“What is your name?” the magicker asked again, but before she could reply, her mother appeared, curious about the eruption of noise on the street. When her mother saw the magicker, she took a step back into the house.
“I hope my daughter’s done nothing to offend you, sir?” she asked in a whining voice.
The magicker shook his head. “What is her name?”
“Jenrosa.”
“Jenrosa is to come with me.”
Her mother considered the words for a moment, and then a smile creased her face. “That would come with a fee, sir?”
The magicker nodded. “Of course. You will receive an annual award as determined by the queen. What is her family name?”
“My husband is dead, sir, and so she inherits mine. Alucar.”
Jenrosa tried to let go of the memory, and returned her attention to her beer, but not before acknowledging with some bitterness that her name was the only thing her mother had ever given her, and she would do anything to avoid returning to her.
And what if there were contradictions in her studies? she asked herself. Magic itself was a contradiction, a way of viewing and manipulating the world that broached common sense and was out of reach of the vast majority of people. Some were lucky enough to be born with the ability to take advantage of that contradiction, to influence the way clouds formed and rain fell, or the way metal changed in a furnace, or the way water ran down a hill, or the way crops grew.
Or the way the stars influenced the lives of all the mere mortals trudging the common earth beneath their gaze. Maybe.
Jenrosa shook her head. She knew all the other theurgia—those of Air, Fire, Water and Earth—performed real magic, but she was yet to discover anything magical at all about the stars. Or rather, she had not learned a single magical thing. What she did know was what she had picked up from observation, and from questioning sailors in taverns just like the one she was now outside. She knew that if you kept the prow of a ship in line with the star Leurtas, the last point of the constellation known as the Bow Wave, you would eventually reach the pack ice that lay far south of Theare; or, conversely, if you kept the constellation dead on the stem, you would head north into the Sea Between, eventually hitting the reefs and shoals that guarded the waters around Haxus. She knew that all the constellations spun around the very point of Leurtas, moving in a slow graceful dance, and that, as you sailed north, new constellations came into view even as the familiar ones disappeared behind you. And yet, as far as anyone in the Theurgia of Stars knew, there was no formula, no sign, that could make the stars bend to human will or human desire. Jenrosa knew there had been great sages in the past who could use the stars to predict momentous events, but the last of those had died decades ago, and no one alive today could replicate their achievements, although many within the theurgia tried. As far as Jenrosa could tell, the real stars obeyed only their own rules. She sighed heavily and finished off her beer. Despite her misgivings, if she wished eventually to earn her own keep, to gain even a modest independence, she would have to keep her doubts to herself and accept—contradictions and summaries and conundrums included—what the theurgia instructed her to accept, and in that way survive.
The problem, as Lynan told himself afterward, was the sun. Or rather, his position in relation to it. When he was sent sprawling by the guard’s side-stepping maneuver and sweeping foot, he found himself staring straight up into the glaring orb.
So he never saw the point coming.
Lynan felt a sudden jarring impact just below his throat’s hollow that sent his head crashing again into the dirt. Kumul called out “Kill!” so loudly that everyone in Kendra, let alone the palace, must have heard.
Cursing under his breath, Lynan stood up a little groggily, massaging the point where the head of the guard’s wooden spear had marked him. He knew there would be a bruise there as wide as a bread plate before nightfall, and that it would trouble him for days.
The guard helped steady Lynan, and he mumbled some thanks.
Kumul appeared in front of him. “You’re lucky Jemma didn’t aim higher, Your Highness, or the palace surgeon would now be on his way to straighten out your larynx.”
“I was lucky to catch him like that, Constable,” Jemma said generously.
“Nonsense. You were too quick for him.” Kumul glared at Lynan. “Or he was too slow for you. Either way, the prince loses the bout.” Kumul’s tone became theatrically deferential. “Does his Highness have anything to say in his defense?”
“Well, the sun—” Lynan began.
“Other than the fact he fell for one of the oldest feints in the book.”
Lynan blushed. “No, nothing.”
Kumul nodded. “Well, at least you’ve learned something from this fiasco. Let’s see another round…” Kumul bent closer to Lynan’s ear “… and for God’s sake, boy, this time watch your feet.”
Lynan nodded, raising his wooden sword as Kumul withdrew. The guard raised his spear and they resumed their training.
In the shadow of the arena’s entrance stood two figures, paid due deference by those nearby but unseen by the dueling pair not forty steps from them.
The Lord Galen Amptra, son of Duke Holo Amptra, had watched Lynan’s humbling with keen interest. “Your half-brother quite happily prepares to make a fool of himself a second time,” he observed to his cousin, Prince Berayma.
“Even you would have to admit that takes courage,” Berayma said.
“Arrogance, rather. The arrogance of his commoner father.” Galen sighed deeply. “He shames us all. Your mother’s blood runs diluted in his veins.”
Berayma eyed Galen warily, but said nothing.
Galen licked his lips, continuing cautiously. “Everyone accepts that new monarchs must make their mark on the world, it’s a sign of their authority. No one will be sorry to see you rid Kendra of Lynan. I hear the merchants of Lurisia have been pleading for the queen to appoint a representative from the royal family to attend permanently their Great Council Hall in Arkort.”
Berayma’s voice betrayed his rising anger. “Don’t speak so lightly of my ascension to the throne. That cannot be achieved before my mother’s death—”
“For God’s sake, Berayma, she’s at death’s door now! You have to consider the future.”
“This is not the time or place. You should know better.”
Galen bit back a reply. He understood his cousin’s ire, yet felt frustrated that Berayma would not acknowledge reality as he and other members of the Twenty Houses had learned to do. His devotion to the queen, if not as strong as Berayma’s, was genuine, but he recognized that the time for planning for the succession was overdue. Berayma, however, would countenance no talk about his ascension, and there were some who found this attitude not only unwise but also an unsettling portent for his reign.
Nevertheless, Berayma was his cousin, and he cared for him a great deal. He sighed in resignation and gently placed a hand on Berayma’s shoulder. “As you say. Not here, and not now.”
*
Stung by Kumul’s sarcasm and his own loss of face, Lynan fought much harder the second time. He attacked at every opportunity instead of waiting for the guard to come to him, slowly forcing his opponent back until he was ready for a killing stroke. He rested on the heel of his back foot for a split second as if he was about to lunge. His opponent spread his feet and brought round his spear to parry the expected thrust, but Lynan moved one step sideways and then quickly brought forward his back foot. As the guard shifted the position of his spear to counter the new angle of attack, Lynan struck, the tip of his sword pushing deep into the flesh just beneath the guard’s rib cage. If the tip had been steel instead of wood, it would have ruptured blood vessels and a lung.