He watched ruefully as she turned awkwardly in her sidesaddle, trying to become more comfortable as their horses, side by side, took them deeper into the woods. He had been present at her birth, and had watched her grow into the beautiful, strong-willed woman he now saw before him. The long blond hair framed an intelligent face, strong but still feminine; her hazel eyes always seemed to dance with curiosity and love of life. And as uncomfortable as he knew she may be, he also knew she would never admit it.
He characteristically raised an eyebrow. “I needn’t remind you that you are in the fifth moon of your pregnancy.”
Shailiha, Tristan’s twin sister, knew that the old one was right but couldn’t bring herself to admit it. She needed to be here, and there was very little in this world that would have succeeded in stopping her.
When Tristan had not reported to the Wizards’ Conservatory this morning as usual, the Directorate had immediately sent a runner to the stables. When they learned that Tristan’s favorite mount was missing, as well as his saddle, they had decided to begin a search. For the headstrong prince to go off alone after his daily classes was not usually a cause for alarm, but his behavior of late had put everyone on edge, and his attendance was required that night at an important function at the palace. Shailiha would not have known of his disappearance but for the fact that she was already in the stables, tending to her favorite broodmare’s newborn foal.
After overhearing the wizards’ runner question the stable boy, she had followed the fellow back to the Directorate’s chambers and demanded answers from the old ones. When she had learned her brother was missing she had announced to them all in no uncertain terms that she would go find him, alone if need be, and an argument had ensued. But after the wizards had gone so far as to threaten to throw a containment warp around her if necessary to prevent her from leaving on her own, she finally agreed to a compromise. She could go, but Wigg would accompany her. At least he had given her time to fetch a basket of food and drink.
Leather creaked as she turned once again in her saddle. She loved her brother more than anything on earth, except perhaps for the unborn child she was carrying. Despite all that, if he was unhurt when they found him, she would be tempted to ask the old wizard to punish him rigidly. Today of all days, her troubled mind thought. She shook her head. If they didn’t find him soon, this time he’d be in real trouble, future king or not.
She frowned. As the date of her father’s abdication ceremony drew near, Tristan somehow seemed to get into more and more trouble, and she was determined to keep today’s incident from their parents. Fortunately, her husband was on maneuvers all day with the Royal Guard and wouldn’t miss her. The only other inhabitants of the palace who knew of her brother’s disappearance were his teachers, the Directorate of Wizards, and she had sworn them to secrecy with a look that could have frozen water. Now Wigg, the most powerful of them, rode beside her, and she had to admit, if only to herself, that his company was a relief. She always felt safer around Wigg.
She looked to her right, at the old wizard’s craggy profile. Over three hundred years old, he was still one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. The tan, creased face held a thin mouth, and under arched brows were bright aquamarine eyes that never missed a thing. His gray hair, pulled back from a widow’s peak, ended in the traditional Directorate wizards tail of braided hair that fell down his back. Simple gray robes draped loosely over his still-muscular body, and the hands that held his horse’s reins were large and strong. It suddenly occurred to her that when he was young—before the application of the time enchantments—he probably would have been one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, almost as handsome as Tristan. She smiled to herself, knowing that the old wizard’s gruff exterior belied how much he cared for her welfare. She loved him dearly and had all of her life.
Shailiha grinned to herself, remembering how Wigg, when they had gone to fetch their horses, had sworn the terrified stable boy to secrecy. Flicking his finger, the Lead Wizard had turned the poor fellow upside down in midair, ankles together, suspending him headfirst above that morning’s freshly steaming pile of horse manure. Before setting him right, Wigg had promised to lower him in slowly, headfirst, should they return to learn the poor boy’s lips had slipped. Once again, she smiled. By this time, his fellow stable hands probably thought the poor fellow had somehow gone mute. No one, she was sure, wanted to have to explain to the king and queen yet another of Tristan’s indiscretions. She shifted gently in her sidesaddle as her mare stepped around a fallen log.
Beside her, Wigg reached into the small leather pouch that he wore around his waist. She had seen him put it on just before they left the palace. After crossing the plain that surrounded the city and entering the mountainous woods beyond, he had begun to reach into this pouch now and then and remove a couple of fingers full of an oddly colored powder she’d never seen before. He had then casually sprinkled the powder on the ground alongside his horse. Although very curious, she knew better than to ask the wizard about his craft. And so, without comment, she had simply watched the little ritual occasionally unfold as he rode along with her.
“Tell me, Wigg, why does he do it?” she asked now. Her brother’s rebellious behavior of late truly disturbed her, and although she thought she understood him, for some reason she had a feeling Wigg understood him better. She watched her mare gently shake a fly from her head as they rode on.
Wigg changed the reins from his left hand to his right and spoke without turning to her. “Do you mean, why does he ignore his duties, prefer the war college over his academics, choose to associate with commoners instead of the court, unnecessarily harass the Directorate, and disappear into the woods with those odd knives of his all the time?” His voice was deep and resonant. “And why does he continue to bed women from all over the realm and yet take no wife?”
He paused and shook his head, letting his criticisms settle into her mind. “And why,” he said finally, “and most importantly, does he purposely continue to defy his parents, the king and queen, and the very Directorate itself every time he disregards his duties?” He rose up slightly in his saddle, stretching and arching his back like a cat and taking his time about it, as if to tease her by withholding the answer. But when he turned toward her, she saw that the infamous aquamarine eyes were sad rather than mischievous. “The answer is more simple than you may think, my dear,” he said, carefully measuring his words. “He doesn’t want to be king.” He once again faced forward.
“The second reason you did not want to bring me. What was it?”
Wigg scowled. “If you must know, there are things in these woods. Unpleasant things. Or at least there used to be. I haven’t come to this forest for at least a hundred years, so don’t expect any detailed descriptions from my memory.” He turned his face back to the ever-thickening forest.
Shailiha dismissed his gruffness, turning her mind once again to her brother. She felt perfectly safe with Wigg. She realized that perhaps she was being naive, but she couldn’t imagine anything the old one couldn’t do, including protecting her with his life. She looked down to her riding habit, placing an affectionate hand on her protruding abdomen. That also meant protecting her unborn child. Soon Tristan would take the throne, and she would be a mother. Her husband, Frederick, was already bursting with pride.
Looking around at the passing woodlands, she suddenly realized that while she had been so lost in conversation with the wizard, the forest had changed strikingly in appearance. The woods were much thicker, and she began to see foliage here and there that was unfamiliar to her, and more brilliantly colored. The terrain was sloping ever upward, and long, thin, variegated vines now hung from the tops of the trees almost to the forest floor. The ground was soft and lush. Oddly, the air was much warmer here, despite the fact that the thickening trees permitted less and less sunlight, and the pleasantly sweet aroma she had noticed earlier continued to permeate the air. Still, Wigg kept them on a basically straight line.