The prince kept ranting. “Father won’t stand up to them,” he said. “I’m going to do it!”
I glanced at the maps. They looked absurdly simplistic, to the point they were ignoring terrain and enemy forts and everything else that might block the army’s advance, but ... the super-soldiers might be able to swim rivers and scramble up walls and simply punch their way through everything that got in their way. If the projections were accurate, the super-soldiers would be able to run for hours and arrive at their destination in perfect fighting trim. No mundane army could stand against them. They’d be grossly outnumbered, particularly if they were picking a fight with all three kingdoms at once, but shock and awe would probably count for something. Punch out the royal families, smash the crown armies ... and then declare victory. The remaining aristocracy would probably stay on the sidelines long enough for the prince to take control. They’d bend the knee to him quickly enough. I was morbidly sure of it.
“And you took people from your kingdom and turned them into ... into monsters,” I said, slowly. The super-soldiers would become nightmares, if there wasn’t a guiding mind. “Why did you take them?”
The prince shrugged. “They are my subjects,” he said. “It is their duty to serve their monarch.”
I resisted the urge to point out that he wasn’t the king yet. I needed to keep hacking his wards. They were tougher than they looked. I kept a wary eye on him as he stepped off the throne and paced the room, ranting endlessly. He wasn’t quite mad, but ... I shook my head. He was well on the way. Perhaps, under other circumstances, I would have sided with him. Reuniting the kingdoms into a single empire was a good idea. But the empire he’d build would be one drenched in blood, right from the start. He had to be stopped.
“You enslaved Mistress Layla,” I said. “Why?”
“She was just a woman,” the prince said. I knew sorceresses who’d turn him into a pig and dine on his hams for saying that. He’d deserve it, too. “Who cares?”
“I care.” The sudden anger in my voice surprised me. Mistress Layla had wanted to get away from petty little politics. Instead, she’d found herself kidnapped, enslaved and eventually murdered. I dreaded to think what had happened to some of the other victims. I’d seen too much in Chuter’s mind. “Why enslave her?”
The prince shrugged, dismissively. “I needed an alchemist. She’d already assisted in ordering supplies from outside the kingdom. I thought she’d be open to working more ... closely ... with me. She didn’t want to serve willingly, so ...”
So you enslaved her, I thought, coldly. Mistress Layla had been asked to openly break the rules. She’d said no. The prince had probably been looking in the wrong place. I knew quite a few alchemists with interesting ideas, who wouldn’t have hesitated to brew the prince’s potions in exchange for a place to work far from prying eyes and interfering old fogies. You slapped a collar on her and made her a slave and then murdered her.
The prince turned to face me. “I can make you great,” he said, coolly. “Do you want land? I can give you an entire estate, when I take the kingdoms for myself. Power? Women? I can give you anything you want, if you side with me.”
I wasn’t tempted.
The prince’s scheme was utter madness. He might take the three kingdoms, but ... he couldn’t go any further ... could he? He’d shattered the Compact. He’d draw the Allied Lands into war against him, bringing down the wrath of both magical and mundane society. It might be a good thing, but ... the kingdoms would be bathed in blood before he was brought down. And if by some fluke he won ...
“Tell me something,” I said, as I probed his magic. “What can you offer me, what can you give me, that I couldn’t just take, if I wanted it?”
The prince blinked. I’d surprised him. He’d probably assumed I’d happily bend the knee to him ... and, if not, he could use his wards to crush me. I snorted in cold amusement. The idea was absurd. I was already halfway to cracking his wards. He was just too used to monsters like Chuter, who had tastes forbidden even to one of his station. The prince had been sure of Chuter’s allegiance. He couldn’t make the same offer to me.
“I can offer you legitimacy,” the prince said. “You could be a duke. Or a lord. Or ... or whatever you want to be.”
That might have worked, if he’d made the offer two decades ago, I acknowledged sourly. My father had acknowledged his children - he could hardly do otherwise - but his extended family hadn’t been so keen. They’d looked at us and shuddered, then done everything they could to avoid admitting our existence. But now ...
“I’m already what I want to be,” I said. I drew on my power, readying myself for the fight I knew was about to start. I didn’t want to offer him a chance to surrender, not after everything he’d done, but I had no choice. The White Council expected everything to be done by the book. I had no leeway, not if I wanted him to live long enough to stand trial. “Stand down now and come with me, or ...”
The prince gestured. The swords leapt from the walls and flew at me. I raised a protective ward around myself, half-expecting the blades to be charmed to cut through magic. They glanced off, metal shattering as they hit the stone floor. I snorted. This time, I made no attempt to hide my eyeroll. There were all sorts of stories about magicians who filled their homes with booby traps and charmed weapons, but most of them ended badly. It was all too easy to forget one’s own trap and wind up trapped in it, beyond all hope of rescue. I swept my magic around the chamber, scooping up the fragments and hurling them back at him. He ducked, shielding himself with a wave of raw magic. I jumped up, levitating into the air as he hurled curse after curse at me. I didn’t mind him expending his power. It would give me time to continue hacking his wards.
