The Forgotten Magic

by Kelly Peasgood

  "Sanctuary," she replied without hesitation. "Autonomy, resources. And the freedom to work on my own spell in conjunction with yours."

  With narrowed eyes, he studied her anew. Destiny knew he saw a young woman, attractive with long black hair, deep blue eyes, a full figure and a poised bearing. What he couldn't see, what constantly coursed through her veins, what would shine in the sight of any wizard should she wish him to see, was a power so strong that many envied her magic even as they feared it. This prince wouldn't comprehend that strength, so she showed him confidence and conviction instead.

  "What sort of other spell?" he finally asked.

  "One that will not harm you or yours," she assured him. "A wizard hunts me, and I would change his thinking with a spell similar to the one I would design for you. I but require a safe workspace far from the eyes of other wizards, and time to devise and perfect my work. If you provide me that, I will provide you with the means to rule in your brother's stead."

  "Perhaps we might help each other, fair Lady," he murmured, though a frown still puckered his brow. Destiny gave one firm shake of her head.

  "I am a wizard, not a noblewoman," she said, her voice hard. "And I will work with you, but I will allow no other relationship, nor the intimation that such a relationship exists. Do you understand?"

  He sat back nonplussed, but then his face cleared and he gave her a wicked smile.

  "I do, wizard. So long as you understand that I am a Prince, and no one questions me in front of others."

  "Of course not, Highness," she nodded.

  "Whillim, Prince of Dalasham, and soon to be King," he introduced himself, obviously liking the sound of that, a disturbingly fervent glint of malice sparking in his eyes.

  "Wizard Destiny," she replied, keeping a satisfied smile to herself. She didn't think she would have much difficulty manipulating this power-hungry prince, nor, she suspected, would he quail if she required something less-than-ethical in her designs. After all, here sat a man willing to overthrow a kingdom. Surely he wouldn't hesitate at dispatching any opposition Nathan might send her way, on the off chance that her brother discovered her location or her plans. Anything else she asked, this Whillim would see to, so long as she gave him a crown at the end.

  With a jolt, Destiny woke, a shiver slithering down her spine. She stared up at the dark ceiling, cold stone at her back and a heaviness in her heart. Darien had not learned that story yet, but she knew in time he would coax it from her. Such a fateful encounter, one of many turning points in Destiny's journey, but in the end, what did it really matter?

  She had failed to gain Whillim a crown because of the intervention of one clever little librarian, though she had learned much in the fashioning of that spell. Enough to twist it into a tool against Nathan. But Emily had broken the power of the Destiny Seat, the Focus Destiny had created. Without that, she had an incomplete spell, unless Nathan allowed her time to utter the necessary words before deigning to destroy her. Somehow, she thought he wouldn't feel so inclined to give her that chance.

  And given Wizard Marcus' presence in Dalasmar, she knew she would encounter her brother sooner rather than later. She couldn't allow him to find her here, locked up and helpless in a prison. If that meant revealing to Darien all she had done that led to her capture, she would do so.

  With winning freedom as her new goal, she sat up to await the return of her questioner.

  ***

  A tall, fit man with broad shoulders, not quite into his twenty-first year, with hair the colour of midnight and eyes the cold dark blue of the deepest ocean, stood at the edge of the inn, his gaze intently turned north. The final outbuildings of the town didn't capture his interest, nor the farmers' fields beyond, nor even the distant green shadow of a forest, discernible only as a dark smudge on the horizon. No, what had drawn the keen attention of Wizard Nathan lay across the border in Dalasham. He couldn't see her, but he knew the woman he sought hid somewhere in the capital of the non-magical realm north of his homeland. Seven years now, Nathan had hunted the woman who had slain his mentor, his teacher, his sire. Seven years of failure, of false trails and dead assassins. Now, at last, he had her in his sights again, and she wouldn't escape. Assuming Wizard Marcus had not made a mistake in identifying her. But really, how many women would claim the status of wizard so blatantly?

  In his mind, Nathan again read the first missive Marcus had sent from the Frontier School in Bakaana, where his childhood peer had kept watch for two years.

