A Blight of Mages

by Karen Miller

  She looked at him, frowning. Remmie’s trouble was he thought he knew her… and he didn’t. Not any more.

  I’ll have to show him who I am now. Not all of it, but enough. Perhaps I can tell him the rest later. He’s a talented mage. Morgan and I could use him once the transmutations get more complicated.

  Yes. She’d have to show him. Morgan would understand… if she told him.

  Propping her elbows on the table, she frowned. “Remmie, can I trust you? Really trust you?”

  His eyes narrowed, warily. “To do what?”

  “Keep a secret. One that could hurt me, if you ever told another soul.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “But—” He rubbed his chin, his palm softly scraping the golden stubble. “If it’s so dangerous, maybe it’s best you don’t tell me.”

  “But I want to. I need to. I need you to believe what I’m saying… and you never will, unless you know what I know.”

  Shifting sideways in his chair, Remmie pulled up one knee and rested his forehead. Sighed. “Am I going to regret this? I know I’ll regret this. All right. Tell me. And if I change my mind I’ll drink myself into a stupor down at the Pig. Wannet’s cheap ale knocks a good day’s worth of doings out of any man’s head.”

  Dear Remmie. Smiling, Barl snapped her fingers and plucked from her brother’s vegetable garden a half-grown carrot. The rich dirt clumping its roots was damp and composty on her fingers, dribbling onto the scrubbled table and into her silk lap.

  “Watch,” she whispered. “And believe.”

  Eyes half-closed, she drew the sigils, recited the syllables, and transmuted the carrot into a slender, fragrant lily. She heard her brother’s choked cry as the power punched through her. Felt the red roar of it surge in her blood.

  Remmie’s eyes were so wide all the whites showed. “That’s impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible, Remmie,” she said gently. “Not for me. Not now.”

  “Where did that incant come from?” he said hoarsely. “I’ve never—you shouldn’t be able to—Barl, you—you—jigget! You just broke one of Dorana’s most solemn laws!”

  “I know,” she said, and laid the lily on the table between them. “But I broke it for good reason. I can’t explain why. But I will, when I can. Anyway, it’s not important. What’s important is that this lily is only the beginning.”

  “The beginning of what?” he said, dazed. “Barl—”

  “A new Dorana.” And she wasn’t lying. Part of its remaking had to do with warriors to protect them, yes, but she had far grander dreams than that. Dreams that would mean she hadn’t suffered the torment of binding for nothing. “Remmie, when Morgan and I are finished, there’ll be no more ranked and unranked mages. There’ll be no more selfish denials of anyone, just because of who they are—or aren’t. He resigned from the Council because he doesn’t believe in it any more. Doesn’t need it. And as you can see, I don’t need the College. I don’t need anything but him.”

  Remmie pressed shaking hands to his face, then after a moment let them fall. “And you want to teach me how to do that?”

  “Remmie, I want to teach you everything. I want you to know what true freedom feels like. And I want you to be madly happy like me.” Tears filled her eyes. “I am so sorry that I spoiled things for you in Granley. You should go and find that girl. If you still love her, if you’ve not forgotten her, you should go. Tell her how you feel. Bring her back here, to Batava. Marry her and have a family and teach them all the wonderful incants you’ll have learned.”

  “I don’t know…” Remmie was shaking his head again. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It is simple,” she insisted. “You decide what you want and then you take it.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  Lips twisting in a wry smile, he picked up the lily. Inspected it from every angle, wonder in his eyes.

  “And just like you.”

  “Yes, Remmie. Just like me. You are just like me, though you’ve never wanted to admit it. All the power that’s in me, it’s in you too. Only you’ve never been brave enough to accept that. Well, get brave enough. Because the ranked mages of Dorana have had things their own way for too long.”

  Remmie slid from his chair and retreated to the kitchen window. Dusk had gentled the garden, encouraging the first shy stars to come out.

  “So,” he said, over his shoulder. “Are you really going to handfast with your fancy Morgan Danfey?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Remmie. I really am. How many more times do I have to tell you?”

