Read Online Is This Apocalypse Necessary? - Wizard of Yurt - 6 by C. Dale Brittain - Free Book Online
Authors: C. Dale Brittain
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as well? After all, you decided, thinking of the years I've faithfully served you and sure that I must love you—without ever asking if I did!—I would serve you in this too. An entirely reasonable fear of social stigma held you back for a while, until this 'patent of nobility' notion came to your attention. The last inconvenience out of the way for a convenient and comfortable marriage. Well, let me tell you something, sire. You say you didn't want to insult me by asking me to be your mistress. I would almost rather that you had. In that case, you might have least have felt compelled to say from the outset that you loved me!"
Her voice broke with the final words. She spun past him, and this time he made no attempt to stop her. The tears were already running down her cheeks as she fled away across the courtyard.
Paul hesitated until she was almost out of sight, then shouted,
"Gwennie! Wait!" and started after her. I could hear a door slam over on the staff's side of the castle long before he had a chance to catch up.
Several minutes later there were rapid hoof beats on the stones of the courtyard, and Paul's red roan stallion shot out of the stables, the king leaning low over his neck. For a second the hooves sounded hollow on the drawbridge, then they were gone.
I slowly shook my head. Paul would not be back until dark, if then. My own personal life had had a few disasters along the way, but the king seemed at the moment far ahead of me.
"And if the chief authority of a kingdom can't even make a cook's daughter do what he wants," I said to no one in particular, "then it's completely hopeless for wizards to try to control all of humanity."
Something caught my eye, sparkling in the sunlight out in the courtyard. I went out to take my air cart around to the stables, now that things were quiet again, and stooped to pick it up. It was the diamond ring.
Neither Paul nor Gwennie was at dinner that evening. No one said anything about overhearing them, or about seeing the king belatedly chase a weeping Gwennie toward her chambers, and there weren't even any whispers. But there was a distinct undercurrent of knowing . Conversation was stilted, and topics that might generally come up—such as marriage and children, jewelry, even Paul's and Gwennie's names—were not even mentioned.
"I believe," commented the queen mother as we ate, "it must be at least a month since the Princess Margareta has visited Yurt. The poor girl will think we're neglecting her. I'll call the royal court of Caelrhon this evening and invite her."
After dinner I determinedly took out the old wizard's ledger and pulled close a magic lamp. It couldn't hurt, I told myself again, to have a look at the old spells of the wizard who had taught the wizard who had trained the Master and founder of the school. The thought occurred to me as I reluctantly sat down at my desk that my time this evening would be much better spent out looking for Paul, who was still not home, but I told myself firmly that the king could take care of himself.
I started conscientiously at the beginning of the book. Dust from the crumbling cover made me sneeze as I opened it. The first page said, in letters that still twinkled like stars in spite of the passage of centuries, "I, Naurag, most wise of all wizards, record herein my experiences and my spells. Let only the stalwart of heart and most learned of mind peruse them." The handwriting was careful and clear—to me it looked like a very young man's.
The volume started off with a few weather spells, that appeared remarkably like what we still used at harvest-time, then turned to what seemed a highly improper spell, which would allow one to see inside another's clothes—if, I supposed, one still had doubts about the shape of the mayor's daughter. "This most cunning and mischievous spell have I devised myself," the long-dead wizard Naurag had written proudly at the end of it. But I should not let myself be distracted. The spell for
Her voice broke with the final words. She spun past him, and this time he made no attempt to stop her. The tears were already running down her cheeks as she fled away across the courtyard.
Paul hesitated until she was almost out of sight, then shouted,
"Gwennie! Wait!" and started after her. I could hear a door slam over on the staff's side of the castle long before he had a chance to catch up.
Several minutes later there were rapid hoof beats on the stones of the courtyard, and Paul's red roan stallion shot out of the stables, the king leaning low over his neck. For a second the hooves sounded hollow on the drawbridge, then they were gone.
I slowly shook my head. Paul would not be back until dark, if then. My own personal life had had a few disasters along the way, but the king seemed at the moment far ahead of me.
"And if the chief authority of a kingdom can't even make a cook's daughter do what he wants," I said to no one in particular, "then it's completely hopeless for wizards to try to control all of humanity."
Something caught my eye, sparkling in the sunlight out in the courtyard. I went out to take my air cart around to the stables, now that things were quiet again, and stooped to pick it up. It was the diamond ring.
Neither Paul nor Gwennie was at dinner that evening. No one said anything about overhearing them, or about seeing the king belatedly chase a weeping Gwennie toward her chambers, and there weren't even any whispers. But there was a distinct undercurrent of knowing . Conversation was stilted, and topics that might generally come up—such as marriage and children, jewelry, even Paul's and Gwennie's names—were not even mentioned.
"I believe," commented the queen mother as we ate, "it must be at least a month since the Princess Margareta has visited Yurt. The poor girl will think we're neglecting her. I'll call the royal court of Caelrhon this evening and invite her."
After dinner I determinedly took out the old wizard's ledger and pulled close a magic lamp. It couldn't hurt, I told myself again, to have a look at the old spells of the wizard who had taught the wizard who had trained the Master and founder of the school. The thought occurred to me as I reluctantly sat down at my desk that my time this evening would be much better spent out looking for Paul, who was still not home, but I told myself firmly that the king could take care of himself.
I started conscientiously at the beginning of the book. Dust from the crumbling cover made me sneeze as I opened it. The first page said, in letters that still twinkled like stars in spite of the passage of centuries, "I, Naurag, most wise of all wizards, record herein my experiences and my spells. Let only the stalwart of heart and most learned of mind peruse them." The handwriting was careful and clear—to me it looked like a very young man's.
The volume started off with a few weather spells, that appeared remarkably like what we still used at harvest-time, then turned to what seemed a highly improper spell, which would allow one to see inside another's clothes—if, I supposed, one still had doubts about the shape of the mayor's daughter. "This most cunning and mischievous spell have I devised myself," the long-dead wizard Naurag had written proudly at the end of it. But I should not let myself be distracted. The spell for
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