FIVE
THE QUEEN IN CONSULTATION

Queen Estie paced her rooms in King Bifalt’s keep, fretting. Her preparations to depart had been completed hours ago. The distance between the Open Hand and Maloresse was little more than two hard days on horseback, and she traveled without carriages, carts, or extra mounts. For her journey, she only had to take riding garments, a heavy cloak to protect her from the vagaries of the weather, enough food and water for two or three meals, and a few personal items, such as oils for her face, a brush for her hair. Anything else she could obtain at one of the inns that had sprouted along the road since the alliance had been established. And Anina, her maid, had already done the packing. Her groom, Blurn, had been waiting since sunset with their horses. The small company of riflemen that her husband insisted on sending with her whenever she went to or came from Amika was ready.

She had to go . There were Nuuri massing on Amika’s northern border. An unfamiliar threat: they were not warlike. But she had baited now-former Chancellor Postern into revealing that some of them had been made slaves, forced to work on her road.

That was her father’s doing. She was sure of it.

Her road’s need for more men was unquestionable. So far, good progress had been made. But her teams of surveyors, stonemasons, diggers, carpenters, rope-makers, and levelers, followed by their trains of food, water, tents, bedding, field physicians, and other supplies, were nearing their worst obstacle. They had to construct a bridge to cross the deep gorge of the Line River—and they had to build it before they reached the dunes of the eastern desert, where they might be unable to find foundations solid enough to support the weight of the bridge.

When they came to the desert, of course, the sorcerers of the library would be able to clear a way for the road, as they had done for Set Ungabwey’s caravans long ago. But tonight, that was irrelevant to the Queen of Amika. The bridge itself was irrelevant. The need for more men was a mere detail. She knew where to find them.

To her mind, no justification sufficed for enslaving Nuuri. That was an unprecedented crime. No previous monarch of Amika would have tolerated it. The thought of it made her sick. The careless cruelty of it appalled her. And it would provoke a war. For all she knew, the Nuuri had already started raiding.

She needed to go.

Instead, she waited. Before she left, she absolutely had to consult with both Magister Facile and Elgart, if for different reasons; but neither of them had come. She had summoned them hours ago, as soon as she left the council meeting, and still they had not come.

Because she was frustrated and angry, she wanted to imagine that they would have appeared instantly if King Bifalt had called for them. But she knew better. The Open Hand was a sprawling, confused mess, and both of them might be anywhere. Her summons might take a long time to reach them. Elgart in particular could be difficult to locate.

In any case, the King never demanded prompt attendance from his counselors and functionaries. He trusted them to use their own judgment and come when they could.

Of course, he was more patient with Elgart than with the sorceress. He did not truly trust any Magister. It was no accident that so few of them came to his public councils—and none except Magister Facile were admitted to his private meetings. Nevertheless he trusted her reasons for being here. He believed that he understood why the Last Repository needed both realms.

But Queen Estie was not her husband. Her thoughts grew increasingly grim as she paced. Perhaps Postern’s collusion with her father reached farther than she knew. Perhaps Magister Facile had been caught in some web of conspiracy that she, Estie, had failed to divine. Perhaps Elgart, King Bifalt’s right hand, lay knifed in a ditch somewhere, betrayed by his own daring as he pursued the Open Hand’s secrets. What then? Should the Queen depart without knowing what had happened to her only real advisers? Could she?

In growing agitation, she paced around and around her parlor. A low fire in the hearth warmed the air. Nevertheless she felt a chill in her heart until Anina finally entered from the antechamber of the suite and announced brusquely, “One has come.”

At last .

By Anina’s manner, Estie knew that the arrival was Magister Facile. A blunt, outspoken woman who disliked all things Bellegerin, the maid ordinarily introduced visitors—especially Elgart—with some harsh epithet. But she was curiously reserved around the sorceress. As for King Bifalt, well, he had only come twice, and both times Estie had expected him.

As the old woman came into the parlor, and Anina returned to her post in the antechamber, Queen Estie forgot her fears and remembered her anger. With her head high and her eyes flashing, she snapped, “I summoned you some hours ago, Magister.”