  “A few more, I think,” he said, turning. “Until it sinks in.” Then he scowled. “Does it mean I’ll have to call you my lady and bow and scrape whenever you deign to drop by?”

  She grinned. “If you know what’s good for you.”

  “What’s good for me? Sister mine, shall I show you what’s good for me?”

  Before she could protect herself he’d summoned glimfire and was throwing it at her, little glowing fizzing balls that popped and sizzled harmless as they struck. Giggling, she struck back and within heartbeats the kitchen was lit up like a village green on New Year’s Eve. Then Remmie leapt toward her and, shrieking a protest, she leapt out of his way. He chased her through the cottage then out into the garden, whooping and hollering, hurdling tomato vines and green beans and rows of potatoes. Squealing with laughter she gave as good as she got, until at last they collapsed side by side on the uncut grass down by the duck pond. Offended, the drake who lived there honked and paddled to safety.

  “Stay for dinner,” Remmie panted, spread-eagled by her side. “I’ll grill sausages. Who knows when I’ll see you again after you leave?”

  She rolled her head to look at him. “Don’t be silly. Of course you’ll see me. Not planning on leaving Batava, are you?”

  “No. My life doesn’t change, which is just how I like it. But yours? Barl, your life…” He laughed, disbelieving. “I wonder if Mama and Pa ever imagined the kind of mage you’d grow up to be.”

  “I don’t know.” She shifted her hand until their fingers touched. Linked. “I wish they weren’t dead, Rem. I miss them so much.” Her voice caught. “When Morgan’s father died…”

  “It’s good that he had you with him,” Remmie said, very quiet. “Nobody should have to grieve alone. Not for that.”

  “You must come and stay with us once everything’s settled. When school’s out. You’ll like Morgan, I know you will. Once you properly get to know him.”

  “If he loves you, I must like him. Him loving you is the only thing that matters.”

  The small, leftover cold knot under her ribs melted. “What kind of sausages?”

  “Wild boar and apple.”

  She pretended to groan. “Oh. Well. I suppose I could force one down. Or two. You know, if you made me.”

  “Ingrate,” he said, snatched a handful of long grass and rubbed it in her face. Then he bounced to his feet. “Come on, Lady Danfey. There’s no sausage born I know of that’s able to cook itself.”

  On her return to the mansion she found Morgan in the attic, Ollet’s Compendium open on the workbench beside him. His kiss was lingering, his look thoughtful as reluctantly they broke apart.

  “You’ve eaten.”

  “Remmie wanted to feed me. I couldn’t say no.” She tapped the Compendium, pouting a little. “You started already.”

  He grinned. “Serves you right.”

  “And?” she said, ignoring the provocation.

  Still grinning, he slid his notebook toward her. One glance at his scribbled notes and she was grinning too.

  “Oh, Morgan. I think that’s it.”

  “I know that’s it,” he said, and caught her in a crushing embrace. “Barl, my beloved, we have saved Dorana.”

  She wriggled free of him. Kept hold of his hand and looked at his notes more closely, seeing the incant come alive in her mind, in the way magic always did for her.

  �
��Not quite yet,” she said, having learned caution these past few days. “But we’re closer. Although we’ll have to expect some more failures before we can trust to reliable success. Best you instruct Rumm to buy lots and lots of chickens.”

  And then she laughed, and flung her arms about his neck.

  “Oh my love. You’re right. We’ve saved Dorana.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Because she felt horribly responsible, that evening Venette risked the long travel incant to the Garricks’ country estate and faced Parnel, his wife, and a tearful Maris in their drawing room. Broke the bad news, that Morgan had most definitely withdrawn his offer to handfast with Maris. Sat without protest as the storm of their displeasure raged around her, unabating. Maris wept until she made herself sick, then withdrew with her mother.

  “This is a bad business, Venette,” Parnel said, breaking the uncomfortable silence the women left in their wake. “Very bad. I suppose you’ll tell me we’ve no recourse?”

