The Western Wizard by Mickey Zucker Reichert Read Free Book Online

interfere with Colbey’s decision nor insult Prince Verrall, he gave only a brief, noncommittal nod.
    Colbey ignored the nonverbal communication. “With all respect, Sire, that’s not the issue.”
    “And the issue is?” Verrall encouraged. Thick brows arched over dark eyes, smoothing the middle-aged features.
    “That I’m not involving myself in Pudar’s politics. May I go now, Sire?” Colbey clamped the sentences togetherso quickly, it took the remainder of the men in the tent a moment to recognize his sudden shift of topic.
    “No.” Prince Verrall made a crisp gesture to his men. The two nearest Colbey shifted inconspicuously behind him to block the exit.
    Colbey followed the men’s passage by sound. Until they drew weapons, they would prove no danger to him. He left their presence and movements to his subconscious, which had already processed and chronicled the skill of each soldier by his stance and his gait.
    “Colbey, I’m no fool . . .”
    Colbey stared in stony silence, believing that any man who needed to say such a thing obviously was precisely that which he denied.
    “. . . you’re a Northman fighting for the West. Obviously, politics alone don’t concern you. You willingly pledged yourself to my uncle. I’m his heir. Why do you refuse me?”
    Colbey lowered his head in consideration, but found no words to soften the blow. “Sire, it would be best if I didn’t say.”
    “But you will.”
    “Will I?”
    “I think we would both find it preferable to sitting here staring at one another all night.”
    Colbey frowned. What kept him in the prince’s tent was not force or threat of violence, but protocol. He considered leaving, aware he could probably move quickly enough to forestall any immediate retaliation. But Santagithi had more ground to cover, and it seemed unfair to put a friend in danger in the name of simple defiance. Besides, Colbey had just committed the Renshai to finding allies and to a future as swordsmen for hire. Antagonizing the king of the Westlands’ largest city did not seem prudent, yet Colbey saw no way to avoid it.
    Unwilling to lie, Colbey ran the risk of offending with words or with silence, and he chose the former, hoping that it would save time and that the prince would remember he had pressed Colbey to speak. “Sire, if you don’t have the power to claim your throne without me, what makes you think you can keep it after I’m gone?”
    The guards exchanged nervous glances. Santagithi frowned, suddenly intent on the conversation.
    Prince Verrall recoiled as if struck. Then his features creased in outrage. “You think I’m weak.”
    Having spoken freely, Colbey saw no reason to back down now. “I’ve seen you fight. You’re not King Gasir.”
    “You think I’m weak?” The prince seemed locked on the phrase.
    Though he had little experience with smoothing strained relations, Colbey tried. “I don’t mean to be offensive. It’s probably just my upbringing. Northmen revere heroes. Kings nearly always serve as their own generals. Those who don’t run the risk of losing their followers to their generals. It’s not malicious,” Colbey added quickly. “It’s just that good people tend to reward competence, in war and in leadership.”
    Colbey paused, distracted by a realization that he had never before considered. The Northmen were, by definition, the followers of good and the Easterners followers of evil. Yet though their motivations always clashed, often the end results were similar. The Eastern cities banded beneath a single king who, if not a skilled warrior as well as a powerful presence, could lose his throne to a stronger soldier. Self-motivated, the Renshai had paid little attention to the divisions. And though a tent in the Westlands seemed an odd place to consider philosophy, Colbey could not help noting that pure good and evil, like genius and madness, might prove so opposite as to become too alike.
    Prince Verrall pounded a fist on the arm of