Day 6. A Fifth of Magic

Chapter 15. 

   It was a day for decisions. 

   Valia did not sleep well after returning to her chambers from the gaol. The sight of Rusk so beaten and broken was stuck in her mind like a piece of grain between teeth, and she found her bed terribly uncomfortable all night. It didn’t help at all that Kit was gone beneath ground on some dangerous escapade, attempting to verify the claim of the brown monks. 

   Finally, light came into the window through the drapery and Valia cleaned her face and put on her dress for the day. It was black, though not the same as the one she wore to Eadric’s funeral, and she put her hair back in a clasp, trying not to show any sign that she was beyond her brother’s death. 

   Kit was to spend the day in court with Rogo, deciding between all the things that citizens had brought for complaints, but before any of that began, there was a meeting with the Spokemen. 

   Valia found Kit sitting alone in the private dining hall reserved for the King and his family or most esteemed guests, and she sat across from him, watching him stir idly a steaming bowl of some sort of gray mash. 

   “I’m glad to see you did not remain beneath ground,” said Valia with a measure of forced cheer to her voice. 

   Kit looked up from the bowl with a start and she realized that he had been sleeping. She laughed at his wide eyes, and then laughed even more as he frowned at her and tasted his mash, instantly burning his tongue. 

   “You seem cheery,” he said, not attempting to hide his grump at all. 

   “On the contrary,” she answered. “I’m rather put out.”

   “Put out?” he asked. “You’ve been in the city too long, Val, you’re speaking like the fine ladies.”

   A serving girl brought out a plate of steaming eggs and fruit, placing it in front of Valia along with a cup of what must have been juice. “Am I not a fine lady?” Valia asked after thanking the girl. 

   Kit shrugged and stirred more aggressively at his mush. “I have nothing to speak of,” he said quietly, with a quick glance at her that told her they must speak privately of the matter some place else. He changed the subject. “You saw the monk?” 

   Valia nodded, biting a grape in half and peeling both sides with her finger nails. “Borneld almost killed the man,” she said. “He still might die, the doctor didn’t seem very convinced he would live.” 

   “Where is their god?” Kit asked. 

   She watched his face, trying to decide if his question was meant to mock the man or if he genuinely was curious. She decided on the former and popped the naked grape halves into her mouth. “Somewhere in the water,” she answered. Then, she sighed and placed her elbows on the table, a very decidedly un-fine lady thing to do. “Whom do we send with the Spokesmen?” 

   Kit’s mush seemed to have cooled off enough for he began eating it quickly as though it would be his final meal before a battle. It wasn’t, of course, for there was no goat meat and though Kit was strong, Valia knew the man relied on the goma or sild whenever he fought. 

   “Hadn’t you thought about going?” he asked. 

   “Yes,” she nodded, “but I meant in regards to the one who would take the fifth of magic. The one who would carry their relic.” 

   Kit paused his eating and gave her a tilted look that she found most unreadable. He was like that sometimes, always had been since they were children, giving a look on his face that was almost inhuman, so lacking in emotion was it. 

   “Would you not attempt to join their ranks?” he asked. “If their group is so important and so strong, and the threat they hold at bay so terrible, wouldn’t it be wise to have someone we know and trust in among them? I trust no one more than you, Val.” 

   She smiled at his compliment, though she didn’t feel it justified in herself. “I know nothing of magic,” she pointed out. “I believe there is little to know for most of us, what small disciplines of it exist do so only for certain people, and I am surely not one of them.” 

   “Perhaps it does not require a learned mage,” he pondered. 

   Valia shook her head. “I would go to take stock of these men and their influence in the kingdom, but I assume they will have their own candidate for replacement.” 

   “We shall see,” he said.

   They ate in silence until their food was finished, and a porter came to tell them that the Spokesmen had assembled. 

   “My lady,” Kit said with a smile as he stood and offered Valia his hand. 

   She took it with a little curtsey and then followed him from the dining room. 

   It wasn’t a long walk to the throne room, and Valia found her heart beating fast as Kit led her inside to those waiting. The four Spokesmen were there, as was Rogo and two younger men Valia did not know. Ulrig and two other guards stood against the far wall as well, near the terrace entrance, but none of them looked up from their roving guard’s stares. 

   “My king, my lady,” said the bald Spokesman.    

   “Shall we discuss?” asked Rogo, looking up at them with his hands folded over his ample belly. 

