The Sorcerer and the Witch-King's Heir

In the end, Leo insisted on going back to the tavern and buying wine, bread, and firewood. They trudged back through the squelching streets to the old women's home, and started a fire. Sitting by its warm glow, Michael told him the whole story. His mother was the granddaughter of King Garamond the Third. She left court when she was very young: there were so many siblings and cousins and it was causing a great deal of tension over the question of succession. She was married and had a daughter of her own when she got the letter from her father telling her the location of the Witch-King's Crown. She burned that letter, and took the secret to her grave, only whispering it on her death bed to her daughter, Michael's mother. Then, of course, there was the war. Followed by the revolution. Followed by the extermination of all the Witch-Kings and their heirs so that no one could ever, ever take the throne again. Except they didn't know about Beatrice. They didn't know about Michael's mother. And they didn't know about Michael. "Two years ago," Michael said, his hands wrapped around the clay mug like a lifeline, "I was approached by an...organization of sorts. They are committed to the cause of restoring the monarchy. They told me that they had traced the genealogy, and identified me as the last heir to the throne. I confronted my mother, and she confirmed that it was true. She begged me not to pursue the matter, as my mere existence would be a death sentence if the parliament were to find out about it. Of course I didn't listen. When the leaders of the cabal returned, I agreed to help them and pledged myself to their cause." He paused. The only sound in the room was their breathing, and then of the two old women. "At first it was glorious," Michael nearly whispered. "We were filled with plans and passion for the future. Restoring the old order, raising the kingdom to glory--" "I'm sorry," Leo interrupted. "Glory? Old order? Did we learn the same history? The reign of the witch-kings was dark and ugly. There was violence and mass illiteracy, poverty and disease on a scale never seen before--" "Only after the war," Michael interrupted. "Before the war, the one my grandmother left to escape, the Kingdom of Illyrian was no different than any of our neighbors. In fact, it was more similar to our neighbors because the Witch-Kings allowed the practice of magic. It was peaceful, flourishing, and civilized. Do you think the parliament rebuilt civilization from scratch? It was all there already; it had only been suppressed for about fifty years or so. All the atrocities we associate with the monarchy were committed by a handful of jealous heirs who precipitated a civil war and carved the country up into pieces to serve their own pleasure." "Until the revolution." "Until the revolution," Michael agreed. "Now we have peace, but at what cost?" He leaned forward, his eyes boring into Leo's own. "At what cost, Leo?" he reached out to touch his shoulder, unknowing that it was that shoulder, and Leo flinched away violently. "I won't--" his voice was unsteady. "I won't help restore a tyranny. I won't--" Be a slave again. The implication hung unspoken between them. Michael sighed, all the energy draining out of him. "I'm not asking you to," he said. "I left the cabal, two months ago." Leo was startled. "Why? What happened?" "They began pressing me for the location of the crown. They knew, somehow, that Garamond had told Beatrice, and so they assumed the knowledge had passed down to me. I asked my mother, but she refused to tell me. And then..." His hands should, and he tightened them around his mug. "They broke into my home," he whispered. "They tortured her for the information. I didn't know. I was elsewhere that day. When I came home...she died in my arms. Her last wish was for me to destroy the crown." He took a shuddering breath. "She didn't tell me where it was, even then. But thanks to you, I know the location. I have to get to it before those other men do. I have to, Leo, to honor my mother and to stop them from doing...well, from doing everything your afraid they will do. I was naive and prideful and now I'm an orphan because--" He stopped on a hiccupping sob, and now Leo reaching out to him, his long fingers pressing reassuringly into his shoulder. "You cannot blame yourself," he said softly, "for the wrongdoings of others." "No," Michael agreed, blinking rapidly. "But I can blame myself for not listening to my mother when she told me what they were." Leo sighed. "Will you help me?" Michael asked, almost hopeful. Leo considered. In the firelight, Michael looked almost angelic. And now, damn himself, he felt for him. A young man taken in by a charismatic order that told him he was the chosen one, then turned out to be evil....perhaps it was all too convenient. Perhaps he was being set up. But then again, he knew more than anyone was it felt like to make a mistake, what it felt liked to be used. "Yes," he said finally. "I will help you." ** By the time he returned to his own shop, it was nearly dawn. Overhead a shutter creaked and he heard the unmistakable sound of Mrs. S, clearing her throat. "Young man!" she shrieked. "What are you doing coming home at this hour?" "Uh," Leo said, looking up. "Minding my own business?" "Don't think I haven't noticed that other fellow," Mrs. S. said, shaking her head. "The pretty boy, coming and going at all hours." "He comes at the exact same time every day," Leo said stupidly. "Exactly. Like an appointment." Leo gaped. "Drunkenness and debauchery," Mrs. S. said, waggling her finger. "I know it when I see it. About time too, you're not getting any younger." The shutters snicked closed. Leo sighed and headed inside. The shop was exactly as he left it. It greeted him with the gentle smell of drying rosemary and lavender. The air was slightly dusty, the fire had gone out behind the grate. All his potions and tinctures were lined up, neatly labeled, ready to save lives or ease passings or just make a bad day better. He had come to love this life that he'd built for himself. It was a smaller magic than he was used to, but it was a satisfying one. Foraging, growing, drying, blending, studying, counseling, selling, mixing, brewing, hoping...he thought he could live and die in these four walls. He wondered if he would get the chance. Heavy-hearted, he went upstairs and undressed. He pulled his travel blacks out of the chest and changed into them. He belted on his sword and daggers, dug all his magic rings out of a box under the bed. He braided spell work into his hair and collected a string of pre-made charms into a bandolier that he tied around his chest. He packed a small pouch with all the herbs and tinctures he thought he might need -- for healing, for finding, for coercion and memory loss -- silver and lavender and ginger and rosemary and redwort and the last of his bitterwood tincture. Over it all he threw a heavy, woolen travelling cloak. He looked around one more time, then slowly went out into the street, locking the door behind him. "Mrs. S!" he called, shouting up to the shuttered window. "Mrs. S.!" The shutter flew open and the old woman stared out in consternation. "Are you ill, young man?" "I'm going to be away for a few days," he said. "Perhaps a few weeks. Will you mind the shop for me?" He held the key up in the air. The shutter slammed shut, and his heart dropped. A moment later the street door burst open and Mrs. S. emerged in the flesh. "Leo, what is wrong?" she said with surprising earnestness. "You're not running off with that pretty boy, are you? You just met!" "Not running away with anyone," Leo assured her. "I just have to make a trip. It's a family matter. My cousin, well, she's the only family I have left, and she sent a message--" He was making the lie up on the fly, but it seemed he didn't need to go into detail. Mrs. S's expression softened immediately. "You poor boy," she said. And then, to his utter surprised, she folded him into a hug. To his even greater surprise, he sagged into it. When had he last been held like this? Ever? Not that he could remember. The loud and abrasive old woman was surprisingly small and warm in person. She was also, he realized, possibly his only friend. She broke off the hug first, stepping back and patting him on the shoulder. "Whatever it is, it will be all right," she said with confidence. "I'll make sure no one breaks into your shop in the meantime." He handed her the key. She nodded briskly and went inside. Leo only looked back once, as he walked out of the city.