Leaning on her cane, Magister Facile met Estie’s gaze without any obvious dismay. She was breathing deeply, and a dew of sweat glistened on her pastry face. There were many stairs between the main levels of Belleger’s Fist and the Queen-Consort’s turret. But her self-command was equal to the challenge. She did not apologize. Instead she allowed herself a sniff of impatience.

“I had a long way to come, Majesty. Your messenger did not find me until I was halfway here. And even then I was delayed. I had a necessary appointment.”

Before Estie could demand a fuller explanation, the sorceress warned, “My tidings are grave, Majesty. I cannot linger with you. When we have spoken, I must go to King Bifalt. Events are quickening. He must be told.”

Quickening? Startled out of her exasperation, Estie asked, “You know of the Nuuri?”

Did everyone know? She was the Queen of Amika. Was she the last to hear common knowledge?

But Magister Facile replied with a snort of surprise. “The Nuuri? What of them? I have heard only a rumor. I doubted it. I know nothing more.”

Her gaze asked questions that she did not pose aloud.

It was Estie who looked away. She needed a moment to gather herself. She wanted to hear that rumor. She wanted to know where the old woman had heard it. But Magister Facile’s demeanor insisted that her own reports were imperative.

In a smaller voice, the Queen said, “Then tell me, Magister. What are your tidings?”

The sorceress grimaced. “The enemy is coming, Majesty. Already his allies scout Belleger and Amika, seeking a road for his armies. He knows where the library is.

“Now I must go.”

Stamping with her cane, she turned away.

Instantly incensed, Queen Estie called, “Anina, bolt the door! The Magister will not leave until I am satisfied!”

She believed that Magister Facile could shatter the door with a bolt of lightning, or break it by making the floor shudder, or burn it down. But she also believed that the sorceress would not do any of those things. Until now, the Magister had behaved as if she were Estie’s friend.

The old woman turned back; opened her mouth for an angry retort, then stopped herself abruptly. For a moment, she seemed to rearrange her face, knead it into a new shape. Conflicting priorities raced to catch up with her thoughts. Finally, they settled on sternness. Resigning herself, she sighed.

“Majesty.” Her tone was bleak. “That is unnecessary. I see that you are distraught. No doubt, you have some good cause. And King Bifalt’s need of you does not diminish with time. I will answer. When I explain, he will not complain of the delay.”

Queen Estie took a deep breath to control the rush of her own emotions. “You say that events are quickening.” Her ire did not pass in an instant; and King Smegin had taught her how to sound peremptory. “The enemy is coming. How do you know this?”

Magister Facile sighed again. “Surely, Majesty, it has occurred to you that I speak with the Last Repository.”

That admission shocked the Queen of Amika into silence. There were aspects of Prince Bifalt’s quest to find the library that she did not understand. How many uses did theurgy have? How did men like Magister Marrow know what happened in Belleger, or elsewhere? How had they known when to intervene to preserve the Prince’s life? And how had they heard him when he had finally surrendered to their summons?

Magister Facile was telling her.

“You know King Bifalt’s tale.” The effort to restrain her impatience was plain in her voice. “You know that Magister Avail has the gift of speaking to any mind he chooses. He could as easily have sent his summons to King Smegin, or to one of the Nuuri. Near or far, there are no obstacles.

“But he cannot hear that mind. No Magister can. Sorcery does not extend to the reading of thoughts and secrets. They must be spoken aloud—and spoken within reach of the Magister’s ears. Hearing speech at any distance is an altogether different gift.

“It is easily learned by an apt student, but it is terrible to know. Many who learn it are driven mad, or choose death. For that reason, no Magister practices it. It is taught only to apprentices who understand its perils, and who dedicate themselves to surviving it, to the exclusion of all other theurgy.”

Magister Facile regarded Estie with a glare; but her tone softened as if she meant to speak of a personal pain.

“Consider it, Majesty. The ability to hear any voice at any distance is the ability to hear every voice at every distance. It is an incomprehensible clamor, a deafening chaos. That it causes madness is no surprise. That men and women die of it, or kill themselves, is no surprise.

