EXILED Wizard of Tizare Page 22

  For a moment Falon thought that Taline was telling jokes. It sounded like a perfect way to get slaughtered. He turned to Lord Rhow. “Why not send your best legions against the palace?”

  Rhow chuckled. “My army is wonderful. But it’s a puny thing compared to the might of the forces of Tizare. They’d be cut down, I’d be imprisoned—” he arched his eyebrows. “And I’d hate to imagine what would happen to you.”

  “And afterwards ... after we capture the king—”

  “The false king ... the usurper, Falon,” Rhow reminded him. “Why, you’ll kill him immediately. You. It is your right. I’ll produce this book, and you will assume your rightful position, with my counsel.”

  Right, thought Falon. Except that it sounded all wrong. There were more things wrong with this plan than merely the odds.

  And something else nagged at him. Is this the way, he wondered, that I’m to regain my honor? Going from a disgraced herd-mrem to an assassin?

  Taline sensed his concern and came to him, linking an arm through his. “Perhaps we had better start studying the charts ... just a bit, before you go asleep ....” He was disappointed to note no promise in her voice. “And we have to plan out the diversions. They should be subtle, but effective.”

  “Now?” Falon moaned.

  “Now,” Lord Rhow said. “After all, you must do this tomorrow night. The invasion by the Eastern Lords is only two, perhaps three days away.”

  Falon looked down at the thick pile of charts. “I’ll get you a chair,” Taline said, grinning.

  Ashre strolled around the enormous room, munching on a great dripping bunch of dewberries. Caissir was curled up on the massive bed, snoring loudly.

  And Paralan? He had ducked out, slipping into the hall, gesturing to Ashre to remain perfectly quiet.

  Which he did ...

  Except that, as tired as he felt, he didn’t feel ready to sleep. There was a puzzle to be solved here, a strange puzzle.

  At first, when they entered the palace and were swamped with food, clothes, and showers, he felt it was a dream come true. No more sneaking food off others’ plates while they tried to spear your rear end with their hunting knives. No more sleeping, utterly cold, in a cottage while the icy winds cut through the shack.

  But then, just when he came out of the shower and the nurses were fussing with him, he felt something. Like the faint smell of something rotten, hidden off in some dark corner somewhere. It was a danger, a threat, the feeling almost unnoticeable amidst all the wonders of this castle.

  But then, as he tried to concentrate on it, to try to find out where it came from, it ended. It was like following a piece of taut string, following it, hand over hand, and then finding it had been cut.

  Now there was nothing, just the warmth of the fire, the wonderful taste of the berries (and the sweet juice running down his chin onto the shiny wood floor) and the enormous bed.

  Where had the feeling gone?

  He walked around the room, trying to pick up the feeling again, as if trying to remember something.

  What had caused the feeling, he wondered? And, the question that made him really scared. What had ended it?

  •

  Lord Rhow rolled up the stack of charts and carried them back to his hidden compartment in the wall.

  “Enough for tonight. Tomorrow, after breakfast, you can study some more, plan how you’ll use your forces. Now you can get some rest. ...”

  He watched Falon blink, as if slow to understand what he had just said.

  King, Rhow thought, looking at the lanky mrem. It was hard to believe.

  He gestured at his daughter to usher Falon out.

  “Get the highlander some rest,” Rhow told her, and she nodded and went over to Falon, pulling him out of his chair.

  “Sorry,” Falon said, snapping out of his daze. “I think,” he said, with a small grin, “I could fall asleep right here.”

  Taline led him out the massive door, past the stocky guards.

  “Till tomorrow, Falon,” Rhow said. And he stood there, waiting for the heavy double doors to close.

  Rhow stood, and listened to their footsteps echoing down the cavernous hall. Then he looked to the side.

  “You can come out now,” he said tiredly.

  The curtains parted.

  “Well, he seems eager enough. Though I must admit I had a time of it convincing him to leave Mount Zaynir to start this whole charade.”

  Rhow looked up. “Yes, Plano. Your plan seems to have had its merits.”

  Rhow, tired himself, watched Plano walk over to the bed and pick up The Song of the Three Moons.

  Plano leafed through the pages. “Ah, it is as I had hoped. Page after page, my lord. The spells of the cult, all recorded in perfect detail.”

  “Yes, but are you capable of using them?”

  Plano smiled. “By tomorrow night, there will be no one more powerful in Tizare, my lord ... save you, of course. It all will be exactly as we planned.”

  Rhow nodded. “Very well, then, take the book away for study.”

  Plano nodded, and walked out toward the side exit.

  He’s hiding something, Rhow thought. Magic user or not, he can’t mask everything from me. Something has disturbed him ... upset his plans.

  No matter. It was all in motion, exactly as it should be.

  Nothing would be allowed to interfere.

  Nothing—and no one.

  “TOTAL NONSENSE,” Caissir stammered, even as he forked yet another piece of the delicately flavored fish that was their breakfast. “You know,” he said, gesturing at Falon with the forkful of food, “I thought that perhaps your sojourn in the desert had taught you some common sense. Now I see you’re the same stupid, risk-taking fool.”

  Caissir gulped his morsel down.

