The Last Enchanter Read online

  “What did you see?” asked Zyll.

  “Enchanters see the past,” continued Marcus, the words tumbling out of him, “but you’re here, right in front of me. So it had to be a mistake.”

  “Marcus, tell me what you saw.”

  Marcus could hardly continue. The tears came freely now, and he choked them back. Zyll stood and walked over to Marcus, placing his aging hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  Marcus felt the gentle weight of Zyll’s hand, but he could not meet his eyes. “I saw you, Grandfather,” he whispered, “and you were dead.”

  Zyll nodded thoughtfully. “Enchanters do only see the past.”

  Marcus sighed with relief. “I knew it,” he said, almost laughing. “I knew it was a mistake—”

  “But you are not an enchanter.”

  “What?”

  “You’re not an enchanter,” repeated Zyll, “at least not merely an enchanter. From the time you were a small boy, I knew there was something special about you. You see, enchanters are nothing more than magicians. We cast spells, manipulate objects. Once there were many of us, but now I believe I am the last of my kind.”

  Marcus sat down again beside the fire, but the chill he felt was not from the night air.

  “Do you know what a seer is?” asked Zyll.

  Marcus shook his head.

  Zyll continued. “A seer sees the future, translates languages, can look into people’s very souls.”

  Marcus recalled his visit to the Noamish library during his quest, searching for information about Ivanore. It was there he learned that Ivanore was Lord Fredric’s daughter—a princess—and that she had disappeared fourteen years earlier. Marcus had not yet learned that Ivanore was his mother. When he first arrived at the library, he saw an inscription above the door in the ancient tongue. Though he had only a basic knowledge of the language, Marcus translated it easily, as if the words themselves changed before his eyes.

  “How does someone become a seer?” asked Marcus.

  “Oh, seeing cannot be learned or taught,” replied Zyll. “A seer is born a seer.”

  Marcus realized Zyll was staring at him. No, not at him, but into him as if there were something inside of him to be marveled at or admired. Marcus didn’t like being looked at that way. There was nothing special about him, about the boy who spent his mornings in the company of goats, his afternoons cleaning out the fireplace back home. He preferred it that way, preferred to be like everyone else—though somehow he knew Zyll was right. He had never been like everyone else.

  “But I’m just an enchanter’s apprentice,” he said, as if saying the words would make them true.

  “No, my boy,” said Zyll, “you are more. Much, much more.”

  A GUARDED SECRET

  Twenty-three

  The rest of their trek to Dokur was uneventful. Marcus didn’t mind their slow pace now that he knew Zyll was all right. When their journey brought them within a mile of the Celestine mine, Clovis reminded Marcus that he had never been there and asked if they could see it.

  “It’s just a big hole in the ground,” said Marcus. “It’s been abandoned since the Agoran slaves were freed.”

  But Bryn and Lael both wanted to have a look, too, so off they went. When they arrived, however, the mine was all but abandoned. Four log buildings had been constructed near the rim of the pit, and the area around the mine was dotted with dozens of fires. There were soldiers everywhere, some by the fires, some grooming their horses, and others keeping watch. Three drew their swords the moment Zyll, Marcus, and the others came into view.

  “State your business!” shouted the largest of the three. They all wore red tunics with embroidered yellow crosses, the symbol of Fredric’s army.

  Zyll did not hesitate but stepped forward with his hands up in a show of peace.

  “The grandson of Lord Fredric is in our company, Captain,” he said calmly. “We are accompanying him to Dokur where his brother, the young King Kelvin, awaits his arrival.”

  The captain kept his sword raised, a cautious expression on his face. “The king is dead,” he said.

  “Yes, we know,” replied Zyll. “We just thought we’d take a little detour and visit the mine. We expected it to be abandoned.”

  “It is,” said the captain, “except for thieves intent on getting their hands on whatever Celestine they can manage to steal. Our duty is to protect it until a more permanent solution is worked out.”

  Behind the guards, Marcus could just make out the rim of the pit where he had first seen Agorans being whipped. Though he knew the captain spoke the truth, he wished he could see for himself that they had all gone.

  He felt a tug on his pant leg. Bryn gazed up at him, fear in his childlike eyes. The last time they met Fredric’s guards, Bryn had been taken captive. No wonder he was afraid now.

  “We should get going, Grandfather,” said Marcus. He took Bryn by the hand and started away from the soldier’s camp.

  “Wait,” said the captain. Marcus froze. He felt Bryn’s hand stiffen in his. He heard the scrape of metal as the captain sheathed his sword. “You should not be traveling alone,” he said. “You never know what trouble you’ll run into. Even Dokur isn’t safe anymore. Just two days ago the royal navy’s flagship was burnt to ashes by rebels.”

  “Rebels, you say?” said Zyll.

  “Yes,” the captain continued. “Let me send an armed escort with you to Dokur. One of my men was just about to leave to deliver our weekly report to the king at the Fortress. He could accompany you.”

  Marcus heard Xerxes squawk in surprise. Bryn’s grip on his hand tightened, yet he dared not say anything to Zyll. What would happen if the guard discovered that Bryn was a groc?

  Zyll scratched thoughtfully at his whiskers. “Your offer is a generous one,” he said, “but Dokur is less than a day’s walk from here. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  The captain waved off his two companions. One strode over to the men with the horses and said something to them that Marcus could not hear. The other mounted his horse and took off at a gallop toward Dokur, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

  “We’ll be on our way then,” said Zyll. “Good day, Captain.”

  Zyll said nothing to Marcus as he led them back toward the road. Clovis and Lael were silent, too, but the captain called after them.

  “My rider will let the Fortress know where you are and when you are expected to arrive. That way,” he said, “if you never show up, they’ll know something’s happened to you.”

  Twenty-four

  Despite the captain’s warning, they arrived in Dokur early the following morning. The town had changed since Marcus saw it last. He remembered all too well how it had looked after the invasion by the Hestorians: its blackened buildings, charred by flaming dragons’ breath, and the heap of bodies in the center of town. As he entered the city now, however, Marcus noted that many of the buildings had been repaired. Instead of the horrors of death and battle, the streets of Dokur were lined with row upon row of colorful silken tents. Tables laden with scarves, blankets, jewelry, pottery, weapons, and all kinds of food crowded every inch of space. Merchants haggled with customers. Drums, pipes, and dulcimers filled the air with music. Some people actually danced in the street.

  Xerxes did not hide his disapproval. “After all this city has suffered,” he said to Zyll, “you’d think they’d show a little more self-control.”

  “Now, now, Xerxes,” replied Zyll. “These people have mourned long enough. This is their annual harvest celebration. I imagine after all the hard work of rebuilding their city and caring for the families of those who died in battle, the Dokurians deserve a little merriment, don’t you?”

  In contrast to all the celebration, however, were the soldiers standing guard throughout the square. Bryn stayed close to Marcus as they followed Zyll through the crowd. When they reached the immense stone fountain at the center of the city, they drank from it and splashed water on their faces. Once refreshed, Marcus sat down at t
he edge of the fountain. The smell of freshly baked bread made his stomach rumble.

  Zyll raised an eyebrow. “Those meat pies over there look delicious,” he said, placing a coin in Marcus’s hand. “Why don’t you buy a few to hold you until supper? In the meantime, I’ll find a courier and send word to the Fortress of our arrival.”

  “Don’t tell me you plan to leave these children alone?” squawked Xerxes. “They’re certain to get into trouble.”

  “Calm yourself, Xerxes. They will be fine. And besides,” Zyll added with a wink, “whatever trouble they get themselves into, I will not hold you accountable.”

  “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

  The 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

  Marcus 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.