Chapter 4: Wherein Harlock Cooper Does Not Point and Laugh

His Honour, the Grand Magic Master, Wenward Marning, had to see the body with his own eyes before he would accept the truth. It was, doubtlessly, a corpse. Now only the shell that had, for thirty-three years, contained Harlock Cooper, with the face that had belonged to him, his eyes drawn shut as if in sleep - but the slightly greenish tint in his pale skin spoke otherwise. The face was now nothing but a mask, an effigy of what he had looked like and therefore so different from what he had been. Harlock was not there.

And still, Marning did not believe, not entirely, not even when he looked with his Wielder sight and saw the truth as plainly as he saw it with his human eyes, not even when hours passed, and the rising sun made the sky blush crimson. He could not fathom this reality, because his world simply went crashing down around his ears.

He was old, too old for this.

Harlock Cooper had been the darling of the Kingdom. He was admired for his achievements and for his sheer talent, greater than anything the world had seen.
His name was spoken with awe throughout the continent, and his deeds were known also in faraway lands beyond the ocean. Even Marning, who was closer than any man had ever come to Harlock Cooper, the nearest thing the King's Magician had had in the way of a father, found himself constantly astonished by Harlock.

There was a day twenty four years before when a boy of nine years, the son of a crippled and dying glassmaker, had sneaked into the chambers of the Grand Master and audaciously requested to be trained by him, and by him alone. Marning had flatly refused the low-born boy and had even tried to have him arrested, for the Grand Magic Master, overseer of all Wielders and magicians in the Kingdom, took on students from only the most privileged and powerful magicians.

Only when the boy could not be apprehended by his guards, nor by Marning himself did he begin to grasp the enormity of young Cooper's Wielder ability. He remembered the revelation; it was like a starving pauper discovering grand riches. The dry desert of young Wielders finally yielded an oasis. At last the future held hope.

And indeed, Cooper had been greater than anyone dared imagine possible. While he was arrogant, selfish and overly confident, he was also daring enough to invent new laws for magic, and he was special, simply better in every way than any other magician had ever been.

It was as if he had come from a different world. He certainly had no regard for such things as status and tradition. But even though his actions occasionally offended the highest among magicians, even though scandal had followed him about like a shadow, he was loved passionately. The world had waited for a Wielder like him for so long.

Cooper shone, and Marning shone with him - for the saying goes: "Behind every successful magician there is a modest master who guided him onto the path of Wielding."

*

Marning sighed and wiped his eyes dry. Why would Harlock die? Why now? It was just so unlike him to die such a simple, unglamorous and unimpressive death. But he had checked and re-checked the body. It was indeed him. Not even Harlock Cooper could fake that. Marning searched his mind for any signs, anything at all in Harlock's recent behaviour that would indicate that his death was coming. Harlock often spoke of death, but that was not unusual. Every War Magician was obsessed with death in the way that a snake-keeper is obsessed with venom.

Magic always demanded a price; part of being a magician was making sure that the price you paid was never your life.

Shwort bustled in uninvited, laying a tray with an assortment of breakfast food - cheeses and bread-rolls - on the table before Marning. Shwort had been Marning's personal secretary for forty years. He was five years older than the Grand Master, yet he looked a decade younger. He went about things in a matter-of-fact way. In high times and low, Shwort maintained the same efficient, professional and steady manner Marning had come to depend upon.

"The girl who was with him tonight," Shwort informed Marning briskly as he set out the day's latest paperwork - mostly things that would wait until much later, "was Lady Angelique Pergam of Lownburry, daughter of the late Duke Pergam and the unfortunately still living Duchess Pergam. She was betrothed to Baron Sar Drovling with the King's blessing after her brother's untimely death last spring. I expect that now that her indiscretion has been made public the wedding will be cancelled."

Marning had never had a taste for court gossip, unlike Cooper who feasted upon it like a hungry wolf. Now, though, he was grateful for the distraction it served from his grief. "How often did she frequent Harlock's rooms?" he asked tiredly.

"Several times each week." Shwort's flat reply was quick to come. "She had been his mistress for some months. There had been no others."

"Unusual," Marning said, bringing into his mind's eye the image of the regal, serious-mannered fair-haired girl. She had just turned sixteen last spring when her brother died: young, even for Cooper. Aside from that, while she would not be considered ugly, she was considerably unimpressive. Not Cooper's taste; he fancied the type of girls who were known to be "the most beautiful in the Kingdom."

Marning borrowed deeper into the memory of her image upon the single time she had been introduced to him in court. He sensed a quiet maturity about her that mingled with something dark and troubled; perhaps it was because of her brother's recent death. "I wonder if Harlock has finally begun to show some sort of restraint in his outlook toward women. What is her personality like?" Marning trusted Shwort to be observant in a different way than Wielders.

"She seems mellow," Shwort replied, deliberately not correcting Marning's present-tense reference to Cooper. "She is quiet in her words and conservative in her attire. Not a woman who'd likely be involved in any scandal. I have also heard that since her brother's death, her health has been declining."

"She knows something. Cooper chose her for a reason. I wonder if you could arrange an interview. Be discreet." Marning rubbed his chin. He had tried to stay clear of Cooper's love affairs after the catastrophic volume of the first one. But here he found himself wondering if he had overlooked a new love in the life of the King's Magician. There had been no unusual behaviour to indicate that such a thing was going on, but then, Harlock's usual behaviour was rather unusual.

