The Might of Magic

by N M Zoltack

  But he could slow them down. Their horses had been tied to trees just outside of town, and yes, they had no one but two guards watching over them, but Bjorn knew a bit about herbs, more than just poisons, and he gave the serving girl at the tavern a small coin to buy two teas for the guards. When he’d paid, he slipped a bit of star rennime leaves into each cup.

  From a distance, he watched the serving girl hand over the cups. She stood and talked with them a moment, probably flirting with them as she had Bjorn, and he waited and observed as she made motions for them to drink. Did Vincanans drink tea? Bjorn was not certain, but he had assumed neither of the guards would have been persuaded to drink ale while on active duty.

  And they took sips, both of the guards, and she hurried away.

  All the herb would do would make the guards fall asleep, and Bjorn waited patiently. One began to waver a bit on his feet, but the other one fell over first. The other slipped down to sit before hanging his head forward over his lap.

  Bjorn forced himself to wait a full ten minutes longer before he struck. Not only did he cut the ropes of all of the tethers, but he slapped the horses on their rumps to get them to go. He made certain to stand in such a way that his person blocked the silver of his blade, and he wore an outfit entirely in black—black tunic, black trousers, black cloak with the hood over his face.

  He’d hoped to remove saddles from the horses, to make it so that if the Vincanans did recover some of the horses, they would not be able to ride them. Unfortunately, a fair number of the horses had none. The Vincanans must be able to ride both with a saddle and without.

  The last of the horses had been sent off, but there were more horses within the stable, the horses that belonged to the villagers. Bjorn would deal with that later, however. For now, he crept over toward a tent he had not noticed before. Perhaps it had been erected while he had slumbered.

  The Vincanans themselves had taken over houses and most of the rooms above the tavern, so Bjorn did not think anyone would be sleeping inside this tent. As he neared, he spied not one, not two, but three guards.

  Could he be wrong? Perhaps the prince or the king or both of them were inside.

  One guard in the front, one to the right, and one in the back. Bjorn fancied himself a master hunter, and he could step even in the dark stillness of the night without making a sound. He knew just how to position his feet so that they made not a sound, even if he should step on leaves or a twig.

  With great care, Bjorn slipped around to the left side of the tent, away from all three of the guards, which meant he was on the side closest to the forest. He dropped onto the grass and lifted the tent, peeking inside.

  Supplies. Not the Galluses.

  Hmm. He would return to this. A fire would alert everyone to his efforts, and as much as he could, he sought to be overt with his sabotage. When he had cut the ropes of the horses, he had done so in such a way to make it appear that the ropes might have frayed. Now, all of them fraying in the night while the guards had slept was a bit much to believe, but Bjorn did not wish to incur the wrath of the Vincanans and have the villagers suffer for what Bjorn had done.

  After checking to see that the guards still had not noticed him, Bjorn slipped into the forest to where he had set a few animal traps. Yes, he had caught not only two hares but a hart as well. He grinned. This would be perfect for what he had planned for next.

  The hares he tucked into a pouch attached to his belt, and he placed the hare across his shoulders. He had to traipse through the forest a great deal to give a wide birth of the guards and that supply tent, but he then cut over to the pond the locals used as their water supply. Arlingway River was, thankfully, too far away for them to use, or else this plan would not work.

  None of his traps had done anything to kill the animals, a boon as he wished to make it appear that the water had poisoned them. Instead, Bjorn sent up a silent prayer to both the Fates and to the dragons to accept his sacrifice. Then, he gave the hares and the hart some of the amacress leaves. The smell of sweetness hung heavy in the air, and after one taste, the animals gobbled it up. This was another poison grown up in his hometown. Bjorn had brought this with him for his own purposes. This was not the first time he had made an animal sacrifice. He did so before entering tournaments, and he would do so before battle.

  This was a battle of sorts.

  He carefully placed the animals in such a way around the pond that those would think they had died from drinking the water, but it was not merely enough to give that appearance.

  Tisomeric root was an herb that was not used as a medicine. It was far too potent, and even just a speck of it could cause one to empty their bowels uncontrollably for days. When the root was consumed in drink, it actually served to worsen the effects rather than dilute it. Whether or not Bjorn had enough to contaminate the entire pond, he did not know, but without a doubt, when the people drank these waters in the morning, it would affect them at least one day.

  Unfortunately, this measure would affect the innocent townsfolk, but it would not harm them, at least. Well, it would not kill them.

  For now, Bjorn was done. He would wait and see what happened. If need be, he would release the horses from the stable, and he could still set the supply tent on fire. Or perhaps steal supplies from it? For now, he would wait to see the chaos in the morning and also see if he could find some more tisomeric root…

  42

  Prince Marcellus Gallus

  The guards stood before Marcellus with blank expressions. Only the tightness around their eyes and mouths alerted Marcellus to the fact that they had terrible news to give him.

  “What is it?” Marcellus asked wearily. His father slumbered yet, but Marcellus had been awake for an hour already. The sun had barely risen, but Marcellus had led exercises for most of the legionaries to the north of the town. Whenever possible, Marcellus tried to stay outside of the town. It felt wrong to have displaced the mayor and his family, and Marcellus did not like to sleep in their son’s bed while his father had taken the mayor’s.

