“You think I should’ve lifted my sword and cried defiance?” Jusson asked.
“A simple ‘go to hell’ would’ve been nice,” Ranulf said wistfully.
“I wouldn’t have dignified yon serpent tongue’s demands by breaking wind, let alone by engaging in dialogue, no matter how invective.” Jusson went past his study and continued towards the rear of the house. “Let him think we’re cowering behind locked doors, frantically packing.”
“I don’t think the House Master believes that,” Wyln said. Somehow he managed to get past Beollan and was walking with Thadro, right behind the king. “Not with you staring holes through him, Iver’son.”
“No?” Jusson said. He reached the back stairs and ran lightly down them. “Well, let him believe what he wants, Lord Elf.”
“What are we going to do then?” Magistrate Ordgar asked, anxious.
“What I’ve planned to do from the beginning—get to the garrison. One way or another,” Jusson said as he disappeared from view. I had stood aside to let everyone go before us—especially the town elders. I had seen their shock and worry, and wanted to make sure that no one decided that the odds of survival were better if they joined Helto. But none showed any inclination to amble out a side door and I started down the stairs, along with a few of the Own that had stopped with me, Arlis, Finn and Laurel—who was frowning.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“The House Master,” Laurel rumbled. “He didn’t smell right.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. To me Helto seemed just as he had at the last time I’d seen him—well fed and smug with it.
“Not like he did at the tavern,” Laurel said. “His scent was different.”
“Perhaps he, like the. rest of us, hasn’t had a chance to bathe recently, Master Laurel,” Arlis said from behind us, overtones of his old self in his voice.
“He has bathed,” Laurel said. “With the same soap he had in his private rooms at his tavern. But if he hadn’t he would still smell the same, only more so.” The Faena shook his head, causing his beads to clack together. “His fundamental scent has changed. If I were a dog, I would’ve howled.”
“What did he smell like, then?” I asked.
Laurel’s tail lashed. “The remnants of the dauthiwaesp we found in the warehouse.”
On that cheerful note we reached the bottom, following the others to where Jusson had led us—the kitchen. Despite Freston’s trend towards the tiny, it was large and filled with light. It was also filled with tantalizing smells that caused my stomach to knot with hunger. Hooking my hands on my belt to keep from snatching something, anything, I hurried past Cook and his minions as they bustled about, creating meals fit for a king.
“The guards’ quarters,” Arlis murmured, nodding at a door in the kitchen’s far wall. “Armory’s in there. Perhaps the king is going to make a surprise attack.”
Dragging my mind off food, I nodded back. That made sense. Given the number of seasoned fighting men we had with us, we could easily defeat Helto, despite his boasts. And despite the attacks on me, we still had two talent-masters, plus a doyen with decades’ experience in the defenses of the Church who also had come into his mage-power. We were a match for any sorcerer, regardless of any adjunct demons.
What didn’t make sense, though, was Helto challenging us in the first place. He hadn’t seemed idiotic enough to think that Jusson would meekly allow himself to be banished from any part of his realm. And even if the taverner were smiled on by the winds of war and fortune, and somehow defeated us, he also had to know the rest of Iversterre would rise up against him. Which meant that he also had to think that he could withstand the force of both the king and the kingdom.
It was a laughable thought, but with all that had happened in the past two days, I didn’t feel like chuckling much. Rubbing my aching head, I headed for the guards’ quarters and the armory therein. However, I didn’t get that far for Jusson had stopped at a hearth set in the same far wall. It was a large one—while not quite big enough to roast whole oxen, a couple of haunches could’ve been accommodated with room to spare. For now the roasting spit was empty, though the hearth itself was full of fire. And stoking the flames was the king’s majordomo, Cais.
“I still say we should’ve sent Master Helto off with something to think about,” Ranulf was saying, his voice still wistful. “Maybe cause him to reconsider his actions.”
“No, His Majesty’s action was beyond wise,” Beollan said. “Let them think we’re acquiescent until we strike.” He turned a blazing gaze on the king, his silver eyes almost too big for his narrow face. “How are we going to get to the garrison, sire? Fight our way out?”
Arlis and I weren’t the only ones expecting the formation of a battle plan. As Beollan spoke, several aristos nodded in agreement and even some of the Own put their hands on their sword hilts. Jusson, though, kept staring into the flames.
“No,” he said. “We will use magic to get there.”
Chapter Thirty-two
“Magic,” an aristo repeated carefully. “You mean like waving a wand and clicking our heels together and suddenly we’re at the garrison, Your Majesty?”
“This isn’t a children’s pantomime,” another said. “He means that Lord Rabbit will do some sort of translocation spell. Right, Your Majesty?”
“No,” Jusson said again. “Lord Wyln, you spoke with Rabbit through the fire yesterday morning.”
Wyln smiled, the flames in his eyes brighter than the morning sun pouring through the windows. “So I did, Iver’son.”
“Can you do the same with the garrison?” Jusson asked. “Speak to them from here?”
“I would be able speak to anyone in your kingdom from here, Iver’son—if they have the fire talent.”
“Anyone in Iversterre?” questioned Thadro, intrigued.
“It is the king’s hearth, Eorl Commander,” Wyln said, walking to the fireplace. “And this is his land, bound to him by oath, covenant and law. Be aware, though, that anyone else with the talent would be able to listen in.”
“So I discovered yesterday,” Jusson said.
“Eavesdropping, Iver’son?” Wyln asked. Though his expression remained amused, his eyes were intent on the king. I too stared at Jusson, surprised at the explanation of how he knew of Wyln summoning me to the abandoned warehouse yesterday morning. Then I realized what the king had just admitted and my mouth fell open. As did others.
“Just being aware of what is going on in my house,” Jusson said, ignoring the astonishment rippling around him. “And with Helto threatening and my Own missing, discovering what’s happening at my garrison far outweighs any evil sorcerer also becoming aware.”
“So it does,” Wyln agreed, turning his gaze to the flames. “Anyone in particular you wish to speak to?”
“I don’t know who’s able to hear you and who isn’t.” Jusson shifted so that he stood side by side with the dark enchanter, both of them so similar in looks, their faces painted by the fire in the hearth. “An officer would be better, but whoever you get, tell him about the events of the past three days and especially of the taverner’s demands this morning.”
“Are you with me while I’m saying this?” Wyln asked.
Jusson considered. “Yes,” he said, “but I’m arguing with the town officials who want to go home and my nobles who want to leave the valley.”
“That’s right, Your Majesty,” one of the southern lords said, his voice faint. “Slander us with cowardice.”
“We’re not exactly shining here either, my lord,” Alderman Almaric said, his eyes wide as he gazed at our fire mage king.