Pseudonym part 1

This is part one of the Dana Illwind and Sorcerer lord Jayden story Pseudonym:

Over many months Dana had come to admire Sorcerer Lord Jayden. His courage, his wisdom, his dedication to his few friends, all these and more had earned her respect. Jayden had also proved his skill in battle against monsters and men, the distinction between the two not always clear. At this moment, however, she was most focused on his weight.

“Careful,” Maya said as she helped Dana carry Jayden down the cobblestone road. The two of them held the sorcerer lord between them, an already difficult task made worse by Jayden’s wounds. His right arm was broken and he had several broken ribs. He was barely conscious, but even the slightest touch on his wounds made Jayden wince and cry out in pain.

Kaleoth frontier soldiers ran by in their gray and green uniforms. They were heading to the destroyed bridge over Race Horse River where a far larger army had tried and failed to invade Kaleoth not an hour ago. Jayden and Dana had destroyed the bridge, but their victory had come at a terrible cost. Dana and Maya had carried him to the nearby city of River Twin, but Jayden’s wounds were so bad he’d never recover from them.

“We need help!” Dana shouted. “My friend is hurt! He needs a healer!”

Most soldiers ran by, but a spearman stopped to look at Jayden. He frowned and shook his head. “I’ve seen men injured this badly before. I’m sorry, your friend won’t last the night.”

“Don’t say that!” Dana screamed. “You must have doctors for so many soldiers.”

“None who can treat such wounds,” the spearman replied. “You’d need a holy man’s help, and the nearest one is in the capital three days’ journey from here.”

Maya struggled to hold up Jayden. “If you can’t help him, can you help us get him to the witch? Maybe she can save him.”

The soldier’s face turned white. “I’ll have nothing to do with Witch Way. Better he died than that woman get her hands on him.”

Dana nearly drew her magic sword when she heard him say that. Only the knowledge that setting Jayden down could worsen his wounds prevented her. “He was hurt saving your people!”

“Then honor him and his sacrifice by not letting Witch Way near him.” The spearman ran after the other soldiers, leaving Dana and Maya carrying Jayden alone.

“Don’t worry,” Maya said as they struggled down the street. “I’ve heard stories where to find the witch. We’ll get there by morning. He’s strong, Dana. He’ll make it.”

Dana didn’t reply as she helped Jayden down the street. To their left and right were brick buildings a story or two tall, shops and homes. People looked out their windows and came onto the street, a few staring in horror at Jayden while others looked to the ruined bridge where soldiers fired arrows and crossbow bolts across the river.

“He’s going to make it, Dana,” Maya said as the crowd parted to let them pass. “Just a few hours and we’ll be there.”

A man dressed in badly tanned furs stepped in front of them. “Where are you going?”

Dana bared her teeth. “Move.”

Nearby people edged back except for one man who said, “Don’t do this, Porter.”

“Where are you going?” the man in furs repeated.

“Through you if I have to,” Dana said.

Maya looked at Jayden and said, “This man needs help. We’re taking him to see the witch.”

“My name is Mugs Porter, and I can help you reach her,” the man said. “I’ve got a pushcart we can load him on.”

Suspicious, Dana demanded, “Why are you helping us?”

“I owe the witch,” Porter answered. He took Jayden from Dana and Maya and set him on a small, dirty pushcart parked on the street. Porter lit a lantern hanging from the front of the cart and grabbed the handles. “Any who receive her help pay for it, some in gold, some in words, others in services. I bring her new clients.”

Porter took the handles of the pushcart and rolled it down the street so fast Dana and Maya had trouble keeping up with him. Men and women got out of his way. One man yelled, “We’ll remember this, Porter!”

“Ignore them,” Porter told Dana and Maya. “They’ve never been where your friend is, where I was. They don’t know what men will do when there’s no one left to turn to.”

“I’ll pay whatever price she charges,” Dana promised.

“That’s not how it works,” Porter told her. “Whoever gets help is the one who pays.”

Dana ran ahead of Porter. “This time I’m paying.”

Porter frowned. “Careful what you wish for. Witch Way doesn’t work cheap.”

Porter was silent the rest of the trip, understandable given how hard he was running with the pushcart. They left the city and went through farmland and orchards, then into wilderness. Houses were few and then absent, replaced by enormous pine trees and cliffs thick with vines and moss. Jayden was unconscious during the trip, a mercy given his condition. After two hours they reached a large masterfully built wood house nestled among trees ten feet across.

