Chapter Six
Torrian surveyed his fellow kings with disgust. Bardok munched on a joint of cold meat, while Grisson slurped his wine with a benign smile. Bardok belched and tossed a bone to his wolfhounds, which sparred over it. Torrian’s tent was close and smelly with the combined odours of dogs, wine, unwashed bodies, food and lamp smoke. The other two kings relaxed on Torrian’s chairs, picking at the feast he had provided for this meeting. Two bodyguards and a grey-clad magician stood behind each monarch, arms folded and expressions aloof. Grisson’s mage was a short, portly man with a florid complexion, pale blue eyes and a bushy white beard. A fresh-faced youth with wide brown eyes and curly blond hair stood behind Bardok. Torrian’s temper drew near to breaking point as Grisson gurgled in his wine cup again, smacking toothless gums.
“Are you both content to let Queen Tassin slip away then?” he demanded.
Bardok wiped the grease off his chin with the back of his hand. “The girl has given us all the slip, Torrian, face facts.”
Torrian snorted. “She has not given me the slip yet.” He rose and paced. “If not for the law, which states that no kingdom may conquer another, I would take her land and she could be damned. But if she gets away, that cousin of hers will inherit, and her uncle will stand as regent until he is of age. Unless she returns, of course. If she marries some barbarian noble, we lose any chance of gaining her kingdom through marriage.”
Bardok shrugged and burped again. “We know that, but the man she travels with is a great magician. His spells are formidable. How many men have you lost already?”
“I have not counted. Who is he? Not her father’s mage, who was barely able to light a fire. What say you, Gearn?” Torrian swung to face his mage, a tall, cadaverous fellow with a beaky nose and sunken, intense green eyes that seemed to glow in their dark sockets.
Gearn bowed. “A strange magic, Sire, like none I have ever seen before. Blue fire that burns, and great explosions of thunder. These things I can make illusions of, but that man makes them real. To defeat him would be no small feat, I fear.”
“So what do we do?” Torrian demanded, longing to haul Grisson from his wine cup.
Bardok sighed. “I, for one, am going home. My dogs miss their kennels and the hunting, and I miss my soft bed and wenches. Let the foolish girl go. She will not enjoy a life of anonymity, I will wager, and when she returns we will be waiting.”
“Meanwhile, we are all out of pocket and our armies are weakened, for nothing. If she slips through our fingers now, we have lost!”
Grisson banged down his empty cup and refilled it waveringly, getting more on the table than in the cup. His mage stepped forward to steady his hand. Grisson cackled. “I say, get her with child! She will have to marry the father!”
Torrian smiled. “An excellent idea, Grisson, but we have to catch her first.”
Grisson glared myopically at him. “Send a dog to catch a dog, I always say, or is it set a snare to catch a hare? Whatever.”
“What do you mean? Send magicians after her?”
Grisson sucked at his wine, his pinched features growing more florid. “Soldiers are no good against magic, are they? Sorcery can only be fought with more sorcery.”
Torrian nodded, turning to Gearn. “You have an excellent point, Grisson. What do you suggest, mage?”
Gearn’s eyes gleamed. “Sire, I have an idea that I have long wished to try, but it is.... unwholesome.”
“What is it?”
“I could... enchant some wolves and send them to do the job. They could track the Queen and her magician, then kill the magician. Of course, men would have to follow them in order to capture the Queen, but wolves would be more able to locate and kill the wizard than men.”
Grisson’s mage frowned. “How exactly would you enchant these wolves? I have heard of no such spell.”
“It is an old spell, one that is rarely used. It involves using the souls of men to control the wolves, so they follow the orders given to them.”
Bardok’s wizard said, “That is forbidden! The transfer of men’s souls to animals is unethical. Sire, you must forbid this!”
Bardok shrugged. “I do, for what it is worth, but I have no control over King Torrian, Mull.”
Torrian frowned at Gearn. “I do not like the sound of this. What men will allow their souls to be put into animals?”
“Old men, Sire. Old warriors who lie on their deathbeds, trapped in wasted bodies that give them nought but pain. They will leap at the chance to run and hunt again, even as wolves.”
Torrian rubbed his chin. “Yes, I see what you mean. Then I will allow this, if you can find the warriors to do it.”
Gearn bowed and left with an eager bounce in his stride.
Bardok eyed Torrian. “It will take time to find these old warriors and bring them here. Tassin will be long gone when you do.”
Grisson keeled over with a resounding thud, landing face down in his plate. His bodyguards hastily righted him, then carried him out at a signal from his mage.
Torrian said, “But with wolves, my dear Bardok, it will not matter where she goes. They will find her. It will only need a couple of men to bring her back once the wolves have disposed of the magician. They can be disguised as bandits or such, so even if she crosses the mountains, she will still be vulnerable.”
Bardok nodded. “It is a good plan, although I have not the stomach for it. Congratulations, it seems you will soon have a bride.”
“Even though it sprang from Grisson’s wine-soaked mind, my mage makes it possible and my warriors will perform it. I will have Arlin.”