“Over the course of generations, those who study the possibilities of theurgy have learned that few or none can endure the gift of hearing unless they have first been trained to close the ears of their minds. They must learn to hear only when they choose to hear. In addition—a harder discipline—they must learn to hear only whom they choose to hear.

“For that reason, each apprentice who claims the cruel gift of hearing is taught to hear only one voice among the world’s multitudes. The training is long and rigorous, and it suffers no distractions. But those apprentices who master their disciplines of choice and concentration are treasured. They are necessary.

“One apprentice hears only King Bifalt. Another hears only a most holy devotee of Spirit who travels with the Wide World Carnival.” Just for a moment, the Magister’s voice ached with sorrow. “And one, Apprentice Travail, hears only me.”

She tried to sound brisk: tried and failed. “That was my appointment. Between us, Magister Avail, Apprentice Travail, and I select times when I am confident of being alone. Magister Avail speaks in my mind. I reply aloud, saying what I need to say. Apprentice Travail hears me. With signs, he tells Magister Avail what I have said.

“When we are done, Apprentice Travail rests in complete isolation for days at a time. He must. He is a good man, and strong, loved by many, precious—” For an instant, the old woman’s voice faltered. “Precious to me. But,” she finished, “even his heart will break if he is asked to hear too much.”

Briefly, Queen Estie felt torn. She heard sympathies in Magister Facile’s voice that had never revealed themselves before. Clearly, the sorceress had a relationship with Travail that was more than Magister and apprentice. After all these years— Estie wanted to know more.

But Elgart had come in unannounced. If Anina had bolted the door, she had opened it quietly. And Elgart had done or whispered something to keep the maid silent. He stationed himself against a wall without making a sound that might distract Magister Facile. His divided face grinned on one side, scowled on the other.

Because he did not speak, Estie did not let her surprise show. She hardly glanced at him. Instead she studied the sorceress.

Magister Facile recovered her more characteristic manner. “Tonight,” she continued, “Magister Avail told me that the enemy is coming. He told me that we are being scouted by the enemy’s allies. In turn, I told him what I have learned.”

“And that is?” prompted the Queen.

The old woman grimaced again, rearranging her thoughts. “Majesty, there is theurgy in the Church of the Great God Rile, a sorcery unknown to me. I cannot guess its uses, or its reach. But it is a strange coincidence that the Church enters Belleger from the north while raiders from the Realm’s Edge attack farmsteads in the south.”

“I believe,” said Elgart unexpectedly, “that the priests of the Church call their theurgy ‘faith.’ They say it has the power to make peace in any conflict. And they say it is mighty .”

Magister Facile was visibly startled by his presence, but she suppressed her reaction in a moment. Perhaps she had expected his coming. Still facing Estie, she concluded, “You will understand, Majesty, why I must go to King Bifalt. Elgart knows more of the Church than I do. If you have questions, ask him.”

Privately, Queen Estie was shocked. She had heard talk about raiders in her husband’s private councils, of course. Those people and their lands were unknown in Belleger. They might well have an accessible coast. By ship, they might have negotiated agreements with distant powers. But the idea that the Church of the Great God Rile might be allied with the library’s enemy hit her hard. Were the priests and their followers scouting Belleger? Then they had already learned whatever they wanted to know about Amika. And she had condoned their presence in her realm. Worse, she had encouraged King Bifalt to do the same.

The Church’s coming might be nothing more than coincidence. That was possible. The priests seemed harmless enough. She had been told that their preaching resembled pleading more than exhortation. They made no apparent effort to foment unrest. On the contrary, they encouraged a quiet calm, a private passivity.

But the timing—

She was Amika’s Queen, Belleger’s Queen-Consort. She could not discount the implications of Magister Facile’s observation.

And she had not forgotten her own need to speak with the sorceress and Elgart.

“A moment, both of you.” Her voice trembled slightly, but she made no effort to steady it. “I will not keep you long. King Bifalt must hear your reports. But you have not heard mine.”

Elgart’s eyebrows twitched on both sides of his scar. He looked suddenly eager, whetted, as he left his place against the wall to stand with Magister Facile.

Glancing at him, the old woman scowled furiously. “I told you, did I not,” she rasped, “that I should not have missed the King’s public council?”

