"Indeed. A goodly campfire is lit, and the skeleton then drops a metal token into it that the wizard enspelled earlier, and sent with it. This is the tantlar; the fire awakens it. The wizard has a matching tantlar, magically linked to the one in the fire, but still under his hand, far away, where the skeleton set out from."
Rod nodded again, seeing where this was going.
"Any creature induced to touch the wizard's tantlar can then be transported across Falconfar in an instant, to the tantlar in the fire, by a far lesser spell than a teleport. So the wizard can cast many tantlar spells, and send dozens, even scores, of creatures swiftly to a distant tantlar."
"I should use this in a book," Rod muttered. "I could…" He stopped as fear flared on Taeauna's face, and said quickly, "Right. I see why arriving in a fire could harm skeletons less than living men, who have feet that burn, in boots that burn."
"Yes. The tantlar can be retrieved from the fire without ending the magic, though the chance of sending more warriors is instantly ended, but when that fire goes out, all of the transported creatures, alive or dead, no matter where they are, get magically 'snatched back' to the first tantlar, or the wizard's tantlar. Along with everything they're wearing, carrying, or holding that isn't alive, and is smaller than they are."
"Hmm. What if someone doesn't want to go back?"
"They have to cast a spell to sever the link. I don't know what such magics are called, or how they are worked, but I know they have been worked. So enraging the Dooms, in both cases, that they teleported new agents to the spot, to bring other searchers by means of another pair of tantlar, and hunted down the wayward apprentice… it was one of their apprentices, seeking to escape, in both cases."
Rod shook his head, feeling as wary as Taeauna looked. "I see. I also see that what 1 don't know about Falconfar is going to get me killed, if I'm not careful."
"I will defend you with my life, lord," the Aumrarr hissed at him fervently. "You are Falconfar's last hope!"
"Your last hope, you mean," Rod murmured, smiling to try not to alarrg her further. "Falconfar doesn't know I'm even here. Thank God."
"What is this 'God?'"
"Never mind. Just something I curse by. So are all wizards evil?"
Taeauna hesitated. "All wizards are… dangerous. Their power makes them impatient for more, and they can easily become evil."
"But magic isn't evil; you Aumrarr use magic, and are good. I know you are, I…"
Rod fell silent. It felt wrong, somehow, to say, "because I created you that way." He wasn't going to get to the verge of saying so again, if he could manage it.
Something like gratitude flashed through Taeauna's eyes before she nodded solemnly and replied, "Magic is but a sword. The wielder does good or ill, not the blade, unless the blade is a shapechanged wizard or beast, free to think, and can work on the minds of those who bear it."
Rod rolled his eyes. "I never thought I'd end up thinking that I wrote too much about Falconfar. Right, tell me more about Galath. That's where we're going, isn't it?"
"Yes," Taeauna said slowly, eyes almost imploring, "because that's the land you've written most about, and so thought most about, wherefore, I'm hoping…"
"That this 'right place' that will bring back my memories is somewhere there." Rod seemed to be doing a lot of nodding. "Well, I hope so. I always liked Galath, and dreamed most about it, and wrote more about it than anywhere else in Falconfar. It was a little like England, to me."
"England?"
"Well, not the real England, but how I imagined England in the time of knights and castles, when I was young and saw Robin Hood movies and-"
"Robbing…?"
"Never mind. Tell me about Galath. It's still all those happy folk on their sundappled farms, each village with its castle up on the hill, wherein dwell all those crusty old nobles with their soup-strainer mustaches and monocles and galloping hunts, right?"
Taeauna sighed. "No longer, lord. Galath is too large and powerful for any of the Dooms to conquer; whenever one tries, the other two join forces to defeat him. All three have been harshly taught this lesson by the others, so they no longer try. Instead, stepping around each other save when their spies happen to come within dagger-reach, they have been busily plundering the many castles of the realm for magic, slaughtering nobles to do so."
"Christ," Rod snarled. "Now I want to have a pen in my hand that can transform Falconfar!"
"More than that; the royal family is all but slain entire."
"The Rothryns? 'All but?' So who's left?"
"Well, some are fled, or gone into hiding, but it's hard to hide from a Doom unless you truly go far and never return, abandoning all trace of heritage and privilege; most of those have been found and killed. Then, quite openly, Lordrake Rarcel and Lordrake Bellomir, the brothers of the king you knew, and all the princesses, then Queen-"
"The king I knew," Rod said bitterly. "So they got Arbrand, too."
"Yes, lord. Last summer, in Terth Forest. Prince Keldur, soon after. So now.all the Rothryns have been murdered except King Devaer."
"Oh," Rod said. "The youngest son, the one I cast as the weakling and wastrel." He sighed, and then shrugged and said, "Well, at least there still is a king."
Taeauna nodded. "The Mad King."
CHAPTER FIVE
"Mad King?" Rod Everlar ran a hand over his eyes. He was tired, damn it, and this just about…
"So Galathans call him. Whether he's truly mad or not, no one knows but himself and the wizard who's enthralled his mind with spells, if he's not too far gone."
Rod groaned. "One of the Three?"
"Of course."
"So, is he a stone-faced killer now, or a brawler who snarls royal commands? Or does he stagger about mumbling, trying to fight the spells?"
Taeauna sighed. "You'd best hear it all, and properly. Hearken. Last of the Rothryns or not, Devaer has seen but ten-and-six summers. No one has ever observed him to gibber or drool and stagger, and he has no odd habits or pursuits. He seems older than his years, as if the crown about his brows has made him wise. He simply gives orders-coherently and with dignity-that are wild in the extreme. Commanding this noble house to make war on that one is a favorite, and has cost the realm the Sunders and the Hammerfells."
Rod felt suddenly sick and empty. He'd loved both families. He'd dreamed of the Sunders as sneering, sophisticated beauties. The men he made purring, grudge-pursuing villains, and poured his own lust-fantasies into lush descriptions of the tall and dark-haired, cat-graceful, never-sated Sunder women. The Hammerfells had been his bulging-thewed, amiably roaring "good old boys," salt of the earth like that squire in Tom Jones; what was his name-again? Worthy? Big, brawling, lusty hard-drinking types, with necks and shoulders like prize bulls, and a laughing, bellowing love of battle.
"All dead?" he heard himself asking, without much hope.
"Perhaps not. Both families were wealthy and had holdings all across the North, and they fled in tattercloak haste after the dragon fell into the lake."
"The dragon? I never put…Holdoncorp! Yes, they did, damn them. So, let's hear it: are dragons infesting the skies all across Falconfar?"
"No. At least, not yet. just the one appeared, by night, and was slain by a spell-lance that lit up the sky clear across Galath, but I'm sure you remember the legend-"
"That I wrote? Of course. 'Dragonfall dooms the realm.'"
"Indeed. A lot of nobles saw it as a sign to be heeded, and fled the realm without delay. Thereby they managed to cling to their lives, at least for, a time. They were still galloping for the borders when King Devaer took to commanding one noble family to butcher another 'traitor' family, and then announcing that his appointed slayers were themselves traitors, and sending another family out to kill them in turn. Rumors of this or that wizard compelling him to do this are a dozen a day, but there's never been any agreement as to just which wizard."