  She fiddled with her gold and ambrix wedding ring. “There is always recourse, Parnel. But the question you must answer is: will the cost be worth it? Nobody save your family and I know how this affair has turned sour.”

  “He knows.”

  “Morgan has no desire to see Maris publicly humiliated,” she said, unblinking, and desperately hoped she spoke the truth. “Besides, his unwise choice of a… companion… will keep him busy fighting his own fires. Trust me on that.”

  “You think it’s a case, then, of least said means soonest mended?”

  “I certainly do.”

  And if you’re wise, Parnel, you’ll adopt the motto at once.

  He was a decent man. Perhaps a little too ambitious… but not a fool. “All right, Venette. We’ll keep Maris here with us until the gossip, if there’s gossip, runs dry.”

  She stood, feeling giddy with relief. “Good. She’ll repine a while, Parnel, but take no great harm from this, I’m sure. Maris is young and beautiful. The right mage will come along.”

  Parnel, a doting father, tried to smile. “Yes. Yes.”

  But it won’t be me who finds him for you.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should be on my way. Again, I am so sorry for this unpleasantness. I’m afraid that, like you, I was gravely deceived.”

  Because he was a decent man, Parnel saw her to the front door. Courtesy dictated that she not incant from inside a host’s dwelling, or in their presence, so she waited until the Garrick country house’s front door clicked shut then, holding her breath, ignited an incant that would take her not home, but to Brice Varen’s town house.

  For the second time, she travelled without incident. Could that mean their alarm had in the end been for nothing?

  I can only hope so. I am tired of strife.

  “I was wondering if I’d see you again,” Brice said, and stepped back from his doorway. “Come in, Venette. Go through to the parlour.”

  Long widowed, like Greve Danfey, and like Greve not inclined to risk a second wife, Brice lived richly but simply. His parlour lacked the fussy ostentation of her own town house, painted in masculine shades of blue and cream. A lively fire danced in the hearth.

  “Brandy?” Brice said, closing the door behind him. “It’s been that kind of day, I think.”

  She laughed, unamused. “Yes indeed, brandy. In fact, my dear, you can pour yourself a glass and hand me the bottle.” She rubbed her arms. “I’ve just come from the Garricks.”

  Brandy bottle in hand, Brice snorted. “Where doubtless you were called every name under the sun, Venette, and not without cause. Perhaps you’ll think twice now before you indulge in any more matrimonial meddling.”

  “Oh, don’t you start!” she snapped, turning away. “I’ve already had my ears chewed by Orwin, thank you. Him I must bear with, seeing as he’s my husband, but you? You are merely the most important mage in Dorana.”

  Faintly smiling, Brice handed her a generous glassful of brandy. “So at last you admit it. Truly, a most remarkable day.”

  “If not for the criminal waste, I’d throw this at you,” she said, waving the glass. “Oh, Brice.”

  “Oh indeed,” he said, nodding, then half-emptied his own glass in one deep swallow. “Now do have a seat, my lady, and unburden yourself.”

  She watched him fold into a comfortably shabby armchair, but was too keyed up to sit. Wandering the parlour, staring at its paintings and scattered figurines as though she’d never seen them before, she sipped her brandy and tried to order her thoughts.

  “D’you know,” she said eventually, when the silence became oppressive, “I incanted all the way to the Garricks’ country estate, then all the way back here, as smoothly as ever. No hint of disruption.” She halted in front of the fire and swung round. “No sense of anything amiss. What does that mean, d’you think?”

  Brice shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, don’t you think it could mean that we panicked for nothing? It doesn’t seem that anyone else has noticed there’s a problem. Perhaps there isn’t one, after all. Perhaps this is simply a—a—hiccup. That’s a possibility, Brice, don’t you think?”

  “Venette…” He sighed, deeply. “I suppose. Many things are possible. But I doubt it. I know what I felt. You know what I felt. And you heard what Bellamie Ranowen had to say. This is no hiccup. Something is gone far awry?”

  Somehow his even, measured tone made things worse. He spoke like a man who had accepted the inevitable.