   Kit took his seat on the throne and Valia stood beside him, resting her hand on the chair’s arm. The four mages wore their dark robes but their hoods were all back off their heads and she was able to get a better look at each of them. Percho, the bald one who seemed to be their leader, stood at the head, and the three men behind him looked much different. One was older, with gray hair and a thin beard, all cut short around his head. He had narrow eyes that looked milky and watery, as though he was going blind but hadn’t quite lost all his sight. The youngest looking man of the group seemed to have similar features to the oldest one, the same jaw and set of the eyes, though the younger had a full head of dark hair and lacked the inset lines of wrinkles. Valia thought they must have been related. 

   The fourth man stood furthest back, his head a mess of short red curls, his skin more tan than the others, not exactly Southern Eyes tan but perhaps just more sunlight than his counterparts. He had a distant look on his face as though his mind was somewhere else. The other two men wore plain tunics and trousers with no designation as to their trade or class. They were both younger than Kit, it seemed, perhaps only recently into their teenage years. 

   “We have two potentials,” began Percho. “These two young men before you have shown a strength of will in our survey testing. We would choose one of them, your highness. Would you be so inclined to give your opinion?” 

   Valia looked from the boys to Kit, watching the king’s face. 

   “Who am I to make such a judgement?” asked Kit. “They are boys, it seems, and the travels you would take them on can not be measured against my understanding for I have none. Were there nothing mystical at the end of the journey I would still have no grounds to comment.” 

   “You are sponsoring this endeavor,” said Rogo a bit stiffly, as though embarrassed by Kit’s words. “It is within the customs of our time for you to make the deciding factor.” 

   Kit laughed a little, whether more or less derisively than he meant Valia couldn’t know. Perhaps she would ask him later. “The Pits can have your customs,” he said. “We are in a closed room, Rogo, surely you can’t mean for me to act as a court ruler when there are no subjects before me?” 

   “We are your subjects, sire,” the man said through clenched teeth. He swallowed a chest full of air, forced a smile and stepped back just a bit. “I see I am not needed in this discourse so I will only observe. Percho?” 

   The bald Spokesman nodded and addressed Kit. “We would seek your favor, my lord, for there is much we believe in that falls in the camps of good or ill will. This quest would certainly fail if you were against our going.” 

   “I have no magic,” said Kit. “I have no powers of will or spite to cast upon you. If I did not believe in your broken pentagon and forbade your departure, you would have no more ill travels than if I were riding along at your side. Do not put such pressure upon me.”

   The older man spoke then, his voice shaky and low, the scratchy sound of a man who smoked too much bean weed. “You are the king, Kit. Pressure is inevitable.” 

   Kit opened his mouth to speak, but closed it with a smile. Valia instantly could see that he liked the older man. 

   “He is to be addressed as ‘your high–” Rogo began, but Kit shut him down with a wave of his hand. 

   “You,” he said to the old man. “Bring the boys to me.” 

   You are nearly a boy yourself, Valia thought as the old Spokesman placed a hand on each of the younger men’s shoulders and walked toward the dais and up two of the three steps until they were just before the throne. They were tall lads, strong and hale in their youth, boys who could be dukes or earls if handsome boyish looks were all that were required. Valia gave them her best smile, hoping a little bit to disarm them. The old man walked around them and up the final step of the dais, standing nearly opposite Valia. Up close, his eyes seemed more clear. 

   “Do not tell me your names,” Kit began, looking from one youth to the other. “Only tell me the names of your mothers.” 

   The boy on the right spoke first. “Caretha,” he said. 

   “Havlet,” said the left boy.

   “Would you like to travel south to a dangerous land in search of a magical item?” 

   Both boys nodded at once, a gleam of adventure shining twin-like in both of their eyes. 

   “What did you think of the old king?” Kit asked, his words careful. 

   They paused a moment, glancing at each other. The right spoke first. “He was my king, as are you. I sought to obey and serve.” 

   The left spoke. “There were no wars when I was born, and there were none when he died, yet I would have fought under his herald if there was a call to arms.” 

   “Did your mothers care for him?” Kit asked with a note in his words that told Valia of finality. 

   After another pause, both boys shook their heads. 

   “Take them both,” said Kit. “If one dies along the way, you will have a spare.” 

   Valia knew he meant it as a joke, though his tone hardly changed, and while she found herself smiling, a pale blush bloomed across the boy’s faces.

