This evening, Cristof had left the chamber and carted his tray with some haste down to the kitchen entrance that opened into the receiving yard. Whillim's demeanour suggested the man might test his bonds tonight, probably some time after Jensen came on duty, and Cristof intended to ensconce himself in a dark alcove, ready to add his eyes to the watch on the exile's chambers.
He hadn't expected the distraction to come from outside, nor so quickly.
The man who should have waited to retrieve the evening dishes did not appear. Cristof frowned, at first merely annoyed at the absence, knowing the man liked to flirt with the two maids who kept Cranshaw spotless. Annoyance turned to unease as he heard a distant commotion. Obviously, a deaf mute couldn't cry out a question, and with no one visible to wave down, Cristof had limited options. He took two steps down the path toward the barracks when his sharp ears caught the whinny of horses, quickly followed by pounding hoof beats. Shouts rose, confused and angry. He could just see the torch-lit outline of the barracks in the gathering gloom of evening, and before the stone walls, shadows mixed and danced across the courtyard. Some chased fleeing horses, somehow freed from the stables, while others fought with fists and curses. He didn't see or hear the clash of steel yet, but a devolving into actual sword fights would not surprise Cristof.
He stopped, holding himself very still as a frightened horse charged toward him before veering off, a pale-faced groom in hot pursuit. Then, with a growled curse no one would hear in the growing din, Cristof tossed his tray aside, spun on his heel, and dashed back into the Fortress. He sprinted back up to the Prince's chambers, all too aware of the lost minutes between now and the last time he had seen the sly glance from Whillim's anticipatory gaze.
Sure enough, the Prince's door stood unguarded. Cristof shouldered his way in, nearly tripping on the still warm body of Trantor, blood seeping from the man's armpit where a blade had seamlessly slipped in to claim the guard's life. Cristof drew his own wickedly honed dagger from concealment and searched all three rooms with efficient swiftness, even knowing the Prince had already fled. Whillim and Otto had left no obvious signs―other than Trantor's body―giving Cristof almost nothing to work with to track his prey.
A well-timed diversion, and one which depended upon outside assistance. Cristof had to find the Prince's ally―likely a mercenary, given the gaudy knick knacks he had noted missing from the rooms―and learn how much Whillim had shared of his plans. Cristof suspected an inventory of Cranshaw might turn up more pricey and portable treasures missing from Otto's earlier exploration of the Fortress, small items easily converted or exchanged for goods or services. He had warned Lord Prichard of Whillim's valet, and while the nobleman had agreed that the sneaky man required close scrutiny, Prichard had not provided additional instructions to Cristof regarding the man. He hoped the spymaster had another's eyes on Otto, but he didn't waste time to find out.
A search of the Fortress didn't reveal Prince Whillim or his trail, but once the garrison had restored order, Cristof managed to learn two important facts. Two horses, complete with tack and extra saddlebags, had gone missing, and one previously eager mercenary lay more beaten and bloody than the rest. Mercenaries did not like one of their own using them to his own benefit.
Cristof pieced together that this Petrov, one of Milos' most recent recruits, had goaded some of the garrison guards and his own fellow mercs until tempers, already high between the two groups, boiled over and broke out into a riot. Petrov had then slipped away to the stables in the confusion and opened all the paddocks, startling the more skittish mounts into a stampede. The commotion had not only gained Cristof's attention, but also that of a couple of bored guards supposed to stand watch over a seldom used door to a storage area on the south side of the Fortress, around the corner from the barracks. Although the men hadn't totally abandoned their post, they had moved far enough out to watch the chaos, apparently just far enough to allow Whillim and Otto to slip past them unseen.
By the time Cristof had found the impression of the escapees' trail heading south, precious hours had passed, giving the Prince a good head start. With clouds obscuring any hint of star- or moonlight, and only a torch to guide him, Cristof couldn't risk losing that tenuous trail by setting out in chase in the darkest part of night. So he made preparations to head out in the hour before dawn, procuring his own mount and gathering supplies and funds in silence. No one made to stop him after meeting his hard gaze.
One last thing, he thought to himself, composing a carefully worded missive to send via messenger bird to Lord Prichard at Dalasmar Castle, a contingency made clear at the outset of this assignment should Prince Whillim attempt to escape his fate.
Treachery flees south, wrote the assassin to the master spy. Will follow and act according to circumstances.
Chapter 15
I wonder if history will remember this as our rebellion, or our war. I imagine the victors will make such determinations, assuming any emerge victorious. With what we plan, I fear both our success and our failure, for either will change the fate of Dalasham forever.
Henri has slipped far too easily into the vacuum created by the death of the King, aided by those of our brethren who lust for power over conscience. Having refused to countenance Wulfgang as the true heir given those in the Prince's encampment (chief among them, Alfred and myself), and having gained the support of the Council, Henri and his coterie have taken Dalasmar in an iron glove. They dare to twist their magic with vile depravities, siphoning off the life force of what Henri now calls 'mundanes' to fuel their spells, creating an endless supply of stolen strength and leaving empty husks in their wake while they grow more powerful. He will drain the strength of every citizen in his mad lust for ultimate authority before he surrenders, thus turning his rebellion into our war.
