The Heart of Magic

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  “That’ll teach you to watch your manners around my lass, you little brute!”

  Croker shook a flagon at the man. “Lass? She looks more like a boy to me, you great lout!” The villagers gave chase, and the clurichaun broke into a loud, vulgar song that drew everyone’s attention away from the tavern.

  Morwen waved to Patch. “This is our chance.”

  With everyone distracted, they made their way behind the tavern. Patch’s mother was in rough shape, and it was clear the villagers had exacted harsh retribution for the burning of Croom and Murroe.

  Patch. The adult wyvern struggled against her chains as the sight of her son. The harder she fought, the more the chains sapped her strength until she collapsed under her own weight.

  Mamma! Patch scurried to his mother and nuzzled her with his nose.

  She looked at him with a weak expression. You must go. It’s not safe here.

  “We’ve come to set you free.” Morwen glanced over her shoulder. “We must hurry. We don’t have long.” Using her staff, she began undoing the enchantment on the chains binding Patch’s mother.

  “I see you found the elder tree.”

  Morwen’s skin crawled, and she turned around to find Tabitha standing across from her. “You’re no druidess.”

  Tabitha laughed, a cruel sound casting her beauty in a cold light. “No, child. I am far more.” Patch hissed and spread his wings to frighten her, but Tabitha twirled a wand, and the chains binding his mother wrapped around him as well and pulled him to the ground.

  Morwen faced her. “You set the fires. You made everyone believe a dragon was attacking the village.”

  “Aye. And now that you’ve been kind enough to lure the second wyvern here, there’s nothing to prevent me from obtaining the elder tree for myself. It will be only too easy to manipulate the foolhardy men of Adare into wiping out the goblins.” Tabitha took a step toward Morwen. “There’s no need for us to fight, little one. We can each have what we want. Imagine the mages’ reaction when you return to Cashel with two wyvern heads. You would be a hero.”

  “It would be a lie.”

  Tabitha smiled, but this time there was nothing remotely beautiful about it. “No one else need know.”

  “I would know.”

  The witch’s smile faded. “Stand aside—and I can help you attain power beyond measure—or against me and suffer the wyvern’s fate. The choice is yours.”

  Morwen tightened her grip on her staff. “I’ll stop you.”

  “Foolish girl. You think that staff will protect you? You are an unskilled child against a fully-trained witch.”

  Morwen thrust out her staff to cast a spell that Tabitha easily countered with her wand. She brandished the staff as a club broke into a sprint, but Tabitha flicked her wand and vines shot out of the ground and wrapped themselves around Morwen’s legs.

  “You aren’t very strong, are you?” The witch held her wand over Morwen’s heart as she labored in vain to free herself. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt a great deal.” A tankard of ale crashed into Tabitha’s head before she could utter the curse, and the witch turned to see Croker doubled over in laughter. Her face contorted in rage. “You’ll pay for that, you disgusting little oaf!”

  Croker ran under Tabitha’s legs, crawled up her back, and poured the contents of his flask over her head. With the witch distracted, Morwen used all the force she could muster, to tear free of the vines and train her staff on the shackles around Patch’s mother’s neck.

  “Milleadh lagú milleadh!”

  The shackles shattered, and the chains binding the wyverns fell away. When Patch’s mother rose to her full height, Tabitha’s anger faded, replaced by fear. Tabitha swung her wand around, but Patch’s mother knocked it from her hands with her tail. Tabitha backed away slowly, and all the color drained from her face. Before she could flee, the wyvern let out a monstrous hit, shot forward, and pounced.

  There was a scream, and then nothing. Morwen grimaced and looked away. It was over. The witch was dead.

  Darragh emerged from the back of the tavern. “Tabitha?” He froze at the sight of Patch’s mother free of her restraints.

  “Wait!” Morwen rushed toward him to prevent him from reaching for his sword. “It was Tabitha who set the fires. The wyvern is innocent.”

  Shouts nearby indicated more villagers were on their way. Morwen looked back at Patch’s mother, who panted for air. In her weakened condition, she was in no shape to survive another fight.

