The Might of Magic

by N M Zoltack

  “I wish you would have kept what you knew to me and no one else,” Marcellus murmured.

  The commander jerked as if shocked, but Marcellus was still watching the commotion. “The king—”

  “The king cares about his crown and his crown alone. He could have and should have said the battle should be between you and her, not me, but he listed me because he does not care if I should die. If you think differently, you are a fool. Are you a fool, Flavius?”

  Still not looking at the commander, Marcellus stalked off to his tent.

  Vivian had not thought the commander eyed her in a romantic way. She feared he recognized her, and she had wanted to leave immediately. Who was the naïve one? Who was the fool?

  None but Marcellus Gallus.

  50

  Alchemist Apprentice Sabine Grantham

  Sabine prayed for a long while over the knight’s body. During her studies, she felt a bit removed from herself, from her body, only of her mind, and that meant that she felt removed also from Dragoona, from the Fates, from everything around her.

  But in the moment, as she prayed over the knight, she very much felt the Fate of Death as if a shadowy presence hovered just behind her, waiting to claim the knight away.

  She did not even know his name.

  A knock sounded at her door, and she looked up, her prayer cut short, and she felt a bit disoriented.

  “Ah, come in,” she murmured.

  Aldus was there. He said not a word and removed the knight. He did not ask if she needed another, and within minutes, Thorley entered her room, which, she supposed answered her question.

  The guard said not a word but handed her a handkerchief. She was startled some at the gesture. While some of the bleed had seeped through the bandage to touch her palms, there was none on the ground and none on her blanket, none on her clothes…

  And then she realized he intended it for her face. Her cheeks were covered with tears.

  She blotted them away. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  The guard nodded and accepted the handkerchief back even though some of the blood on her palms had transferred over. “I trust your… visit. With Aldus went well? Or…”

  “I do not know if I will see him again,” she supplied to give an excuse for her tears. She did not know what the guard knew or supposed, which could prove troublesome in the future, but right now, she hadn’t the heart to concern herself over the fine details.

  “Are you up for another visitor?”

  “Hmm?” she asked, surprised. She drew herself up from having knelt beside the body that was no longer there, standing as tall and as regal as she had when a crown had graced her blond locks.

  “Someone from Etian, I believe. He was very insistent that he come.”

  Although she knew not who it could be, she nodded. “Send him in.”

  The guard opened the door, and a man stepped inside. His clothes were rather fine for a commoner, and Sabine slowly nodded as she recognized the man, although he seemed a bit rounder in the torso than she recalled when last she saw him, but then again, that had been long before she had married the king.

  “Herry? Herry Draper? What might you be doing here?”

  “Your mother never told you I moved to Atlan? I never thought it would work out, truthfully, but I sent for my family a bit ago.”

  “You have two sons, don’t you?”

  “Three actually.” He chuffed up his chest and then cast the guard a side eye.

  “You haven’t been to Etian in some time then, I take it?”

  “Not for a bit. Your… Someone suggested I might try to market and sell my wares here.”

  “You always were a fine merchant,” Sabine cooed.

  For a bit, they spoke about their hometown. Herry was a bit obvious with his desire to get the guard out of the room, but Sabine had faith enough that their boring conversation would lead the guard to make an excuse to leave, and he did.

  “Now that he is gone, let us make haste and speak to the real reason for your visit,” Sabine said urgently.

  “Your mother gave me this,” Herry muttered. He untied his belt, letting it clatter to the ground, and Sabine averted her gaze, not wishing to see what exactly her mother had done to him or any parts of him, but he kept his pants on and merely lifted his tunic to remove a bundle.

  Sabine took it but did not open it, eyeing the man, waiting for an explanation.

  He did not disappoint. “Greta told me to give it to you if she were to die. I… I must admit that I wrestled a bit with myself whether or not to give it to you after… well… you know…”

  After Sabine had secured the rope that bound her mother for her execution.

  “And then I decided I would do right by Greta,” the man babbled, “only it took me some time to find it. I was afraid almost that I had sold it! But I didn’t. I kept it safe for you.”

  “Thank you very much,” Sabine said. “Do you know what it is?”

  “No,” he said in a rush. “Your mother gave it to me like that, all bundled up, and I never opened it.”

  “Hmm.” She eyed him and determined she could not be certain if he spoke truly or not. Thank you for this, Herry.”

  “Of course,” he said, eyeing the bundle, clearly hoping she would open it, but she merely crossed over to her vanity and set the bundle down.

  “I am sure your wife, Royse, yes? She must be expecting you, is she not?”

  “I suppose, but I—”

  “I do appreciate you visiting me,” Sabine said firmly as she guided him to the door. “Give your three boys a hug from me, will you?”

  “I—”

  She shut the door with him outside in the hall.

  A part of her contemplated taking her candle and burning the entire bundle, but curiosity had always been one of Sabine’s vices, and she opened the bundle slowly, carefully. It would be just like her mother to have left one final surprise long after her death, and given how vindictive and spiteful her mother had been toward the end, the surprise might well be a lethal one.

  And it was indeed a surprise but one that shocked and amazed rather than horrified and terrorized.

