Candabraxis chose to walk back to the gangplank sailors had dropped into position. One of many lessons his old master had taught him had been: A wizard must be dignified at all times. Had he tried to follow Bowspear and fallen into the sea, he never would have lived it down. Nicknames like “Candabraxis the Soggy” or “Candabraxis the Clumsy” would have been the least of it.
“Start bringing the cargo ashore,” Bowspear called to his first mate. “Start a tally. I’m off to see Harlmut and let him know we met with success. We’ll divide shares tonight. When you’re done, three rounds at Blind Melior’s for everyone—on me!”
A cheer rose from the crew.
Bowspear grinned. “A good night’s work, lads!” he called.
Candabraxis joined him. He, too, needed to see the king’s steward. It would be interesting to meet the man King Graben trusted with his kingdom.
“This way.” Bowspear turned and started up the road toward the castle.
Three
From the east watchtower, Harlmut the Steward gazed down at the city he ruled in King Graben’s name and wondered what it would be like to live here under Parniel Bowspear’s rule. Not much different, he thought. The lives of the twenty thousand men, women, and children who lived in the city surrounding Castle Graben would scarcely be affected. The weavers would be busy for a season or two, putting Bowspear’s face on all the tapestries and wall-hangings, and the cooks would enjoy a few more celebratory feasts than usual. Of course, some people—himself included—would quietly disappear. Otherwise …
He sighed. It had all become a matter of time. These days he spent his hours watching, waiting, and trying to hold on to power as Parniel Bowspear deftly forged secret alliances designed to win him the throne. The king’s last few loyal spies had just brought word of secret agreements with Haltengabben, the woman who controlled the Night Walkers and the Temple of Ela. If she backed Bowspear openly, most of the king’s men would follow. And why not? King Graben had been gone nearly two years now. These people wanted a stronger hand than he could provide. The best he could hope for would be maintaining the status quo until he found some way to ransom King Graben back or the king escaped on his own.
The wind ruffled Harlmut’s long gray hair, and he swept it back with one hand. How he longed for the simpler days, when King Graben himself sat on the throne and made the decisions. Back then he had enjoyed his work. As steward, his only duties had been to keep the castle’s household running, manage the stores and provisions, and keep King Graben’s schedule. Now, acting in the king’s name, he did all that and more.
Although nearly sixty, Harlmut had the keen eyesight of a man a third his age. Leaning his elbows on the parapet, he studied the longboat that had just pulled up to the docks below. He had thought Bowspear mad when he’d dragged an old longboat, of all things, from one of the storage sheds, but the mission’s success spoke volumes about the correctness of that decision. Harlmut had half hoped Bowspear would return empty-handed. It might have forestalled the conflict to come. Now, flushed with his recent successes, Bowspear could move as quickly as he wanted. The end would almost certainly come within half a month.
A bearded man in long green robes got off the longboat. Harlmut drew in a sudden breath and leaned out another foot, straining to see. A hostage … or a passenger? He squinted. Bowspear didn’t seem to be treating the stranger like a prisoner. He seemed almost… deferential. Why?
It could mean only more trouble for the king. Frowning, Harlmut stood and straightened his heavy black and gold tunic, brushing dust from his elbows. Bowspear and the stranger had started up the road toward Castle Graben. Harlmut turned to go. He would have to be in the king’s audience hall when they arrived.
Bowspear provided the wizard with a running commentary on the city of Alber and the kingdom of Grabentod as they walked up the narrow dirt road toward the castle, but Candabraxis only half listened. The pirate captain was trying too hard to be pleasant and likable. Clearly the wizard had arrived at a time when his presence might tip the balance in some power struggle, and Bowspear hoped to win his support. The more time they spent together, though, the less Candabraxis liked the pirate captain.
“… almost eighty years ago, Ulrich Graben, a great warrior, led a fleet from the Zweilunds and settled his people here,” Bowspear was saying. “I can trace my own family back to Antilen Bowspear, who served as his first officer….”
The wizard felt little interest in local politics. He had a larger and vastly more interesting puzzle before him. Grabentod still seemed all too familiar. How? How could he possibly know this place if he had never set foot here before? He’d heard ancient tales of reincarnation, but no wizard worthy of the name paid much attention to them. And yet … the buildings, the faces, the very streets cried out in silent recognition. He had been here before. Somehow, in some way, he had been here before.
“… and some say Ulrich made an unholy pact with the Hag for the power to free his land from orog and goblin tribes,” Bowspear said, “but I don’t put much store by that, myself. Now—”
“The Hag?” Candabraxis interrupted, frowning. “Ah yes, a minor awnshegh. I’ve read of her.”
She had a rather bizarre history, as he recalled. She had originally come from this area, long before it had been called Grabentod, and she’d married into the Drachenward royal family. Following the death of her husband, she had been sent home in disgrace. Before she left, though, she kidnapped a young girl, the heir to the Drachenward throne.
After that, even her homeland would have none of her. She had eventually fled into the mountains, and there she had gradually changed into the Hag, as her true evil nature and her bloodline asserted themselves. The neighboring nations had been at war ever since, sometimes openly and sometimes not.
“There’s nothing minor about the Hag,” Bowspear said, making a sign of aversion. “Everyone here has been touched by her evil in some way.”
“Oh? Does she bother Grabentod much?” he asked.
“We’ve heard nothing of her in nearly a year,” Bowspear said, “thanks be to Neira. Now, as I was saying, Castle Graben was built fifty years ago on the foundations of the old castle, when the old king brought in stonemasons from Aulbrunn …”
They were nearly to the castle’s gates. A pair of pikemen snapped to attention, and Bowspear gave them a casual salute without missing a word in his history lecture. Through the gates, they passed into a large courtyard paved with red and green flagstones. Huge double doors led into a large hall directly in front of them; stables stood far to the right and, to the left, sat a large smithy. Steel clanged on steel as the blacksmith, a tall barrel-chested man with a chestnut beard and a huge leather apron, worked on horseshoes with several apprentices.
“The king’s steward is named Lan Harlmut,” Bowspear said, heading for the main hall. Apparently the history lecture was over. “He’s a fair enough man, but lacking in vision.”
“Surely that’s one of the characteristics of a good regent,” Candabraxis commented dryly. “A greater man, or a lesser one, might well have designs on this kingdom.”
Bowspear shot him a strange look, as though uncertain how to take that.
Good, Candabraxis thought smugly. Let him worry. This Harlmut the Steward sounded more and more like the sort of man who deserved his support.
Harlmut sat patiently on the king’s high, stone throne, waiting for Bowspear and the man in green robes to appear. He had never felt entirely at ease sitting here, in the audience chamber, but it came with the job. He stared at the rich tapestries hanging on the walls, studied the amber flames licking at the logs in the huge fireplace to his left, and felt a creeping depression at what would come next.