  “I don’t want it to be true,” she said, and gulped more brandy. “But if it is, I don’t want it to be something we can’t stop. I don’t want us to be helpless. Brice, I’ve been thinking. Have you considered that what’s happening might not be… natural? That it’s not some hitherto never-manifested imbalance of Dorana’s magical plane? Do you suppose—have you considered—”

  “That we’re under attack?” Brice drank the rest of his brandy and put aside the glass. “Yes, of course.”

  “You have?” She stared at him. “Why didn’t you say?”

  Another shrug. “Because I dismissed the notion almost as soon as it occurred. We are the world’s only mages, Venette. Who could attack us?”

  “We’re the only mages we know of,” she retorted. “Perhaps the world contains mages we’ve never met.”

  He lifted his eyebrows, gently mocking. “In how many centuries? No. This is your trepidation talking, Lady Martain. There are no other mages. Dorana is safe… at least from a neighbour’s aggression.”

  “Then how do you explain it, Brice? There must be an explanation! Why don’t we have one? Why hasn’t that vaunted Bellamie Ranowen discovered the reason for this—this pernicious unravelling?”

  Sighing again, Brice steepled his fingers. “Bellamie Ranowen is doing her best.”

  “And if her best proves inadequate? What then? We throw up our hands and say Oh well, the world is ending but never mind, we did our best?”

  “Of course not,” Brice said, at last provoked to emotion. “But Venette, we must accept that we might not find an explanation for this. Or a remedy. Consider the truth of our situation. We do not know magic’s source. We do not know why our race and no other is able to use it. And we cannot explain why some of us are more gifted in its application than others. In short, magic is a mystery.”

  “And that’s it?” she said, staring. “That’s how you’d have me soothe myself? Brice Varen, are you mad?”

  “What would you have me say?” Brice retorted. “Would you have me treat you like a child and declare that all will be well, when it might not be well? When there is a chance that our world is ending?”

  She stabbed a finger at him. “I want you to say that you’ve not given up hope! I want you to say that you’ll fight to your last breath to preserve and protect Dorana and its mages!”

  “And so I will.”

  “Then sound like it, Brice! Don’t you understand? I’m frightened. And though they’ll never admit it, Sallis and Shari are frightened t
oo. We look to you for guidance, for leadership. We need—Dorana needs—more than magic is a mystery.”

  Brice’s eyes in his seamed, aged face were shadowed and cool. “What Dorana needs, Venette, should this unravelling persist, and become public knowledge, is a Council of Mages that is not afraid. A Council of Mages that is a beacon of calm. Without that beacon, we will surely be lost. So whatever your misgivings, you must keep them to yourself.”

  “Of course,” she said, insulted. “I’m not reckless. I don’t need you to tell me what face I should wear in public. But we’re not in public, are we? We’re in your parlour, Brice, and I am confiding in you. Believe me, I’d much rather be confiding in my husband, but since you’ve made that impossible…”

  “So it’s my fault I’m being shouted at in my own home?”

  She glowered at him. “Yes.”

  “And do you intend to go on shouting?”

  “Quite possibly. Yes.”

  Brice stood. “In that case, Venette, I require more brandy.”

  He refilled his glass, and then topped up hers. She nodded her thanks and drank, wishing the leaping flames in his fireplace could chase away the chill of fear. When he was seated again, she fixed him with a baleful stare.

  “And what are you going to do about Morgan?”

  He sipped from his glass, eyeing her mildly over its rim. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for one thing, you’re not going to accept his resignation, are you? You must know he didn’t mean it.”

  “He seemed genuine to me.”

  “Oh, yes, well, seemed.” She waved that away. “You can’t possibly pay any attention to seemed. He was angry. He’s grieving. We shouldn’t have gone in a group. We should have left Sallis and Shari behind. You should have let me go, Brice. Alone.” To her surprise, the parlour blurred. She blinked away tears. “I can’t believe Greve is dead. I can’t believe Morgan didn’t tell me.” She stared into her brandy glass. “I can’t believe he’d wilfully hurt me like that.”