I split my attention, hurling fireballs back towards him on automatic. The prince kept ducking and dodging, rather than catching them on his wards or launching them back at me. It suggested a certain lack of practice ... I wondered, idly, why he’d never asked any of his servant magicians to help him develop his skills. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had people he could ask. Could it be ...?
The prince drew a sword from his belt and lunged at me, moving with surprising speed despite his bulk. I sensed dark magic crackling around the blade. My wards screamed as it cut into them, coming far too close to my bare skin for peace of mind. I darted back and ran up the walls, staring down at him from the ceiling. The prince’s eyes bugged out of his head as he cut at me, trying to jump up and slash my head. My snicker probably didn’t help. I reached down with my magic, picking up the table and hurling it at him. The maps fell to the ground. I shoved them to the far corner. I’d need them later, as evidence of what the prince had tried to do. The White Council would stand in judgement and condemn him for dealing in the blackest arts. And ...
“Get down and fight like a man,” the prince snapped. I almost laughed. I might have respected him, just a little, if he’d challenged his father or his kingdom’s tormentors openly. Instead, he’d had his own people kidnapped and murdered, just to boost his powers and build an unstoppable army. “You filthy coward.”
I shrugged. “Alright.”
His eyes widened, a second before I flew down and crashed my magic into his. He tried to jab his sword at me, too late. I sharpened one of my wards and sliced through his wrist, sending the sword and severed hand flying towards the walls. I could have reattached the hand, but ... it didn’t matter. No one was going to speak in the prince’s defence. He’d kidnapped nearly a hundred people, both magical and mundane, and rendered them down for raw materials. That alone would be enough to get him executed. The aristocracy wouldn’t speak for him. He’d plotted to overthrow his father and invade the neighbouring kingdoms.
And, worst of all, he lost, I thought. No one likes a loser.
I shoved my magic into his aura. It was surprisingly strong, but ... it wasn’t his. He’d taken the concept of enhancement potions much further than anyone else, I realised dully. The prince had never been very powerful, but
he’d had enough magic to start the process of drawing on the enhancement potions and using them to fuel his magic. It should have killed him, and it probably would’ve, given enough time, yet ... he’d actually woven healing spells into his personal matrix. It was oddly impressive, if horrible. He could actually boost his powers far past the norm.
Good thing he isn’t used to handling it, I thought, as I tore through his magic. Memories brushed against my awareness, memories that belonged to the murdered magicians ... I thought. I knew I wasn’t touching the prince’s mind. He didn’t seem to have the discipline to focus his power, let alone properly direct it. He’d be a real threat if he could channel the power without strain.
My mind raced as the prince tried to fight back. There had to be a point of diminishing returns. Necromancers rarely lasted longer than a couple of decades because they simply couldn’t capture enough people to fuel their magic. The prince should have the same problem. And yet ... he seemed surprisingly intact. I cursed under my breath as I pushed on, pinning the prince to the floor. He wouldn’t regenerate, not like a normal magician, but ...
The wards twisted around me, throwing me away from the prince. I caught myself and hovered in the air, mockingly. The prince stumbled to his feet, blood pouring from his severed wrist. There were a hundred charms he could have used to staunch the bleeding, but he didn’t know any of them. He might not even understand the danger of accidentally letting himself bleed to death. I didn’t think he’d spent any time on the jousting field. He didn’t move like a seasoned fighter.
“Die,” the prince snarled. “I ...”
I slid my mind into the fort’s wards and took control. The prince’s eyes opened wide in shock as I struck at him, tearing away the stolen magic. He stumbled and fell to his knees. I didn’t give him a chance to recover. I drew on the wards and cast a powerful freeze spell, locking him in a moment of time. He couldn’t resist before it was too late. My awareness rushed through the fort, freezing the rest of his super-soldiers before they could flee into the surrounding forest or carry out the plot to attack the town. I didn’t think they’d been allowed to keep much in the way of intelligence, but it didn’t matter. They could do a great deal of damage, far more than the prince had intended, if they weren’t kept under control. I glanced through the single window as I finished locking down the fort. The sun was just starting to rise. Gabby and Juliana probably wouldn’t wonder where I’d gone. The charms I’d used to ingratiate myself to them would see to that. In time, they’d forget I’d been there at all.
“They’ll forget you, too,” I said, to the frozen prince. “But I never will.”
I smiled as I collected the maps. The White Council couldn’t refuse to act, not now. They’d send a small force of magicians to secure the fort before the spells wore off, then cart the prince back to the White City for trial and execution. There would be justice, for Layla and all the others who’d vanished in the last few months. And the world would know that evil magicians and twisted power-hungry aristocrats would be held to account.
My smile widened. It was time to go.
Chapter Ten
“Nothing?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “You’re going to do nothing?”
I stared at Lord Ashworth, who shifted uncomfortably under my gaze. The blonde woman sitting next to him was clearly made of sterner stuff, although even she had trouble meeting my eyes. I’d teleported to his estate and interrupted their meeting to give my report, then waited for him to consult with his allies... my blood boiled. The prince needed to be arrested, quickly, before the spells wore off. He knew he’d been busted. If he got free, he’d launch his planned coup as quickly as possible.
