Free The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) by Victoria Grefer Page A

government….”
    “So he
does,” said Vane. “He has his Magic Council. Got to concede him that.”
    “I concede
him nothing! I applied to that council, when Rexson Phinnean announced it. Was
flatly ignored, despite my sorcery, despite recommendations from Partsvale’s
mayor and a keen self-education in all things related to magic: history,
politics, even legend and myth. I may be a cobbler, but I can read, and I’ve
read a damn good number of books. Good enough for that two-faced tyrant, at
least.”
    Linstrom had
applied for the council? Had been overlooked? That made no sense. Vane had
witnessed the council interviews, and the king had given everyone interested
the chance to plead his case for appointment.
    “The king
ignored you?” pressed Vane.
    “I got no
recognition whatsoever. No token gratitude for my interest, no interview…. I
was livid at being snubbed. Through the years I wondered, and doubted, what
about my application made me undeserving of even a wave of dismissal. I began
to suspect that what had worked against me could very well have been the word sorcerer attached to my name. The
council’s make-up, after all, was public knowledge. No sorcerers beyond the
king’s dog, as you so aptly describe him, and Zacry Porteg. The academic whose
essays inspired the king’s notion for the council to begin with.”
    Linstrom
paused a moment, and then went on. “I wondered, to the point of obsession. I
crafted a spell to bring me into contact with other sorcerers who had applied
for the Magic Council. Took me years to track them all: here, the capital, Yangerton,
the fishing villages. Even one who had moved to the mining towns. Guess how
many sorcerers had expressed interest?”
    A score, if
Vane had to pick a number. The score of sorcerers in Linstrom’s band. He could
not admit to knowing that, of course. He swallowed, praying not to vomit his
breakfast all over Linstrom’s shoes.
    “I’ve no
idea how many wanted a seat. I didn’t involve myself in that. Was never political,
until that piece of horseshit killed my father.”
    “Twenty,”
Linstrom raged. “A full twenty, each and every one given the same treatment I
received. We’ve joined forces to expose the crown for the sham it is. To cause
Rexson Phinnean all the headache and unrest we can, beginning in Partsvale, because
Partsvale, my friend, will be only the start. I’ve done research into my
ancestry, and it so happens I’m descended from Hansrelto. Interesting, no? His
revolt in ancient times, I’ll exceed it.”
    Vane knew
Hansrelto’s story: an ancient sorcerer, he had tried to overthrow one of
Rexson’s forebears and written the darkest book of magic anyone in the present
day could name. His military movement had entrenched the stigma against magic
that still existed.
    Linstrom
moved back from Hansrelto to Rexson Phinnean. “If the king wants to persecute
sorcerers, tread upon us, fine, but he’ll do it openly. We’ll expose his snub
in newspapers throughout Herezoth the week before our first attack. Then people
won’t be sure whether we’re the culprits, or a group acting on our behalf
enraged by the exposé. One thing’s for sure, though: they’ll hold the king
responsible.
    “We’ll vary
our numbers and tactics, to keep people guessing whether our assaults are
related. We’ll keep the king’s men busy rebuilding towns and calming hysteria,
so they won’t have time to hunt us. I swear, His Majesty won’t receive accolades as the magicked’s champion when
he’ll have nothing to do with sorcerers, not the slightest damned….”
    “I see,”
said Vane. Miraculously, he kept his voice from shaking. “I see, and I’m in.
Maybe once we get started he’ll send Ingleton to stop us. Maybe I’ll kill the
scoundrel same as he killed my father. Forget the king, it’s Ingleton I want.
The man’s to be mine. That’s my only condition.”
    Linstrom
smiled. “It’s met.” He shook Vane’s hand. “Your