There's no time for this! I gently took the old woman's chin and raised her head. I stared into her eyes. “Maven, I want you to tell me a story. What really happened in the last battle of the two Dragon Warriors and the Hero of Jerkum Pass against the Evil Wizard?”
“Everyone knows that story,” Maven sneered, twisting from my grasp. “Sir Corbin saved the day. The Hero.”
“You don't believe that,” I said. What had Granfa done to this woman?
“But you do. I can see your eyes glow every time I say Corbin's name. It's a cruel enough world without an old woman destroying the source of such devotion.”
“A good storyteller once told me that facts should never trump a good story. I guess I don't want another story. I want real history.”
Maven snorted. “Why? Real history is boring and messy. Stick with your clean, bright fantasy. Besides, it was ages ago.” She shrugged. “Who cares?”
“I care. Every story I've ever heard about that heroic adventure, the reason they still celebrate Sir Corbin all these years later, may be a . . . may be a . . . and you're the only one left who knows what really happened.” The two dragon sisters: a mage and a cavalrywoman. There's a crude shadow of our current problems buried in that story. They lived in harmony once. How did things go so wrong? Did anyone try to heal the breach? How does Granfa fit into this new story?
“What is the truth worth to a spy?” She chuckled. “You lot traffic in lies and deceit.”
“Maven,” I groused, “you may not be alive to tell it much longer.”
The old woman bridled. “Is that a threat, girl?”
“No, just a fact.” I shook my head and several strands of hair dropped across my face like a blonde curtain. I swept my hands through my hair—fingers remembering the old tricks—and tucked it behind my ears. The sensation made me smile in the gloom, but I made myself face the old mage with a somber expression. “They came for Corbin this morning. Now, they come for you.”
Maven chuckled as I wrangled with my hair. “You are an odd spy. Very well. It's the least I can do after you asked me a question that doesn't involve betraying friends or chopping off fingers.”
“Hurry it up, old woman.” I glanced at the cell door. “They're coming, now. You don't have much time.”
“What do you mean, 'What do you mean, 'they're coming,' Black Guard'?” Maven asked as she glared at my uniform. “They are already here.”
“I'm not what I seem,” I said, pinching the dark fabric between two fingers. As I sweated in this dank, little cell without small clothes, the uniform was beginning to itch against my bare skin.
Maven stuck her nose in the air and sniffed with noble disdain. “I liked you better when you were pretending to be Sir Corbin.”
18. KELSA, YEAR 198
Maven sat next to me in the hot, cramped cell. We both had a hard time finding space on the floor between puddles. The walls dripped slime and other putrid things glistening on the stones. She wiped the sweat off her forehead as I reached up to run a finger through the snarls in my hair. To have long tresses again only to be cursed with this humidity.
This is the gods' punishment for killing that smelly, rumpled private. I glanced at the cell door and left the snarls alone. There are worse retributions waiting for me than tangled hair.
I tucked my knees under my chin, waiting for the old woman to speak. We both stared up at the water dripping from the ceiling. I held out my hand and caught one of the drops, saving it before it splashed across the floor. I wiped my wet palm across my forehead. We didn't have time for this. I bit my tongue as the words rose in my throat. I didn't so much as glance at the old woman. She knew the Black Guards were coming for her.
“Where to begin the story of the rings?” Maven whispered at the ceiling. “I know how it ends. The story ends with two girls and the boy they both loved more than each other. But it begins with two identical golden rings crafted at birth for two female twins. They only looked alike on the outside and as they grew up, they took different paths so that if you met them in a dark room, you would hardly know they were sisters, much less identical twins.” Maven laughed. “If we had met Corbin in a dark room, none of this would have happened. But back to the twins. I was the favored daughter: the budding mage, the prodigy. Minerva was the scrapper, the trouble maker. But it was all a lie.”
“She was the trouble maker?” I interrupted. “Drake called her 'Sweet Minerva: the red rose of the army' and said she was—”
“Lies. I knew my sister better than any man ever could,” Maven hissed. “They only saw the face she presented to the rest of the world. I knew what lusts and desires lurked behind those eyes. They were my eyes, too. My lusts. My desires. We were always less different at the core than either of us ever wanted to admit. We clung to all the scant little differences we could find that made us unique. You had to do that, looking at your own face perched on another person's shoulders day after day, thinking the same thoughts, or go mad imagining one of you was merely a poor reflection of the other. I wasn't really a prodigy any more than she was really a hooligan. She could have easily become the mage or I the soldier. They were parts we played. You know something of that, right, spy?”
I nodded, bending my legs like a little podium, and resting my chin on my knees. “So, not content with those little differences, you invented big ones to make yourselves feel special?”
She nodded. “Like splitting two halves of one log. We set that wedge ourselves and swung the axe gleefully. Then, we built ourselves a stage from the pieces and became actresses in our own lives.” She wiped the sweat off her forehead. “So draining to dig through these memories after so many years. Where was I, spy?”
I smiled. “Growing up. Actresses in your own lives. The fake favored daughter and the fake hooligan.”