   “Spoken like a true king!” cried the old man with a clap of his hands. “Ages come and go, but the spirit of a king always finds a way. We go with your blessing, King Kit, we will depart on the morrow.” 

   The boys stepped down from the dais and returned to the other Spokesmen. Kit turned fully to the old man and asked him a question. 

   “Who will all go? From Rogo’s lips you are wise counselors to the kingdom, understanding much of the world beyond just the walls of this citadel, and I would be remiss if I lost all good generals in courtroom warfare.” 

   “I cannot travel, my king,” said the old man with a shaky hand to his chest. Valia was struck again by the oddity of the dark dyed skin of the Spokesman's hands in such contrast to their faces. “Percho will remain as well, for we have much to attend to in this place, as you have so rightly declared.” He turned and pointed to the group below them. “Meino and Luc will take the youths, as well as a consort of soldiers, ones whom you trust and are willing to part with.” 

   Valia found herself stepping forward to speak before she even knew what she would say. “I will go with you,” came the words from her mouth. She felt herself blush but the moment was fleeting and she was once again the figurehead of the throne. “I would see this relic for myself, for clear reporting to his majesty,” she placed a hand gently on Kit’s, resting on the throne’s arm, showing her care for the man. “Surely you will have room for another?” 

   The old man bowed low, deep enough that she expected to hear creaks in his back, and when he straightened up tears had leaked from his eyes even though his cheeks were wide in a kind smile. When he spoke, it didn’t sound like he was crying, and she wondered just how often the liquid spilled down his cheeks. 

   “It was not a journey we had intended upon taking females with,” said the old man. “The trip will not be short or easy, and once we are below Midcharia and past the continental base, there is no telling what things await us.” 

   “She will hold her own,” said Kit, defending Valia before she could do it herself. 

   “I will find another woman to go with,” she said. “Surely the adventure could use a bit of color.” 

   Percho stepped forward and Valia swiveled to see him. “You are determined to travel?” he asked. 

   There was an intensity in the man’s face and Valia found her mouth had suddenly gone dry. All she could do was nod. 

   A bell ran out somewhere in one of the outer courtyards of the citadel, signaling the final hour before full sun, the noon hour of the day and the time when the court would open. It meant that the officials and nobles and courtesans would soon seek entrance to the room and then the cases would be presented and Kit would have the rest of the day upon his royal seat. 

   Percho glanced in the direction of the bell but quickly turned back. “It seems we are in need of departing this hall,” he said. “Would you give us a moment of your time, my lady? I have a few questions I would ask of you before we accept your invitation to join us.” 

   “It is not a thing to be accepted,” said Kit. 

  “Yes of course,” smiled the man. 

   “I will answer your questions,” Valia said, trying to keep the moment calm. She turned to Kit and gave him a caring smile, trying to let him know that all things were fine and she was comfortable. He met her eyes but did not smile. A heavy mask had fallen over her friend, but Valia managed to keep the sadness of this fact out of her face. 

   She turned and followed the Spokesmen out of the throne room, leaving Kit and Rogo to plan their day and look over the schedule. 

Chapter 16. 

   Valia sat straight backed in the wooden chair, the Spokesmen all sitting across the table from her. They had left the throne room quickly and moved up to one of the elevated sun courts, one of a few open-air seating areas situated throughout the citadel. Much of the palace grounds were visible from where they sat and much of Taro Myule beyond, and even some of the countryside outside the edges of the city. But it was not the landscape or cityscape that the men had brought Valia to the roof for. Instead, it was for a strange staring contest that involved holding hands and not speaking. 

   The four of them sat in chairs across from her and held black hands laid out on the table, one right to another’s left until they were all linked. Then, the two men on the ends of the line, the youngest and the red haired one named Meino, reached over the table and took Valia’s hands, completing the circle. 

   “Look me in the eye, and do not avert your gaze,” said Percho, sitting to the left of Meino. 

   Valia did so, and so they sat. For how long, she could not say, but she disantly heard the sounds of people in the courtyards below, likely those coming to see the court or state the case, a common duty of the king and one that she was certain Kit would find entirely boring. 

   She tried to focus on the bald Spokesman’s face, the shape of his eyes and nose, the color of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the bright sheen of his scalp as the sweat beaded on it and reflected the light of the sun, nearly making it seem as though a glow shone around his head. 