  All of this felt so very wrong, but Marcellus was the prince, which meant he held no true power, and he never would.

  “The horses…”

  “What about them?” Marcellus asked sharply.

  “Their tethers… they frayed…”

  “All of the ropes? The horses can be retied… Or did the horses run off?”

  The guards maintained their silence, staring at him without blinking, and Marcellus burst past them, almost plowing them over. He headed to the west, where the horses had been kept.

  Not one single horse remained in sight.

  The guards trailed behind him as he stalked over to the nearest tree. The rope had fallen to the ground, and he crouched down to pick it up.

  “You can see that it frayed,” one of the guards said as Marcellus scrutinized the bit of rope with a critical eye.

  “Did you two remain awake during your entire watch?” Marcellus asked, still staring at the rope threads.

  “Ah, we…”

  “You both fell asleep.”

  “Yes,” one of them admitted.

  “At the same time?”

  “I woke first,” the shorter of the two cried.

  “And you noticed about the horses.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you only told me about the horses now? Why did you wait?” Marcellus demanded as he straightened. He glowered at the guards. How incompetent could they be?

  “Ah…”

  “You only just woke up yourself, woke him, and then came to see me.” Marcellus suppressed a groan and shoved the rope into the chest of the late sleeper. “It was masterfully done, but it was cut. I’m sure there others are much the same. Not all of our horses would have broken free by themselves. One or two perhaps, but for them to have all fled? No, someone did this purposely.”

  The guards exchanged a glance.

  Marcellus ignored them and wandered about, looking at the grass, hopping for some kind o
f sign. A glint of something brown caught his gaze, and he crossed over and picked up a clay cup. A small speck of brown liquid remained inside, and he sniffed.

  “Tea? You two consumed tea?”

  “We, ah… A serving girl brought it over to us.”

  “I see. And you fell asleep after?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long after you consumed the tea?” Marcellus asked through gritted teeth.

  The two guards eyed each other.

  The taller one shrugged. “I don’t think it was the tea. It had to have been… an hour…”

  “If not two…” the other one said.

  Marcellus harrumphed. The tea was suspicious, but had the guards the right of the time? If the serving girl had sought to make them unconscious, would she not wish something to act a bit faster?

  “Locate this serving girl,” Marcellus demanded. “I wish to speak with her.”

  “Prince Marcellus?” Paulus Falto called.

  Marcellus turned and watched as the runner approached him. “Yes?”

  “Your father wishes to see you.”

  “Of course.”

  The prince grimaced as he rushed to the mayor’s house. He did not relish this conversation at all.

  And when he saw his father’s face, red as if burned from the sun, his anger palpable when his father was normally a stoic man, Marcellus knew this conversation would be even worse than he feared.

  “You sent for me?” Marcellus asked. He made no move to sit in one of the chairs in the mayor’s parlor. His father was standing, and there was another in the room, Aelius Evander, which was most curious considering the curly blond-haired man was their chef. He had come along over with the king.

  The king merely gestured toward Aelius.

  The chef cleared his throat. “I had one of my men go to the pond to fetch me some water for the food to make you all this morning. We’re eating food that the villagers have generously provided…”

  Marcellus inwardly winced. It had not been provided by their own free will.

  “But we need water,” Aelius continued.

  “What about it?” Marcellus asked, his heart sinking as he noted the man’s obvious discomfort and distress.

  “The man reported back that there had been dead animals located by the pond.”

  “No injuries on them?” Marcellus asked.

  “I… No.” Aelius shook his head.

  “I wish to see them,” Marcellus insisted.

  “Boy, you are wasting your time,” his father declared gruffly. “Tell him the rest of it.”

  Aelius nodded several times. “The townsfolk have already drunk from the water this morning. There’s something wrong with it.”

  “How so?”

  “They, ah…”

  “It runs right through them,” the king boomed. “They have fallen ill after drinking the water. The contaminated water.”

  “Has this ever happened to the pond before?” Marcellus asked even though he knew it was not likely the case. “Have any of the villagers said so?”

  “Combined with the horses…” His father narrowed his eyes. “Aye, I know about the horses. But do you think it the work of one man? A villager?”

  “To poison the water supply for himself and his people as well as us?” Marcellus shook his head. “How could the entire pond be contaminated through the efforts of a single man?”

  “Perhaps he did not act alone,” the king said. “I wish for all of the villagers to be brought before me. I will question them myself.”

  “Even the sick ones?” Marcellus asked.

  “They should be questioned first!” his father said with a snarl.

  “Are we certain it is sabotage?” Marcellus asked.

  “You would have come to tell me as much about the horses, yes?”

  Marcellus nodded.

  “And now this with the water? What else could it be?”

  Even though the prince knew this was not wise, he uttered, “The Fates might well be against us. That monsoon that destroyed so many of our ships and now this… Could it be the Fates that are working to slow us down?”