  Darragh’s gaze moved from Patch’s mother to the corpse at her feet.

  “You can’t kill them.” Morwen pleaded with him with her eyes. “You have to trust me.”

  Darragh sighed and removed his hand from his blade’s hilt. “I’ll tell the others she’s escaped and lead them south, away from here. When we’re gone, get them out of here.”

  “Thank you. I’ll explain everything later.”

  “Ride hard. Once the others see the creatures in flight, they will follow.”

  Once Darragh and the others departed Adare, Morwen and the wyverns returned to the forest. She followed astride Nessa as they flew north and eventually stopped at a cliff looking over the estuary’s waters, beyond which lay the sea.

  “You can’t stay here.” Morwen looked over her shoulder. “The villagers think you’re a dragon. They’ll never stop hunting you if you stay.”

  Patch’s mother peered at the forest behind her. This place is our home. What will become of the forest creatures if we leave?

  “I serve King Mór of Munster. I will ask the king to put the forest under his protection. He will listen to me. The elder tree will remain a secret, and the creatures who live here won’t have to live in fear anymore. Fly somewhere beyond the hunters’ reach. Start a new life somewhere where you can be free.”

  Patch’s mother stared down at her. Why help us?

  Morwen met her gaze and held it. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

  You have a noble heart, human. May it serve you well. She started toward the water, but Patch remained in place, watching Morwen.

  “Goodbye, my friend.” Morwen felt the words stick in her throat. Patch nuzzled her with his head, and she wrapped him in a warm embrace. Voices sounded behind, where the hunters approached through the forest. Morwen released her hold on Patch. “Go on.”

  The young wyvern followed his mother to the ledge, cast one final glance at Morwen, and spread his wings. The two wyverns took flight and disappeared into the sky, free.

  After almost two weeks on the road, Cashel loomed in the distance. Morwen managed a tired smile. The sight of home stirred a mix of emotions. She was dirty, weary, and hungry. Her use of magic had taken its toll, and the promise of a bath was all that kept her upright in the saddle. Despite her exhaustion, she felt a sense of victory. She had saved the wyverns, defeated the witch, and managed to broker a temporary peace between the people of Adare and the goblins of Lakewood Forest. She had returned with a new staff to boot.

  Once she and the others returned to the castle, she would honor her word and speak to King Mór about protecting the creatures that dwelled within the forest. All in all, the journey was a success—except in one respect. Although she was glad to see home and exhilarated from her adventures, a creeping dread settled over her as the company approached the city.

  The elder tree’s warning echoed in her head. “If you follow the path before you, you will risk everything you have worked for.”

  By setting Patch’s mother free, Morwen had failed the mages’ task. Still, she didn’t intend to give up on her dream that easily. Morwen planned to explain everything, from Tabitha’s treachery to the forest creatures’ plight. Surely the adjudicators would understand once they learned the truth. Her resolve hardened the closer she drew to Cashel’s walls, and Morwen began rehearsing her explanation on the road that led through the city.

  Horns blared to greet their arrival at the castle, and Morwen dismounted to follow the company inside.
She filed behind the others into the throne room, where King Mór and his court waited. Several in the crowd speculated about the absence of the dragon’s head and what it meant for the choosing while others remarked on Morwen’s new staff. She spotted the adjudicators among the crowd and swallowed nervously. The chamber grew quiet as Darragh addressed the king. He deliberately described events favorably to Morwen, who nevertheless shifted uncomfortably at the stares from the throne room’s occupants at the mention of the wyverns’ escape.

  Mór’s brow furrowed in frustration when Darragh finished his account, and his gaze settled on Morwen. Embarrassed, she looked down and averted her eyes. The king had given her so much. No one had believed in her more. She couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing him.

  The mood in the chamber was grim. Astrid had grown so still she might have been a statue. Even Prince Aiden, who never went anywhere without a smile, looked on with a severe expression.