  “Paralan?” Falon said, turning to the thoughtful farmer. Sometime, in the middle of the night, Paralan had returned to their chambers. But so far, Paralan had said nothing about the proposed plan. And if there was anyone Falon knew he wanted with him, it was the big, brooding ex-general.

  “As far as plans go, it’s not bad. A small army would be guaranteed to fail. But a group of assassins, trained and equipped with detailed maps of the palace ... well, there’d be a chance.”

  Falon wrinkled his face on the word ‘assassin.’ He hoped to find some loftier name for the coming night’s activity.

  “If you go ahead with it, I’ll join you ... especially if it brings the chance of meeting some of those slimy liskash.”

  “Not to worry about that,” Falon said. “Lord Rhow says that a major battle is due any day now. I just hope we’re in time to stop the king from opening the doors to the invasion.”

  “We should do it.” It was Ashre, enjoying his fill of the rich pastries and cakes served with the fish. “The king is bad,” he said flatly.

  Falon smiled. He’d like to take Ashre, he really would. The kit had saved his life twice already—and he could do it again. But the kit was too young. The desert had been risky enough.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ash ... but you will have to stay here.”

  He hadn’t, of course, told them anything about the story in The Song of the Three Moons. No, he wasn’t entirely sure of what to make of it himself. King ... the idea was almost laughable. Better that they go in knowing only that they were removing a traitor, a lackey of the Eastern Lords. Besides, Lord Rhow could certainly rule Tizare effectively. A largely unschooled highlander was not an outstanding candidate to run a great city.

  He felt the allure of power not one bit.

  Caissir went on, “I still say—”

  But Taline bustled into the sunny dining room that adjoined their sleeping quarters.

  “Good morning! I trust everyone had a fine night’s sleep?”

  “I was just tellin
g this, this—”

  Falon stood up, offering a chair to Taline. He saw her glance at Paralan, checking to see whether he took any interest in her arrival.

  But whatever they had felt for each other had obviously been consumed by the hate and guilt from that small farmhouse.

  She turned, and smiled at Falon, who was not thrilled at being second choice.

  “Elezar has arranged a selection of soldiers for you to look over.” She looked at the tremendous display of food on the table. “Just as soon as you’ve had your fill.”

  “Paralan here has agreed to join us, and I think I’ll be able to convince our friend Caissir here to come along. I have great plans for him in the distraction department.”

  “Yes,” Taline smiled, “do help, Caissir. Your magical abilities would be most welcome.”

  “Magic, you say? But I want nothing to do with going inside—”

  “You won’t have to,” Falon said. “But, as Taline says, we can use you.”

  “I’ll think about it.” And the wizard stuffed a creamy roll into his mouth.

  “I want to come!” Ashre said.

  Taline tilted her head, and once again reached out and ruffled the ears of the kit. “I bet you do, Ash. And we could use you. For a lot of reasons. But this isn’t like our jaunt in the desert. Many soldiers will die. We can’t go into the palace and have to worry about you.”

  Ashre’s face sagged. “But I could help.”

  Falon shook his ‘head. “It would be no help to us if we have to turn around and check to see if you’re all right. After it’s all over, we’ll need your help. You understand?”

  Ashre slipped off the plush red chair and walked over to the tall windows that looked down on the courtyard.

  Why, I do believe he’s pouting, Falon thought. He’s come a long way from the street kit we found in Fahl.

  “Well, I’m done,” Falon said. “Let’s go look at the soldiers.” Paralan stood up.

  Caissir was still sampling delicacies from Lord Rhow’s kitchen.

  He noticed everyone looking down at him, waiting. “All right, I’m coming, I’m coming.... Can’t even finish breakfast,” he muttered, wiping his face and joining them.

  Falon walked to the door and stopped. “Ash ... coming down with us?”

  The kit stood stock-still for a moment, then slowly turned at the window and ambled over to Falon.

  Falon fought hard to keep a grin off his face.

  •

  It was just like going to market, Falon thought.

  The courtyard was filled with the best of Lord Rhow’s legions, standing at attention, waiting for something to happen. Falon didn’t have the faintest idea how to proceed, so it was fortunate that Paralan snapped out of his lethargy to begin interviewing the soldiers.

  One soldier was already committed to the adventure: Elezar, the captain of Rhow’s personal guard. He walked side by side with Paralan as he interviewed the soldiers.

  Before long, Paralan had dismissed more than half the soldiers to their normal duties, while he went back and requestioned the rest. Finally, he presented Falon with a group of twenty, from which he was to select a mere ten.

  And so Falon came to rely on that most unscientific method of evaluation—the look in a mrem’s eyes. If they met his gaze, held it, and seemed to radiate strength without any braggadocio, he gave them the nod.

  By midmorning, the group was ready and rehearsals began. It was like the spectacle that his village had staged when he was just a kit. Some local warlord was to visit Falon’s village and it was decided to do some reenactment of great moments from highlander history.

  He didn’t remember much of what had been presented, but he still remembered the moves: the raising of arms, the brandishing of wooden claw-swords, so exciting to hold. But after many rehearsals, though, it had gotten boring, and he and the other kits had had to be sharply watched.