The house’s door opened and a young woman stepped out. She looked smug before she saw Jayden. “Greetings, and welcome to my—dear God! Get him inside, hurry!”

Dana, Maya and Porter lifted Jayden out of the pushcart. Moving Jayden made him scream in pain, cries that ended only when the witch put a hand on his chest and spoke strange words that soothed him. Together they brought him inside the house and set him on a large wood table.

“This is the fifth client I’ve brought you, witch,” Porter said. “My debt is paid in full.”

“You and I are done,” the witch said. Porter left without another word, leaving Dana and Maya with the strange woman. The witch snapped her fingers and pointed to a corner of her house. “Both of you, over there, and don’t touch anything.”

Dana didn’t want to leave Jayden’s side. The people of River Twin had reacted to her mentioning the witch as if the woman was a deadly threat. But she was also Jayden’s only hope, and Dana reluctantly led Maya back.

“This is bad,” Witch Way said. She was younger than Dana had expected, probably in her early twenties. The witch’s clothes were stylish black and looked new. Her hair was long and black, braided in a pattern Dana hadn’t seen before. “You did good to get him here so fast. The next hour would have been his last.”

“You can help him?” Maya asked hopefully.

“It’s going to be a close thing.” Witch Way studied Jayden’s wounds. “Broken ribs, the arm looks like it was broken from feedback from his own spell, and I don’t like the look of that concussion. This is going to take everything I’ve got and more.”

Witch Way stepped back and folded her arms across her chest. She closed her eyes and began to chant.

“What’s she doing?” Dana asked Maya.

“I don’t know. I heard the witch can save people who should have died, not how she does it.”

“No comments from the peanut gallery,” Witch Way snapped.

Dana and Maya fell silent. Witch Way continued chanting, a weird droning sound that went on and on. Not sure what to do, Dana studied her surroundings. The house’s interior was well made like the outside, every inch elaborately decorated with intricate animal carvings. Rugs covered the floors, thick curtains covered the windows, and colorful tapestries covered much of the walls. Furniture was copious and as decorative as the rest of the house.

Then there was the heart on the wall over the fireplace. It was made of granite, two feet across and beating like a living organ. Red light seeped through cracks in the heart, a dim glow that couldn’t compete with the cheery glow in the fireplace but was somehow more noticeable.

“Spirits of wind and fire, I beseech you,” Witch Way announced as she looked up. “This soul is in peril, his life nearing an end too soon, and I have been called upon to aid him. The power of my heart stone is not enough, proof your instructions on crafting it were useless. So once more I must turn to you for power.”

“This isn’t encouraging,” Maya said.

A high-pitched voice coming from the heart said, “Don’t I know it.”

Witch Way snapped the fingers on both hands. “Talk to the witch. I know your price and pay it unwillingly. I hereby recognize your union and authorize vacation pay. Now get off your backsides, lazy spirits.”

The stone heart beat harder and the glow from it grew brighter. Jayden stiffened before relaxing. Dana and Maya ran to him. He was breathing easily rather than gasping for air, but he was still unconscious.

Excited, Maya cried, “He’s better!”

“He’s getting there,” Witch Way corrected her. “Healing isn’t what witchcraft was meant for. A holy man could have done in seconds what I need all night to do. I’ve sped up his natural healing many times faster than normal, but even this might not be enough.”

“Is this why people in River Twin don’t like you?” Dana asked. “Do your cures sometimes fail?”

Witch Way laughed. “Oh, they hate me for any number of reasons, some fair and others not. Most of my problems are my own fault, like being a greedy, petty, vindictive, backstabbing harridan. And yes, my healing attempts can fail.”

“That’s more than I expected to hear,” Dana admitted.

“Or wanted to,” Maya added.

“Mother told me not to become a witch,” Witch Way said. “I ignored her. I wanted power, and this was the easy way to get it. I had to buy that power, trading parts of myself for it. The spirits demanded I accept the curse of total honesty, which sounded mild at the time. But as you can see it’s not to my advantage to speak the truth, especially when I don’t particularly like people other than myself.”

Witch Way gave the girls a cunning smile. “If I try hard enough I can share that burden with others, if only for a while. Two marriageable women traveling with a man, it makes me wonder. Do you love him?”

