by K. M. Shea
Enraged by the knowledge that the black mage was feeding power into its creations, Angelique’s core magic churned inside of her. She clutched at it—keeping it under control as she scowled and tried to figure out what was the next move.
If we can’t figure out the constructs’ weakness, I’m going to have to forcibly cut the mage off from them.
Somewhere out in front, Aldelbert was harrying the first construct, dodging around its feet as it tried to kick him. “Gregori, I have its attention!” He turned and ran across the yard in a wide arc—the construct so close on his tail, it could almost scratch his heels with its claws.
“Run to me.” Gregori corrected his hold on the crossbow and lined up his shot as Aldelbert swooped back around in his direction.
Unaware of Gregori, the construct pounded after Aldelbert, the ground shaking from the force of its steps.
Gregori twitched his finger, loosening the bolt—which hit the construct in the left eye. It disappeared so deeply, only a tiny bit of the bolt’s red fletching poked out of the eyehole.
The construct roared like a mountain of rubble falling in on itself and clutched its eye.
Angelique relaxed minutely as she felt the foreign spell that protected the construct evaporate. “Yeah, I’d call that a weakness.”
“Aim for its eyes or mouth!” Marzell shouted.
Wendal chucked his daggers into its open mouth—making it fall to its knees and tip over like a chopped tree. Once it toppled—which made the ground buckle with the impact—Aldelbert jumped onto its jaw and speared it in its open mouth, destroying whatever spell powered it.
The construct shuddered, then liquified and lost all shape as the spell winked out. Like the first version of constructs, it evaporated into smoke, leaving behind Gregori’s crossbow bolt and Wendal’s daggers.
More tension left Angelique when the magic that powered the construct evaporated.
For all that the mage is reinforcing the constructs, it has one downside: they can’t easily reassemble them.
“Judging by its end, I would say these things are another magic-made work of the rogue mage,” Marzell said. “Which is at least a little encouraging. It means we’re not fighting against multiple black mages.”
“That’s wonderful,” Oswald grouched. “Great effort. Now if we could have a little help over here?”
Rupert jabbed at the remaining construct, standing between it and Snow White with Oswald and Fritz. “The second monster is still alive, in case you’ve forgotten,” he growled.
Angelique grinned as she and Snow White stepped back, following the curve of the cottage wall as the construct tracked their progress. If all we have to do is poke them in the eyes or mouth, perhaps I could use an unnoticeable splinter with my core magic…
Angelique flexed her fingers, but before she could release it, magic enveloped her.
It was the same vast, but ruthlessly numb and empty power she’d felt when tracking Evariste. The magic instantly spread, filling her throat so she couldn’t speak—couldn’t breathe.
It lazily drifted through her body, making her legs heavy and laden as she and Snow White staggered away from the construct.
It wasn’t a spell. The magic didn’t do anything except invade her every sense, as if it was inspecting her and slowly paralyzing her in the process.
No—no! I can’t let it find out who I am!
Angelique was aware of Snow White’s hand trembling in hers, but Angelique could barely feel it as the foreign magic invaded her blood.
“Step lightly, Oswald, Fritz, Rupert,” Marzell shouted—his voice echoey, as if he was far away.
“Turn it around,” Gregori said in a distant voice.
“How?” Oswald demanded—hardly any louder.
The mage sent magic deeper into Angelique, burrowing into her chest.
“Magic…A mage?” She felt the words in her bones more than heard them with her ears as her lungs screamed for air.
She was cold—but it wasn’t the chill of snow or ice; it was the unforgiving erosion of sheer emptiness.
Who could have powers this terrible and soulless?
Her vision blurred, and she could barely make out Wendal throwing daggers at the back of the construct’s head while Oswald stabbed it again.
She choked, but even Snow White didn’t notice—she was watching the warriors converge, attacking the construct on one side.
For a moment, Angelique felt completely helpless.