He treated her to an amiable smile. “You did. Now it is the Queen-Consort’s turn to speak.”

Their exchange gave Estie a moment to master herself. Deliberately, she set aside as many of her emotions as she could. “There are slaves,” she said harshly, “working on my road. Nuuri slaves. That may be the rumor you heard, Magister. If so, I thank you for discounting it.”

“But it is true, Majesty,” said Elgart. Then he bowed an apology for interrupting her.

“I know it,” she retorted. “Chancellor Postern confessed it. However, there is more. The Nuuri are massing along our border. Postern fears that they gather to threaten King Smegin.”

Elgart’s expression betrayed his surprise. Magister Facile’s features seemed to crumple in consternation.

Queen Estie had wanted advice from both of them. Facile might be able to tell her how to face King Smegin’s sorcery. Elgart could suggest ways to approach her father’s retreat. But a new urgency had taken hold of her. King Bifalt needed to hear what she had heard.

Forcing herself to set aside her own concerns, the Queen-Consort declared, “You understand the dangers. I will not recite them. I mean to confront them. I will depart for Amika tonight. King Bifalt knows this. I will answer to him for the enslaving of Nuuri. And for any other atrocities my father has chosen to enjoy.”

As if to herself, the sorceress muttered, “Nuuri enslaved. Nuuri massing. King Smegin threatened. A war we are unprepared to wage.” Then she faced Estie squarely. “Majesty, all this cannot be coincidence.”

Elgart had a different reaction. His mouth made a serious line under his nose, but his eyes sparkled with something like glee. “Majesty,” he asked, “who goes with you?”

The Queen shrugged. “My maid. My groom. A small company of the King’s guards. I mean to make haste.”

Magister Facile gripped the head of her cane with both hands. She seemed to wrestle with it as if it were twisting away from her; as if some internal force tried to tug it from her grasp. Then, like a repudiation of herself, she hissed through her teeth, “And I.” Abruptly, she stamped her cane on the floor. “ I will accompany you.”

Hearing her, Estie felt a different kind of shock. She could guess why the sorceress had struggled with her decision. Surely Magister Facile’s place was with King Bifalt, where she could speak for the Last Repository. Nevertheless she, the Queen of Amika, was shaken by relief. She had not thought of asking for the old woman’s company, but now she wanted it. When she was honest, she could admit that she feared her father. If she had inherited any part of his talent for sorcery, she did not know it. She could not impose her will on him. With a hundred riflemen at her back, she could not.

Magister Facile might be stronger.

Elgart seemed to think so. Bowing to the sorceress, he said, “Well said, Magister. Well done.”

Magister Facile ignored him. To Estie, she insisted, “But first I must speak with King Bifalt. I require you to wait until he is done with me.”

Before the Queen could respond, Elgart said, “And I also must ask you to wait, Majesty. Magister Facile’s support is much, but it is not enough. I will find another companion for you. Grant me an hour, no more. You will understand when you meet her.”

Without waiting to be dismissed, he took the old woman’s arm and drew her toward the antechamber, urging her along as if she were reluctant—or as if he feared that she might change her mind. At the threshold of the outer room, however, he paused. Grinning, he said over his shoulder, “At some other time, Majesty, I would like to hear how you wrung a confession from the Chancellor.”

Then the Queen’s counselors were gone. She heard the outer door open and close. This time, she heard Anina throw the bolt.

In spite of her own desires, her taut yearning to prove herself to her husband, Queen Estie of Amika was still forced to delay her departure.

The stables of Belleger’s Fist were not extensive. Opening on the bailey between the bulk of the castle and its gated outer wall, they were large enough to house and feed twenty horses, no more. King Bifalt kept only that number for his own use, for officials like the Land-Captain, for messengers, and for his Queen-Consort. Every other mount that Belleger could muster was bedded near the training-fields outside the walls of the city, where they were needed for the army and its exercises.

At this hour of the night, the bailey usually had only a few torches and guards; and the stables were dark apart from a lantern or two so that the ostlers could see where they were going. Queen Estie expected to find only her usual escort of five Bellegerin riflemen in addition to her groom, Blurn, and the two companions she had been promised. But when she and Anina finally reached the bailey, more than an hour after Magister Facile and Elgart had left her, it was bright with torches and crowded with horses.

