The Last Enchanter (9 page)

“Well, then I suppose it would be all right to leave them,” Xerxes said in a serious tone, “for a short time.”

Zyll laughed again and waved over his shoulder as he
and Xerxes disappeared into the crowd. Marcus thought he heard Xerxes say, “Oh, I feel an ill wind blowing.” Of course, Xerxes' comment was lost on Marcus, who had already turned his attention to the display of pies. He bought four and gave one each to Bryn, Lael, and Clovis. They ate them slowly, savoring each bite of seasoned pork and gravy. When Marcus had finished, he turned his attention to the other nearby tents and the many people swarming around them. He wondered how much longer Zyll would take. The couriers were usually quick in delivering their messages, and news that he and Zyll were in Dokur would surely have reached the Fortress by now.

When several more minutes passed without Zyll's return, Marcus walked over to one of the tents to look at some wooden carvings of birds. He picked one up, rubbed its polished surface, and put it back down again. As he walked back to the fountain, he noticed a glint of light coming from another tent at the opposite end of the square.

“Look over there,” he said, pointing.

Clovis stopped eating long enough to glance up. “Where?”

“There, where the ornaments are hanging by the bunch.”

“I see it,” said Clovis with little interest.

“I've always wanted a dragon amulet. Do you think they'll have one?”

“I guess so. These merchants sell just about everything. Why don't you go see?”

“Nah,” replied Marcus, shaking his head. “Zyll said he wouldn't be long. We'd better stay put until he returns.”

“I'll go,” said Lael as she finished off her last bite of pie. She had already crossed half the square before Marcus caught up to her.

“Lael, let's do this later. Zyll might not see where we've gone.”

“Clovis,” called Lael over her shoulder, “if Zyll comes back, tell him where we've gone, all right?”

Clovis mumbled something, his mouth again full of food.

“Now come on,” said Lael. “Let's see if we can't find you the biggest dragon amulet in Dokur.”

Twenty-five

T
he tent was much larger up close than it had appeared from the fountain, as tall as the neighboring building, with thick, red fabric supported by heavy, wooden posts. From the crossbeam above hung hundreds of amulets made from gold, silver, and many gemstones of all colors. Some of the stones were round, smooth, and clear, and others were cut into diamond shapes. Tiny rainbows danced like stars inside the tent.

Some amulets were shaped like demons or fairies. Each one hung from a sturdy leather cord. Marcus let the tips of his fingers brush against the bottoms of the amulets. The sound of the gems colliding against each other was like the tinkling of glass.

He had worn something similar only once in his life, when he wore his brother's Celestine shard around his neck. Later, he and Kelvin learned that it was one of three pieces of their mother's royal seal, the Rock of Ivanore. A second piece belonged to their father, Jayson, while the third piece belonged to Marcus. Using the magic he had learned from Zyll, Marcus had reunited the three pieces into one. The restored medallion was given to Kelvin, the rightful heir to the throne—and to Ivanore's seal.

“Did you say you want a dragon amulet?” asked Lael from the opposite end of the tent.

Marcus looked at the item in her palm. A silver figurine with wings folded neatly against its body gazed back at him. Every detail was perfect—every feather in its wings, every strand of fur, the proud pose of its head, and the gentle yet powerful curve of its beak.

“That's not a dragon,” said Marcus, “it's a gryphon.”

“Oh, my mistake,” said Lael. She turned to replace it on the empty hook, but just then a woman approached. She was dressed in a blue hooded robe with gold coins sewn onto the sleeves. Her hair, the color of rich soil, lay in soft curls upon her shoulders. She was much older than Marcus and quite beautiful.

“Do you like the gryphon?” she asked.

“Actually, I'm looking for a dragon,” explained Marcus, “but I don't see any here.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, studying Marcus's face. “Not for you,” she said. “The dragon is a symbol of demons. They serve the evil ones. No, not for you.”

The woman leaned close to Marcus and pointed at the amulet in Lael's hand. Then she reached beneath her collar and pulled out a pendant of jade. On it, carved in relief, was a gryphon.

“The gryphon,” she continued, “is the guardian of the gods. It stands watch over the sacred treasure and protects the divine oracle. It is an honor to wear its likeness.”

“All right,” said Marcus. “I kind of like it. How much?”

“For you only two coins—and your blessing.”

Marcus started to laugh but then stopped when he saw the serious expression on the woman's face. He looked at Lael, who returned his glance with a shrug. Then Lael placed the leather strap around his neck.

There was something about this gryphon Marcus liked. He had planned to buy a dragon to remind him of the one he had fought during the Hestorian invasion, but he felt satisfied that he had found something more suitable.

The merchant woman held out her hand for payment. Marcus dug in his pouch for the coins, while Lael wandered toward the neighboring tent.

As Marcus placed the coins in the woman's hands, a loud crack sounded. Marcus glanced up just in time to see Lael rushing toward him. She rammed into him and knocked him to the ground, forcing the breath right out of him. At the same time, more cracks sounded. People shouted. Marcus looked over Lael's shoulder and saw the tent's huge wooden frame collapse in a heap. The massive central pole lay on the ground—right where Marcus had been standing just moments before.

Twenty-six

M
arcus lay on his back on the rough stone that paved the streets of Dokur. His right elbow and shoulder ached from the sudden blow. But he was not thinking about the pain. He was thinking about the fact that Lael had landed on top of him, her face only inches from his.

“I'm sorry,” she stammered, scrambling to her feet.

Marcus wasn't sure whether to smile or scowl. “It seems landing on me has become a habit,” he said, choosing a smile. Lael's expression told him he had chosen wrong. He was about to roll over onto his not-so-sore left side, when a shadow fell over him. Marcus closed his eyes and groaned, waiting for the lecture that was sure to follow.