“Yes,” they said simultaneously. Dana and Maya both shrieked in surprise, and Maya clapped her hands over her mouth.

“I don’t love him the way you mean!” Dana shouted. She took deep breaths and tried to calm down. “I’m grateful to him for saving my family and town, and many other people. He’s handsome, and sometimes I think things, but I’d never actually do them.”

“I would,” Maya said, then shrieked again as her face turned red.

Witch Way laughed so hard she nearly fell over. Wiping tears of joy from her eyes, she said, “I’m a shallow, hateful person, but I have a good time.”

Dana pointed at Jayden. “Can we get back to talking about him?”

“Oh, yes, the sorcerer lord. Don’t give me that look, girl. It takes more than a change of clothes to conceal a man’s identify when his face is on a thousand wanted posters.” Witch Way curled a lock of her hair around one finger while studying Jayden. “He’s drawing a lot of power from my heart stone, but he’s hurt so badly that my magic could just be prolonging the inevitable. By morning he’ll be well again or be dead, fifty-fifty odds.”

Maya saw Dana’s pained look and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s better than we would have gotten from anyone in River Twin.”

Dana took a deep breath and readied herself for the worst. “We need to talk about your fee. Jayden is in no condition to pay you, so I’m accepting the responsibility.”

Witch Way looked at Dana and laughed. Dana felt her face turn red, and she put her hands on her hips. Angry, Dana snapped, “I have gold. It might not be enough, but once he’s healthy we can get more.”

That provoked more laugher from the witch. Once she was done, she gave Dana a pitying look. “Oh you miserable child, as if I would work so cheaply. The spirits providing the extra power to heal your friend are charging a steep price. Even asking for their help is going to make them harder to deal with in the future.”

Worried, Dana asked, “Then what do you want?”

Witch Way walked over to a table and picked up a knife. Maya and Dana got between Jayden and the witch, prompting more laugher. “Do you think I was going to kill him? Silly child, if I wanted him dead all I had to do was refuse my aid. I’m going to cut off his coat and shirt to get a better look at his wounds.”

Dana didn’t move. “What’s your price for saving him?”

Witch Way rolled her eyes. “Total honesty. Why couldn’t the spirits have been satisfied with something else? I paid much for my powers, child, and I aim to recover the loss. I take whatever is most valuable from my clients. Sometimes it’s gold, other times land and always their honor, for no one leaves here with their reputations intact.

“Jayden is the only sorcerer lord on Other Place. A man who’s mastered the shadow magic of the sorcerer lords must know many secrets and hidden truths. What he has trapped in his head is worth a fortune to the right people. I know eight men who would pay in gold, jewels and magic to learn what the sorcerer lord knows. I can sell the information to each of them, netting eight rewards for one healing. That’s my price, girl.”

“I don’t think he’d agree to that if he was awake,” Maya said nervously.

“I know he wouldn’t,” Dana said. She shifted he hands off her hips and onto her sword hilt. The magic blade had hurt an iron golem and should be enough to intimidate the witch. “We can get you magic if gold’s not enough, but you’re staying out of his head.”

“You’re in my house, brat,” Witch Way snarled. “This is where I forged my heart stone, and it’s where my spells are at their strongest. Two doe-eyed girls smitten with a wanted criminal don’t scare me.”

The witch hissed words in a language Dana had never heard, strange and hateful sounds far different than the ones Jayden used when casting spells. Dana took a step closer to the witch, a move that ended when the rug under her feet bucked like a steer, throwing her and Maya to the floor. Tapestries and drapes twisted and knotted to form ropes that wrapped around Dana and Maya. They screamed as the makeshift bonds shoved them against the wall and then lifted them off their feet.

“That settles that,” Witch Way said. She walked over to Jayden and cut off his coat and shirt, throwing the red stained clothes to the floor. “Don’t worry, children, total honesty means I have to keep my word and save him, or at least try to. Let’s see, yes, he’s coming along nicely. The sorcerer lord should live, and will definitely keep breathing long enough for me to extract my fee.”

“You’re making a big mistake!” Dana shouted. She tried to squirm out of her bindings and failed. “If he lives through this he’ll be furious. He’s killed monsters ten times scarier than you.”