  In Sabine’s hand was a grimoire of all things, and as she filled through the pages, she realized it was not just any grimoire but one filled with notes in her mother’s sprawling handwriting.

  A surprise indeed.

  51

  Ulric Cooper

  Rosalynne hadn’t meant to hurt Ulric, he continued to remind himself as he once again faced his militia. He had lost some during the Castle Conquest, but not many, thankfully. Unfortunately, no one had been willing to step up and join his motley crew of peasants and commoners.

  Every morning, he sought to train them as best as he could. There had been a bit of a commotion when he first rounded the lot up after the dragon battle. They had not been pleased at all with him, given that they hadn’t known where he was. Did it matter to them that they had been split up all over the place themselves? No, only that he hadn’t been there to tell them what to do.

  It was terrible. They acted as if they had no minds of their own, as if they couldn’t possibly know what to do without him barking orders at the lot.

  “Forbidden Doom!” he called, his hands wrapped around his mouth. “I’ve managed to get us some lances. You’re to practice with them and do what you can. Get a feel for them.”

  “What good will a lance do if we don’t have a horse to ride on?” Gidie Leroux complained.

  Armel Foreman sniggered and flashed his missing-teeth-laden smirk. “You’re only whining because you know you aren’t any good with a lance.”

  “I know how to use my lance just fine,” Gidie retorted.

  “You sure about that? I bet you haven’t even—”

  “Armel,” Ulric said warningly.

  Armel rolled his eyes and sniffed, the nostrils of his wide nose flaring. “You’re about as green as he is,” he grumbled as he took a spear and wandered off.

  Most of
the others accepted spears. They were north of the tiltyard that the knights used to train on, and Ulric turned slightly to gaze at the castle. The militia’s men and women were anxious, eager to fight, ready to earn respect from the guards and knights and their queen, but Ulric couldn’t help debating daily if they should help with the efforts to fix the damage the dragons wrought against the castle.

  Aloys Carter crossed over. “Found someone asking about you.”

  Ulric looked over the man’s shoulder, and his face broke out into a wide grin. “Col Hobbs! I haven’t seen you in an age. How are you?”

  “There’s not much point to being a prison guard when there’s no one to guard, now, is that?” he asked. “I’ve been doing some odd jobs about the castle when I heard about some Forgotten Doom or some such…”

  “Forbidden Doom,” Ulric corrected.

  “Your militia, eh?”

  “Yes, sir.” Ulric grinned and clapped the man on the back. “Aloys, this here is Col. He used to be my prison guard.”

  “A model prisoner this one was,” Col said. “I thought he might be innocent, and he was. A good, strong man, isn’t he?”

  “Depends on your definition of strong,” Aloys said with a laugh. The jokester walked off, still snickering.

  “You want to join us? I’m more than happy to have you,” Ulric said. “As you can see, they’re mostly farmers, merchants, and the like. Peasants. I’m trying to teach them what I know, and we’ve been able to help against the Vincanans, but the dragons…”

  “Hence the spears.”

  “Yes. Help yourself.”

  Col grinned and took one. There were several trees a good distance away, and the men and women were trying to throw the spears with accuracy.

  None had any accuracy.

  Ulric urged them to step closer. “Be almost too close. Throw. Get used to the weapon first. It’s nothing like a sword. You’ll want to have it far back over your shoulder, your body turned some even. Pivot your hips as you launch it forward. Put your weight behind the throw and…”

  Gidie released his. To his credit, he tried to listen to Ulric’s words, the spear far back, pivoting his hips, but he didn’t release once his hand came forward, and the spear headed straight for the side of Aloys’ head.

  And Aloys wasn’t paying Gidie or his spear any mind, talking to Col some.

  Ulric opened his mouth to shout, but Gidie, his eyes wide and full of panic, held out his hand, which glowed a slight green color, and the spear just halted, taking on the same green hue, and it dropped to the ground not far from Aloys, the jokester still oblivious to it all, his body clearly blocking Col’s view of what had almost happened.

  Gidie started at his hand, the green color now gone.

  “Ah, be sure to aim before you throw,” Ulric muttered. “Be careful.”

  He stalked over to Gidie.

  The redhead who could have a bit of a temper looked positively sheepish now. “Ulric, how are you?”

  “You must be more careful.”

  “O-Of course. I, ah, think I’ll stick to bows and arrows. Ah, over there.” He pointed to a tree that was not close to any others.

  Ulric nodded, and although he kept a close scrutiny on the spear throwers, he found himself eyeing Gidie whenever he had a spare moment, wondering what had happened and what exactly it meant.

  52

  Bjorn Ivano

  Thankfully, Bjorn had an antidote that he gave threw into the pond for the townspeople. Bjorn wasn’t certain how the prince had been able to convince the king that they should simply move on instead of going after the townspeople, but he thought the prince had relied on the fact that the king sought to rule over these people. Stealing their food and living in their houses had been bad enough.

  So the Vincanans had moved onward. At least the horses had mostly stayed away. The Vincanans only recovered three, at the most four of them. That none of the other horses had returned suggested to Bjorn that they were not native to the town or maybe even the continent. They might have been brought over from Vincana, which meant those horses could be anywhere. It was just as well that he had not released any from the stables.

