The Hag's Contract

Five

With a deep feeling of satisfaction, Candabraxis surveyed his study. Harlmut had given him the entire fourth floor of the eastern tower. It consisted of four large rooms, each shaped like a wedge of pie with a bite taken out of the pointy end. (The stairs wound upward in a spire occupying the center column of the tower.)

Four whole rooms, and all for him. He grinned, deliriously happy. Truly, they knew how to treat a wizard in Grabentod.

The room that caught the morning sun would be his workroom, he thought, wandering in to look around. It was bare at the moment, but when he closed his eyes he could imagine a huge worktable spread with scrolls, jars of rare herbs, and his magic books. A few tapestries on the walls … yes, it would do nicely. He went into the north room and quickly decided to make it a study, a warm cozy place where he could entertain visiting wizards and other guests. The south room … his library, perhaps? He paused in the doorway, then nodded. Yes, he would find an apprentice or two and teach in here. They could sleep on the floor, on pallets. The west room, catching the evening sun, would be his bedchamber. It already had a canopied featherbed and wardrobe, and that’s where Bowspear’s men had left his bags.

One of the castle’s countless servants had already unpacked his clothing and put it away. They had left his books, papers, scrolls, and magical paraphernalia alone.

He threw himself on the bed, laughing, and closed his eyes. Feathers! And so soft, he seemed to be floating on air. With a contented sigh, he thought back to the thin hard pallets his old master had insisted upon. “They build character,” Master Razlev had said knowingly. Privately, the other apprentices and journeymen had whispered about cheapness.

Candabraxis sat up and looked around the bedroom. Yes, it would do quite nicely for the moment, he thought. First things first, though. He sat up and crossed to his crate of books. He needed to look up a few names in his copy of Morweit’s Peerage. If he could find some way to help with King Graben’s return, he knew his position here would be secure forever.

He drew out the thick, heavy volume and lugged it to the bed. One of his first tasks as an apprentice had been to meticulously copy Razlev’s volume of Morweit’s Peerage. At first it had been an exercise in penmanship—Candabraxis noted, as he leafed through it, how cramped and sloppy the first hundred pages looked—but gradually it had become a work of love. He had finally finished copying all eight hundred and sixty-three pages (plus two slender supplemental volumes) a year and a half after he’d begun, and at that point his script had been every bit as graceful and meticulous as Razlev’s own. Plus he’d neatly added family crests in the narrow margins whenever he had been able to locate them.

He leafed forward to Müden and began skimming the family lines, memorizing names. Wizards had to remember vast amounts of information, and memory training had been a large part of Razlev’s early teachings.

“Alborgac … Achpelkar … Avacht,” he began, reading aloud. There wouldn’t be more than two or three hundred names. And he had only to match one of them in Grabentod or one of the neighboring realms.

An hour later Candabraxis, closed the second supplement to the Peerage. The results had been singularly disappointing, he thought. Only one name had turned up with any links to the ruling merchant families in Müden. The Erbrechts, perhaps the most powerful and wealthy (and, therefore, the most influential) of Müden’s merchant families, had married a fifth-born daughter into Drachenward’s ruling family, forty years earlier. That daughter, Helga Erbrecht, had married Oluvar Hawk, a prince of the realm. Their firstborn son (who would, technically, be seventeenth in line to the Erbrecht family fortune) would be an ideal choice to ransom back for King Graben. Unfortunately, the Peerage had no information on this son … not even a name. Still, perhaps someone here would know of him.

At the very least, it gave him something to tell Harlmut at the feast tonight. Candabraxis puffed out his chest a little. A feast in his honor. If only Razlev and his friends could have seen him now.

He opened one of the windows and leaned out, breathing the crisp cold air. The sun had begun its long slow slide to the west, and as he gazed out over the streets and houses of Grabentod, again that strange sense of familiarity touched him. Staring down, watching the sparkle of sunlight on water, he felt his mood shift. Somberly, he pondered again what strange forces had drawn him here.

