He had cursed himself for misjudging his distance and coming unexpectedly onto the very verge of the Barrier fifteen minutes earlier-practically on top of the Prince himself. He’d thought then that it didn’t matter, that even if the Prince and his guard, lolling at ease on the other side of the magical wall, did note his face well enough to later identify him, it would mean nothing, with Jenna ready to strike.
But the Prince and the bodyguard both lived, and Jenna, unthinkably, did not.
He scraped the freezing tears from his eyes, then snapped the spyglass closed. Clambering to his feet, he struggled through the snow away from the Barrier, back toward the shadowy, smoky streets of New Cabora. He wanted no one on the other side to see him now, for certain.
He would report what had happened to the Patron.
He did not think the Patron would be pleased.
Lord Falk, minister of public safety, emerged onto the front steps of the Palace after his daily audience with the King. As usual, he had reported on happenings within the Kingdom in extremely vague terms: “some unrest within the Commons… Royal Army continues to pursue Minik raiders… murmurings from Lord Santhorst’s estate of taxes being too high, and a shortage of coal…” If the King had been paying attention, even that should have been enough to alert him to the fact that the state of his Kingdom was not ideal, but of course the King had not been paying attention. He had a new favorite, a boy that looked to Falk to be no more than fifteen, a Commoner, of course, and had spent most of the audience whispering in the boy’s ear, the boy sipping wine and eating artfully crafted hors d’oeuvres on silver sticks and generally looking like a cat that had managed to swallow a goose.
Falk had hardly been surprised to see the boy there, since he had been the one to pluck him off the streets of New Cabora for the King’s pleasure. He had done it many times before, over the years, but it gave him no small amount of satisfaction to know that he would never have to do it again, if all went according to plan.
Keeping the King entertained, Falk had long since discovered, was the best way to keep him uninvolved in those matters Falk really preferred he remained uninvolved in, such as governing the Kingdom. I can do that a lot better without his interference, Falk thought, lips twitching, though not quite turning up in a smile: he made it a point to never smile in public.
Had he not had that public image to maintain, though, he would have been grinning from ear to ear. The day was fast approaching when he would no longer have to concern himself with keeping the King happy, for he would be the King.
As I should have been anyway, he thought. He stopped at the top of the broad staircase and looked across the cobblestoned drive to the ceremonial gardens stretching a hundred yards down to the lake. In the middle of the gardens, Queen Castilla on her favorite horse held up her hand in an eternally frozen wave to crowds that had been every bit as imaginary when she was alive as they were now that she was only a not-very-well-executed bronze. Falk’s lip curled. That statue goes first thing, he thought. It had been Castilla, grandmother of the current King, who had stolen the Kingship from his lineage.
The gardens-a riot of green, red, white, yellow, and blue-stretched beneath the bright light of the magesun to the red-tiled roof of the boathouse and the three sailboats and two rowboats tied to the long pier. Beyond them glittered Palace Lake. On the far side of the lake, half a mile away, a broad green lawn, dotted with trees, ran up until it encountered the Lesser Barrier. Beyond that, of course, all was white, wrapped in blizzard.
Falk shaded his eyes with one hand as he glimpsed movement on that lawn. Two men: one naked, walking down to the water, the other in the unmistakable blue of a Royal guard. Prince Karl, Falk thought. Someone else who has almost served his purpose.
He was about to start down the steps when something flashed. His head shot up, and then he heard a sound like a single clap of thunder
… but it never thundered inside the Barrier.
And then he saw the cloud of steam and smoke rising from the far side of the lake, and the circle of blackened ground where the Prince had been, and he started running, down the steps, across the drive, sharp left and a dash to the bridge that ran across the top of the dam. “Jansit, to me,” Falk snapped to one of the two Royal guards on duty at the Palace end of the bridge. “Perric, summon Captain Fedric and First Mage Tagaza. Tell them Prince Karl has been attacked with magic on the far side of the lake. Go!”
The two guards exchanged startled looks, then Perric raced off toward the Palace and Jansit fell in behind Falk as he ran toward the bridge. To their right was the lake. To their left, halfway across, the river that emptied the lake wound out through the Mageborn Enclave before passing through the Barrier… or, this time of year, not passing through, since the river on the other side of the Barrier was frozen solid. Together, they pounded across its cobblestoned surface. At the far end the road continued another quarter mile to the massive stone arch of the Gate, beneath which was the only opening through the Barrier, kept open by powerful enchantments within the arch. A red banner flying from the tower showed that the Gate was closed, and Falk nodded approvingly. They must have slammed it shut the moment they heard the explosion.
The guards at the Gate were too far away to summon, but there were also two men on duty at the north end of the bridge, staring into the park, where the smoke Falk had seen was now a rapidly dissipating cloud climbing toward the magesun. “Both of you, come with me,” Falk snapped. “Prince Karl has been attacked!”
Steps led down from the bridge to the lake’s north shore. Falk raced down them, then dashed through the grass. A line of bushes blocked his view of the place where the Prince had been, but when he rounded them, he was relieved to see Karl apparently unharmed, sitting outside a circle of burned grass. His bodyguard’s short cape had been flung around his shoulders, though since it hung only as far as the small of his back, it did nothing to hide his nakedness.
Not that Falk cared about that. “Search the shoreline,” he snapped to the three guards who had followed him. “Go!” As they hurried off, he went to the Prince’s side. “Your Highness,” he said, looking down at the youth. “Are you unharmed?”
Karl looked up. Blood from his nose had caked his upper lip and chin and run down onto his bare chest. “Yes,” he said. “But I can’t say the same for my attacker.” He nodded at the water, and Falk saw for the first time the blackened corpse bobbing there. He waded two steps into the water, but all he could tell from a quick look was that it had been a female. Its clothes had either been blasted away or fused with its skin, but it wore something around its neck…
… he peered closer, and felt a shock as though he had fallen headfirst into the lake’s cold water, followed a moment later by a rush of hot rage. He grabbed the amulet and jerked it free, its scorched leather cord snapping as he pulled, bits of blackened flesh clinging to it. He shoved the thing in his pocket, then stepped back from the body.
With his mind, he reached out for magic and energy. The magic flowed strong all around him, of course; the Palace was built on-in fact the entire Kingdom was centered on-a great lode of magic, deep beneath the ground. It had been that lode that had drawn the First Twelve to this spot, not to mention allowed them to transport hundreds of people here, almost eight centuries before. This far from the MageFurnace, he had to draw energy from the air and water, but it was sufficient to his needs.
He formed the spell he wanted in his mind. Some mages murmured words to help them twist their thoughts into the pattern to accomplish a particular task. Some used talismans; objects whose shape and texture helped them focus. Falk disdained such things. He needed only his will to bend his mind just… so…