Scent of Magic Read Online Free Page A

trained warrior he was out of his chair in an instant and reaching for the pillow sword resting each night as the ceremonial defense at the foot of his bed.
    He flushed as he realized he had to clear his throat before he could harshly answer. “Enter!”
    The door did not open very far, just enough for a very tall and thin figure, robes wrapped about him to aid in speed, to sidle in.
    The robes shone in the dim light, which also picked out the heavy, gemmed gold chain which lay on the man's narrow shoulders, the signet at its end dangling near his belt.
    “What's to do, Vazul?”
    For the Chancellor to seek him out in this fashion was against all custom. Now the visitor was closing the door tightly behind him, almost as if he feared some follower.
    “Your decision, Highness?”
    In this gloom it was almost impossible to see the face of the speaker, only his height (for which Uttobric secretly could not forgive him) as he loomed over his master as he approached the table.
    “Why must you come at this hour to know?” demanded the Duke testily.
    “Time never waits for men—men are its servants.” The rich voice was that of a practical speechmaker, one whowas able to sway his fellows if the need arose. “And time is running out, Highness. The Bat has not returned.”
    Uttobric took a tighter grip on the sword he had not yet relinquished.
    “Taken?”
    Vazul shrugged. “Who knows? But he has never failed to report within the promised time before. He is mind blocked to the best of our ability, but we do not know what resources they may have. There are indications that Her Grace has had contact with several from overseas during the last year. Each land has its men of secrets, and some remain secret save to him who uses them. But this means, Highness, that you must move swiftly.”
    The Chancellor stood in the full light of the candle now. He was thin nearly to the point of emaciation, and his robe of crimson patterned on the breast with the ducal arms appeared nearly too heavy for him to support. His hair was cropped short as if he were a fighter, but his incurved cheeks were covered with a short-trimmed beard, while his pale gray eyes appeared to possess the same gleam as a sword blade showed. Only because he knew that Vazul would rise and fall with him, did the Duke trust him. The man had a wily mind, seemed sometimes almost able to read the future—at least light upon some of the perils lying in wait there.
    “But if the Bat did not report—” the Duke now said slowly.
    “How do I deduce that an alarm is sounding?” The Chancellor shrugged. “Because I know him as you should as well, Highness. He is the best of your eyes and ears, and there has never been any fault in the information which he has brought. We know that he crossed the border two days ago—he made touch with our man there. He should have reported at sunset last eve. Whatever chanced to delay him lies within your own realm, Highness, perhaps even here in Kronengred.”
    Uttobric slammed the sword back in its sheath and returned,his lips curved downward in sullen pout, to the chair he had earlier arisen from. With a wave of his hand he beckoned Vazul to another on the opposite side of the table.
    But before the Chancellor joined him Vazul picked up a triple candle stand and lit all three candles so that there was enough light that each of them could well see the other.
    “So we do not even know now whether the plan is feasible,” the Duke said, blinking in the glow of light. “He was to tell us how matters lay with Hawkner. What do we do now, approach the King openly with our suggestion? He may take it in one of his whimsical moods and think it a jest, an improper one.”
    Uttobric squirmed in his chair. He had met King Hawkner on only two occasions—one his wedding—and both times he had felt overshadowed and almost a lackey awaiting the King's pleasure, though Kronen was not part of his kingdom—Oberstrand—and never had been.
    Oddly enough,