… event, in the harbour, with the light bubble in the midst of the storm?’
‘Ah!’ said Reinman, obviously delighted. ‘That was my weather witch.’
‘Weather witch?’ asked the Duke.
‘Well, he’s not really a witch, I’ll grant you, but “weather magician” doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as neatly. Besides, it annoys him.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Bellard, by name,’ answered the captain. ‘One of the lot from Stardock. He was up with the elves north of here for a couple of years, learning weather magic from their spellweavers.’ He nodded in thanks as a mug of steaming mulled wine was presented to him by a servant. He sipped at this for a moment, then put down the mug and said, ‘Quite good at it too, save for one problem.’
‘What would that be?’ asked Earl Robert.
‘He drinks.’
‘Ah, a drunkard,’ said Martin.
‘Well, not really,’ said the captain. ‘He was having the devils trying to learn the magic, and got tipsy at one of the moon festivals or sun festivals or flower festivals or whatever it is the elves use as an excuse to get drunk and carry on, so they did, and apparently not wishing to offend his hosts, he did as well. Then the fun began. As I hear the story, after several cups of wine, he caused quite a little tempest in the middle of the forest. Took a few of the spellweavers a bit of time to make things right.
‘So Bellard discovered that because he’s a human, not an elf, or at least that’s what he thinks, he has to be drunk to make the magic work.’
‘Ah!’ said Brendan in obvious delight. ‘He must love that!’
‘Actually, quite the opposite. Turns out the other thing Bellard discovered at that festival was he didn’t care for strong drink. We have to hold him down and pour the grog down his gullet if we need his craft.’
Everyone was wide-eyed at that, and indeed Brendan and his father were both open-mouthed as well. Then the room erupted into laughter. Even the captain chuckled. ‘He fair hates it, really. But he drinks and does a masterful job, as you could see tonight, creating that bubble of calm in the middle of the storm. He pushed us along with a steady wind for three days, once, on a run from Rillanon around the southern nations up to Krondor – when we would have been becalmed for goodness knows how many days. Had the grandfather of all thumping heads for days after that and a sour stomach to put a man off food for life.’
‘Why does he do it?’ asked Lady Bethany. ‘Surely there are other magics he’s more suited to?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Reinman with a laugh. ‘Perhaps it’s because I told him he was pressed into service on the Prince’s writ and had no choice?’
‘You didn’t?’ said the Duke. ‘The press was outlawed after the war with the Tsurani.’
‘Yes,’ said Reinman with an evil barking laugh, ‘but he doesn’t know that.’
Laughter burst out again, though Brendan and the ladies all looked pained at the amusement at such duplicity. Reinman said, ‘In the end, he will be well rewarded. His service to the Crown will not be taken for granted.’
Martin said, ‘What of Hal?’
‘Yes,’ added Brendan, ‘should he be recalled?’
‘As to that,’ replied Reinman before the Duke could answer, ‘for the time being, the Prince would appreciate it if we kept word of the Western muster from Eastern ears.’
Henry waved the captain to a chair and held up his hand. Martin was standing closest to the door, so he opened it and motioned the servants waiting outside to enter. ‘Serve us, then leave us,’ the Duke told his staff.
The servants hurried to make sure everyone at the table was supplied with more food and drink, then left.
‘Sending the servants away?’ asked Robert.
‘They gossip, and while I trust all in this household, a stray word to a merchant, or a visiting seaman, would be unfortunate …’ He paused, ‘Now, Jason, what aren’t you telling us?’
Reinman smiled. ‘Just rumours. Before I left Rillanon last it was being said the King was ill, again.’
Henry sat back. ‘Cousin Gregory was never the man his father was,’ he said softly. ‘And with no sons …’
‘He would save a lot of trouble naming Oliver as his heir,’ said Robert.
Reinman sat back. ‘Prince Edward would appreciate that,’ he observed dryly. ‘The Prince of Krondor can hardly wait for the King to name another to the post and let him retire back to “civilization” as he likes to call the capital.’ Reinman shrugged. ‘As capitals go, Krondor’s not such a bad place, though it does lack a certain grandeur. Edward lives in deathly fear that somehow he’s going to make a terrible mistake one day and end up King.’ They all laughed.
‘Eddie was always a caretaker appointment,’ said Henry thoughtfully. ‘He has no political support and no ambition. I think if the Congress rallied and named him King after Gregory, he’d find a way to reject the crown and run off to his estates. He has a lavish villa on a small island off Roldem.’
Robert added, ‘Where it is said his wife spends most of her time …’ he glanced at the ladies ‘… reviewing the household guard.’
The Duchess raised an eyebrow. ‘Who are reputed to all be very handsome, very young and … very tall.’
Countess Marriann and the Lady Bethany both laughed out loud at the remarks, while the two boys exchanged glances before Brendan’s eyes widened and he said, ‘Oh!’
‘Marriages of state are not always what they might be,’ said his mother, as if that was all that needed to be added.
Reinman seemed uncomfortable. ‘You were speaking of Hal,’ he said. ‘How is he doing at that school in Roldem?’
‘That school in Roldem’ was the royal university, the finest educational facility in the world. It had been created originally for Roldem’s nobility and royalty as a place where they could study art, music, history, and the natural sciences, as well as magic and military skills. But over the years it had attracted the best from every surrounding kingdom and the Empire, until it had become almost a necessity for any young man of rank seeking to advance.
‘No one from the Far Coast has attended before,’ said Henry, ‘but Hal seems to be enjoying it, or at least so his letters suggest.’
‘He’s entering the Masters’ Court Championship,’ said Brendan to the captain.
‘That’s a feather in his cap if he wins,’ said Reinman.
Henry glanced at a shuttered window, as if he could somehow see the still-pouring rain outside. ‘Given the distance, it’s about midday in Roldem. He may be competing now, if he hasn’t already been eliminated.’
The swordsman lunged while the crowed watched in silent admiration as the combatants parried furiously. They were evenly matched and this was the first of three bouts to name the new Champion of the Masters’ Court.
The dark-haired youth from the Far Coast of the Kingdom had been an unexpected challenger who had been discounted by the betting touts in the early rounds. As he rose rapidly, vanquishing his first three opponents easily, the betting had shifted quickly, until now he was considered an even bet to emerge as the new champion.
His opponent had been the favourite, a blond youth of roughly the same age.
Henry conDoin, eldest son of Duke Henry of Crydee, parried, riposted, then feinted left and lunged right. ‘Touché!’ cried out the Master of the Court.
The crowd erupted in appreciative applause.
The two combatants exchanged bows and retired