Perhaps, he allowed, these provincials from Grabentod were not as uncivilized as he’d feared. Seating himself at the table, he poured a goblet full of wine and sipped gently. He had no fear of poison; they would not have brought him all this way to poison him so quickly, not with so many of his guards present.
“Delectable,” he announced, smacking his lips. “An excellent year, served at the perfect temperature.”
Harlmut poured himself a goblet of wine and sipped.
“You say you’ve rescued one of our men from the Hag,” Leor said.
“True,” Harlmut said. “And we did it at great expense and loss of life, may I add.”
“But why, I wonder?” Leor said.
“We want our king back.”
“Müden has him, not Drachenward.”
“Also true. But Drachenward is not without influence.”
Leor made a deprecating gesture. “I think you overestimate our importance in Müden’s internal affairs.”
“And there is the matter of Hawk’s lineage.”
Leor’s brow furrowed. Lineage? What did that have to do with anything? Orin Hawk’s father, Oluvar, had been the sixth-born to the old king, but that hardly mattered since Oluvar’s eldest brother had ascended the throne. That placed Hawk far from Drachenward’s throne. Twenty men had better claims than he.
Then he remembered Hawk’s mother. She had come from Müden, he recalled … from the powerful Erbrecht family. Harlmut’s plan came clear to him then. It was Orin Hawk’s connection to the Erbrechts that would free King Graben, not his connection to the Drachenward throne.
“Yes,” he breathed. “I see what you mean.” He looked around. “However, I see no proof of Orin Hawk’s rescue. What say you to this?”
Harlmut rang a small bell on the table. A door in the back of the room opened, and a slender man with a short black beard and pronounced features stepped out. His gaze found Leor, and an instant later, he grinned happily.
“Your Eminence!” Hawk said.
“Baron Hawk,” Leor said, rising. Although it had been years since he’d last seen Orin Hawk, Leor recognized him instantly. There could be no mistake.
He spread his arms, and Hawk gave him a brief embrace, slapping him on the back.
“I hardly recognized you,” Hawk said. “You’ve changed a good deal since I last saw you, Leor.”
The duke patted his belly. “Success agrees with me.”
Harlmut cleared his throat. “If I may …” he said.
“Of course.” Leor took the opportunity to seat himself again, taking another strawberry-filled cake.
“I’ll wait outside, Eminence,” Hawk said. “I know I’m in good hands with you.” Nodding politely to Harlmut, he went back out the way he’d come.
“He looks well,” Leor said to Harlmut. He leaned back, looking at the regent with new respect. The man who could rescue Orin Hawk from the Hag had to be a formidable opponent, indeed, he thought. Perhaps it would soon be time to broach the subject of a new peace with Grabentod….
“Yes,” Harlmut said. “We are happy to have rendered this small service to Drachenward.”
“Bring me writing implements,” Leor said. “I must compose a letter to my king about this situation.”
Harlmut opened a drawer in the table and pulled out parchment, quill pen, inkwell, and sealing wax. Leor knew exactly what he wanted to say. Despite the barbarity of the land, they had done the near-impossible and freed Hawk. In regard to that service, he felt it their natural duty and obligation to intercede with the Erbrechts on King Graben’s behalf….
That night, Harlmut held another celebration for the court—this one in honor of Duke Leor and his entourage. Arriving fashionably late, Candabraxis found his normal seat to Harlmut’s right occupied by the duke. That suited him fine. Harlmut, he had found, possessed a knack for getting people to talk about themselves, and he wanted to know more about their guests.
As he slipped into his chair, the castle musicians struck up a lively tune, the one to which he’d taught Lady Delma the Grevesmühl Waltz. She rose at once and curtsied to Duke Leor.
“Your Eminence,” she said, fanning herself coyly, “I would be honored if you would escort me to the dance floor.”
Leor laughed. “I’m too old for dancing,” he said. “I leave that to younger men. Dance with young Hawk here,” he said, clapping Hawk on the shoulder.
“I would be honored,” Hawk said, rising. He circled the table and offered his arm, and she took it.
Candabraxis watched them sweep into the waltz. Lady Delma was whispering instructions to Hawk, and though his steps were a little more halting and awkward than Candabraxis would have expected from a nobleman, he seemed to please Lady Delma. Other dancers joined them on the floor until it seemed half the court was there.
“Your people do enjoy themselves in their king’s absence,” Leor observed a little dryly.
“Surely that’s human nature,” Candabraxis said.
Leor looked at him as if noticing his presence for the first time. “And you are …?” he asked bluntly.
“Ythril Candabraxis.” He smiled most charmingly.
“Our wizard,” Harlmut added.
Leor leaned back in his seat and regarded him with more interest. “Ah, I should have smelled magic in young Hawk’s rescue.”
“My contributions were inconsequential,” Candabraxis said. “The true hero is Captain Evann, who almost single-handedly fought his way through goblin-infested mountains, defeating many minions of the Hag, until he found Hawk and rescued him. But I’m sure you’ve heard that story enough times today.”
“Yes,” Leor said. He glanced back to Harlmut. “Tell me more of your plans. Have you considered the advantages of a real peace with Drachenward, instead of our present unfriendly truce?”
“I must admit I’ve long thought such an alliance would be mutually beneficial,” Harlmut said, “but such things must wait until King Graben returns. I am, after all, merely his regent. However, with your help, we should have him back by spring.”
“Indeed,” Leor said, “as long as the weather holds, I don’t see why he couldn’t be back here before the end of winter.”
Candabraxis smiled with satisfaction. His plan had worked admirably well. No one, not every Bowspear, would be able to stop King Graben’s return now.
Briefly, he wondered what had happened to Bowspear. If he were dead, there truly would be nothing left to interfere with Harlmut’s rule until the king’s return. Perhaps, Candabraxis thought, he should try to scry on him again. After this many days, and this much battle, Bowspear’s protective charm might have gotten separated from him.
Yes, Candabraxis decided, he’d try scrying on him again tonight.
Twenty-Four
Full of food and slightly drunk, Candabraxis returned to his room. No sense scrying on Bowspear now, he thought. He wanted sleep. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
He opened the door to his suite and went into his sitting room. The castle’s servants had banked his fire for the night, and though his rooms felt a little chilly, they didn’t have that icy edge he hated. He shrugged off his heavy cloak and hung it on a peg by the door.
Bed now, he thought, yawning.
He headed into his bedroom. As he did, a dark shape suddenly loomed out at him from the shadows.
Instantly awake, he leapt back. An assassin? Had one of the Hag’s creatures somehow made it through his protections?
It was only Orin Hawk, though. Candabraxis relaxed a little. What would bring Hawk here, to his private rooms?
“Did you want something?” the mage asked a little suspiciously. “I generally like people to wait for me in my sitting room.”
“Yes,” Hawk said, advancing steadily.
“What?”
Candabraxis continued to retreat. Something was wrong. There was a strangely hungry look in Hawk’s eye, almost a bloodlust. The wizard swallowed uneasily. A spell of petrification, he thought, would do the trick … something to stop Hawk without hurting him.