Whoever this mage was completely overwhelmed her, pinning her with little effort—likely all the way from Glitzern Palace!
Even if she could speak, Snow White and the warriors wouldn’t be able to help. Her lungs felt as though they would soon burst in her chest, and the awful void of the magic made her want to weep just from the mental anguish.
Her vision turned black, and Angelique bit her cheek until she felt blood. She was dying.
No. Her thought beat in her frozen heart—rebellious and angry. No. I didn’t come this far to be put down by a Chosen mage!
The magic burrowed deeper still, mindlessly striking all the way through…to her core magic.
Angelique’s war magic—great and terrible—held with the unmoving strength of a mountain as the foreign magic smacked into it.
In the darkness the mage had sent over her, her core magic glittered silver—cold, calculating…and waiting to be unleashed.
I wasn’t done in by endless curses, deadly monsters, or paperwork. I’m certainly not going to let one Chosen mage kill me! Not when I’m this close to finding Evariste!
Angelique released her magic, which flooded her body in a sharp wave that scraped against her insides as it drove out the invading magic.
She sucked in a breath of air and had just enough time to blink her eyes clear before she saw the construct’s grasping hand, reaching for Snow White.
“Nope!” Angelique croaked. She whisked Snow White right out of the construct’s clutches, though one of its claws snagged on the princess’s dress and tore it.
Once far enough away, Angelique sagged, resting her back against the stone cottage.
“Should we move off the wall?” Snow White asked. Her face was pale, and some of her hair had come free from the ribbon she’d pushed it back with, but she was doing a remarkably fine job of keeping calm considering the situation.
“I don’t much like that idea.” Angelique’s voice was hoarse from her struggle with the Chosen mage’s magic, and she peered suspiciously at the construct—watching for any signs of its creator launching another magic-based investigation. “It keeps too many of your sides open, and it’s harder to contain it.”
“We might not have a choice,” Marzell said.
Angelique sucked in a couple more breaths—just grateful to be breathing—as the warriors tried to herd the construct with little success.
Fritz disappeared at some point, but Angelique was more concerned with the dark mage and his construct.
“Aldelbert, get between this thing and Snow White. With your reach, you might be able to keep it back,” Marzell called.
“Of course!” Aldelbert vaulted over his barrel of portraits, sliding in front of the construct and hefting his spear high enough to jab it in the face.
Angelique tensed as she felt another nudge from the black mage. His horrible magic danced at her senses. Her heart franticly pounded in her worry, and she loosened another wave of her core powers—which drove the magic off.
The monster hissed and dove forward, nearly crushing Aldelbert in the process. Once it hit the ground it writhed, thrashing its limbs so it struck Marzell, Rupert, and Oswald and sent them flying.
The wet crunch the trio made when they smacked into the ground sounded painful.
Gregori shot the monster twice, but the construct ignored him and lumbered to its feet, its face pointed at Snow White.
This is too dangerous. I need to stop it—even if it blows my cover.
Angelique yanked on a sword that one
of the warriors had stabbed into the ground, then let a spark of her core magic jump to it.
Her core magic flashed across the yard, crowding her mind with the presence of every blade, splinter, arrow, and weapon.
Angelique reached for Gregori’s quiver of crossbow bolts, and then the construct backhanded her.
Unprepared as she was, she collided against the cottage wall with enough force that she bounced off and collapsed on the ground, wheezing as she tried desperately to breathe again.
“Snow White!” the shout was muffled, but Angelique could hear the worry.
She blinked and tried to clear her fuzzy eyesight or twitch her fingers, but pain radiated from her head.
Healing spell. I need to use a healing spell.
Angelique couldn’t do more than twitch at her magic. Her core magic came easily of course, but it took a great deal of focus to form it into a healing spell. By the time she finished, she could breathe again, but her ears were ringing.
The soothing ebb of the spell immediately washed away the worst of the pain. Angelique shook her head, and when she could finally see straight, her blood curdled.