By the time Parniel Bowspear reached the castle gates, darkness had fallen. He had attended enough of Harlmut’s interminable “feasts” to expect the worst: adequate food and dull court gossip. Of course, Harlmut sat at the head of the table in King Graben’s place, stiff and wooden as always. He only made matters worse. Rather than leading the conversations the way King Graben did, he merely nodded at the talk around him, trying not to offend anyone.

Bowspear arrived late, planning to finish the main course and make his escape at the most opportune time. After his initial shock had worn off, he regretted fleeing the Temple of Ela. Tonight he would return for his meeting with Haltengabben. He still needed her support.

As he crossed the courtyard and headed for the banquet hall, though, sounds of music and laughter from ahead caught him by surprise. The three court musicians were playing a sprightly tune on horns, cymbals, and lute. He hadn’t heard such gaiety since before King Graben had been captured. Suddenly everyone began to applaud.

Frowning, Bowspear quickened his step. The guard swung the door open for him, and he strode into the huge banquet hall. Overhead, all three chandeliers had been lit, and hundreds of tallow candles provided a warm yellow glow.

Bowspear shrugged off his heavy gray cloak and handed it to one of the servants. The long banquet table, although loaded with food, was lined with empty chairs. The guests had left their places to watch … dancing?

He wandered forward, staring in disbelief as Candabraxis and Lady Delma, the king’s wife, swept around the room one last time, then ended in a graceful pirouette. The entire court began to applaud enthusiastically. After a second’s hesitation, he joined in. It wouldn’t be fitting for him to snub Lady Delma. Although he found her as shallow as a rain puddle, her influence stretched almost as far as his own.

Candabraxis bowed to Lady Delma, then offered her his arm. She accepted, giggling a little, and he escorted her back to the banquet table. Everyone else followed, talking excitedly. Bowspear hid his frown of displeasure. It seemed Candabraxis had made quite an impression on the whole court already. And Harlmut, beaming at everyone and everything around him, looked almost regal himself for the first time. He seemed to have regained much of the confidence he had lost in recent months.

It had to be Candabraxis, Bowspear thought with growing displeasure. Somehow, the two of them had forged an alliance. Nevertheless, he forced a broad smile. Alliance or not, it wouldn’t save Harlmut, he vowed.

“I’m sorry I’m late for your feast,” he said to Candabraxis. “I lost track of the hour, cataloging our cargo from the last voyage.”

“Oh, surely you have people who can do that sort of thing,” Lady Delma said dismissively.

“Of course, but I want it done right.” He bowed to her. “I must say, you’re looking even more radiant than usual, Lady Delma.”

She blushed a little. “Thank you, Parniel.”

Bowspear turned to his regular seat at Harlmut’s right hand—and found the wizard already in it. Still, that was to be expected: Candabraxis was the guest of honor. He took the seat next to the wizard, displacing fat old Lord Korgaard, and the whole side of the table shifted accordingly. They knew better than to challenge him.

Servants began pouring more goblets of wine and bringing out platters of hot roasted chicken, a whole pig with an apple in its mouth, and small loaves of crusty bread. Bowspear took a long drink of his wine, then found the wizard nodding pleasantly to him.

He nodded back. “How do you find Grabentod?” he asked, trying to be polite.

“Cold.”

A laugh went up around the table. Candabraxis grinned.

Cold. Bowspear felt like rolling his eyes.

“What other new dances do you know?” Lady Delma asked, fanning herself. She seated herself in her normal place, at Harlmut’s left hand.

“Oh, I’m sure I know three or four more that haven’t made it here yet,” the wizard said modestly. His face was a little flushed from exertion, but he seemed almost exuberant. “Perhaps, at your next formal ball…”

“Of course,” she said determinedly. “We must have a formal ball. Elastide is in ten days. We shall hold it then. With your permission, of course,” she said, looking to Harlmut.