  Séphora took a moment to converse with the other adjudicators before speaking. “Will the applicant step forward?”

  “Here I am.” Morwen left the company’s ranks and came to stand before the three adjudicators.

  “Morwen of Cashel, you were tasked to help the hunters slay the monster of Lakewood Forest. You have failed in this task. Have you anything to say in your defense?”

  “I can explain.” Morwen took in a deep breath and endeavored to remain calm. Starting with her arrival in Adare, she recounted all that had happened just as she had rehearsed.

  Tarek appeared unmoved. “You mean to say you had captured the beast in question and set it free?”

  Morwen nodded eagerly. “She was no dragon—she was a wyvern. She was only protecting the forest and the creatures who live there. It was Tabitha who was responsible for the fires.”

  “Your defeat of the witch is commendable, as is your procurement of a staff. Being found worthy by an elder tree is no small feat. But dragon or not, setting the wyvern free was not your decision to make. Even if the creature was not responsible for the fires, it harassed the surrounding settlements, eating their sheep and goats.”

  “But master, the wyvern was peaceful. She never hurt anyone.”

  “As mages, it is not for us to decide whether to honor a contract. What if you had been wrong, and the creature retaliated against its captors?”

  After exchanging a long look with the king, Séphora intervened. “You speak truly, Tarek. Nevertheless, it is still our duty to adjudicate this choosing. It is not unheard of to offer a second challenge if all adjudicators agree. The failure to complete a task is a serious matter, but the circumstances should also be considered—as should the applicant’s courage.”

  “Aye. She has courage.” The admission came not from Tarek, but from Dorian, who quietly watched Morwen. “I am not blind. You have a good heart—that’s plain enough, even without magic.”

  Morwen was taken aback by the unexpected praise, given Dorian’s harsh treatment of her during his previous line of questioning. “I don’t understand.”

  “My master was kind too. Her patron, a wealthy duke, bribed her way into the order. She was a good woman. I would have followed her anywhere, but she never should have been admitted to our ranks. So great was her compassion that she accepted a contract on a dragon from a village without the means to pay.

  “I watched dragonfire consume her.” His voice grew firm, as if to emphasize the point. “I rode my horse to death to get her back to Gaul. The greatest healers in the order did their best to save her. The fools only succeeded in prolonging her suffering until she begged for release.” Dorian faced Séphora. “There is no place in our order for weakness.”

  Morwen didn’t flinch. “I’m not weak.”

  “I admire your determination. Truly I do.” Dorian lifted the pendant from his neck, placed it on a table, and turned to face her, staff in hand. “Claim it, and it’s yours—if you can get past me first.”

  Séphora shot him a reproachful look. “Dorian…”

  Dorian ignored her and focused on Morwen. “Go on. I won’t even use magic.”

  Morwen didn’t hesitate. She pitched herself forward and sprinted toward the table. Dorian moved like a blur. He stuck out his staff, and Morwen tripped over it and lost her balance in the process.

  Her gaze fell on the pendant, which loomed just out of reach. Everything she’d worked for was literally inches away. All she had to do was take it. Nothing else mattered. When she rushed the table again, Dorian hit her on the back with his staff, and she stumbled into the crowd.

  “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  Morwen threw herself at him with a shout.

  Dorian blocked her attacks with ease and struck her against the chest with the flat of his palm, driving her back. His expression was one of pity. “Give up now and spare yourself the embarrassment.”

  Morwen lashed out in a fury, giving it everything she had. This time, Dorian did not hold back. He caught her arm, delivered a series of punches to her flank, and struck her across the face with his staff. Morwen landed on a heap on the ground.

  Dorian turned away. “I think you’ve had enough.”

  Morwen struggled to rise but collapsed under her own weight. Her gaze fell on the king, and she forced herself to her feet. Dorian stiffened and stopped short of the pendant, and the whole room fell silent as they faced each other.

  He hit her with a blow that rattled her teeth and knocked her feet from under her with his staff. “Stay down.”