The construct was clutching Snow White—who was kicking at it and trying to stab it with one of the starfires Angelique had given her. It wrapped a claw around her neck as it grasped at her chest and head, intending to snap her neck.
Angelique lurched to her feet, when someone whistled.
The construct looked up at the roof of the cottage, where Fritz stood with a nocked bow.
The forester loosened his arrow and struck the construct in its gaping mouth.
Fritz loosed two more arrows—hitting the construct’s mouth each time—before the creature’s limbs slackened.
Snow White fell from its grasp just before it collapsed. The construct went down with a roar that made goosebumps pebble Angelique’s skin. It sounded like crackling wood in a forsaken forest mixed with the angry howl of a winter wind. Then—just as the first had—the construct’s branch-like body lost its shape and liquified before evaporating, leaving Fritz’s arrows behind.
The warriors groaned and started to pick themselves off the ground. Fritz launched himself off the roof and landed next to Snow White, exchanging a few quiet words with her.
Angelique, however, widened her stance so she was more stable and tilted her head, sending out her magical senses.
Nothing. Not even the muted feel those constructs gave off.
She finally relaxed as Fritz gently pulled Snow White to her feet.
“Does it hurt to breathe?” he asked.
“No. I think I’ll be bruised but nothing too bad.” Snow White didn’t even brush off the dead grass that clung to her cloak before she turned to the other warriors. “I’m not sure about everyone else, though.”
Ahh, yes. This will call for more puppet time with herbs.
“No bleeding wounds around here, right?” Angelique plucked herbs off her satchel—which would soon be bald of greenery at this rate—and started cataloguing what healing spells she could use on the abused bunch.
“I’m fine—” Oswald started to say, then broke off into a muffled oath when Gregori prodded his back.
“Rupert and Oswald are the most injured, I think—Aldelbert, too,” Gregori said.
Angelique waddled her way over to the normally quarrelsome pair. Since Oswald was at least well enough to talk, she squatted down next to Rupert first to check on him. “Rupert, how many herbs am I holding up?”
Rupert exhaled a groan that worried her.
She slipped a hand under his back so it was sandwiched between his muscle and the dirt, and let a healing spell gather at her fingertips before nudging it into the warrior.
Hopefully that will be enough to stop any major damage.
Behind her, Marzell approached Fritz and Snow White. “Great job, Fritz. Are you hurt, Your Highness?”
Angelique glanced back fast enough to see Snow White shake her head before she crab-walked over to Oswald, intending to also premeditatively slap a healing spell on him, too.
“That’s good news,” Marzell said. “We’ll have to talk about this, but for now, let’s see what we can do for Rupert and Oswald.”
“And for you and Aldelbert,” Snow White said.
“As you say.” Marzell limped his way over to Angelique, a hitch in his step.
That last construct really did a number on us. How am I going to keep everyone thinking I’m using herb magic on them? Is it even worth it to keep my disguise?
Marzell groaned as he crouched down next to Oswald, a stormy look on his face.
“You fought well,” Angelique told him. “All of you did. And Snow White is safe.”
“She is,” Marzell agreed. “But it is obvious this black mage is more powerful than estimated.” His gaze went soft as he stared out at the woods. “We may need to call for help—perhaps from the Veneno Conclave. Between the seven of us, I’m sure we have contacts there.”
Angelique immediately clammed up. Oh, no. No, I’m not revealing my disguise. I do not want the Conclave knowing I’m here, poking around. They’ll ruin everything!
She cleared her throat and was glad she’d shoved her fingers into Oswald’s thick, bushy hair, as it hid the way her fingers glowed silver from the low-level healing spell she was spinning. “Help Oswald stand, will you? It will be better to treat everyone inside—where there are more herbs.”
Marzell’s smile was faint. “More healing through cooking herbs?”
“It works, doesn’t it? Who cares if you end up smelling like garlic or dill and…”
“Rosemary?”
