Wizard of the Grove by Tanya Huff Page B

onto the blanket. “Then do as I say, Rael, and carry out my command.”
    Rael searched the stern, closed face on the pillow for his father but saw only the king. He stood so quickly his chair tipped and fell and he almost kicked it out of the way as he spun and headed for the door.
    â€œRael.”
    He paused but didn’t turn.
    â€œLast night you let your anger define the thin line between justice and murder; a king never has that luxury.”
    â€œA lesson, Father?”
    â€œIf you wish, and here’s another. You’d rather I gave this task to one of the dukes, but the king must be willing to carry out the king’s justice. As I am not able, you must stand in for me.”
    â€œI don’t think I’m ready to be king.”
    Raen’s teeth flashed white amid the dusky gray of his beard and the lines of his face lifted with the smile. “Good.”
    Doan was waiting when Rael left the king’s tent. The night’s work had added a limp and several new scars to the Elite Captain’s inelegant appearance. He fell into step beside the younger man.
    â€œYou were right,” Rael said at last.
    Doan kept silent. He appeared to be watching the rain drip off the edge of his helmet.
    â€œWe’re to divide the men amongst the dukes, but the commander and his captains die. I’m to see that it gets taken care of.”
    Doan merely pulled his cloak tighter to stop the rain from running down his neck.
    Rael’s laughter sounded a great deal like choking. “Life would certainly be a lot easier if my father was a woodsman or a farmer.”
    The captain grunted, there being little he could say to his own words.
    â€œIf it must be done, then let’s do it now.”
    â€œI’ll call for volunteers, Commander.” As Rael’s head jerked aroundto face him, he added. “You must only be present, Highness. You don’t strike the blows yourself. And it’s not a job you can command a man to do.”
    By the time the Guard was formed, the rain had stopped. The sun came out, and seven men died.
    And the war was over.
    â€œAt least I never enjoyed it, Mother,” Rael whispered as the breeze lifted his hair from his forehead and blood soaked into the ground at his feet. “At least I never enjoyed it.”
    *   *   *
    The fire reached the grimy foot of the elderly woman tied to the stake and began to lick daintily at the blistering skin.
    â€œâ€™Ware the child,” she screamed in a mad voice raw with much shrieking. “’Ware the creation of Lord Death’s children.”
    â€œLord Death’s children?” Lord Elan half turned, enough so he could see the king’s counselor but not so much that he must look at the king. That pain at least he would spare himself. “What does she mean, Lord Death’s children?”
    The golden-haired man lounged back in his chair and sighed. “The race of Man was created for Lord Death’s benefit. Thus Man,” he inclined his head toward the stake with chilling courtesy, “and Woman also, are Death’s children.”
    â€œIt burns! Brilliance within! Brilliance without!” And then not even madness was enough to overcome the effects of the flames. The old woman sagged against the ropes and prophesied no more.
    The king shifted on his throne, hips rotating with each spasm of the body on the pyre.
    â€œShe wasn’t very clear,” Lord Elan grunted.
    Full lips molded themselves into a smile. “She was clear enough earlier and more than willing to repeat the entire prophecy as often as I chose to listen.” Even the most obscure prophet could be convinced to find clarity and while there was no real need in this instance, the convincing had filled a few otherwise tedious hours.
    â€œThen what does it mean?” The old lord sounded tired. The greasy smoke stung his eyes and coated his throat. He hated executions, even the