Max had heard tales of Patient Yuga. She had been a humble imp until her cleverness enabled her to escape her long servitude and become a being so dreadful that even the greatest demons now feared her. Yuga took the form of a massive storm that moved slowly over the lands, mindlessly devouring all in her path. While Prusias had sought to placate her with the vast duchy of Holbrymn, it sounded as though Yuga had already consumed all of her subjects and now desired more.
“Yuga is not your concern,” hissed Naberius. “And you misunderstand your position. Prusias does not answer to Rowan; it is Rowan that answers to him.”
“Would King Aamon agree?” inquired Ms. Richter. “Would Rashaverak or Queen Lilith? The other rulers might find it rather presumptuous for Prusias to claim Rowan as his vassal state. Our treaty was with Astaroth, not his servants or their kingdoms.”
Naberius uncoiled once again. His heavy head reared up to gaze at them. “Prusias is Astaroth’s servant no longer. Astaroth was a fool. He allowed a mortal to deceive and weaken him before his nobles. None will follow him again. It is Prusias whom you should seek to please, Madam Director. Only Prusias is strong enough to impose harmony across the four kingdoms and ensure the peace we all desire.”
“I hear the other kingdoms intend to resist this ‘imposition of harmony,’ ” remarked Ms. Richter. “Is it true that Dùn and Jakarün have formed an alliance, or am I misinformed?”
“It makes no difference,” the demon sneered. “Prusias is strongest. The others will surrender or be crushed and their lands awarded to those who aided my king. Rowan could benefit if she is wise enough to reconcile with Blys and swear fealty. Despite your deflections, Madam Director, Prusias will hold Rowan accountable for whatever Prusias chooses. My king is giving you an opportunity to make amends before war is declared. I urge you to seize this chance, for he will suffer no cravens or neutrals once battle is joined. Rowan is either with him or against him.…”
Ms. Richter nodded. “The choice is plain, but difficult. I must have time to consider Prusias’s offer and see if we can even procure the coin that he requires. Gràvenmuir we can rebuild, a sword we can surrender, but to deliver Elias Bram … I simply do not know.”
Sinking back to the litter’s cushions, the ambassador slid beneath his samite covers like a glutted snake returning to its burrow.
“You have my sympathies,” he observed. “You are unlucky in your subjects. If Bram or your Hound had any honor, they would relieve you of this burden and make the necessary sacrifices. Rowan has until the winter solstice to swear fealty and fulfill my lord’s demands. I will await your answer upon my ship. Until then, I leave you to your council and your Hound to the Atropos.…”
The curtains closed as the malakhim raised the massive palanquin upon their shoulders. In their long black robes, they seemed to glide from Founder’s Hall. Max watched them go, his mind racing with Rowan’s dilemma and this unexpected threat from the mysterious Atropos. It was only when the great doors boomed shut that he remembered William Cooper and the Fool’s Perch. The chair was still empty.
~ 2 ~
Archmage
Following Lord Naberius’s departure, Founder’s Hall became a hive of hushed and anxious conversations. Ms. Richter cut these short, thanking all for their attendance and reminding them that the winter solstice was still six weeks away. Theirs was a pressing deadline, she acknowledged, but sufficient to gather additional intelligence and make an informed decision. Once she dismissed the attendees, many offered their support and assured the Director that she had done well. She thanked them and promised to follow up with each for their advice and counsel. When Miss Boon filed past, Ms. Richter asked her to remain behind.
The teacher nodded and glanced anxiously at the empty seat where Cooper should have been.
“It’s okay, Miss Boon,” Max assured her. “Cooper will be back soon.”
“Oh, it’s not that,” she muttered irritably, dabbing at her face with a sleeve. “Of course William’s fine. I know he’s fine. He probably got stuck with some incompetent of the Harbor Guard. It’s you I’m worried about.”
Max waved off the ambassador’s dark pronouncements. “If I had a shiny lune for every time I’ve been threatened …,” he quipped. When this failed to elicit even the hint of a smile, Max merely shrugged. “Just because Prusias says I’m a dead man doesn’t make it so.”
Miss Boon nodded appreciatively, but her apparent worry remained.
The hall had almost emptied when Ms. Richter called Ben Polk over.
“I know you’re busy,” she said, “but I would appreciate it if you would track down Agent Cooper. It’s not like him to miss something like this. He has been helping the coastal settlements see to their defenses and was at Sphinx Point just yesterday.”
Ben Polk touched two fingers to his forehead and spoke in a voice so eerily flat and distant that he might have been daydreaming. “I’ll have him home by evenfall, Director. And then I’m off for Dùn, ’less you need me for anything else round here.…”
Max felt a chill as those unblinking glassy eyes wandered over him and settled on his sword. He knew that if the Director ordered Ben Polk to acquire the gae bolga, the Agent would instantly do his utmost. The prospect that such a task might require him to take Max’s life or surrender his own would be of no consequence. A killer like Ben Polk had no time for hesitation, doubts, or morality. If he’d ever possessed such things, they’d been cast aside a long time ago. Ms. Richter caught the man’s suggestion at once.
“No,” she replied firmly. “Once you’ve accounted for Agent Cooper, we need you in Dùn. The goblin carrack Mungröl sails on Sunday. The goblins might be slower, but that ship’s made for rough seas.”
As Agent Polk departed, a flock of apprentices and gnomish domovoi arrived to straighten up Founder’s Hall. Ms. Richter took one of the domovoi aside, pointing out the flagstones the palanquin had cracked. “I’d like these replaced as soon as possible,” she said. “And let’s channel some fresh air in here. I want all evidence of that visitor scoured from this place. What a foul messenger. What a foul message!” She added this last reflection in an undertone before her attention snapped back to Max and Miss Boon. Stopping a passing apprentice, she drained a cup of coffee from the boy’s tray and then beckoned the others to follow as she strode from the hall.
She chose one of the Manse’s less trafficked staircases, leading them up the marble steps while the sprawling mansion hummed and echoed with the din of a new school day. Footsteps drummed and doors opened and slammed shut, accompanied by shouts and laughter from the dormitory wings. A disheveled Second Year came racing down the staircase, carrying far too many books and chomping maniacally upon a slice of ham. Upon glimpsing the Director, the boy gave a prepubescent yelp and spun awkwardly to avoid hitting her. Books and breakfast went flying as the boy crashed into Miss Boon, flinging his arms about her waist to break his fall. Both parties were mortified. Stammering incoherent apologies, the student stooped to gather up his things and braced for the inevitable tirade. He was saved by the stampede that soon followed.
More students came dashing down the narrow staircase, a blur of scrubbed faces, books, and wet hair that clung to cowls of gray, blue, and brown wool. Bidding the Director a startled good day, they swarmed past their unfortunate classmate and continued to chatter about the latest gossip, homework, and exams. Max watched them go, more than a little envious as they dashed off to study composition, divination, or whatever else occupied their busy schedules. His former classmates would be diving into their second hour of Advanced Conjuration, each resplendent in their silver magechains and a Fifth Year’s fine viridian robes.