  'I've found her, or at least a report of her. It seems Girl has made a nuisance of herself in Dalasham, of all places. She has taken the unlikely and laughable name of Destiny, and she claims the title of wizard. I will insinuate myself with those seeking aid against her and confirm her identity and location. At last, we can take vengeance for the crimes of this treacherous snake.'

  After receiving that message, Nathan had set out north, leaving the manor he had taken as his own in Innosvar in the capable hands of a steward bound to the wizard's will. Over the years, Nathan had received several questionable accounts of sightings of Girl, the slave who had tried to destroy a dynasty. Many reports had come to nothing, which only served to enrage Nathan, and after two years, he had ceased to follow every lead personally, leaving the frustration of failure to his underlings. But Marcus knew better than to set Nathan on a false course. He believed he had found Girl and would follow up with proof. Nathan had a feeling Marcus pursued a true trail, and so had moved to put himself closer to his quarry, taking with him a handful of guards and a couple of servants to see to his needs.

  The two subsequent messages he had received put a smile on Nathan's hard and arrogant features. The first had intimated that Marcus and those he travelled with had a plan to bind this Destiny when they reached the capital at Dalasmar, letting Nathan know where in Dalasham Girl hid. The second, having arrived only this morning by a bird magicked to home in on Nathan himself, turned his gaze predatory.

  Dalasham held Girl magically bound in a chamber and, lacking any knowledge of the great art of magic, looked to Marcus for advice on how to deal with her. Marcus advocated on Nathan's behalf, insisting that the disposal of this woman should fall under the purview of Nathan. Whether that tactic would work or not, Marcus didn't know, as the King seemed inclined to hold some sort of trial. Nathan had scoffed at that. How did those without magic propose to hold their superiors to account? However that folly turned out, it didn't interest Nathan as much as Marcus' confirmation, both visually and by description, that he had indeed found Girl.

  Tall woman, attractive, black hair, dark blue eyes. Like your own, a small voice whispered in his head, but Nathan ruthlessly shoved the thought aside. The only thing he and Girl had in common lay in the fact that they had grown up in the same house. While Nathan would have brought further glory to the estate, Girl had destroyed it, killing Wizard Shelton, injuring Nathan, and burning the place to the ground. And now, she stood imprisoned, helpless, and within Nathan's grasp.

  "Do we cross?" Tyrandel asked, standing beside Nathan. Another pupil of Wizard Shelton, Tyrandel had chosen to accompany Nathan toward the border between Innosvar and Dalasham. A short, rotund man with a mop of dull brown hair framing a round, almost child-like face, some might mistake Tyrandel for a simpleton. One had only to truly look into his disturbingly pale eyes, nearly lost above the pudge of red cheeks, to understand that a sharp and cruel mind resided behind that innocent mask. Tyrandel liked to boast that his girth merely reflected his magic.

  "I'm not fat," he would say, "I'm bloated with power." Nathan couldn't disagree. Next to himself, Tyrandel had the strongest gift Innosvar had seen in a generation.

  Nathan glanced down at his friend now. They might look like a comical duo, the tall, strong man next to the squat ball of flab, but they made a formidable team.

  "We'll wait another day," he answered. "If Marcus doesn't have any better luck getting Girl turned over to him by tomorrow, we'll cross into Dalasham. See if we can't convi
nce King Stefan that giving me the traitor is in his best interests."

  Tyrandel's anticipatory grin might have disturbed a lesser man. Nathan simply nodded to see it, let his gaze wander north for another moment, then turned back to the inn.

  "Shall we see what fine victuals the innkeeper has in store for us this evening?" Nathan asked leading the way, knowing his companion would follow on his heels. Tyrandel never turned down a meal.

