Robert Hughes - The Wizard in Waiting

“Kherda!” Ligne screamed. Kherda rose a couple of inches off his seat as he clapped his hands over his ears. “Oh, you’re here already,” she noted. She continued without apology: “See that Rosha gets some exercise today. He says his muscles are getting spongy, and we certainly can’t have that.”

“Yes, my Lady, I will. Now as to the abundance of verminous insects in the northern edge of this region, I have a document here for the Queen to sign that abhors the presence of such insects and authorizes the use of national funds to eradicate the pests. Just sign here ” Kherda had been looking at the document, not the Queen, and he now realized that he was talking to her back. Ligne was heatedly whispering something in Rosha’s ear as the lad frowned grimly. Once again, all Kherda could see was her back that beautiful dark hair spilling down across her shoulders from a garnet-encrusted circlet. They were beautiful shoulders fetchingly white against her russet and tan dress gorgeous shoulders, as he’d known for many months. But Kherda felt a sense of despair, for this seemed to be all he saw of Ligne lately. Apparently today would be no different. And there was so much that was crying out to be done, real issues that needed to be dealt with! He couldn’t even get her to sign a toothless royal decree!

Kherda hurled the document onto the table in disgust clearly a mistake.

The rolled sheet bounced crazily, striking the underside of a crystal goblet and freakishly capsizing it Kherda stared in horror as red wine splashed onto the table and streaked for the Queen! He grabbed for something to stop its tide, and came up with the document. Its parchment-like texture absorbed nothing, however, and he reached below the table for the tablecloth and began sopping up the liquid. He was just sighing with relief when he remembered there was never a tablecloth at breakfast, and he stared at his hands in horror. The wine soaked material was russet and tan he’d sopped up the spillage with Ligne’s skirt!

A gasp rose in chorus from all over the great hall. Kherda held the material, dumfounded, and raised his head to meet several hundred pairs of eyes that reflected back his shock, along with a good deal of amused curiosity at what he would do next. He turned his white face toward Ligne, and saw once again her back. For once he was glad. She continued chattering merrily at Rosha. She hadn’t even noticed.

A titter now began in the front of the hall and worked its way all the way to the back. Kherda stuffed the soiled dress back under the table, and rubbed his stomach. “I Ike Wizard in Waiting… feel a bit… ill… my Lady…” He rose unsteadily to his feet, and jerked toward the grand spiral, muttering, “I hope… you… will pardon me…”

Ligne didn’t notice him go.

Neither did Jagd. Unnoticed by most of the dining crowd, a lad clothed in red and purple had bolted into the hall and raced quickly to the dais. He passed Jagd a balled-up message and got a curt dismissal for his trouble.

Jagd stood and moved away from the table, then un-crumpled the note and read it quickly:

SUSPICIONS CONFIRMED. ARMED SLAVERS TO ATTACK YOU IN DRAGONS GATE. ADVISE CAUTION. AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS.

Jagd didn’t hesitate for a moment. He shot for the stairs as swiftly as his old legs would carry him and scrambled upward past several floors to the lowest level of the gardens. Ignoring the stairs, he raced around the ascending ramp that rose from this lowest level to the upper gardens and the aviary on the rooftop. Puffing with exertion, he passed through the aviary’s double doors, circled the mews, and ducked into the hutch of the Lord of Signals. This enclosure was constructed on the same floor plan as the falconer’s mews, except for a wide hold in its ceiling that opened onto a cloudy sky, and the fact that its perches were thick with hundreds of brilliant blue-flyers. Jagd stuffed the wadded message into a pouch of his cloak, and grabbed a fresh sheet and a stylus off the spattered table. Quickly he scribbled:

EXPECTED THIS. WILL REMAIN HERE. DEMAND THE PYRAMIDS BE REVEALED TO THE FULL COUNCIL AS PLANNED.

Jagd scooped a bird off the perch and ignored its fluttering protest as he bound the message in a tight cylinder to its left leg. Then he cupped the blue-flyer in both hands, held them to his head, and imagined: he was rising out of the castle turning north crossing the great South Fir toward Ngandib-Mar passing over the castle of Tohn, where Flayh now ruled three miles beyond, to the palace of Uda in Ngandib-Mar. Jagd pictured in his mind the turrets of that castle, and most especially the face of Tahli-Damen. Then he pulled his hands away from his face, opened them, and looked at the small blue bird.

Its black eyes peered back intelligently. Good. He had gotten its attention, and it understood its route, Jagd gave the bird a toss, and it was sky-borne, beating its way through the hole in the roof and up into the clouds.

Pelmen did not witness Kherda’s hasty exit either. He was busy making one of his own. Maythorm had spotted him across the great hall and had jumped up to pursue him. Pelmen spent the morning slipping quietly from one endless corridor to another, reminding himself of the floor plan of the castle while eluding his pursuer.

It was easy to lose oneself in this monstrous construction. There were thousands of places to hide that anyone could find, and Pelmen felt certain that there were still other hidden passageways secreted in the walls. Certainly he could have avoided the wrathful talent agent easily enough on his own. But a few brief conversations with passing slaves had provided him with a new resource he felt sure could prove valuable in accomplishing his true purpose. Maythorm’s handsome features had all the female servants swooning, and the man had cut a wide romantic swath through the wives and girl friends of the entire male population of the castle. As a result, Pelmen needed only to mention that Maythorm was chasing him to a male slave and he’d receive immediate assistance. Maythorm’s pursuit did not greatly concern him, but it was proving a helpful tool, introducing him to potential allies and revealing some of the choicest hiding places. The elaborate game of hide and seek could have been fun were it not for his dismay over Rosha’s captivity. As he leaned against the door of a broom closet, his mind raced ahead, seeking some plan to get the young man free.

Getting Bronwynn out of the dungeon had appeared difficult enough. This new complication threatened to make the task impossible. Yet he cbuldn’t leave the treasure of Dorlyth enthralled to this amoral queen.

“You can come out now,” whispered a caustic voice T&e Wizard in Waiting from beyond the door. “The pretty boy’s past, trailing a pack of slobbering wenches behind him.”

“Do you mind if I rest here a moment?”

“Matters nothing to me. You’ll not bother my brooms. But if you’d really like to duck this greasy wife-thief, why not just wash your face? I could bring you a bowl of water…”

“Thank you, my friend but what’s a fool without his face? I’d be the greater fool to reveal what’s beneath it.” Pelmen weighted his words with meaning, and the helpful slave proved to be quick as well:

“Your secret is safe.”

Pelmen listened carefully as the whisper of the broom receded down the hall, leaving him alone in the closet.

“I suppose you’re here,” he muttered. He wasn’t addressing the power which inhabited this palace. Rather, he spoke to the Power who had met him upon a mountain, anointed him a Prophet, and aided him in battle with the two-headed monster. There was resignation in his tone of voice as if he’d known all along this taxing task could never be accomplished in his own strength alone. There was also a hint of what would be viewed in human circles as simple, genuine warmth. Pelmen spoke as he would to a Parmi or a Dorlyth he spoke to One he knew as a friend. “I needn’t explain it to you. You know. The trouble is, I don’t. Is Bronwynn in the dungeon? How do I get Rosha free? And what about this other presence? Do I dare shape it in the process?”