Robert Hughes - The Wizard in Waiting

“Good morning, Rosha,” he heard the Queen call, her voice dripping with honey.

“Is it?” he snapped. “I wouldn’t know.” A chair was pushed up against the back of his legs, and he sat in it Then he stared sightlessly out over the noisy throng that crowded the hall and radiated his hatred at any who cared to look.

“Good morning, Fallomar,” Yona Parmi said cheerfully, looking up from a plate piled with sausages and bread. “How did you sleep?”

“Not as well as I might have liked,” Pelmen grumbled quietly, as he crawled over a long bench to sit across from his friend. “And your—”

“I fared quite well, thank you,” Parmi answered.

“No dreams of powers?”

Yona stopped eating and looked up from his plate again. “No… why?”

“As I said, it proved a somewhat sleepless experience for me.”

“I should guess so, on that sack of straw they gave you for a bed, in that rat warren of a room. That should teach you not to mock the Lord of Entertainments when he’s making room assignments. I slept on a feather mattress myself.”

“I couldn’t be more pleased with my location though it does concern me that Maythorm seems to have recognized me somehow. I intend to stay well out of his way, henceforth his and Queen Ligne’s.”

“You should have little difficulty losing yourself in this gigantic barn. And of course, if you’re caught you can always fly away though I wager that would leave the rest of us with some difficult explaining…” Parmi noted an uncertain expression flick across his friend’s features, and his brow creased in concern. “What is it?” be asked.

“Nothing…” Fallomar murmured.

“You’ll not convince me that wayl” Parmi grunted, and the fool had to gesture to him to hold down his voice. “This mention of powers… is the Power here?”

“Yes and others.”

“Other powers?”

“At least one.”

“Ah. And you’re uneasy about your shaping.”

“Would you keep your voice down, Yona!” Pelmen whispered with intensity. “You’ll soon have the Queen herself listening in on our conversation!”

“I don’t notice anyone paying us any mind.” Yona shrugged as he consumed a sausage. “And as for the Queen, she’s far too interested in that hooded captive seated next to her to pay any heed to us.”

At the mention of a captive, Pelmen’s eyes shot up to the dais. A quick glance at the unfortunate creature next to- Ligne assured him that this was no petite female and, with passing pity for the poor wretch, he turned back to the plate of food before him. As he turned, Pelmen caught a glimpse of the young prisoner’s arm twitching and suddenly the miserable captive had grabbed his total attention. He stared at the dais, his jaws clenched in shock and his eyes wide in horror.

“Fool!” Parmi snarled, pulling Pelmen’s gaze back across the table to him. “You want to attract her attention? You certainly will if you stare at her that way! You have no idea how thoroughly that white face underscores the brilliance of your eyes!” Pelmen stared at him for a moment, then began sneaking peeks at the royal table, to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. He wasn’t.

“What’s the matter with you.” Yona Parmi demanded ferociously.

The painted fool sighed, and took a bite of a sausage. “You remember the young man I told you of?” he said, chewing without tasting. “The stuttering warrior who : helped me slay the dragon?”

“I do. Rosha something.”

“That’s him under the hood.” , Yona Parmi stared this time. “You’re sure?”

“He moves like Rosha. Has Rosha’s build. No, I don’t |>: know for sure, but his jaw is the mirror image of Rosha’s father, Dorlyth. I’m afraid it’s him.”

“But… what’s he doing here?”

Pelmen glanced up at the stage, then looked away in revulsion as he muttered, “At the moment, he’s being spoon-fed.”

Indeed, Ligne was feeding Rosha herself. Joss would not permit him to handle eating utensils, since they could possibly used as weapons against the Queen, so Ligne had taken to feeding him. She’d come to enjoy this little symbol of her domination; she viewed this humiliation as just one more bit of leverage that would eventually, inevitably, force Rosha to yield to her demands and become domesticated.

“Did you know about this?” Parmi whispered, and Pelmen shook his head from side to side. Yona waited for a moment, then asked, “What are you going to do now?”

His appetite gone, Pelmen stared at his breakfast. “Parmi,” he sighed,

“I wish you hadn’t asked me that

A disheveled Kherda, late from his bed, joined Ligne on the platform and seated himself in the vacant chair between the Queen and Jagd. As always, he brought a sheaf of documents with him, which he hoped to dispose of during breakfast. It was the same stack he’d carried with him to every meal this week. As yet, he’d not been able to hold the Queen’s attention long enough to take care of any of this business, and the frustration was beginning to gnaw on him. “Good morning, my Lady.

I have here a number of matters that we could dispense with in just a moment if you…” He trailed off. The Queen had paid him absolutely no mind. “Well,” he muttered bitterly, “I see she’s still taken with her toy.”

Jagd, who might have assumed this was addressed to him, didn’t respond.

The merchant mulled over his own problems. Jagd was tired of this castle. Not that the food wasn’t excellent or the company never boring. He just wanted to get back to work. But through his network of spies Jagd had learned of Flayh’s planned assassination attempt, and above all else, Jagd wished to keep on living. Early that morning, in the utter stillness of predawn hours, he and Flayh and Flayh’s obese nephew had carried on a tense conference by means of a trio of ingenious, pyramid-shaped crystals. Flayh had issued him a summons to attend a conclave of the Council of Elders, to be held in Ngandib-Mar.

Although he was fully aware that this invitation was a trap designed to lure him from the castle to his death, still the temptation to attend was strong. He was tired of walking the floors of his guest apartment, wondering if or when Ligne watched him from secret chambers beyond the wall panels. He was weary of interminable bouts of Drax not to mention being short of gold, since Ligne always demanded that he wager, and it wasn’t in his best interests to defeat the woman. As Jagd nervously gulped down a frosted spice cake, he squirmed in his seat, watching the doors for a messenger from the roof. He was expecting a missive from his protege in the Mar, Tahli-Damen. On the basis of that word, he would decide whether to go or to stay.

“Have you ever heard the like?” Kherda seethed, bumping Jagd with his elbow to get the merchant’s attention. “Why, she babbles over him like a merchant’s daughter ” Kherda stopped, and looked at Jagd. “Pardon. I… wasn’t thinking. Just an expression, you understand.”

“Doesn’t offend me.” Jagd shrugged. “I have no daughter.” The merchant went back to his breakfast. Kherda leaned toward the Queen to try to overhear her conversation with the boy.

“You seem exceptionally stubborn this morning,” Ligne was chiding.

“Come on now. Eat.”

“D-don’t you ever t-tire of this game?” Rosha snarled. “Why, whatever do you mean?” she mocked, her voice lilting.

“This n-nonsense of trying to feed me!” he exploded. “Untie my hands and let me eat!”

“Can’t do that, my sweet. Joss is afraid you’ll fork me to death. Come on now,” she teased. “Aren’t you hungry, darling?”

“Yes! Hungry to move, hungry to see!” he spat savagely. “My m-muscles are turning to sponge!”