He made a small gesture. “Whenever Lady Delma desires.”

She gave a squeal of delight, turned to Lady Jasmar, two seats to her left, and began discussing decorations. As a puddle, Bowspear thought. Now, thanks to Candabraxis, he’d have another awful social function to attend. He began to wish he’d quietly dropped the wizard overboard on the way back to Grabentod.

“Tell me,” Harlmut said loudly to the wizard, leaning forward, “what has your research turned up?”

Bowspear felt a jab of apprehension. Research— that sounded like trouble. Watching Candabraxis from the corner of his eye, he helped himself to a loaf of bread.

“Well,” Candabraxis said, between bites of a chicken leg, “according to Morweit’s Peerage, the nearest relatives of Müden’s ruling Erbrecht family are in Drachenward. Forty years ago, Barke Erbrecht married one of his daughters to a prince of Drachenward, Oluvar Hawk. Their firstborn son would be, technically, seventeenth in line for the Erbrecht family’s fortune.”

“Hawk … I know that name,” Bowspear murmured. Where had he heard it before?

Candabraxis turned to him. “Oh? And do you know if he has a son?”

He grinned inwardly, as it all came back to him. “Yes, he does,” he said. He could reveal it since it could do Harlmut no good. “His name is Orin Hawk, I believe.”

“Orin Hawk—” Harlmut said. Then his expression turned to one of dismay. “Oh.”

Candabraxis looked from Bowspear to Harlmut and back again. “Is there some problem? Is he dead?”

“Tell him,” Bowspear said.

“Orin Hawk,” Harlmut said, “is in thrall to the Hag. He led a squad of men from Drachenward on a mission to kill her or drive her from her lair some years ago. Rather than kill him, she charmed him and his men. Now they serve her utterly, guarding her border with Drachenward.”

Candabraxis laughed. “Excellent!” he cried. “This is perfect!”

“How so?” Bowspear demanded cautiously.

“What better way to win Müden’s favor? If you capture Hawk and pull him back from the Hag’s evil, then return him, fully restored, to Drachenward, it might well persuade the king of Drachenward to intercede on your behalf.”

“Impossible!” Bowspear said. “It would be a foolhardy mission. We all know what the Hag does to those who venture into her lands. She charms them. She toys with them. Then she kills them. The few who return to civilized lands have addled minds, for they have seen visions too terrible for mortals to bear.”

“Is this true?” Candabraxis asked, looking to Harlmut.

Unhappily, the regent nodded. “I fear he is beyond our reach. Who of us would dare try to retrieve him from the Hag?”

“I would!” cried a voice farther down the table.

“And who will join me?”

“I will!” answered a second, then a third, then a half dozen more men.

Shocked, Bowspear glanced to his left. Captain Evann stood there, his bearded face drawn with determination. Slowly Evann’s piercing gray eyes turned to Bowspear.

“I fear the Hag,” he said, “but I want our king back more. If we must save Orin Hawk from her, so be it. With a wizard’s help, surely we must succeed. The alternative is unacceptable.”

Bowspear swallowed. That last remark seemed to have been directed at him. Evann had long been a rival… and now it seemed Evann hoped to win especial favor by taking on the Hag and her creatures.

“I will prepare protective charms for you,” Candabraxis said firmly. “Every protection I can offer will be yours.”

“This is madness,” Bowspear scoffed. He felt a rising uneasiness. With a wizard’s help, he realized their mad plan might have a slight chance of success. Surely the Hag would never expect an attack. And if they actually succeeded in saving Hawk from her …

“Thank you,” Harlmut was saying. He stood and raised his cup. “A toast to Captain Evann!” he cried. “May he save Orin Hawk … and our king!”

Or die trying, Bowspear mentally added. He forced a smile and raised his cup.

“To Captain Evann,” he said. “May he get all that he truly deserves.”