“One little difference you must understand,” Maven said. “I could never deny my sister anything. That was not a flaw we shared. She chose those roles for us. I got the hard path of scholarship. Minerva gave herself the easy, relaxing life . . . or so she thought.”
“Was what she thought she wanted not what she really wanted?” I asked.
“I've often asked that myself,” Maven sighed.“Was her self-scripted path not enough of a challenge? Was I to blame, yielding to her every desire?”
I leaned forward. “So, what happened?” When does Granfa enter this story?
“As the play dragged on through the years, sister dear grew unsatisfied with her role as the mischievous tomboy. I already had such a better role. How could I deny my sister a few simple requests? She had but to ask and I would say yes. When she moved away from our quiet country life into the bustling city, Minerva hooked her finger and I followed like a dog and the rings came with us. When she badgered me to join the army with her, I acquiesced, although it went against our pattern of wedging ourselves apart.”
“And the boy who has yet to enter the story?” I asked. “That would be the gallant man, Sir Corbin?”
“Feh. He was neither gallant nor a knight when I met him, girl. Just a man.” She snickered. “He had trouble filling that role, too.”
I quirked one eyebrow and waited. Spiteful old woman, maligning my Granfa. Was she jealous of his heroism? A woman whose life was steeped in lies hateful of a good, honest man? Was he so good? So honest?
“Yes,” she growled. “The boy was Corbin. A very taut-muscled, slick-talking boy. When I noticed how she looked at him that day on the training field, I stepped aside. Been doing it all my life. But this time was . . . different. All that time crafting fake differences and here comes a genuine split. Hard to cope. We both loved Corbin, but he only loved one of us. He improvised his way into our little play. He went off script from my sister's plans.” She hugged herself and smiled. “It was glorious.”
“He loved you?” I guessed. A pure love, my mind insisted, a clean, honest, wholesome love.
“Oh, yes. Not that the red rose of the army noticed our lives deviating at first. My sister
always had to have whatever she wanted. And she wanted Corbin. She got him. Every bit except his heart. I think he liked her. I hope he enjoyed her company. But love? The sweaty, raging passion between two hearts pressed side by side? That was our little secret from sister dear.”
“She never suspected your duplicity?” I asked .
“My sweet sister, the army's darling, suspect her good little dog of straying? I tried giving her hints, some less subtle than others, but she didn't have a clue . . . until I got pregnant. Poof,” Maven spread her hands and grimaced. “No more secret. Suddenly, the key players in Minerva's life weren't following her script. It shattered her. My sister began to court death like a princess seeking her dark prince. She got him in the end.”
“Just like that?” I asked, snapping my fingers.
“No girl, nothing ever happens just like that. Corbin had joined our little troupe of liars, but that storyteller always tangled his lies with truth and nobody could ever separate them. After she discovered I was pregnant and threatened to tell the world, Corbin ran to Minerva and told her he had only been trying to make her jealous by sleeping with me, insisting that she was his one true love. As proof, he stole my ring while I slept. He brought it to my sister as a gift. Oh how the bitch strutted after that hateful night. But some part of her always doubted. I know because I always doubted, waiting for Corbin to return to me.”
“And?” I whispered.
“You know the rest. My sister died in the battle with the evil wizard. She was wearing both our rings. Corbin took those rings as a memento of the only woman he ever loved. But who received his love and who received his lies? I'm certain he adored one of us and betrayed the other. I've always wondered all these long years, which one was I?”
“And your baby?” What did you do with your baby? Did you have any love for her at all?
Maven sighed, twisting the hem of her shirt in her hands. “I cast the baby aside. Corbin took that away along with the rings at my behest. I didn't want the world to know of my sister's shame . . . of my shame. He said it was vital to protect my reputation. Maybe he just cared about preserving my sister's good name.”
That baby was my mother, witch. By the five gods, there was a time I almost pitied you. I almost believed your lies. I bit my lip and forced myself to remain calm.
“It's the only gallant thing he ever did,” the old woman muttered.
“But he saved you both from the evil wizard,” I said, refusing to believe my grandfather was this vain, horrible person the old woman persisted in describing. Maybe her poor dead sister wasn't such a horrible person, either.
“Corbin? Ha! No, he fell over from the weight of the mage detector. Splat,” she smacked a shallow puddle on the floor. “Face down in the mud. The wretch was trying to save my sister from her growing paranoia. The evil wizard was a third shoe trying to wedge himself between her little dance with death. So I took up her sword and avenged my sister.” Off my surprised look, she chuckled. “Well, who do you think that sword-besotted army darling sparred with all those years? Cornelius could barely handle his own dick much less a live blade.”
“Strange how widely truth varies from the fairy tales. Then again,” I waved my hand with a haughty flair, “mere facts should never trump a good story.”
She gave me an odd look “No girl, they shouldn't. That was one of the old goat's favorite sayings. How well did you know Corbin?”
“I knew him very well,” I shook my head, “but not so well as you. He was only a hero to me, not a lover.”