  Chapter 6

  Em sat contemplating what she'd learned thus far from Constance's journal while she waited. So much history, now seen in a different light. The official histories taught that Henri had employed wizards in his Rebellion, that he had brought in magic users from other kingdoms to help him try to claim the throne. Nothing had ever implied that Henri had the abilities of a wizard himself, or that his closest conspirators, Dalashamites all, could also wield magic. And certainly nowhere in her readings before had Em found evidence that not only did Dalasham have wizards who lived and worked among the population, they even stood as councillors and advisors. Wizards had stood as equals, a part of the citizenry with a certain trade or skill-set, much like a blacksmith or a carpenter, a swordmaster or a healer. They excelled at what they did―manipulate magic―but no one placed them above other experts in their field, or thought of them as other than skilled workers.

  Or at least hadn't, until Henri decided that his strength made him superior and gave him a right to take the crown.

  Surprisingly, he even had a legitimate claim to the throne. Weak, but legitimate. A cousin to the King, Henri did stand in line to the highest seat of Dalasham. He would have had to eliminate the King and Queen, their two sons, and the King's niece to claim his title, but he certainly had royal blood. When Em had revisited the Royal Proofs in her mind, she saw why she had never made the connection. The Proofs listed this cousin as Heinrich and made no mention of his apparently preferred shortened and slightly foreign name. Which made Henri's Rebellion more akin to a civil war than an incursion, not unlike the recent troubles between King Stefan and Prince Whillim.

  Said troubles had brought Em here today, to this bench set outside the Greater Audience Chamber where the King intended to conduct the trials for Whillim and Destiny. Stefan wished her to outline the events as she had experienced them, from the overheard conversation between mercenaries in the library on the night of the riots, right up to the breaking of the Destiny Seat. Stefan knew them of course; had walked beside her for most of it. But today, Em would address the gathered Councillors and citizenry chosen to hear this first trial; a full accounting of Prince Whillim's usurpation and overthrow.

  She tried hard not to dwell on all those faces who would watch her, measure her, judge her―perhaps even dismiss her as merely a frail woman―once they called her in. She reflected on how, in Constance's time, such discrimination didn't seem to exist, although, as she read through the journal, Em could see how Henri had begun to erode the confidence in women as a battle tactic, trying to lessen their influence and cast doubt on those in power. Yet another aspect of history she hadn't known. Still, that erosion had extended to the present day, and because of that, Em knew some would dismiss her out of hand. She just hoped enough held judgement until they weighed the truth of her words.

  While she waited, she idly fingered the pendant she wore at her neck. Haemat gold, chain and emblem both, the necklace had once belonged to her mother, a weaver of high standing before she died. Em had conditionally sold the pendant to raise enough funds to buy supplies for King Stefan and his men after the Prince's riots and the King's escape. After they had captured Destiny, they had found the pendant in the wizard's possession. Em didn't know how or why Destiny had come to have her necklace, but she had gratefully accepted its return. She had precious few mementos from her eight years before the orphanage, and holding a memory of her mother in her hands again helped restore a measure of normalcy to her life. Although she had seldom worn the piece in the eleven years since the death of her parents, preferring to keep it safe in her pocket, Em had taken to wearing it now, and found some small comfort in rubbing it between her fingers as she sat waiting.

  Two men guarded the closed doors of the Audience Chamber near the bench where she perched. Em didn't recognise either, though the younger kept sliding speculative glances her way. She knew he didn't study her appearance―she had a plain face framed by unremarkable auburn hair that brushed her shoulders, and pale grey eyes often lost in thought―so much as wonder at her presence. Although she didn't know all the rumours walking Dalasmar Castle, she had heard enough to understand that more than a few recently centred around her. Some even had a spark of veracity to them. The girl who had saved the King and ended a wizard's magic. How she had done so often differed with the telling, but those two facts, at least, had gained her a certain renown, and she shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

  It would only get worse when they called her in.

  Finally, one of the huge oak doors opened and a large man stepped out. Captain Frederick, head of King Stefan's personal guards, towered over Em where she sat, his wide expanse of muscles sharply defined today in the full formal green and gold livery of the King worn over his leathers. His sword hung sheathed at his side, and she knew only a handful of guards would have that privilege within the chamber. Fred had pulled his acorn coloured hair with its traces of grey back in a sleek warrior's tail, which further accentuated the hard plains of his stoic face. However, Em detected a deep unhappiness lingering in his dark brown eyes as he sought her out. He still felt the burden of having betrayed his King while under the sway of Destiny's magic, and Em feared his inner demons would consume him if he couldn't forgive himself as Stefan had. Perhaps these trials would help set his mind at ease, or at least give him a measure of peace, knowing he could have done nothing different when the Destiny Seat had altered his memories.

