The Royals

Chapter 11

Walther spelled it out. 'If she fell back into Alvaria's hands, she could do us more harm than Roslin herself'

'Exactly,' Abadan said. "The girl is less disciplined, less predictable - and apparently also possesses far stron ger magic than her mother's considerable gift.'

There the magician went again, enlightening Maarcus when he should have grasped the matter intuitively. Walther, too, saw the physician's weakness. Maarcus could interpret politics and the ambitions of men, but even a simple overlay of magic clouded his thinking. A sinking in his gut told him it would be his downfall someday - and soon. 'Of course,' he said, pretending he'd understood all along. 'But what do we do about it?'

'Send Tom after her.' Walther spoke as if it were obvious, then blushed. 'Beg your pardon. I didn't mean to overstep.'

'Nonsense,' Abadan said. "What do you have in mind?

Walther paused. 'Well, obviously he knows something about his daughter and we know something about the Tower of the Forty-nine Mages. We can'

'We do?' Abadan asked.

'We do,' Walther stated forcefully.

How is that?"

My people have traded with them for generations."

You have? Abadan asked. He seemed utterly sur prised.

Walther shrugged. Even they can't do everything themselves. We're never admitted beyond the outer gate, but we've had many occasions to study the stone wall while we waited on Revered Mother or one of the Revered Sisters to approve our wares. I think I could at least get Wanton Tom- and maybe his dragon grounds.' - onto the main

'Is that so?'

'Yes, to the east of the central entrance is a much smaller, little-used gate. It's never completely overgrown, so I'd venture one of the mages uses it for her own private purposes now and again, but…'

Maarcus lost track of the dwarf's plan. He was too busy trying to shake the sense of grasping fingers trailing his every move. He strolled about the magician's study, picking up bottles and examining salves as if he'd never seen them before. He thought someone might be calling his name, but it really didn't seem vital just then. When Goatboy rose in the morning, he felt a change in the air. He crawled from his tent, stood, and stretched the stiffness from his joints. Flexing his aching hand, he looked east over the meadow. Her tent was pitched in its accustomed place beside the lake just as it always had been except men now guarded the entrance flap. The One had arrived without warning sometime during the night.

In the still morning air, people hurried about preparing a feast to celebrate her return. He looked at the last few of his goats and hoped the revelry wouldn't claim more than one today. Ultimately they would each be butchered. chosen with the elfwitch's unerring skill at picking his favorite while he silently grieved.

In the months of the One's absence, the elves had not kept up her dwelling. They had excused themselves by conjuring wild tales of her death predicting she had been ripped limb from limb at the hands of her own trolls, or perhaps bitten in two by the fearsome dragon, had been a commonplace pastime this winter.

The boy patted his goat's flank. 'She'll know,' he told the animal. 'It will come to no good.'

Indeed the two who had invented the most ghastly sto ries now labored to sweep out debris and mend every tear in the tent canvas. As if they felt Goatboy watching them, the boys abandoned their chores and headed his way.

He turned away and occupied himself with needlessly checking over his own tent. 'You'd think the terror of her punishment would keep them so busy they wouldn't have time to make a special trip just to torment me.' He shrugged, accepting the inevitable. 'I guess I'm simply such a tasty target they can't resist.' He thought he knew how the goats must feel just before the mortal blow.

Tabor surprised him by speaking with near politeness. 'The One wants you.'

Goatboy twisted to be sure there was no one behind him. 'Me?' he asked, feeling altogether foolish. 'Yes, you.'

'Probably wants your help in spicing the goat stew,' suggested Theron mildly.

His fellow elbowed him in the ribs. 'Not now,' he hissed.

Goatboy held his face calm. Theron could well be right. 'I'm ready.'

He followed quietly behind the two, maintaining enough distance to keep out of their reach. He needn't have worried. The usual whispered insults and clever guffaws were as damped down as his own spirits. The mood weighed heavier and heavier the closer they grew to her tent.

All the elves seemed subdued as they went about their tasks. With hunger and cold a constant in the aftermath of the battle, it could only be fear of the One's outrage that caused this new wariness.

They stopped before two heavily-muscled guards, one elf, one troll. They raised their shining swords to bar the entrance.

'The One requests this boy's presence,' said Tabor, with more gentility than Goatboy would have imagined possible.

Swords were lowered and the three entered the elf witch's private domain.

.A lowly goatboy, he had never been inside before - and those who had been so honored dared not tell of it. Where he'd expected luxury, he found spare conditions and a harshness that called up war epics. In contrast to the many pillows strewn about his father's wife's tent, here were simply fine carpetings and stiff camp stools. The furnishings suggested richness without comfort.

Two more sentinels, twins to those outside, stood watch within. The elfwitch ignored them, though Goatboy felt sure they could recount her every movement.

She favored him with a warm smile. 'Ah, you're here. Good.' She turned to the two boys and her face and voice went icy. 'Why are you still here? Leave us.'