“Promises, promises,” Witch Way said in a singsong voice. She cast another spell and placed her hands against Jayden’s brow. “Let’s see what—”
**********************
The castle was dark and depressing, a home only in name. Prince Mastram, a youth of twelve, walked through hallways surrounded by people he didn’t know. Physically he was a sight to behold, dark haired, handsome and dressed in sable and silk, but he was lonely and frightened. Stepmother had dismissed most of the castle staff over the last two months and replaced them with her personal retainers. None of them looked at Mastram, none bowed, none smiled. Instead they went about their duties in sullen silence.

Breakfast had been a joyless affair like all meals were. Father didn’t talk. Stepmother doted on her two sons, her words sweet like honey to the boys and harsh as acid to everyone else. Food tasted bland to Mastram, father’s jester had no amusement that could reach him, and even his books offered no solace.

Mastram had nearly reached the castle library and the limited reprieve it granted from his suffering when the brightly dressed jester Kipling leaped over a servant and wrapped an arm around the prince. “Your highness, your grace, you charitable soul, how good to see you. I’d nearly missed you the way you blend in with the crowd, no smile, no laughter, not even looking up half the time, but there was a slight hint of joy as I saw you near your fortress against the world. What wonders tempt you today, oh prince, what secrets shall you plumb?”

“Another time, Kipling,” Mastram said. He tried to slip by the jester and failed. Kipling followed him like a remora on a shark, never more than three inches away. “I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood for company today.”

“Few men willingly spend time with a fool, but I have my uses.” Kipling leaned in close and whispered into Mastram’s ear. “Please, suffer my presence. You are in danger.”

Mastram glanced at Kipling, not sure what to make of that strange comment. He went into the library and was alone save for Kipling. Tall bookcases crisscrossed the room and held thousands of books on hundreds of topics. Kipling was right, this was his refuge in hard times. He’d come here often after his mother died. Lately he’d come every day after meals.

“I’m good at solving riddles, Kipling, but I need more clues to understand what you’re talking about,” Mastram said.

“My prince, I fear for your life,” the jester said. “The castle has become dangerous. Take it from a thief and hanged man that when I say trouble is afoot I know what I speak of.”

Mastram smiled at him. “Former thief, and you survived your hanging.”

Kipling smiled. “Minor details.”

“Speak plainly to me as you always have, and please, no more riddles.”

Kipling cartwheeled onto a table and crouched on top of it. “These days I save my riddles for entertaining your father, no easy task. Mastram, you know me better than most, and you’re friends with your tutor, Mr. Wintery. Besides the two of us, your family and the court officials, is there one person in the castle whose name you know?”

Mastram paused. His mind raced as he tried to put a name to the constant parade of new faces he’d seen lately. So few would even talk to him, a growing cone of silence that had been spreading for months. “No.”

“Nor can I, my prince. There was a time I could count on two hands and both feet how many men asked me to share a drink with me. Now I can think of none. The castle has been purged of friends and allies, your stepmother’s doing, I’m sure.”

“I had few friends to begin with,” Mastram said.

“That’s not true,” the jester countered. “Many hold you in high regard. With these books you found the location of an old sorcerer lord reservoir, and people drink clean water from it today as they once did long ago. You offer hope to those still hurting from the war, sharing wisdom and words of mercy, counseled justice rather than vengeance. You are loved elsewhere if not here, and God help me if there are more hateful words that those.”

Mastram sat in a chair, too dejected to search the bookcases for a novel that might offer hope in such dark times. Kipling sat next to him and put an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“I try to reach them, Kipling,” Mastram said mournfully. “Father doesn’t speak to me the way he did when mother was alive. Nothing I do satisfies stepmother. Court officials ignore what I have to say.”

“Your father is a fine man in many ways,” Kipling said, “the best tightrope walker I’ve ever met, but no juggler.”

Mastram stared at him. “Father doesn’t perform stunts.”

“I speak only the truth to you.” Kipling took wood balls from the deep pockets of his colorful uniform. Mastram had often seen the jester pull items from his costume, so many that he wondered if magic was involved. The jester balanced on the edge of the table while juggling.

“Nobles come day and night, demanding gifts and privileges from your father. All kings suffer such annoyances, but your father owes these men for their service during the civil war. With the treasury depleted he can’t give them what they want, so he pits one against the other, saying he can’t give them land that others hold and gold owed to their neighbors. No finer tightrope walker was ever born, for no matter how many try to pull him left or right he keeps his balance.”

