And I was much younger and a whole lot less frail than the doyen.
“I did nearly die, Your Reverence,” I said. “The mentha kept me alive.”
“A magical plant grown by magicals for magicals,” Ranulf said, looking at me as if my dying would’ve been no great loss.
“It’s not so magical, Bainswyr,” I said, my scowl returning. “It grows wild in and around Iversly.”
Wyln had been sitting quietly, wearing an expression that on anyone else I would’ve called brooding. Now, however, he gave his gentle smile. “So it did when I lived there, Leofric’son. As it did in other places.”
“It’s medicine,” Laurel said, “and is given to those talent-born who’ve entered into their full power. You chew it, honored elder. It’ll take away your aches, fever and nausea.”
“What do you mean ‘full power’?” Alderman Almaric asked. “He’s a doyen. He defeated the revenant by the power of God, not by magic.”
There was a murmur of agreement, not quite hostile, but only because no one had the energy to work up much antagonism. I rubbed my forehead, thinking that Laurel could’ve chosen a better time and place to confront the doyen about being talent-born. Jusson, though, remained silent, his gaze on Dyfrig.
Who continued staring down at the leaves in Laurel’s paw, the truth rune softly shimmering underneath them in the candlelight. Then, lowering his head, Dyfrig reached out, taking a leaf and putting it in his mouth.
A gasp filled the room, some of the town leaders crying out, “No!”
“We are changed, messirs,” Jusson said, watching Dyfrig chew and swallow. “Not will change, not in the middle of changing. But fully and completely changed. The question isn’t how to return to what we were, because we can’t. Rather, it is where do we go from here?”
Without looking up, Dyfrig took more leaves to chew.
Laurel rumbled encouragement. “Finish them all, honored elder.”
“But we can’t have magicals in the Church, let alone let them lead it,” a southern lord said, watching the doyen. “Can we?”
Jusson shrugged. “You’ll have to talk to His Holiness the Patriarch about that. Though I suspect His Reverence here is not the only doyen with magic. I myself know of a couple who probably are—at least from the reports I’ve read.” He saw my wondering expression. “You know them too, cousin.”
“I do?”
Wyln spoke before Jusson could. “Neither of the church elders translated with the others during the battle in His Grace Loran’s throne room, Rabbit.”
They were right. While fighting Magus Kareste and the High Council cabal, I had again caused those from Iversterre to translate into fae and fantastic beasts. Except for Doyen Allwyn of Gresh—and Archdoyen Obruesk, who was second only to Patriarch Pietr.
“Heigh-ho,” I whispered.
The king gave a razor-edged smile. “Oh, it’s a pretty tangle, cousin, no mistake. But then, why should those in the Church be any different from those without?” He shrugged again. “In any case, who is what appears to be moot. The Patriarch and his scholars have diligently searched and researched this past summer, and they can find nothing in holy writ or canon against mages, elves, talking cats or anything else that calls the Borderlands home. The only proscription they’ve found is against the dark arts. And that, gracious sirs, is a matter of intent, not being.”
There was another collective gasp, this one of astonishment, while Dyfrig’s eyes closed, lines bracketing his mouth. “But the holy pogroms—” someone began.
“Puts a different complexion on them, doesn’t it?” Wyln murmured.
“We will debate church doctrine versus actual practice later,” Jusson said firmly. “For now, my Lord Commander was telling me how he lost his way going the very short distance from the morgue to the town square.”
“It wasn’t me, sire,” I said again.
“Illusion, Iver’son,” Wyln said. “Any competent talent-worker with the water aspect could do the same.”
“As you’ve said, Lord Wyln.” Jusson’s eyes traveled over the royal guards who had returned with the Lord Commander. “If I remember correctly, Thadro, you only took Guardsman Arlis with you to check the morgue’s barrier. Where did these others come from?”
“They are the ones I’d earlier sent to the garrison, Your Majesty,” Thadro said, setting his empty teacup down. Cais, hovering with a teapot, filled it again. “For troops to search for the fugitives from the tavern and look for Master Menck’s body. We happened upon each other while wandering, they too unable to find their way.”
“But you did, finally,” Jusson said. “Find your way back.”
“We heard a thunderclap and then, suddenly, there was the church spire and the flame, and we could truly see where we were.” Thadro rubbed his neck, giving a rueful smile. “Sire, we were outside the town, standing in the middle of someone’s damned orchard.”
Muffled snorts of laughter sounded as color bloomed on some of the Own’s cheekbones. However, Arlis’ face stayed pale. He still was staring at a distant point, this one on the rug.
“Though I suppose it could’ve been worse,” Thadro continued. “We could’ve been knee-deep in cow pats in some pox-rotted pasture.”
“Or on the ledge of a cliff ready to go over,” Wyln said.
All sounds of suppressed hilarity ended.
“Yes,” Jusson agreed. “I am also concerned about the guards I had escort Mayor Gawell and Master Ednoth to the garrison stockade. You didn’t see them in your wanderings, Thadro?”
“No, sire,” Thadro said. He looked at me; however, I didn’t even know who the guards were, let alone whether or not they’d made it back from the garrison. I shook my head and Thadro frowned.
“Rabbit wouldn’t have known,” Jusson said. “I sent them before you all had returned from the tavern. However, he did point out just before the ambush—”
Thadro’s frown abruptly disappeared. “You were ambushed, sire?”
Jusson waved that aside impatiently. “Yes,” he said again. “But Rabbit pointed out that no one from the garrison was where they should’ve been. And even now, after all the alarms, fights and frights, there hasn’t been a hint of a trooper. Which, as Rabbit also pointed out, is unlike the garrison commander.”
And very unlike Captains Suiden and Javes. The events at the church had put the garrison’s no-show out of my mind, but now the image arose of Keeve and Tyle huddled in the church spire and my spine tightened.
“Cousin.”
I turned and found myself standing, looking down at Jusson. Jeff was next to me, his body pointed towards the study door, and even Arlis had risen and taken several steps away from the clump of King’s Own.
Jusson pointed at my chair. “Sit.”
“But, sire—”
“You three running off helter-skelter will not help,” Jusson said. “Sit. Now.”
At the royal command I sat, though every muscle I had was twitching in anxiety.
“Very good.” Jusson watched Jeff and Arlis return to their spaces, then leaned back in his chair and, thrusting out his feet, folded his hands over his stomach. “Now, the distressing lack of Royal Army soldiers.”
“None of the troopers showed, Your Majesty?” Thadro asked.
“Not one,” Jusson said. “Obviously, there is something very much amiss. But we—we, cousin, meaning all of us— allowed ourselves to be herded not only into an ambush, but also away from where we needed to be. So this time we will gather as much information as possible, consider our options, and then act.”