Goatboy swallowed hard as the boys scurried out of the tent. She could have discarded him just as quickly. and probably would sometime soon.

She faced the guards. 'Go."

The sentinels bowed with dignity and left.

'Notti, come forward.'

Had he heard correctly? How could she know that name when he doubted anyone including his own father remembered it? Did the One listen to his dreams?

He gulped again and walked toward her as carefully though he teetered on the edge of a sheer mountain path. as 'Y-yes, M-ma'am.'

"There's no need to fear me. Move along, child.'

He forced himself to take the few remaining steps at a normal pace. He stopped an arm's length away from her and kneeled, keeping his eyes to the ground. The scene on the carpet beneath him depicted a b****y transformation of man to beast and back again. Repulsed, he abruptly pulled away. She moved in, her gaze inches from his.

"You have endured much,' she said ignoring his dis comfort. 'I think you understand the rigors of discipline unlike those outside.' Her arm swept wide as if to encompass the entire Ash Kingdom. I need elves like you.'

Goatboy held himself rigid lest he give away any hint of his contrary emotions. He didn't feel brave enough to withstand her attention.

'Get up,' she said. "There is no need for that here alone with me. I know your true heart, Notti.' She repeated his name with complete casualness as if it were used every day.

But no one knew it, no one except his mother.

Goatboy rose, utterly confused. Was this a new trick one he hadn't considered possible? Or could she be genuine? He smiled tentatively. 'How may I please you?' The words seemed to escape his lips of their own will. He couldn't imagine wanting to please her, could he?

'You already do,' she answered, in an intimate voice he assumed she reserved for those closest to her. Certainly he had never heard it when she addressed the whole camp. 'But there is something more

She let the word hang until he felt compelled to say, 'Suggest how I may serve you and I will gladly do so.' Again she seemed to pull from him words he would not have thought existed.

She favored him with a radiant smile that lit her face and warmed his soul.

Goatboy waited, transfixed by the eyes. 'Yes?' he whispered.

'Continue your work with the goats for the moment, but I will make that work easier. Soon there will be a task only you can perform. A journey you must undertake. I will tell you when the time comes. Be ready.'

A chance to flee this place without disgrace? He could hardly contain his joy. Goatboy allowed himself to answer her smile. 'I will be.'

The Tower of the Forty-nine Mages was in fact a collection of large, squat, attached huts circling seven middling-high towers. A fence barely taller than an average woman encompassed the grounds. The entire arrangement appeared so haphazard and flimsy that Ginni would have mistaken it for an eccentric farmer's home and out buildings if she hadn't known what to look for.

Likewise the mage at the gate seemed unremarkable. Her looks were ordinary, her dress and carriage even more so. Ginni, master of disguises in her own right, recognized it in others. The eyes almost always gave away a person's true worth. This one's were deep-set, brown - and sharp with attention.

A simple address was best. They would already know who she was well before she arrived at the rough-hewn door. 'I am Ginni, daughter of Roslin.'

'f*******n daughter of Roslin.'

Ginni bowed without humility. 'Paternity has never been a concern of yours. I see no reason it should start with me.'

The woman's eyes darkened.

'You enter on the sufferance of the Forty-nine. Every thing you have ever known means less than nothing to us.' Ginni nodded without hesitation. The mage stepped back to allow the new apprentice to pass inside.

Inwardly, Ginni breathed a sigh of relief. She had never really believed she would get this far. Now that she had arrived, her mind felt clearer than it had since before Roslin's death. Not for the first time, she wondered whether her mother had guided this action. Roslin had never approved any of Ginni's doings; this could be worse than most, crawling back to ask help from those who had rejected both mother and daughter.

If not Rolin, who had called to this place?

The mage escorted Ginni along a packed-dirt path shoveled clear of snow. A barren, uninviting entry opened into a narrow hallway, which in turn led to a richly carpeted room with a brazier set at the foot of each of three upholstered chairs. The woman ushered her inside.

'At your pleasure.'

Ginni took several steps into the room and turned to not Roslin, who had called her face the witch, who had not followed her guest. Instead she waited in the hall until she saw the young mage settle into one of the chairs and was now closing the door. Ginni didn't bother rising to test the lock. Witches such as these would only allow her to go where they wished. They left her unattended long enough to try her patience, but Ginni did not yield. Thus far the tests had been easy. She had learned exceptional patience as a toddler in Roslin's care. She could amuse herself for hours, even days, without food or human companionship if necessary. Only extreme thirst would drive her from the room and this wouldn't be for at least seven fold seven hours yet.

Ginni studied the room. Simple carpetings covered the walls. Their geometric designs suggested the hangings were more for warmth than idle decoration, though there was something reminiscent of the rug Roslin had used to magically silence tavern noises.

She brooded over what had become of Roslin's magicks. The rug, her potions, the scrying bowl, Abadan's babble box, and the map - all had disappeared with Roslin. Did the elfwitch have them now?.