Just then Kipling dropped a ball. Matram’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen the jester make a mistake.

“But he’s no juggler,” Kipling said. “I’m juggling eleven balls, but your eyes are on the one that fell. Jugglers know that dropping even one ball makes the audience doubt you, something your father hasn’t learned yet.”

Kipling caught his balls and set them on the table. “We both hear the whispers, my prince, and everyone hears the screams as your father and stepmother fight. He owes her family a heavy debt for saving his kingdom. He thought marrying her would be enough, but it’s not. She wants her sons on the throne. By law the king’s eldest son must take his place, but she and her family campaign against you day and night.

“Prince, I fear the king’s resolve is weakening. He thinks if he lets one ball fall by casting you aside then no one will care, but we know better. A king who sacrifices his own son, that man is no king. Commoners won’t obey him, soldiers won’t respect him, other monarchs will despise him, but he can’t see that. He only sees the balls he’s still got in the air and hopes the audience doesn’t notice the one on the ground.”

“What can I do?” Mastram asked.

“Keep learning, keep studying and keep away from fights in court. Staying in the library does that. You may have to leave in a hurry. I’ll help you for whatever a jester is worth, and I know men who will do the same. But Mastram, and it hurts like a knife to the heart to say this, prepare for the worst. Dark times lay ahead, and you—”
********************
Witch Way cried out in agony and gripped her head with both hands. Dana and Maya winced in pain. The heart stone beat erratically for a moment before settling down. Only Jayden seemed unaffected, his breathes deep and even.

“What was that?” Witch Way asked as she staggered into the table Jayden lay on.

“How would I know?” Dana shot back. “It’s your spell!”

“It’s never done that before!” Witch Way yelled. She straightened up and looked at Jayden. “I’ve dredged secrets from countless men’s minds and never such pain.”

“What were we seeing?” Maya asked.

“I don’t…wait, you saw that, too?” The witch looked startled, then scared. “You shouldn’t have shared those memories with me.”

“Well we did,” Dana snapped. She struggled again to break free and failed once more. “I’m glad your healing spells work, because your memory spell is garbage. I saw a piece of Prince Mastram’s life, not Jayden’s. How could you see memories from a dead boy?”

“He’s dead?” Maya asked.

“The prince was exiled to the Isle of Tears, where royalty goes to die from cold and hunger.” Witch Way scowled and crossed her arms. “Spirits, what did you do this time?”

High-pitched voices coming from the heart stone giggles and laughed. “This disaster is on your head, not ours. Or should we say heads?”

The witch scowled again and looked at Jayden. “He can’t interfere with my magic if he’s unconscious. Unless, yes, he could have cast magic wards on himself, long lasting defensive spells that would work even if he wasn’t awake.”

Witch Way cast more spells and caused strange glowing shapes to appear over Jayden’s head. The witch frowned and pointed at one. “That’s a mind cloud spell to keep seers and wizards from detecting him with magic. Yes, that’s what’s doing it. Witchcraft is ancient magic, powerful if limited. Shadow magic of the sorcerer lords is nearly as old but stems from another source. His mind cloud and my telepathy spell are interfering with one another, dangerously so.”

Another shape loomed large over Jayden, a black armored snake that slithered through the air before locking its baleful eyes on the witch. Maya sounded terrified when she asked, “What does that one do?”

The witch made the floating images disappear. “Retribution spell, and a nasty one. If he dies the spell attacks whoever is responsible for his death.” Her voice changed from clinical observation to terror when she said, “If he dies under my care, it’s going to think I did it. I have to get out of here! The range on that spell is—”
************************
Prince Mastram was so deeply involved in a book on the history of the sorcerer lords that he didn’t notice the door to the library open. The jingle of armor was enough to get his attention, though, and he looked up to see four soldiers in chain armor and carrying swords. “What’s happened?”

“Come with us,” one said.

“Soldiers don’t travel armed in the castle unless there’s an emergency,” Mastram said, and once the words left his lips he realized there must be danger. Had a villain tried to assassinate the king? Were more rebels rising to contest the throne. Scared, he demanded, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“The king and queen ordered us to bring you to the main hall,” the soldier said. “They’ll explain their meaning there.”