“We feel a policy of management would be more appropriate,” Lord Ashworth said. “The council will approach King Jonathon and urge him to adopt a more forgiving policy towards his son, provided his son abandons his dreams of conquest. It will be more ... practical for the long-term good of the Allied Lands ...”
I cut him off. “Prince Asshole kidnapped and murdered at least ninety people, including at least thirteen magicians,” I snapped. “It might well be more. We don’t know how long his plan was underway before we realised something was badly wrong. He also enslaved at least one magician - a relative of yours - and hired another with horrific tastes. His plan was to overthrow his father, take control of the kingdom and then invade all three of his neighbours ... a war that would have required a steady supply of super-soldiers. And you’re planning to just let him get away with it?”
“It’s political,” Lord Ashworth said. “I expect you to understand ...”
“I don’t understand,” I said. It was hard not to scream in frustration. “The prince broke a bunch of rules designed to prevent the spread of dark magic. Given time, he might even have embraced necromancy. There is no way in hell we can afford to turn a blind eye to his conduct and ... and you want to just let him get away with it? How are we going to justify cracking down on the next dark wizard, the next would-be necromancer, if we don’t stamp on this ... this monstrous prince?”
“It’s political,” Lord Ashworth repeated.
“Explain it to me,” I ordered. “Why can’t we arrest and execute him?”
“Yolanda sits between three kingdoms,” Lord Ashworth reminded me. “All three of those kingdoms have a claim on the principality, but none of them can be allowed to actually take control. If we arrest the prince, it throws the succession into doubt, which will allow the three neighbours a chance to meddle. Worse, because the prince never had a chance to put his plan into action, the White Council cannot intervene without risking a serious clash with the rest of the kingdoms. All of the kingdoms. The whole affair is, right now, an internal matter.”
I barked a harsh laugh. “The prince plotted against his own father,” I said. “He killed hundreds of his own people. And you think it’s an internal matter.”
“It is,” Lord Ashworth said. “The blunt truth is that we lose far more than we gain if we intervene openly. At best, we will damage relationships between the council and the kingdoms. At worst, we will accidentally trigger a war that will weaken the defences at the worst possible time and ...”
Magic boiled under my skin. I barely heard his next set of excuses as I fought for control. He hadn’t seen the horrors the prince had embraced. He hadn’t seen ... he hadn’t been there, when I’d sneaked into the fort and fought the prince. I couldn’t believe King Jonathon could keep his son under control. The mad scheme hadn’t been a harmless little prank. It had been a nightmare ... it might still be a nightmare, if the prince was allowed to remain alive. He’d tasted power. He wouldn’t give it up in a hurry. I doubted anything short of death would stop him.
My brother would have been more diplomatic. I really didn’t care.
I stood, cutting off a renewed stream of nonsense. I’d known Lord Ashworth was a weakling, but this ... I ground my teeth. No one would dare oppose him, not openly, if he’d pushed for the council to arrest, try and execute the prince. It had the legal authority to tackle dark wizards. The prince certainly counted. And who knew what they’d next choose to overlook for political reasons?
“Fine,” I snapped. “You can do whatever the hell you like. And you can own the outcome!”
I turned and walked out of the chamber, ignoring the serving maid who was meant to escort me to the main door. She scrambled after, her footsteps echoing on the air. I kept walking, my thoughts burning with rage. I’d seen too much to just sit back and let the prince get away with it, orders or no. Lord Ashworth and the White Council had had their chance. It was my turn to act.
The teleport spell billowed around me as soon as I was outside the wards, transporting me back to the fort. Half a day had passed, but the fort remained frozen in time. I strode through the gates and searched it from end to end, collecting all the scrolls and parchments and everything else that might be useful. Eleanor was still where I’d left her, trapped in an unmoving form. I picked her up, stuffed
her in my pocket and muttered a quick funeral prayer over Mistress Layla’s body. Lord Ashworth should have done something for her, damn it. It wasn’t her fault she’d been kidnapped and enslaved. And yet ...
He’s just going to sweep everything under the rug, I thought, sourly. I could see a dozen ways to handle the politics, from finding a ‘lost’ heir to replacing the prince with a doppelganger to simply threatening the neighbouring kingdoms to make sure they kept the peace. They had to know it was in their interests to make sure that none of the three kingdoms got their hands on the mountain passes. And it’s only a matter of time until he tries this again.
I silently counted the frozen men as I made my way up to the throne room. The prince’s men were all willing allies ... given what he’d been doing, they probably would have been perfectly safe if they’d blown the whistle. Kings tended to be a little wary of proven traitors - turning one’s coat was habit-forming - but they wouldn’t want to discourage them by executing whistle-blowers on the spot. No, they’d all known what was going on and stayed with their prince. I dismissed them from my mind as I stepped into the throne room and peered at the frozen prince. He hadn’t moved an iota.
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