  Morwen glared at him in defiance. Her whole body hurt, and she tasted blood. She trembled from the effort it took to attempt to push herself up. Dorian, standing over her, raised his staff to crack her over the head.

  “Enough!” King Mór rose from his seat. Morwen had never seen him so angry. Dorian stayed his hand and returned to the table, where the others remained stone-faced. “Get out. Go back to Gaul and do not return.”

  The choosing was over. She had failed. She would never be a mage.

  With everyone watching, Morwen fled from the throne room in tears. She ran past the guards and up the winding staircase that led to her tower chamber. The moment the door slammed shut behind her, she started to tremble.

  She stared at her magical workshop. Everything—all her training and years of preparation—had been for nothing. Her entire future had been snatched away from her in an instant. She hurled the ash wood staff across the room, swept a stack of books and scrolls to the floor, and smashed vials and flasks of potions in a fit of rage. Her anger quickly yielded to an overwhelming sense of hopelessness, and Morwen sank to her knees in despair.

  There came a knock at the door, and Morwen fought back another wave of sobs. She had just been humiliated in front of the entire kingdom. Speaking with anyone else was the last thing she wanted. “Go away!”

  “Morwen, let me in.”

  Morwen’s brow arched, and she stifled a sob. It was the king. She wiped her burning eyes, climbed to her feet, and opened the door.

  Mór left his guards outside and entered alone.

  “Welcome, Your Grace.” Morwen fought back her tears and did her best to look presentable. “I wasn’t expecting company. I must look like a frightful mess.” She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eyes. “What can I do for you?”

  “Morwen…” The king cupped her face in his hands. The surprisingly tender act caused her to lose control of her emotions, and she again broke down into tears.

  “I’m sorry. I let you down. I let everyone down.” She tried to turn away, but he embraced her and pulled her into a hug.

  “I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be all right.” Mór patted her back and held her as she cried against his shoulder.

  “No, it won’t. I tried my best, but I ruined everything.”

  “I know how badly you wanted this. I wanted it also—maybe too much. Perhaps I pushed you too hard.”

  Morwen’s voice broke with emotion. “I just wanted to make you proud.”

&n
bsp; Mór smiled at her. “I already am proud of you, just as you are. You have many gifts, Morwen, but the greatest is your heart. Trust in it, and it will not lead you astray. Never lose sight of that.”

  Morwen’s doubts remained. “Where will I go now? Will you send me away?”

  “This is your home. Mage or not, you belong at my side.” Mór’s face clouded, and he looked tired and sad. “There’s something I have to tell you.” He stroked the hair at the back of her neck. “You’re my daughter, Morwen.”

  Morwen’s expression faltered. “I—”

  “It’s the truth. I should have told you a long time ago.”

  “You’re my father?” Morwen attempted to process the unexpected news. If she was Mór’s daughter, Queen Alannah was not her mother, which made her a royal bastard.

  “I thought keeping the truth hidden would keep you safe from my enemies. Now I see I was only protecting myself. I’ve done many things I’m not proud of, Morwen, but you are not one of them.”

  “What will happen now? I failed the trials. I will never be a mage.”

  “That’s not important now. I’ll make you the court magician of the whole bloody kingdom if that’s what it takes to make you happy.” Mór kissed her forehead. “You might not be one of my heirs, but you will always be my daughter.”

  Morwen began to cry again, only this time she cried tears of happiness. She had finally found where she belonged. The rest didn’t seem to matter as much anymore.

  Morwen hummed a pleasant melody, swept away the broken glass, and stopped to admire her handiwork. There was no sign of the tantrum she’d thrown the day before. Everything was in its proper place once more. She couldn’t remember the last time her chambers were so clean. She tended to allow clutter to accumulate; an unfortunate side-effect of her preoccupation with her studies. It probably wouldn’t be long before her workshop returned to its usual state, but for now the manual labor made for a useful distraction.

  Her gaze fell on her staff, which remained where she had heaved it. From there her eyes wandered to the blue magicians’ robes she had worn as Baldrick’s apprentice.