“I told you he'd get into trouble,” said Xerxes, “but do you ever listen to me?”

“I can explain,” started Marcus as Zyll held out a hand to help him up. The merchant woman who had sold him the gryphon amulet bent over the mass of broken wood and torn silk. She already had dozens of pendants strung up and down both arms and was searching the wreckage for more. Marcus was relieved she had not been hurt.

Zyll picked up a tangle of leather cords and held them out to her. “Here you are,” he said with a smile. The woman reached for the amulets but stopped short. Her eyes grew wide as she took them from him.

“The tent just suddenly collapsed,” Lael was explaining. “It wasn't Marcus's fault.”

“Zyll, are you listening to this?” Xerxes snapped.

Zyll looked away from the merchant woman. “Hmm? What was that, my friend?”

“Are you all right?” Marcus asked his grandfather.

The space between Zyll's eyes creased. He glanced back toward the tent, but the merchant woman had gone.

“Nothing,” said Zyll. “I thought I recognized her, that's all. Just my aging memory playing tricks, I suppose. Now, what were you saying?”

By then Clovis had reached them, out of breath from running. “I heard the commotion, but I didn't realize how close—by the gods, Marcus, you're bleeding!”

Marcus touched the damp spot on his cheek and found a small scratch there, but the injury wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Clovis took Marcus's arm as though he were helping an invalid.

“I'm fine, Clovis,” insisted Marcus.

“You look pale. Maybe you should lie down.”

“Really, Clovis,” said Marcus a little too sharply. It was just that he hated that sort of attention, and other than feeling a little bruised here and there, he was quite capable of walking on his own. “I'm okay,” he added. “We should be getting to the Fortress to see Kelvin.”

Lael shook her head. “I'm not coming.”

“What?” asked Clovis. “Why not?”

“I didn't come here for Kelvin, remember? I have my own business in Dokur.”

“That's fine,” said Marcus. He agreed with Lael. He hadn't wanted her coming with him in the first place, and he certainly did not want her tagging along on his visit to his brother. “If you need a place to stay, there's a tavern across the square. The girl who works there, Kaië, is a friend of mine.”

“I'm staying, too,” said Bryn. “You know what happened the last time I went to the Fortress.”

“What happened?” asked Lael.

“He was arrested and sentenced to death,” said Clovis. “He only escaped because of Marcus.”

“And Kaië,” added Marcus.

Bryn smiled. “I can stay here with Lael.”

Lael's eyes widened with concern, but she said nothing. Marcus wondered if leaving them alone together was a good idea. While he was certain Bryn could take care of himself, he wasn't quite so sure about Lael. She'd never been away from the village of Quendel before, especially
in a city like Dokur. She might run into trouble.

Marcus pulled Clovis aside. “Clovis, I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

“I know you came all this way to help me,” said Marcus. He hoped what he was about to ask would not hurt his friend's feelings, but Clovis interrupted him.

“Marcus, do you really think we should leave Lael alone? I mean, I know she's handy with her sling, but maybe I should stay here—to keep an eye on her—and maybe Bryn, too.”

Marcus patted Clovis's shoulder, relieved that he didn't have to make the suggestion himself. “I think you're right,” he said. “In any case, Zyll and I will be back tomorrow after we've had a chance to meet with Kelvin.”

A smile crept onto Clovis's face. Then he led Lael and Bryn toward the tavern.

Marcus watched them for a moment and turned to go his own way. “Are you coming, Grandfather?” he asked.

Zyll, who had been looking over the wreckage, nodded. “Yes, of course,” he said. Noticing the scratch on Marcus's face, Zyll reached up to touch it, when something else caught his attention. He gazed curiously at the silver figure at Marcus's throat. Then his demeanor abruptly changed. “Yes,” he repeated with a smile, “I think your brother will be quite surprised to see us.”

Allowing Marcus to lead the way, Zyll held back a moment. He looked at the collapsed tent once more.

“Trouble seems to follow that boy,” said Xerxes,
clicking his beak disapprovingly. “I've warned you before, he cannot be left alone.”

“I believe you might be right, old friend,” replied Zyll. “Perhaps I will take your advice and keep a closer eye on him.”

Xerxes squawked in surprise. “Since when do you ever take my advice?”

“Since I discovered that this tent's main support rope was deliberately cut.”

Twenty-seven

T
he Seafarer Tavern was one of the few buildings in Dokur that had survived the invasion of the Hestorians several months earlier. Despite the swath of charred wood across its front, it still reeled in visitors and locals alike. Lael, Clovis, and Bryn hoped for a hot meal and place to sleep. What they found was a dining room full of men singing loudly and off key. The three stood in the doorway, staring at the spectacle. Bryn cowered behind Lael's legs like the child he was. Only when the singing finally stopped did someone notice them.

“Look, Mother,” said a ragged-looking man wearing a leather apron. “We have more customers. Come, come,” he continued, approaching them unsteadily, “here's a table for you.”

Mother, a round woman with few teeth and a patch of scraggly, red hair atop her head, came out of the kitchen carrying a platter of steaming baked potatoes.

“All right then, Mr. Peagry, enough with the ale! You've had your entertainment. Now why don't you see what the
real
customers will be having tonight?”

Mr. Peagry, the tavern owner, led the young visitors to a small table near the kitchen and invited them to sit down. “Will you be needing a booster for the little one?” He plopped his dirty hand onto Bryn's head and gave it a friendly rub. Bryn curled his lips back and growled, but the owner was too drunk to notice. “What'll it be?” he said.

“A bowl of chowder,” replied Lael. “And the same for the boy.”