Maven bent her knee and kicked me. “Have you listened to nothing I've said? He was no hero, girl. He was just some man with a story people liked. The story just happened to be about him and he enjoyed telling it. So if you're going to save me, let's get on with it. Unless you'd rather hear another story before they come through that door to torture and kill me?”
By the five gods, that sneak Nortus has a point. Small goals, mouse-sized goals. Save this one mage while I can. The rest will have to keep. “I didn't come to save you. I came to save my mother. You're just a part of that, now.”
Maven scowled. “Who are you, spy? Shed that wretched disguise and show me your true face.”
“I'm not a spy, this isn't a disguise, and the face is my own. You can verify that once we've gotten you past all these mage detectors and your magic works again, right? The mage detectors seem to have a limited range. Once we get you out of the dungeons, somehow, the blue dragon flies free. But I will get you out. I need you to trust me first, witch.”
She tilted her head and grimaced. “Easier to say than do, by the gods.”
“Are we still talking about the escape plan?” I asked, quirking one eyebrow like Corbin did just to irk the old witch.
“No,” Maven said, biting her finger as she started to laugh hysterically. “Even with the hair and the breasts, I can still see a bit of Corbin the Hero lurking behind your eyes. A false reflection, girl. Believe me, I know that of which I speak.”
My Granfa was a great man. You are a liar and you abandoned your baby. “Forget about my eyes, old woman. I need you to take me to the leaders of the rebellion. Don't you dare try and tell me you don't know who they are. Don't you dare deny their names haven't been on the tip of your tongue for days while the Black Guards beat and crushed every one of your friends.”
Maven's eyes narrowed as her gaze sought to pierce my heart. “Who are you, girl?”
I let the silence linger. Maybe I retained more of the old man's quirky ways than I realized. “My name is Kelsa Destrus, daughter of Miranda Destrus, granddaughter of Corbin Destrus. All the fists of the five gods would not make me call you . . . ew, grandmother. You are a horrible person and that daughter you spurned is the only reason you'll still be alive tomorrow.” I stroked my chin. In the moment, I almost missed having stubble. “I just need to make a plan. I can make plans, you know.”
“You can't be . . . You're my . . . ” Maven seemed in shock. She stared past me as though counting the stones behind my head.
The cell door reverberated in the hushed silence. “Major?” a guard's muffled voice called. “Forgive me, major. I couldn't find Sir Corbin. Are you still with the prisoner? She's wanted for questioning by the empress herself.”
Screw planning, time to improvise. Seems like I dropped into one of those idiotic heroic escapades. What would Granfa do? I fished in my pocket for the necklace and tossed Maven her sister's ring, though now it was my mother's ring. I hope that knowledge burned her when she wore it.
“Of course you couldn't find Sir Corbin,” I yelled at the door. “He's in here with me.”
The witch stared at my blankly. She held the ring pinched between her fingers like a tiny, golden scorpion while the chain dangled against her wrist like a twitching stinger.
“Put it on.” I gestured towards her wrinkled neck. “Against your skin. Move! Drape that thing around your neck.”
“Major?” The guard wrestled with the latch. “Are you safe? Has that witch bespelled the both of you?”
“Get in here, fool.” I adjusted my cap and turned to face the opening door. “Your prisoner escaped.”
~ THE END ~
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SERIES NOTES
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the The Mage Conspiracy Series. My first goal is as always to entertain and secondarily to leave an impression long after the books have closed. The first book in a series has the unenviable task of carrying the rest on its shoulders. I hope it struck a chord with you.
Many sources swirl together within an author's head to shape the overarching theme in a long form narrative like a series of novels. Theme isn't usually conscious at first: it arises from the depths of your mind like Excalibur, guided by the wet, icy hand of your muse in lieu of The Lady of the Lakes. Now, many reading this will understand that allusion because we share a common history. I was inspired by that history and a nasty recurring pattern I saw there. I don't claim my books will break the pattern or even warp it a little. Time is a wagon wheel, and we're all tied to the damn thing as it goes round and round again. However, the crushing cyclical nature of history does not magically rob those living through it of their free will.
There are numerous parallels between our mundane world and my dark little fantasy realm. Oppression comes round time and time again like a wheel rolling through different versions of the same putrid puddle of muck. You may have been reminded of stories of the parading auto da fe, the nightmare of the Holocaust, the cruel political machinations of McCarthyism, or the recent draconian changes to American immigration policy. Whenever those in power encourage bigotry and oppression, using a minority demographic as a scapegoat to distract the populace from the regime's own glaring flaws, we the people have three options within the confines of society and law: wink at the regime, turn a blind eye, or let the rage bleed from our eye sockets .
I bleed from my fingertips instead, and you've just read it. We all fight oppression in our own way. Some wave placards. Some give speeches. I write books. I would be lying if I said that was the sole source of my inspiration for this series, but it played a large role, and writing these words has been very cathartic. I won't waste time repeating that old saw about those who ignore history and history repeating itself. History will repeat itself century by century on a scale of civilizations whether we acknowledge it or not.
The Knight's Secret Page 21