  Bjorn had to drink some of the water to get the natives to be willing to drink again, and then he slipped after the Vincanans. He waited until the cover of darkness, and then he went over to the huge pit they had dug that they were using for the water they brought over from the nearby river. After doctoring that water, he started to leave when he noticed that the Vincanans had taken someone prisoner. Curious, he tried to get a closer look, and although he didn’t dare get all that close because of the guards over the person, he did spy that the prisoner was a young woman with dark hair and eyes that were not brown.

  Then, he slipped away, back to where Olympia had been, but she was not there. Undeterred, he started toward the castle. Olympia had her own agenda, he had long suspected, and her fascination with Atlan might not rest merely with the castle.

  Dawn was nearly upon him when he reached a small town. He was walking down the street past the tavern when he heard hurried footsteps behind him. He whirled around, his hand on his dagger when he recognized her.

  “Olympia!”

  She grinned and swatted his hand from his weapon. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I did not know for certain, but I—”

  “Come.” Olympia seized his hand, and he opened they might backtrack to the tavern, where he assumed she had spent the night and had seen him from her room, but no. She led him outside of the town and turned to him eagerly. “Tell me how it went.”

  “Not as well as I would have hoped. I released their horses, but they recovered four of them.”

  “Only four horses is not nearly enough for a group of that size.”

  “Yes. Well, I tried to do more…” He grimaced. “You won’t like what I did.”

  Some of her open eagerness faded away, and she waited grimly.

  “I poisoned the water supply, not to kill but to hinder them.”

  “They did not have a separate water supply from the townsfolk.”

  “Correct, they did not. I was going to possibly set their supply tent on fire, but I wanted to do items to slow them down that would get them to not turn against the villagers.”

  Olympia said nothing.

  “The prince urged the king to leave the townsfolk, which could not have been easy. I had a serving girl give the guards of the horses drugged tea, but she was alive and fine before I left the town. The prince had them relocate. I think it’s because he knows they wish for the throne so that the villagers would one day be under their rule, which was why they were spared.”

  “That was… kind…” she murmured.

  “Yes. I fixed the water supply for the town and tampered with the Vincanans. They’re camping above that town. Oh, and they have a prisoner. I’m not sure who she is.”

  “A female?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I hope they don’t realize about the water contamination. I left enough of the herb behind that so long as they use that pit they dug for water, they will be unable to move on as long as they continue to drink from it.”

  “They seem highly intelligent adversaries. If they notice the water supply is contaminated, they will either dig a new ditch or else opt to march on the castle immediately.”

  Bjorn hung his head. “I did what I could.”

  “And you did as much as anyone could have hoped for. One man against all of them…”

  “Don’t tell me you were worried about me.” He grinned broadly and reached for her hand.

  She yanked it away. “Hardly,” she retorted. “But I was wondering what you might think of this.”

  Olympia removed a bound piece of parchment from her belt. He scanned over it and read it a second time so it could sink in.

  “You wish to be a scullery maid.”

  “Yes.” She eyed him, clearly anxious.

  Waiting for his appr
oval?

  Hardly.

  He snorted. “I’m greatly opposed to the notion. It is not an intelligent move at all.”

  “Not intelligent!”

  “It’s not fitting for someone of your stature,” he said, changing tactics because she was fuming.

  “I have no stature!” she cried. “I’ve learned that some do know about… about there being a Li princess, about how she might be in Atlan—”

  “Then this is madness,” he said firmly. “I hadn’t thought it possible, but I’m even more opposed to this idea. Why do you want to be inside the castle so much? It is because of you and someone else? Another family member who’s alive mayhap?”

  Her jaw dropped, and her scowl was fierce, her anger somehow only increasing her beauty. “How could you even think such a thing? This is highly preposterous!”

  “Is it?” he asked softly. “One time, you slipped. You said ‘us,’ and you weren’t referring to me and you.”

  Olympia’s face fell then, and her strength just ebbed away. She had to be around nineteen or twenty years of age, but at this moment, she appeared younger, more innocent.

  More vulnerable.

  More hopeful.

  “I… I have a twin. I do not know his name. I am not certain he is alive, only…” She clasped her hands to her heart. “I know he is. He must be. Maybe he’s in the castle. Maybe he was taken to Vincana to grow up. Maybe he had ben raised on another island. I’m not sure, but… I must find my brother. Bjorn, please, help me find my twin.”

  53

  Alchemist Tatum Hill

  The weariness Tatum felt could not be understated. Dudley’s last words to her, that cruel jest…

  It hadn’t been a jest to the man.

  And Dudley meant it. In her heart, she knew he had.

  That dull ache returned to her chest, burning terribly, and the pain radiated down to her belly. She should sleep, she knew, but she hadn’t time for that. For so long, she had been in the healing hall that she feared the healers would have to tend to her soon enough. Saxa had told Tatum time and again that she should rest or eat or take a break, but it wasn’t until now, when Tatum had found herself nodding off again that she realized perhaps the other healer was right.