First Captain Jaspid was there. At his back waited at least fifty mounted riflemen. In the unexpected light, their bronze breastplates with the beleaguered eagle of Belleger on their chests seemed to blaze, filling the bailey with gold.

All Bellegerin. No Amikans among them.

The Queen stopped; stared. “First Captain,” she demanded. “Why are you here? Has there been an attack? Is the Fist threatened? Or the Open Hand?”

The King’s brother bowed. “Majesty.” He was tall and strong, but not heavily muscled. To the men he trained, he preached that speed was more important than strength. Speed delivered power, he said: strength inhibited speed. And unlike most of the men Estie knew, he was beardless. She had heard him declare that a man with too much hair gave a weapon to his enemy. He kept his own hair cropped close to his skull, and encouraged his soldiers to do the same.

His saber hung from his belt on one side, his dagger on the other. But he did not have his rifle and ammunition. That was enough to tell Estie that he was not going with her.

Standing as straight as a spear, he explained, “There is no threat here , Majesty. But I have confirmation of Chancellor Postern’s revelation.” His mouth twisted sardonically. “Your purpose is dangerous. King Bifalt offers more men to escort you. He does not wish you threatened.”

Waiting and fear had exhausted Estie’s patience as well as her courtesy. For a moment, she forgot where she was. “Brigin and pestilence!” she snapped as if she still belonged in King Smegin’s court. “I am the Queen of Amika. Do you imagine I cannot find enough loyal men to protect me in my own realm?”

The First Captain looked momentarily stricken. Then he stood even straighter. “Your pardon, Majesty,” he said stiffly. “I meant no offense.”

Estie had not intended to reproach Jaspid, but she was in no mood for regret. “Your King did,” she retorted. “Does he doubt me because I am Amikan, or because I am a woman?”

Or because, she thought, he does not love me?

Jaspid did not move a muscle, yet he gave the impression that he had taken a step backward. His reply was rigid. “You misjudge King Bifalt, Majesty. By his instructions, we are offered to you. We have not been commanded to accompany you. The choice is yours.” Without softening his tone, he added, “The choice is always yours. Surely, you know that?”

Queen Estie could not think of a graceful way to recant her outburst. She managed to say, “Now I ask your pardon, Jaspid.” Then other emotions carried her forward. “You and your men are dismissed, with my regret that you were roused at this time of night. I am content with my customary escort.”

The First Captain bowed again. However, he did not withdraw. The intensity of his gaze undermined his attempt to sound casual.

“You have two other companions, Majesty. They are in the stables readying their mounts. One of them the King does not know. But Elgart—” Jaspid paused, searched his memory. “The phrase is ‘stand surety.’ Elgart stands surety for her. King Bifalt is satisfied.”

Before Estie could ask if Jaspid knew anything more, the First Captain continued. “The other is Magister Facile. I am to tell you that she may not be what you expect. King Bifalt wants to know if you trust her.”

Trust her? The sorceress ?

There had been too many surprises. The Queen of Amika had a crisis ahead of her—a conspiracy, a possible war, her father—and had already been intolerably delayed. She should have been ten leagues away from the Open Hand by now.

King Bifalt did not trust any Magister.

Taking Anina by the hand, Estie left Jaspid where he stood. As she passed him, heading around the crowd of horses and men toward the stables, she breathed fiercely, “Let him ask me himself.”

Soldiers watched her go, but they did nothing to stop her. The King’s brother did nothing.

Along the way, Anina hissed one word, the worst curse she knew: “Bellegerins.”

The Queen missed a step, struck by a sudden fear that they were all going to die. Every rifleman in the bailey. Every Bellegerin she knew.

She could not imagine that her husband loved her; but she could imagine his horror as his realm was put to the sword, slaughtered in front of him.

She was not going to fail him. She was not . FqMBnPjDkh1I4/0huiQU1Aq8twUqgFKG4kClxH8a9rswoKTbToiEiD1Xvysxnsah