A Sudden Wild Magic

“Yes, thank you, dear. Very nice.” Lady Marceny, dressed now in crimson velvet, approached him along what seemed to be a wide stone terrace. Her train softly dragged over the flagstones behind her. “I heard your part very clearly, Herrel, and I’m quite vexed. But I see you’ve got the child. I may forgive you for that. Bring him along here, dear. The ritual’s all set up.”

Why am I not surprised? Zillah wondered. I’m not even angry. Just numb.

There were women around her, all finely dressed. Their gowns glowed in the orange-ruby light of the sunset filling the sky beyond the trees at the end of the lawn. Was the room where they had been an illusion then? Shame penetrated Zillah’s numbness. She and Marcus must have spent half the day roving about an oblong space on the open terrace. How stupid! But there was no point in thinking about that now. The lawn, about a foot below the terrace, was lit by nine tripods, each holding a blazing fire. There was a low table at their center. On it, knives caught the color of both the sunset and the flames.

5

“How far is it to Lady Marceny’s estate?” Tod asked his cousin as they hurried back along the causeway. “No distance, as the crow flies,” Michael said. “It’s just across the border, but the estuary’s in the way. Since this flooding, you have to go miles round by the road.”

“I’d no idea it was so near!” Tod said. “I’ve never thought of you living next door to a menace like that.”

“Surely you knew?” Michael said, making great booted strides. “This barony was set up to guard the border. That’s what most of the centaurs do here. Until Paul came, we had to employ a mage as well.”

“Paul? Amanda’s new man? Is he a mage then?”

“Not exactly. He’s from Hallow Isle — off the Leathe coast. The people there all get born with some sort of natural antidote to Leathe. It’s genetic.” Michael, Tod thought, sounded a bit curt about Paul.

He was glad to see his cousin was not a complete saint.

“Is that why your mother married him?”

“No,” Michael almost snapped. “Love. I thought we could leave Paul here while we—”

“No,” Tod said. “I take him. You stay.”

“Now, look—!” said Michael.

“You look,” said Tod. “The woman’s grabbed one gualdian already. You’re gualdian on one side, and on the other you’ve got Gordano birthright—”

“I’ve yet to notice either,” Michael said.

“Marceny will. Gods in hellband, she’ll want you even more than she’ll want me! My old dad will never forgive me if I let us both go.”

That seemed to shut Michael up. As they came to the centaurs milling at the end of the causeway, Tod looked up at the great yellowing bowl of the sky. Given luck, they could reach Josh by nightfall. The foremost centaur had a pale wedge of a face, like a slice of white cheese, and was clearly in some kind of authority. Tod snabbled him. “You in charge here? Good. The centaur in the grove isn’t a ghost. He’s Horgoc Anphalemos Galpetto a Cephelad — know the family? Great. And he’s stranded in Lady Marceny’s grove, in bad trouble. Can you choose me all your fastest folk? We’ll need to go in and out quick, and I don’t want anyone left on the way. Tell them to form up round my car in five minutes.”

“Quite the little Pentarch, aren’t we?” Michael murmured.

6

The king appeared entirely unhurried. He gave orders — or rather, issued mild requests to centaurs, humans, and some of the odder folk, some in uniforms and others in sober suiting — all of which, Gladys noticed, were obeyed as if they were commands with the death penalty attached. From this she conjectured that the power he could raise was formidable. It seemed hard on such a small, mild man. And she noticed he was seldom at a loss. In fact, the only time she saw him disconcerted was when he courteously asked his guests what they wished to eat before leaving for Leathe. The High Head asked for passet, Gladys for sausages.

The gnomish-looking lackey stared. The king blinked. It was clear both requests were extraordinary. “And the ether monkey?” the king asked, recovering. “Will he eat?”

“No,” the High Head and Gladys said in chorus. The High Head shot her a venomous look and explained, “Your Majesty, they are not from our band of the Wheel. They are said to live on base energies. No doubt these are plentifully available from this one’s mistress.”

“Well, well,” said the king. “Magus, I realize your position is deeply unpleasant for you, and your future uncertain, but I must insist on courtesy. Would it reassure you if I try to discover what is going on in Arth?”

The High Head’s face showed a terrible eagerness. Poor man, Gladys thought. “If — if that is possible, Your Majesty.”

The king got up and ambled to his desk, where he stood looking out of the window and apparently tapping his desktop aimlessly. “As you know,” he observed, “I seldom do this in person, but I think it is time that I did. Ah. There are not much in the way of tides just now, but something — I should say Someone — has favored me with an excellent wave band. Here we are.”