  This group, though, needed no such controls. They went over the plans for the night to come again and again, practicing their lines, many created by Caissir. They looked at the charts of King Mineir’s palace, selecting possible locations to meet, once they were all inside.

  If, Falon thought. If any of us actually make it inside. Then, the guards began to practice their battle movements, sleekly performing the dance steps that led to attack. Soon the hissing in the courtyard grew genuinely frightening, and Falon indicated to Caissir that it might be a good idea to get Ashre inside.

  But the young kit pulled away from Caissir’s grasp, eager to stay and watch these elite soldiers practice their deadly moves.

  Paralan joined in their rehearsals, and Falon saw them take note of his hands, a few even muttering to one another, the dark shadows on their faces slowly clearing once Paralan was among them, joining in their steps, wielding his great long sword as if it were a stick.

  By late afternoon, Elezar called a halt, and he ordered the guards to rest and eat.

  At the same time, Taline indicated that everyone else should also rest up.

  Falon was too tense to enjoy the platters of food, luscious bunches of dewberries, dried chunks of uxan, and juicy trumpeter fowl, all crisp and brown.

  No wine was served, but then they’d all need their wits about them tonight.

  Especially me, Falon thought.

  All day long he had been nagged by the growing feeling that there was more happening here than he realized, or Taline, or even Ashre.

  When he tried asking Ash if he had any, er, feelings ... any bad feelings, Ash just shrugged, smiled, and went on avidly watching the soldiers.

  No feelings ... no danger ... except that Falon felt all tingly throughout the day, as if someone were going to take an ax to his tail.

  Just nerves, he thought. Just never killed a king before. And that was it, wasn’t it? Despite all these heavily armed guards and the clever charades for the night, he would be an assassin fighting to regain his birthright.

  It didn’t fit, and he longed for the simplicity of tending the herd-beasts.

  Now, with the sun just about to slip below the far walls of Rhow’s palace, all he could think of was the coming night.

  Let it hurry, he thought. Enough waiting. By morning he’d either be king, or be dead.

  Except that, once again, he was wrong.

  •

  “Welcome, my citizens of Tizare ... come closer now, don’t be shy. Yes, that’s it, press close, and you shall see wonders that you’ve never dreamed of. ...”

  Caissir was dressed in so many shimmering layers of cloth he didn’t know whether he was a wizard or a garment salesman.

  Such opulence! This was what having a bottomless chest of copper pieces could do for a mrem! He had trimmed his face hairs and whiskers, an uncomfortable procedure, but Taline had told him that anyone hoping to interest the passersby had better look important.

  And that was, after all, why he was here. He had had enough adventures of derring-do to last him a few of his lifetimes. But to be wealthy! Ah, there was a dream that he warmed to, enough that he could overlook the outlandish risks posed by their plan.

  He just knew that he would take every precaution to avoid getting involved.

  “Yes!” he called out. “Wonders that you’ve only dreamed about ...”

  Some of the local mrem were already pressing close, looking curious and impatient, eager for his show to begin. The night air, warm but with a gentle breeze, was filled with the sound of other mrem hoping to snare a few coppers. There were fortune tellers and mystics, as well as those mrem offering exotic food from distant parts of the world. A puppet theater, just across the way from Caissir’s small table, had a whole group laughing with its rendition of the myth of Krzarr, the mrem that became a liskash.

  Still, Caissir was nothing if not a showman.

  He dug under the tablecloth, a move comple
tely unnoticed by his wide-eyed audience, and produced an enormous flower from the changa tree. The crowd smiled.

  “Oh, that’s nothing,” he said, still directing his pitch to the others loitering at rival booths or just rambling around. “Perhaps this will impress you ....”

  He waved a hand in front of the bloom, letting it fall into the folds of his gown, and replaced it with a jet black olna. It began to sing its bittersweet night song on cue.

  The crowd clapped.

  Easily pleased, he thought. He took a look at them. Some were definitely from the South. Odd shapes and pictures were cut into their fur, and they had the mottled, nasty look of seafaring mrem.

  The bird trick brought him some more customers, even luring a few from watching the puppet show.

  “Well, let us,” he said, winking conspiratorially at the crowd, “have some real magic now ....”

  He bent down close to the table.

  The guards at the palace gate were stretching, trying to get a look at him.

  Good, he thought. Keep watching.

  And Elezar stood near the back. Big, mean, and dressed now not in his captain’s uniform, but the brownish kilt of a common trader.

  He too had his eyes peeled.

  Good.

  Still, it was really too bad, Caissir thought, that he wouldn’t get through very much of his show….

  Elezar would see to that.

  Paralan had insisted that Taline have four of the guards with her, even though he himself would be at her side.

  “No matter,” he had argued implacably over dinner. “Our entry will be the hardest, and we’ll need all the protection we can get.”

  And everyone, including Taline, knew that he was concerned for her. She doubted that he had any room for a thought for himself.

  He didn’t talk about revenge, but Taline didn’t doubt that it was his only goal. And he wore his guilt like a badge. She was sure he blamed himself for what had happened to Lonirr and the kits. He was a haunted mrem. Right now, he even scared her a bit.