  His father pointed a thick finger at Marcellus. “Do not dare act as if you do not wish for this. You long for the throne once I am dead. I know it, and you do as well. Do not act as if I do this for myself alone, and do not forget that the dragons have attacked Atlan Castle. They do not want the queens in power.”

  Marcellus kept his thoughts to himself. His father was going to wage war on the people of Edenstone, and he did not wish for that ire to turn against him as well.

  Still, he could not help reflecting that the dragons might not wish for any of them to be in power, for the dragons to have all of the power for themselves.

  43

  Cateline Locke

  Locating the group of the Vincanans wasn’t as terrible as Vivian thought. They were in a bunch of tents to the north of Edenstone, and their numbers were far more impressive than Vivian recalled.

  She had worn the attire she had last worn when she had posed as Cateline Locke. Prince Marcellus knew and recognized her by sight as either name, but hopefully the prince had kept his tongue quiet on the matter of her true identity. If not, this might prove to be a very unnerving quest.

  A potentially fatal one.

  Still, she strove to cling to faith and hope, and she prayed to both the Fate and the dragons to keep her safe during her journey.

  Perhaps she should have prayed also for them to allow her grace and good fortune for after her arrival.

  The encampment was humming with activity, frantic activity she realized as she approached. Something did not seem quite right about the scene, and she slowed her horse to observe better.

  “Halt!” a female voice called out. “Who goes there?”

  A strikingly familiar voice.

  But she had been on Vincana the last time Vivian had seen her!

  The female warrior and Vivian’s old training partner brought a hand up to shield her light blue eyes. “Cateline Locke!”

  “Caelia Buca,” Vivian said warmly.

  “Where have you been? Were you sent out to spy?” Caelia asked, rushing over to her side. “Where did you get this horse? And this saddle…”

  “I stole it,” Vivian lied smoothly. She reached out and touched one of Caelia’s braids. Normally, her friend sported a single braid of her long blond hair, but now, she had most of her hair free with two braids, one by each ear. “I like this look.”

  Caelia beamed. “I might be made a Valkyrie soon!” She puffed out her chest, but then she grimaced. “Did you hear about Horatia and the others?”

  Vivian shook her head.

  “Oh, it is so good to see you! When I came off the ship with the king—”

  “The king,” Vivian croaked.

  “Yes, he’s just over there.” She pointed vaguely behind her. “I didn’t see you,” she continued, “and I feared the worst! But I should have known better.”

  “What of Horatia?” Vivian asked, desperate for any and all details she could acquire from her friend.

  “She…” Caelia shook her head. “No. You should speak to the king immediately. He’ll want to hear what you have to say, spy.” She winked at Vivian and hugged her again.

  “I would rather talk to the prince, actually,” Vivian murmured.

  “Oh?” Caelia blinked a few times and furrowed her brow. “You should talk to the king. He’ll probably want the prince to hear what you have to say anyhow.”

  Vivian nodded dumbly. The realization that the king was here changed everything for the worse.

  And that was how, not five minutes later, Vivian found herself in an elaborate tent that was more a pavilion. There was space enough inside for a long table. Even with that table, twenty or more persons could be inside, but there was only King Antonius Gallus, his son, Caelia, and Vivian.

  Vivian waited for Caelia, who pressed a fist to her chest. Vivian did likewise a second later, and she did her best no
t to look at Marcellus.

  “My King, this is Cateline Locke,” Caelia said. “She has just come back from scouting, and I am certain you will wish to hear all she has to say. She is a fine, strong warrior, and she will one day perhaps become a Valkyrie with me—”

  “Yes, yes,” the king said with an impatient wave of his hand. “We know of your ambition, Caelia, and while you have the heart and drive, I do not know if you have the strength for such a task.”

  “My… My King?”

  Vivian stared straight ahead, willing herself not to react at all, to be like a tree, stiff and immobile. Caelia had always seemed to have a bit too much heart for a Vincanan. Most were stoic, strong, brave, and true. Caelia was all of that save for stoic. She wore her emotions plainer than any other from the southern continent.

  “I will leave you now. My King. My Prince.” The tent flapped with her exit.

  “My son sent you on a scouting mission?” the king asked. His hair was not nearly as dark as his son, but his eyes were far darker, black and harsh and unkind.

  Vivian nodded, saying not a word, wishing to lie as little as possible as she had the feeling the so-called king would be able to detect it somehow.

  “To where?”

  Vivian’s gaze shifted to Marcellus. His face gave nothing away, and he made no move to say anything at all to save her. Should she be content enough that he had not given away her ruse?

  The Fates save her, she had pledged to Rosalynne that she had brokered peace, and the king being here would not change that fact, or so she prayed.

  Vivian inhaled slightly through her nose and exhaled out her mouth. “The prince sent me to the castle so that I might see if I could have an audience with the queen.”

  The king glanced at his son, and a wave of relief washed over her that his penetrating black eyes were not focused on her. “You did?”

  Marcellus flared his nostrils.

  Vivian eyed the prince. He looked as if he wished to throttle her, and she found that simply absurd. She had wanted peace for some time now, since the dragons arrived or even before that. Her offer to him remained even though he had spurned it once, and she knew that peace with the Vincanans lay with him and not his father.