  Em stood, putting her face at about chest level with Fred. She looked up at him as she tucked her pendant back beneath her tunic, keeping her breathing even and her anxiety at bay. She tried to suppress the slight trembling as her nerves fought against that control, and knew she failed when Fred relaxed just enough to give her a small smile of reassurance.

  "They're ready for you, soldier," he said quietly, drawing a quick, surprised smile and snort of laughter from Em, as he no doubt intended. Back when they had waited at Goodman Tox's farm for confirmation of the Prince's treachery while Em healed from a wound, long before he had done any sword training with her, Fred had called Em a soldier. He meant it as a compliment for all she had done, insisting on naming her brave when Em mostly remembered the terror. It served her now, though, and she squared her shoulders and drew herself up. She nodded.

  "I'm ready," she said, her voice not much above a whisper.

  Fred's lips twitched, but he took her at her word, and escorted her into the Greater Audience Chamber.

  People had crowded into the room, somehow making the large area seem small. Someone had lined up benches and chairs for nobles and merchants in rows near a raised dais at the far end of the Chamber where the King and his Councillors sat. Those not having the fortune of arriving early enough to find a seat stood clustered behind them, creating a barrier between the door and the proceedings. Thankfully, guards had established a clear corridor through the throng, so that Em and Fred had a relatively unencumbered path to the single unoccupied stool set before the dais. Fred led Em to that stool and waited for her to sit amid the rumbling and mutters of the bystanders.

  Em glanced around hastily to get a feel for the atmosphere. She didn't recognise any of the guards throughout the Chamber other than Fred, and she could name maybe half the Councillors surrounding Stefan. Obviously, not all had attended the Council meeting the previous day when Lord Prichard had brought her in as his scribe. Prichard now sat about a third of the way down the line of Councillors, his face inscrutable despite his foppish appearance. She avoided the disapproving glare from Lord Alphonse, by far the most senior member, sea
ted next to the King, and often traditional in his thinking. He wouldn't approve of hearing the insights of a woman. Em skipped her gaze briefly over the three knights―Edvard, Castel, and Pietor―who had overseen the small army Stefan had gathered against his brother while the King and his guards, along with Em, had sought help in the west. Then she met Stefan's expressionless stare and suppressed a shudder. She forced her attention elsewhere, her trepidation increasing by the lack of welcome or patience emanating from the men seated above her.

  That brought her attention to the solitary man sitting chained to a cushioned chair off to her left. Prince Whillim sneered in contempt, but kept his silence. Despite his confinement, he wore a silk tunic of sapphire blue and soft brown breeches tucked into finely tooled boots―the fine clothing of a prince―with his golden hair freshly washed and styled. Without the evidence of the manacles around his wrists, one might suspect he sat there in comfort of his own volition.

  The mutters gradually died down and she turned her gaze back to the dais. She wished Chief Librarian Darien had stood in attendance somewhere nearby, but she knew he sat in the dungeons below, trying to gather more information from Destiny. A friendly face wouldn't have hurt.

  "Who are you, girl, and why are you here?" barked a wizened voice. Em stared at Lord Alphonse, who had made the demand, briefly flicked her gaze over King Stefan's face, glanced to Lord Prichard, and then back to her questioner.

  "My name is Emily, Junior Assistant to the Chief Librarian," she replied quietly. Grumbles rose throughout the room.

  "What?" Alphonse's irritated word slapped through the mutters. "Speak up, child. You clean the library?"

  Instead of shrinking from his contempt, Em sat up straighter, meeting his gaze with a cool stare. She decided at that moment to push tradition and the ingrained behaviour of meekness aside and speak her mind as she had with the King on their travels. She would serve no useful purpose here if these men succeeded in making her cower. She spoke in a crisp, clear voice.