   From the corner of her eye, Valia could see the dark eyes of the younger Spokesman watching her, steady and as blinkless as Percho. He compelled her, for a reason she could not fully know, and though she thought it easy to mark it to his handsome appearance, she thought that it was something else as well, or perhaps something else entirely. 

   As time wore on, she found that she didn’t want to break her streak of staring at this bald man, did not want to pull away from the hands she held across the table. It was odd, but she was beyond that, and found herself locked in a battle of endurance. There were pools and rivers and lakes in the forests between Raelle and Scaland to the east, the place where she was raised and lived until the attack on the cathedral, and Valia and the boys had always had swimming races and treading competitions. Some of the other Knight’s daughters would join, but many of them wished to swim with just the girls where they didn’t have to wear their shifts and could swim a bit more freely. Valia never minded, it gave her an extra challenge. 

   She loved the long races the best, and the hours they would spend treading water, telling jokes to make each other laugh. Eadric was a wonder in the water, his long arms and legs giving him powerful strokes and he seemed to never tire. He was always the one to beat. 

   Valia sat there, drawing from those earlier days, simpler times, knowing she could outlast even the most strange sessions of ‘questioning’ from whatever mage approached her. 

   Then, the bald man smiled and the rest of the men smiled as well, blinking all around and leaning back, and the chain of hands was broken. 

   “My lady,” a young serving girl said and hurried over with a flask of water, the temperature of which had risen from what might have been cold to a warmer level much closer to tea. Still, it cooled her throat and Valia found she desperately needed to stretch. 

   “There has not been a queen in Raelle for centuries,” Percho said as he flexed life back into his fingers. “If you had struck Jovis instead of the brute, we might have seen a wonderful break to that trend.”

   It was flattery, Valia knew he meant it so, but it also tore down Kit and she did not like that. He was a soldier, and while strong and sometimes singularly focused, he was no brute, not in the way Borneld was. Before she could speak up to defend him, the old man’s creaking voice cut in. 

   “I had a strange feeling, my lady, that we will be traveling with you to the south, not the other way around.” He said it with such a kind, grandfatherly smile, that Valia forgot her anger with Percho. 

   “Was that magic?” she asked. “Holding hands and all, did you cast a spell on me?” 

   “We don’t cast spells,” snapped the younger Spokesman, and he quickly stood and marched away. 

   “Forgive Luc,” the old man said. “He was as close to Jovis as a brother might be, and while he knows the man was in error, he does not have much affinity for the king’s replacements.” 

   “Plural?” Valia asked. “He sees both Kit and I on the throne?” 

   “Of course,” answered Percho. “Everyone does.” 

   Valia didn’t know how to respond. 

   “You may bring any maid with you,” the bald man went on, “I trust you will be prepared for the journey by sunrise tomorrow?” 

   Valia gathered her thoughts before speaking. “Yes,” she said. “Though I must find the mistress of the maids and conduct my own interview. Though I don’t intend to hold hands for quite so long. 

   The men smiled and all departed, leaving her alone on the rooftop with the serving girl and her warm flask of water. Valia called her over, and the girl neared and gave a little curtsey, keeping her eyes lowered. 

   “Do you think I am the queen?” Valia asked. 

   The girl looked up, instantly frightened. Valia realized it was a difficult question and quickly asked a new one. “What do you think of those men?” 

   This nearly seemed to make the girl more nervous, but she spoke regardless. “They are the king’s consol,” she said with great timidity. “I am at their service.”

   “I won’t terminate your position for honesty,” Valia assured the girl. “But if you choose not to speak, I will not force you.” 

   The girl nodded, but after a moment she spoke in a whisper, as though there were others listening. “I’m glad the king killed Jovis,” she said. “He was a frightful man.” 

   Then she curtsied quickly and stepped back, giving Valia a wide berth and enough space to think on her own. 

   They were a strange lot, the four of them. A sudden thought struck her then, one that hadn’t come to her head before. As much as she and Kit mourned the loss of Eadric and were scrambling on what to do without him, those four must have felt the same way with their fifth man. If they were a true quintet, then there must have been more lost than just their bond of abjuration. 

   There would be packing and prep for the journey, but Valia had a strong desire to find the royal scribe and see if she could find the history of the Spokesmen. She knew so little of them, where they came from, what they did, who they really were. As she left the rooftop lounge, she found she was more excited for the journey than she had before. They were strange men, but she would find a maid to accompany her and she would study along the way. Most of all, it would help her forget the pain of Eadric’s loss. Tomorrow morning would come quickly.