Realms of the Arcane - Brian M. Thomsen [52]
"Tiuren, wait," a voice cried before he reached the palace doors.
He turned and saw Beanth, the keeper of the court. The matronly woman was worthy of great respect for her loyalty to the king and her ceaseless labor in managing the palace.
Tiuren paused as she hurried up to him. "What is it, Beanth? I received an ominous message-"
"Yes," the round-faced woman replied, lines of worry creasing her face. "It's the queen." Beanth seemed barely able to speak. "She's… been cursed."
"What?" Skeptical, Tiuren scrutinized the woman. Always neatly attired and groomed, Beanth wore a long blue dress. She was well kept if not naturally lovely. Her face was grave. "A curse? That sounds like a child's tale."
"A message came, two days ago," she began in hushed tones, leaning close. "No one knows who it came from, but some sort of tiny, winged creature with reddish skin and horrible teeth delivered it. The fiend handed the king a scroll and then disappeared."
"What did it say?" Tiuren demanded.
"The scroll said a curse had been laid upon the queen," Beanth whispered, eyes wide, "and that she would waste away and die if Kohath did not step down from his throne and put a wizard in his place forever-more."
"What sort of foul dealings are these?" Tiuren growled.
King Kohath had been one of the staunchest opponents of unbridled sorcery in these days when magic flowed like water. Beanth herself owed her life to the king. A decade prior, he had driven off a powerful group of Netherese wizards seeking to conquer tiny Vantir, and Beanth's village would have been the first to fall.
Such a threat must have come from a wizard, Tiuren reasoned, but that did little to narrow down the list of suspects. Everyone knew that Kohath's love for his wife knew no bounds. He would do anything for her. Tiuren cursed the fiend who would use such a laudable quality against a man.
"Surely these are lies, or a mischievous trick." Tiuren raved. "The king should just ignore this strange missive until he finds the culprit." He turned back toward the palace doors, but Beanth's quiet words brought him again to a halt.
"Would that he could, good Tiuren." Beanth's voice was as soft as the bard's was hard. She dropped her gaze. "The queen has already fallen ill. Yesterday, terrible lesions appeared on her body. The court physicians, unable to help, say that she's steadily getting worse." Her eyes closed tightly. "They say shell die within the next few days."
* * * * *
Together, the bard and the warrior-king had seen cities crumble and mountains rise up from lowland plains. Noble men had been brought low before them, and babes had spoken to them with strange words of wisdom.
Each night, the tavern walls of Vantir resounded with tales of their exploits.
Level-headed Tiuren, sometimes called the Rhymer of Reason, was the perfect companion of Kohath, a warrior of boundless passions. They were brain and brawn in perfect harmony. The pair had explored the surrounding lands together, keeping the realm safe from evil at every turn. Yet after all these years, Tiuren had never seen his friend in such anguish.
"Is there nothing Darius or the other wizards can do?" the bard asked plaintively as he crossed the room to Kohath. The king stood, distraught, beside a velvet chair.
"Do?" Kohath asked. His calm, regal features flared into instant anger. "They talk! They study her as she lies in her sickbed, and they ponder thoughtfully." He mockingly nodded and rubbed his graying beard. He gave Tiuren a scowl. "They do nothing."
Tiuren knew better than to say more. Like Kohath, he understood little of the ways of sorcery, and even less about curses. Tiuren distractedly drummed his fingers upon the pommel of his sheathed sword. Then, unfastening the clasp of his traveling cloak, he tossed the garment on the chair next