I sometimes wonder if we missed some hidden shadow in his magic, a sliver of darkness left to warp his mind, but Alfred believes this the work of a skilled sociopath, a driven man who managed to hide his true intentions until his goal lay in sight; we saw the dangers too late.
It matters not, for Henri's actions have brought us to this, one final act of desperation. To counter his spell which bleeds vitality not his own, and break his hold upon the land, those few of us with wizard training who remain loyal to Wulfgang and his gathered army sworn to safeguard the kingdom have one last ploy. Already Henri's corrupted forces tear into our numbers, leaving us little time, and yet haste will spell certain doom. A Great Magic of this scale, a spell we cannot test but must achieve, needs infinite care and precision. If it works, none will know our sacrifice, but Dalasham will live free of Henri and others of his ilk―wizards who seek to manipulate the masses and rule through might bereft of wisdom or compassion. If we fail, none will remain to oppose our oppressors, and I fear Dalasham will fall into endless chaos. We must not fail.
Our goals:
To restore power to the peoples of Dalasham, freeing them from Henri's transmutations
To preserve the natural flow of magic in the land by creating new channels
Protect the kingdom from unscrupulous wizards―to, in fact, keep Dalasmar and its surroundings free from the interference of any wizards, foreign or national
Our proposition:
Reverse the flow Henri has created, diffusing the very strength he steals back to its source and spreading the potential for magic to all
Mask all interference so that Henri cannot undo what we have wrought
Create a barrier that discourages any wizard to linger near Dalasmar Castle
Future difficulties this might birth:
None will remain to train and nurture talent, nor monitor how magic will manifest in unsuspecting minds
Masking our actions requires that we remove any memory of its achievement―we will make it possible to end the war once Henri loses his connection to magic, but we may also lose the memory of why we fight, leaving the potential for history to rewrite the past
If any wizard should breach the
barrier in the future and infiltrate into the heart of Dalasham, outside parties will be loath to offer assistance to a land ignorant and dismissive of magic. The creation of Peace Accords and Enforcers to protect non-magical kingdoms will mitigate this to a degree, but will ultimately only hold the semi-honourable in check
Tomorrow morning, Wizards Mirim, Johannas, and Tercel will erect a ward of concealment to shield what Alfred and I attempt, while Wulfgang's army faces Henri's mere kilometres from the very walls of Dalasmar. We will create a Dual Great Magic the likes of which Dalasham has never seen, made up of many complex layers that will require most of the day to interweave and two of the strongest wizards Wulfgang has to write and braid the spell together. Daunting enough to grasp the very source of magic and force it into a new form among so many; add a soft-walled barrier of discouragement and overlay that with a memory spell that will encompass the world for decades to come.... We have already spent much of our vitality to curb Henri's ambitions, and this, I fear, will take everything we have left, but we must not falter.
The Chief Librarian, ever the keeper of our most dire secrets, will know what to do with these records detailing the final days of this era. Regardless of the outcome of our conflict, Erich and those who succeed him will maintain their sacred charge as Keepers of Information, for that ancient magic will not alter. However, if our spell works, future Chief Librarians will not remember why they must safeguard the Forbidden Texts. I envy them not.
I write this as a final testimony, a record of our last defence, even knowing that the likelihood of someone having the skill to decipher my words will become remote should we prevail. I pray that, should this knowledge become needful, one will find it and discover a way to use it, even as I hope it stays buried forever, unnecessary to the survival of our beloved kingdom. Good luck.
***
"How was this achieved?" Norbert had asked when he had seen what remained of the Destiny Seat. Once shimmering white quartz veined with rose and green, now a hulking black rock that seemed to pull warmth and light into its hard depths, the ruined chair had somehow become both more and less ominous. At least, that's how they described it to Destiny, not daring to allow her access to the remnants of her Great Magic. No one had an answer for Norbert's question.
Now, Emily having finished translating Constance's journal and her account of the incredible Dual Great Magic she and her brother had wrought, the Bakaana wizard had the same question. Destiny had the same lack of answer, but at least her captors made her party to the discussion this time.
"The layers required to augment such a thing staggers the mind," he went on, voice hushed in awe, "let alone the far-reaching consequences." The wiry man met Destiny's gaze with wonder, seeing not a woman or a rival at the moment, but a fellow magic user, someone who could truly understand the enormity of Constance and Alfred's achievement, the audacity of so desperate a plan. "To erase history not only here, but abroad? I cannot think of a single female wizard in the histories with even a portion of the power she apparently possessed, save perhaps the greatest mystics from beyond Haemat. Yet she writes as though such a thing were commonplace until Henri's conniving swayed those who wanted power over truth. If we can believe her words, they achieved the impossible!"
"Unfortunate they didn't remind people that women could stand equal to men before completing their spell," Destiny mocked. To her surprise, Norbert's expression turned even more serious.
