The color of life was different here, Ben saw. The cast of things was brighter and truer — as if the failing of the magic had not penetrated so deeply. It was a country of lakes and rivers nestled within hollows and valleys, of orchards and woods scattered on gentle slopes, of grasses and ferns that shimmered in the wind like the waves of some ocean. The mists were thicker in the hill country, trapped in pockets like harnessed clouds, stirring and wending their way from hollow to valley and back again. But the greens of grasses and trees and the blues of lakes and rivers were brighter than in the Greensward, and the splashes of pinks, crimsons, and lavenders did not have that wintry tone than marked so distinctly the plains. Even the Bonnie Blues seemed not so blighted, though darkening spots still marred their beauty.
Ben asked Questor why this was.
“The River Master and those who serve him are closer to the old ways than most. Bits and pieces of the magic are still theirs to command. What magic they still retain they use to keep the earth and waters of their homeland clean.” Questor gave a cursory glance about and then shrugged. “The River Master’s magic protects against a failing of the land’s magic only marginally. Already, signs of wilt and graying are evident. The River Master and his followers fight a holding action at best. The land will fail here in the end as it fails everywhere else.”
“All because Landover has no King?” Ben still found the correlation between the two difficult to accept.
“Had no King, High Lord — no King for twenty years.”
“The thirty-two failures don’t count for much, I gather?”
“Against a failing of the magic of the sort you see now? Nothing. You will be the first to count for anything.”
Maybe yes, maybe no, Ben thought grimly, reminded Of his lack of success with the Lords of the Greensward. “I really don’t understand — doesn’t anyone recognize the problem? I mean, the land is dying all about them and it’s all because they can’t get together long enough to settle on a King!”
“I do not think they perceive matters quite that way, High Lord,” Abernathy said quietly, edging forward on his horse.
Ben glanced back. “What do you mean?”
“He means that the connection between the loss of a King and the failing of the land’s magic is one that only I have made,” Questor interrupted, obviously irritated with the scribe. “He means that no one else sees the problem the same way I do.”
Ben frowned. “Well, what if they’re right and you’re wrong?”
Questor’s owlish face tightened into a knot. “Then everything you and I are trying to do is a colossal waste of time! But it happens that they are not right and I am not wrong!” Questor glared back at Abernathy momentarily and than faced forward. “I have had twenty years to consider the problem. High Lord. I have observed and studied; I have employed what magic I command to test my theory. It’s with some confidence that I tell you that Landover must have a King again if it is to survive!”
He was so adamant in his defense that Ben remained silent. It was Abernathy who spoke first.
“If you have finished momentarily with your attempt at self-vindication, Questor Thews, perhaps you will allow me to get a word in edgewise to explain what I really meant when I said others do not perceive matters as we.” He looked down at Questor over the rims of his glasses, while the wizard stiffened in his saddle but refused to turn. “What I meant was that the lack of perception on the part of others was not as regards the problem, but the solution to it. Most see quite clearly that the failing of the magic came about with the death of the old King. But none agree that coronation of a new King will necessarily solve the problem. Some believe restrictions should be placed on the solution sought. Some believe another solution altogether should be sought. Some believe no solution should be sought at all.”