"I will see to it," Shwort replied, "though considering there will be much attention on her, it is best to wait a while, at least until after the funeral. Speaking of which, once you've broken your fast you have an audience with the King. He wishes to discuss funeral arrangements."

Marning eyed the food with little interest. He and the King were on relatively good terms these days, but he was not looking forward to this particular meeting. He rose to his feet. "Then I shall be going." He sighed, rubbing his bald head before covering it with his Grand Master cap. "It is always unwise to postpone mandatory unpleasantries."

*

  " - by the same person, seven times in seven different ways in the course of one year," the King recited. "Am I not correct? Is that not what it takes to kill a Wielder?"

"You are correct, sire. Therefore we know that your magician has not been murdered." Over the years, Manning had developed a particular way of conversing with the King, a very precise calmness and studied detachment that served to conceal most of Marning's own personal qualms or opinions.

King Daphour grunted, unsatisfied. Behind his back he was referred to as "the Bull". He was in build as well as in personality quite similar to a bull, with a tendency to charge forward in full force according to his whims. In his mid-eighties, the King had no frailty in body or in mind and no intention to die any time soon. He was tall and big boned, with broad shoulders and a square chin. He moved uncannily, without the stiffness of old age. His beard, while white, was full and lush, and so were the snowy locks that cascaded down his back. Despite his age, he often rode out on hunts. Officially, hunting was the only bloodshed the King dealt in.

King Daphour's battles were fought in secret and only within the Kingdom. Auranora had not been at war with another country since the time of the late King Gagour. Maybe that was the secret to Daphour's fine health. His grandfather had left him in a position in which war was no longer a necessary option.

It was not that war was extinct; it sat on a dark shelf in waiting for the day it could once again be unleashed. A Kingdom as small as Auranora would forever continue to be threatened by larger, more prosperous neighbours. The Empire of Iridiya on the south could never be satisfied with its territory and would always long for more. The kingdom of Bordinary on the southeast with its people, language and customs so similar to Auranora, could so easily swallow it to into its midst. And finally, Kir-Moot on the west, the blood-lust and love for war had not yet left that nation's heart. As far as neighbours went, only Majarist on the southwest and Alavan on the east were peaceful kingdoms.

The balance of power was not maintained with wars, but instead with the Wielder Tournament. Every four years, each time in a different city on the continent, each Kingdom had the opportunity to demonstrate its strength. Even though Auranora was not known for its military might, for its cavalry or swords and had only a fine coastline to boast, it had a long history of potent magic, and that was something that could not be taken lightly by any rival. No monarch would dare attack a kingdom protected by great magic.

"So he has died of natural causes?" the King asked as if the absurdity of the question left a bitter taste on his tongue. "Pray tell me, Grand Master Marning, what terrible ailment could finish a young magician in his sleep? What is this dangerous illness that even the most powerful Wielder in the entire world could not overcome?"

Marning was not intimidated by the King's tone. Indeed, after forty-something years of service, one grew accustomed to this charade. The King and Marning tolerated each other. While Marning answered to the King, all the Wielders and Magicians in the Kingdom answered only to Marning, which made him stronger than the strongest lord in court.

"Cooper was playing a dangerous game," The Grand Master said, all magicians lived their lives risking it, though none had been as daring as Cooper. "We do not know who or what he sold his soul to."

"Are you telling me he killed himself with his own magic?" The King found it appropriate to chortle. The relationship between Cooper and King Daphour had been tense at best. Daphour was not an especially popular King, and often he was overshadowed by his magician. Cooper, in turn, found Kings and their royal courts irksome; he had, after all, come from the people, and believed that the right to lead should not be earned by birth but by merit.

Their relationship had gone even deeper and darker than that, as deep as a rivalry that lasted twenty-four years. Yet they had needed each other, despite loathing one another.

The King was relieved to be rid of Cooper but terrified of what the future would look like without him. He twisted a lock of his white hair round his finger, the only sign that truly betrayed his nervousness. "In three years..." the King began with a booming voice and then paused, as if distracted by a complicated thought.

In three years and three months, that was when the Wielder Tournament would take place. But this time was going to be different. This time was more important than ever before. Cooper's presence was crucial, because the Wielder Tournament was to be held in Auranora, in Auran City.

The King fixed the Grand Master with a steady gaze; Daphour's eyes were bloodshot and desperate. "Is he truly gone?"

Marning said nothing; he was not ready to admit what was true and what was not. The King took the Grand Master's silence as a confirmation.

"Vanished from our lives in the same way he appeared," The King said with contempt. "I expect this to be one of his elaborate jokes. I never liked his sense of humour. Won't he appear after the funeral and laugh at our stricken faces?"

Marning shook his head, and for a moment his face really was stricken, "I'm afraid he cannot."

The King let go of his hair and entwined his fingers together. He looked steadily at the Grand Master. Marning imagined that the spark of insanity he saw right then in the King's eyes was because Daphour, being a King, was not accustomed to feeling helpless.

"We cannot afford war," he said flatly, then leapt off his throne and grabbed the collar of Marning's robe, his large face coming uncomfortably close to the Grand Master's. "Fix this," he demanded.

"Fix this," he repeated desperately. "Find me another Cooper, Marning. Find him fast."