"Unfortunate, indeed," he agreed. "Nearly two centuries lessened because of men's fears. Think of all we have lost because of misconception."
Destiny blinked at him, certain he spoke from his heart, yet unsure how to reconcile this turn of thought with the arrogant wizard who had initially scoffed at her―and Emily―based solely on gender. How could a lifetime of ingrained behaviour alter so rapidly? And dare she trust someone so quickly swayed?
As though reading her thoughts, Norbert gave her a crooked grin, wry and self-deprecating.
"This is at least the third time in as many days that I have encountered female ingenuity and strength. I would make a poor scholar indeed if I ignored evidence that keeps pointing to a fallacy in my thought. I can, at the very least, entertain the possibility of alternate pathways."
Destiny's jaw dropped as she gaped at him. From the corner of her eye, she saw a similar expression flit across Emily's face before the little librarian schooled her features and timidly cleared her throat.
"Why would they have enforced Henri's beliefs?" Emily asked softly, a slight pinching of her eyes letting Destiny know her companion nursed a headache. "Why not remind people of the role women played before he contrived to lessen their impact?"
"Because Henri didn't use magic to alter thoughts," Destiny replied slowly. "He used guile, greed and fear. Their spell shifted the flow of magic and the memory of its existence, erecting a barrier to both contain and repel its potential; they had nothing left to shift thoughts as well."
Norbert nodded.
"Very likely," he agreed. "Two separate problems: the influence on thought patterns through negative reinforcement―claiming a weakness in a subset of powerful people, heightened by lies and misdirection―and the manipulation and theft of energy from those unable to defend themselves. Perhaps Constance had hoped that, by opening a path to eliminate the threat posed by Henri and his followers, the populace and rulers could then revert back to the previous mindset of equality. Sadly, when one group tastes a supposed superiority over another, too often they grow reluctant to relinquish the benefits of their new power. We must surmise that their Dual Great Magic destroyed the siblings and their protectors. Surely, the amount of power they must have drawn upon would grab the attention of Henri and his coterie, making the source of the spell a prime target. With the Queen already dead, and now Constance and her compatriots likely gone too, what female remained to remind the world that they once shared power? Young Prince Wulfgang must have had his hands full subduing Henri and his army after the spell, followed by establishing his rule with his father dead. He would have had no time to spare to remind his people of the strength of women."
"And no women left in any position of power to assist him," Destiny murmured. "The Great Magic had removed any memory of who or what had made his victory possible, leaving only a clash of armies, man against man, as a testament to those who struggled for peace."
"But how did that belief permeate beyond the borders of Dalasham?" asked Emily, a frown marring her plain features. "And how did the role of women disappear from the histories? Bash has a long history of subduing women, back to myths of their Goddess bowing to the superior authority of their God, from which I surmise Henri borrowed as an example to erode the power of the Queen. But I cannot think of a similar recording from other countries." She looked at Norbert. "When did Bakaana start to shun women as inferior? Wizard Castillo reluctantly admitted women can perform magic, acknowledging that some even had surprising talents, enough to at least attain the class of witch. King Stefan found records listing wizard families through the male line, save where one might call ancestry into question, and so required a mother's name to establish familial connections. When did that start, and what happened to records prior to that time?"
Norbert's gaze went unfocused as he pondered that, but finally he shook his head in consternation.
"I admit that I have studied the history of wizards in far greater detail than the history of the ungifted, yet even so, I cannot recall any instance that would enforce the concept of women as lesser. They simply do not appear in any records of relevance, itself a surprising and disturbing detail I have never before noticed, but that now I must question."
"What do your Royal Proofs have to say about the monarchy before Wulfgang's rule?" Destiny asked, her gaze intent on Emily. "What of his mother, whom Constance believed Henri assassinated?"
"Queen Daphne of House Ahm, Ostem Province," Emily answered. "Like every Queen, the Proofs list House and birthplace to establish nobility, nothing more. Every
male is highlighted, and every King traces back through the male line. Women, including any daughters, show in smaller print, unadorned and subsidiary."
"How far back do those Royal Proofs trace?" Norbert asked.
"To the founding fathers of Dalasham, some six hundred years ago."
"And every Queen or Princess pales in the presence of men," Destiny said, her lip curling in distaste. "Did the male line never falter?"
Emily's pale eyes had narrowed before Destiny had finished speaking, a frown carving furrows between her brows.
"Only according to the official records," she whispered, pulling her lower lip past her teeth to chew in thought. "Records copied through the centuries, resealed with the coronation of every new King." Her gaze sharpened. "When Fred and Stefan suggested Prince Whillim would have the library staff alter records to show that Whillim, and not Stefan, had penned every decree made during Stefan's reign so as to support the lie created by the Destiny Seat, I had bristled, indignant that anyone would think Darien would allow such a breach of truth. But what if that did happen, a practice started by Henri to erode first Daphne's, and then Constance's credibility? Would they have destroyed the original records?"
"Or hide them for the future?" Destiny added, following the line of thought with rising excitement. "Perhaps under the guise of Forbidden Texts?"
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