The other half stayed with the army, to ride to the rescue if they had to—and every archer waited with his bow strung and an arrow nocked.
But as Brion rode up to the white flag, its bearer bowed in the saddle and cried, “Hail, Noble Sir!”
It was a nice piece of fence-sitting; the phrase applied to a prince, but could apply to a king, too. Brion raised his visor and frowned, not entirely pleased. “I greet you, Duke of Easbrenn.” No one asked how he knew; Brion could see the duke’s shield, and every knight had all the family coats of arms memorized. “Why have you called for parley?”
“Because, Noble Sir, we who serve King John have served under constraint—all except a few who are now under guard within their own army.”
“Only a few?” Brion asked, his tone skeptical. “What constrained you, then?”
“The sorcery of the chief druid Niobhyte and his coterie,” the duke replied. “We would gladly leave King John’s service and declare him to be a false king, if we could be sure of amnesty and pardon.”
Matt caught his breath; it took a lot of courage to defy a man’s ruler, false or not. It took even more to be the ringleader.
“Niobhyte may be able to work his magic from some distance,” Brion warned. “I doubt that he is drowned; rather, I think him to be alive on a new-made island.”
“We trust in the power of your wizards to protect us, Noble Sir,” the duke answered, and bowed to Matt. “We have heard that the Lord Wizard of Merovence travels with you.”
“Indeed, and I see that you have recognized him.” Brion didn’t bother mentioning the rest of the Mantrell family. “Very well, my lord, you have my royal word that all within this army shall have pardon and amnesty, save those we can identify as loyal to John for their own gain.”
“Then we declare him false!” The duke turned, and in a voice that carried to most of his own army, called out, “Hail Brion, True King of Merovence!”
“Hail King Brion!” the army shouted, and knelt in a vast wave rolling through the ranks.
Brion sat a bit taller and couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “I declare you good and loyal men—but I shall not ask that you turn against the lord for whom you fought but now. Only stand aside, that my men and I may ride through.”
“We shall, Your Majesty.” The duke bowed and turned, galloping back to his army, shouting orders. A wide avenue opened between Brion and the tower.
“My lord the marquis,” said Brion, “let our own men form a wall on each side, to keep that channel open—and let the rest of our army surround each half of these our new allies, in case their ardent loyalty should be threatened.”
“Your Majesty, I shall.” The marquis inclined his head and turned away to give the orders.
“Come, my lords,” Brion said. “I would as lief have you at my back when I meet my brother, for I trust him not and never have, and if even half of that which the false chief druid told us of his learning magic is true, I have no wish to face him without the benefit of wizardry.”
Matt waved goodbye to his mother and father. They nodded, understanding, and stood their grounds—it was for them to guard the army in his absence.
Matt turned to follow Brion into the old Reman tower, with Sir Orizhan and Sergeant Brock following them.
They could hear him a hundred feet from the doorway, though they couldn’t make out the words, only the screams of rage. When they rode through the door, they found John standing on a dais before a gilded, ornately carved chair in the tower’s Great Hall. Oaken rafters made the ceiling dark, and tattered banners hung on the walls, trophies of ancient battles won. But the rest of the floor was empty, and John trembled as he met his brother’s gaze, then glanced away.
“Brother,” said Brion, “you have taken what was rightfully mine.”
“What choice did I have?” John screamed. “You were dead so far as I knew, and so was Father!”
“The king was dead by your hand, and I by your orders,” Brion said grimly, “and so was Gaheris.”
“You always had everything!” John screeched. “Mama loved you! Papa taught you to fight! People fawned on you, loved your singing! The women all swooned, and the men acclaimed you a perfect knight! It was my turn, mine!”
“Not by treachery,” Brion said, his voice iron again. “Take off that crown.”
“I think not,” said a deeper voice, and Niobhyte stepped forth from the shadows behind the great chair.
Matt stared. “How did you get off that island?”
“Did you think I could not burn out a log to make a boat, nor direct it by magic?” Niobhyte returned. “Indeed, my followers are even now honing their skills by practicing the magical felling of trees and crafting of ships. They will land in a week’s time. Did you think this battle won?”
“Slay them for me, Niobhyte!” John commanded.
“Willingly, Majesty!” Niobhyte’s staff snapped down to point at Brion as he shouted a Sumerian verse.
Matt called out an all-purpose counter,
He was amazed when Niobhyte’s fireball exploded against an invisible shield five feet from Brion, then ran down into the stone floor. The warhorse screamed, trying to rear, but Brion calmed it and said, with a hard smile, “Our men of magic seem to be evenly matched, brother. Shall I call up my horses and my men?”
“Those who acclaimed you shall die most wretchedly!” John howled. His eyes were manic; Matt would almost have thought Niobhyte had purged his own near-madness by transmitting it to John.
He thought he’d better try to distract the false king. “Niobhyte told us you were giving him orders. I had trouble believing it.”
“Why, were you deceived by my pretended idiocy?” Instantly, John was preening. “I assure you that I am well-versed in it—I learned early that playing the fool lulled my enemies and gave me the advantage.”
“It almost worked,” Matt told him. “I never would have believed you were the one who engineered Gaheris’ assassination if Niobhyte hadn’t told me when he was sure he had me cornered.”
Niobhyte looked daggers at him, but the revelation didn’t seem to bother John in the slightest. He only grinned, delighted to be able to display his cleverness at last. “Even more—I spoke a few idiot’s phrases, whining to Mother and complaining to Father as to who should marry Rosamund. Thus 1 set them to screaming at one another, igniting the quarrel that led to actual warfare.”
“Then you sent Niobhyte to kill Brion,” Matt prodded.
“No, that was a spell of my own.” John grinned, delighted with his own cleverness. “I gave the suit of blue armor the semblance of life, then gave it the command to stab Brion when all others’ backs were turned and he was defenseless.” His smile curdled. “It worked well enough, but it was an idiot of a puppet who did only as it was told, exactly as it was told, and did not make sure that Brion was dead.”
Matt shuddered at the thought of a magical robot. He hoped John wasn’t writing his own grimoire. “Good thing it missed.”
“It struck closely enough,” John snapped. “Unfortunately, Brion has done too many good works, and said too many prayers, for evil magic to kill him—but it did take him out of my way, though not quite long enough.” He glared daggers at Brion. “Curse you, for coming back before my power was secure!”