Melanthrix the Mage Read Free Page A

the heart with the crimson Greek letter “psi” framed over a small black “sigma” nestled in its hol­low. He sat in an old, weathered rocking chair before a large open fireplace, his feet and lower legs shrouded with rugs, a cup of spiced wine steaming on the small table by his side. He started to rise when Arik was announced.
    â€œSit down, old friend, please sit still,” said the traveler. “I know how these cool spring evenings can pain your knees.”
    He deposited his large frame on a stool to the ab­bot’s left, warming his hands before the flames.
    â€œMight you have another cup of whatever that is?”
    â€œBrother Mílo,” the abbot called, “refreshments for our guest, please.”
    A few moments later the monk appeared at the doorway with a steaming drink and a plate of cakes dripping with honey. Arik murmured his thanks.
    The two men sat sipping their cups for some time, listening to the popping of the logs and watching in silence the eternal dance of the flames. Finally the visiting hi­eromonk broke the peace.
    â€œIt’s good to be home again, Father Abbot,” he said. “I find in this place a tranquillity, a shuttered peace, that utterly eludes me at the Royal Palace or at the Cathe­dral of Saint Konstantín, or even in the Megalê Scholê .”
    â€œWhich is why you return each and every spring, like one of our migrating lake fowl,” the older man said.
    â€œAnd every year,” Arik said, “my beard grows lighter and my brow darker.”
    â€œYour visits,” Jován said, “remind me of the happy days before the war when you studied here. Such a little troublemaker you were then! But very, very bright, almost too bright for your own good, I think. So tell me, Father Arik, what’s troubling you these days?”
    â€œResponsibilities,” the traveler said, “cares and fears and rumors of war. Nothing you haven’t heard, I imagine.”
    Arik sipped again from his cup before continuing: “You know that our young King Kipriyán, having recently come into his manhood, is determined to finish what his father began.”
    â€œSo I’m led to believe,” the abbot said. “I hear that he’s begun assembling an army at Myláßgorod.”
    â€œIndeed,” the priest said. “He and King Ezzö are determined to oust the House of Walküre, whatever the cost. But it’s the king’s new minister, one Doctor Melan­thrix, who’s actually been pushing him to take action.”
    â€œI’ve heard naught of this,” Jován stated.
    â€œIt’s a closely kept secret at court, although the word’s gradually oozing out. But this Melanthrix charac­ter.... Despite my best efforts, abbot, I’ve been unable to determine who he is or where he’s from. He just appeared from nowhere a few months ago, and drew the king into his hands like a spider enwebbing a fly.
    â€œIt happened like this. The king has been frustrated all winter in his attempts to organize a campaign against Pommerelia. He accused several of his generals of incom­petence and abruptly replaced them, to no effect. Just a month ago, Kipriyán presided over a banquet celebrating the arrival of spring. This dinner was attended, of course, by all the notables in the land.”
    â€œIncluding yourself?”
    â€œIncluding myself,” Arik said. “He had rather too much to drink, a common fraility in his family, and started raging about his inability to promulgate the war, and how he would either proceed forthwith, or suffer heads to roll.
    â€œAfterwards, during an impromptu audience, he had this, this creature dragged in, flapping and frumping in his multi-colored robes. It seems that Melanthrix had recently been caught practicing the astrological arts, and the church wanted him burned as an example.”
    The abbot snorted. “But this is very