“Yes!”
Marzell laughed. “As you order, herb wizard, we shall do.”
Angelique laughed, though it felt hollow.
We survived this attack, and I can say for certain the mage who has Evariste also controls Faina…but that power. It was so terrible! How can we ever defeat them?
The second time the mirror created constructs, Evariste was far more aware of its activities, given that Angelique’s tiny flicker of magic was still pulsing within him, shielding him from a hefty bit of the pain inflicted by the mirror.
The decrease of pain had done wonders for him. He no longer felt as if he was going to lose his entire being to the mirror, and he was more like himself with every passing moment as he bent his mind to the puzzle that was Angelique’s surviving magic.
I don’t recall ever reading a case in which another mage’s magic was able to stay with a different mage, and I’ve read a great deal of old, magical theory books considering Clovicus used to punish me by making me read them.
Evariste smirked as he recalled Clovicus’ aggravation once Evariste learned to enjoy theory books. They had interested him, mostly because it was something he couldn’t immediately master as he had almost all other forms of magic, and because his own core magic was on the outskirts of what mages understood about magic.
But even the books I read as an adult always stated that outside of doing spells that require more than one caster, or from harvesting raw magic to use for yourself—as I’ve learned firsthand—it shouldn’t be possible for mages to share powers.
The mirror’s horrible magic churned around Evariste as it twisted into a spell.
He tensed for a moment and felt it when the spell hardened into two constructs—each boasting far more power than the previous batch. It felt like there were a few protective spells woven into them as well.
It’s trying harder. Obviously, whoever is helping Snow White is more powerful than it was originally prepared for.
Evariste risked sitting up—with the mirror distracted as it was, it wouldn’t notice he was moving around and not hunched with pain.
I wonder if it’s Angelique helping the princess? Given her penchant for ruining Chosen plans, it’s a possibility. Which would mean she’s in Mullberg.
Evariste stretched his arms above his head and slowly twisted his body, trying to loosen up his muscles. He’d c
oncluded—now that he could actually think thanks to the presence of Angelique’s magic—that he needed to do as much as he could to prepare himself for rescue, or he’d be completely useless when someone did manage to fish him out of the mirror.
But even if Angelique is in Mullberg, it doesn’t explain why her magic has remained with me.
It went against everything Evariste knew.
Except, is that not how it freed me from the waking nightmares Liliane trapped me in on the journey to Mullberg? It sliced through the accursed magic, and then I was left to wander in Angelique’s dream world. But is it just Angelique’s magic that is special? Or something more?
As much as Evariste respected Angelique’s magic—he’d seen a hint of just how great her powers were when she’d attended a practice test that was designed to measure her magic, and she’d overpowered the centuries-old magic that was supposed to resist all forces outside its own nature.
But the very nature of magic was that it wasn’t sentient. It was an extension of its wielder given that it came from the soul, but it operated by rules.
Evariste’s own magic operated under a limit—he was unable to open gates in areas that had been desecrated by black magic, or the gate would fall apart.
I wonder if that is why the Chosen haven’t been able to fully twist my magic to their purposes. Because even once separated from me, it will always have that base inability to survive in truly black magic, like the many curses the Chosen have casted. Though it doesn’t seem like that limit extends to using my gates.
“Snow White…you will fall…and Mullberg with you.”
Evariste didn’t respond to the mirror—he didn’t want to attract its attention just yet. He did, however, glance at the mirror’s surface.
Queen Faina stood there, blank faced and unmoving. Her eyes weren’t focused, and though she breathed, it almost seemed like she wasn’t conscious.
The mirror’s magic oozed around her in a thick miasma. No longer did it brush at the queen as it used to; now it actively poured into her, as if she were a doll to control.
The mirror is certainly up to something. Normally, it sends Faina out of her room every so often to throw fits in the palace. But she’s been spending most of her time in her quarters and acts alarmingly…unaware.