The prince set down his book and left with the soldiers. They marched through castle halls now empty, the few servants quickly leaving their presence. As they neared the castle’s main entrance, Mastram saw more soldiers escorting weeping servants outside. He hadn’t seen such sorrow since the dark days of the civil war.

They reached the castle’s main hall to find the room filled with soldiers, court officials and lesser nobles. Mastram’s father sat on his throne, handsome and strong, his expression stoic. Stepmother cradled her youngest son on her lap. She was richly dressed, and had an expression of satisfaction. She only looked like that when she’d hurt someone.

Prince Mastram’s heart beat fast. This felt wrong. Something terrible had happened, and he feared the jester’s warning was true judging by the cold looks he was getting from everyone in the room. Mastram went before his father and kneeled.

“I come as ordered, my father and my king.”

“One but not the other,” the queen said sweetly.

“Does the queen question my loyalty?” Mastram asked in horror.

“Enough,” his father said. He waved for the chancellor to approach. The man was another new addition to the court who’d bought his position by providing gold the king needed to pay soldiers during the civil war.

The chancellor stepped forward and unrolled a long velum scroll. Reading from it, he said, “Be it known to all the kingdom and beyond that charges of infidelity have been laid against the late queen, investigated and found to be true.”

Mastram gasped. His voice was a whisper when he asked, “Father, how could you?”

“Evidence has come to light that the former queen was in an illicit relationship with a man or men of unknown origin, one of whom is father to Prince Mastram,” the chancellor said. “Prince Mastram is hereby declared illegitimate, a pretended to the throne and no relation to the royal family. He is ordered banished to the Isle of Tears, to remain there for however long he may live.”

“Mother loved you more than life itself,” Mastram said. “To speak ill of her when she stood by you through dark times, when her family sacrificed so much for the throne.”

“A pity they have no more to sacrifice, no soldiers, no gold, no land,” the queen said playfully. “If they did, they could buy you a few more days in court.”

“I said enough,” the king told her, a mild rebuke that made her scowl. “This command is to be carried out immediately.”

“Unhand me!” a voice cried out in the back of the main hall. It was Mastram’s tutor, Mr. Wintry. He was short and old, neither of which kept him from forcing his way to the front of the crowd. Mr. Wintry wore his best clothes, old and unfashionable as they were, and dropped to his knees before the throne.

“Your Majesty, I beg you, hear the petition of a man loyal and long in your service. Mastram is good and loyal, even if you refuse to call him a son, and doesn’t deserve such a death.”

“He is no longer welcome here, nor are you,” the king said.

“Then let him leave with me!” Mr. Wintry begged. “You hired me from the Vastan Institute of Magic and Technology to teach your son. I will pack my belongings and leave at once, taking the boy with me. He’s clever and good with languages. He could be a great teacher there in Charlock Kingdom, so far away that you would never hear of him again. I have no son, you know this, and teaching Matram has been the closest I’ve come to fatherhood. If he can’t be your son, let him be mine.”

The offer brought cries of outrage from the court. Mr. Wintry ignored them and said, “I can formally adopt Matram into my family. He will lose all claim to the throne, but he will live.” Mr. Wintry looked up, glaring at the queen when he said, “You get what you want without anyone dying.”

“And risk you training him to become a wizard, to one day return and claim a throne he has no right to?” the queen asked. “Your schemes are as obvious as they are treacherous.”

The king offered no response. The queen’s outrage grew, and she shouted, “This was agreed upon, and paid for in my family’s gold and blood!”

“Leave the room,” he ordered her. The court fell silent, and in a rare turn of events so did the queen. “I know my debts and pay them, but I have limits.”

The queen left with her son and her foul temper. Once she was gone, the king stared at Mastram in silence. Long minutes passed before he spoke. “Mr. Wintry, your offer is…unique, and one I had not considered. I believe the offer is genuine, but my queen makes a valid point. There can be but one line of succession or my kingdom risks a new civil war only years after barely surviving one. I cannot have nobles scheme to place a false heir upon the throne.”

The king stood up and pointed at Mr. Wintry. “Your services here are at an end. Guards, collect his belongings and escort him to the castle gates.”

“Men will hear of this,” Mr. Wintry said when armed men seized him. As he was led away, he shouted, “You will lose the loyalty of those who love you!”

“I need time more than love, for I have seen love die,” the king said.

