of the ceremony.
Wigg turned to address the throng, and his voice cut through the air of the Great Hall.
‘Ladies and their gentlemen, citizens of Eutracia, members of the Royal Guard, friends,’ he began earnestly. ‘It is my great privilege to welcome you to the most prestigious and solemn of all the ceremonies in our realm, the abdication of the reigning monarch and the subsequent coronation of the heir apparent in his place. Tonight history shall be made, just as it has been made in much the same way in each generation since our victory in the Sorceresses’ War centuries ago. Part of what we do here tonight is in remembrance of those dark days, and of the many beloved ancestors who were lost in that great struggle. May what we do here this night not only immortalize their contributions, but also contribute to another period of peace and prosperity for our nation.’
At this the crowd broke out into a long period of applause, punctuated by encouraging shouts and friendly waves of admiration. Tristan caught Evelyn’s admiring gaze, and turned his attention back to the Lead Wizard.
‘This marks the end of the reign of King Nicholas the First, and the beginning of the reign of his son, the heir apparent, King Tristan the First of Eutracia.’
The crowd erupted into wild cheering, waving and calling out the prince’s name, as Tristan moved up to stand beside Wigg. He could also hear shouts of ‘Long live the king!’ The noise was deafening.
They’re talking about me, he thought. I have never heard anyone call me ‘king’ before. I can’t believe this is happening, even though I know it is. It’s like a dream.
Wigg lifted one of two beautiful golden amphorae that were sitting on the altar next to the Chalice of the Abdication Ceremony. He raised the amphora high.
‘In this vessel I hold the sacred water,’ he said simply, and the crowd hushed. The fascination in their eyes reminded Tristan that no one outside of the Directorate and the royal family had any knowledge whatsoever of the water, or of the Caves from which it had come. As Wigg slowly poured it into the chalice, the strange and wonderful fluid tumbled and undulated with a life of its own, just the way it had surrounded Tristan’s body in the Caves that day thirty days ago. At the sight of the water, his blood surged with desire for the craft, and he stood beside Wigg even more transfixed than the spectators.
Wigg solemnly turned to King Nicholas.
‘Your Highness,’ he said gently, in an almost fatherly tone, ‘it is time for the Paragon.’
Nicholas looked down at the shimmering, bloodred stone that had been around his neck continuously for more than thirty years. He then looked to his wife Morganna, the love of his life. With a long sigh that was part sadness and part determination, he lifted the stone and the gold chain from around his neck. Tristan noticed that just as soon as the stone had left his father’s person it began to lose some of its luster; it no longer caught and refracted the light as he was so used to seeing it do. Wigg took the stone gently in his hands and held it before the crowd.
The Lead Wizard lifted the chain and the stone high into the air, and immediately the room went completely silent.
‘The Paragon, ladies and gentlemen,’ he began.
‘That which gave us the courage and the hope to prevail in the Sorceresses’ War, and which to this day grants the Directorate its power to help our sovereign rule with wisdom and compassion for all of our people.’
Tristan watched, mesmerized, as the wizard poured approximately half the water from the first amphora into the second one. Wigg placed the stone into the vessel he was still holding aloft, then set the amphora back on the table beside its mate. Almost immediately the prince thought he could see the water around the stone begin to lose its color as the stone took on an even deeper red and began once again to collect the light of the room. As the seconds passed, a shaft of light slowly rose from the stone, moving higher and higher into the room until it touched and perfectly encircled the stained-glass domed ceiling and bathed it in a beautiful bloodred glow.
It was astounding.
Tristan knew what was coming next. Wigg would turn to him and begin reciting, line by line, the succession oath. Then would follow a period of approximately two hours while the Paragon remained in the water and readied itself for its new host. It was during this time that the royal family and the Directorate usually mingled with the crowd and made their personal greetings. And then, when the Lead Wizard had ascertained that the stone was ready, the royal entourage would reclaim the dais, and Wigg would place the Paragon around Tristan’s neck and proclaim him king, the process complete. Afterward, the dancing and feasting would begin, and run on unfettered until dawn.
Tristan looked down briefly at the gold medallion that already hung around his neck – the medallion that his mother had given him, the one with the broadsword and lion engraved upon it. Soon the Paragon would be lying next to it, both of them close to his heart.
Wigg turned directly to face him, and Tristan decided to look out once again at the crowd of people for the last time as their prince. He again saw Evelyn, beaming proudly, and also several of his friends from the Guard who were looking up at him in a way that he had never seen before. They were no longer seeing him as the prince with whom they had enjoyed training in the yards, he realized. They were looking at him as their king.
Wigg, his back still to the crowd, suddenly but deliberately cleared his throat. Tristan dutifully turned to the old wizard, and he thought he could see the beginnings of tears forming in the famous aquamarine eyes. But then the hint of moisture was gone, and the wizard began Tristan’s vows.