The king opened his mouth to speak, not getting the chance as Kipling the jester slipped through the packed room to reach the throne. “My Liege, if wisdom is held in so low regard then perhaps a fool’s words might have effect.”

“You test my patience, jester,” the king told him.

“I test your love, for I am old enough to have seen you treat this boy with tenderness, and I am fool enough to not care what price I pay to say it.” Kipling walked up to Mastram and kneeled beside him. “You pronounce a death sentence, exile in name only. The king’s word is law and even I am not fool enough to challenge it, but I can join him in this fate.”

“Kipling, no!” Mastram shouted.

“Please, your majesty,” Kipling implored. “We’ll both die there, starve or freeze, take your pick, but until that day comes we’ll dance and sing and maybe laugh. Be fair, your majesty, you won’t miss me. When was the last time you laughed at my jokes?”

“When was the last time I laughed at anything,” the King said, a statement rather than a question. He’d needed time to consider Mr. Wintry’s offer, but his response to Kipling was lighting quick. “The Isle of Tears is reserved for nobles. Mastram is not my son, but his mother was of noble birth. The punishment is justified. You, Kipling, are a commoner and former thief, the only man to survive a hanging.”

“Cheap rope will do that to you,” Kipling said without shame. “Surviving a death penalty is what first drew your attention to me. Quick wits and nimble hands sealed the deal.”

“Then I break that deal,” the King said. “You are correct, jester, you no longer entertain me. As you are manifestly unfit for your job, you may leave with whatever belongings you have, but the Isle of Tears is forbidden to you. And I am certain you are responsible for the disappearance last week of two of my wife’s retainers.”

“The assassins she sent after the prince?” Kipling asked without fear. Mastram gasped at the accusation.

“My queen is ever hasty in her actions, quick to anger and slow to consider the consequences,” the King said. “Where are their bodies?”

Kipling folded his arms across his chest. “I paid good money to make sure no one would ever learn the answer to that question, including me. Good luck finding them.”

The king seemed unbothered by the jester’s response. Instead there was the barest hint of a smile on his face, the first sign of happiness Mastram had seen from his father in years. “You always did like the boy more than me. There was a time I would have praised such bravery, but saving him then condemns him to far worse now, and opens me to the very condemnation Wintry claimed. Better he had died a prince, but you forced me to do worse.”

Soldiers drew their swords, but the King waved them off. “Don’t kill him. Kipling, you provided a sufficient answer and put the queen in her place, acting as a much-needed reminder that she is not ruler, and that her schemes can be undone more easily than she thinks. Punishing you would embolden her to further mischief. Still, it is another reason not to keep you. Guards, exile the jester from my kingdom.”

“I—” Kipling began, but guards seized him and pulled him from the room. “You only had one ball to keep in the air, one worth having, and you let it drop.”

Mastram was afraid, but he surprised himself by being more concerned for his father than himself. He studied the court members around him and saw little reaction to what his father and the jester had said. “You and Kipling both accused the queen of sending assassins after me, yet none here seems troubled. What manner of men fills the court?”

“Ones I trust,” his father answered. “I saw my kingdom ripped asunder by treachery and lies. I refuse to see it happen again. I ask nothing more of these men than their loyalty. Let them have their faults so long as they do what they are told.”

Mastram watched as the last friend he had in the world was dragged off. With no chance to save himself and no one else to save, he spoke with the confidence of a condemned man. “I knew stepmother was trying to replace me with her sons. I feared you would find a reason to cast me away, but never in my worst nightmares did I think you would betray mother’s memory.”

“I do what I must,” his father said. “The kingdom still balances on a razor’s edge with enemies within and without. In time I can fix what is broken, but I must pay for that time. I have sacrificed my honor, my good name, my pride and the lives of countless subjects. I lost much and could yet lose everything. To avoid that I must make one last sacrifice, saying words I know are lies and ending the life of my son, less of a loss when I have two more. ”

He stared hard at Mastram before saying, “I thought this would be harder. Guards, take him away and leave me in peace, for I—”
*****************************
Witch Way’s screams could have woken the dead as she fell to the floor. Dana and Maya winced, for they felt some of the pain she did. The heart stone went into wild spasms as its light faded before recovering slowly. Only Jayden seemed unaffected. Instead he looked stronger, healthier, his wounds nearly gone.