by J. B. Markes
"You could if you had no other choice. There's not much left for me to lose." Satchel in hand, I didn't want to say goodbye. I didn't want to leave the magic city. After being dismissed from the academy, my proximity to Regina and the streets I had called home for two decades were the only things that gave me a feeling of normalcy, despite my failing reputation.
Even my magic had threatened to abandon me. It had taken over a week for it to return after I had stressed myself so heavily during the MMAGE games. Now it came and went seemingly at its own whim. The only remedy was to stop casting altogether in order to give my body a chance to recover, but it was only buying time until the inevitable.
I caught Regina staring at me, perhaps wishing she could read my thoughts. Her eyes were glassy, so I gave her an apologetic nod. She had been uncharacteristically patient with me over the previous two weeks since we had made up from our most recent argument, and it wasn't wasted on me.
"Listen, if there's anything I can do—" Regina let the offer hang in the air between us, no doubt as clueless as I was.
"You're doing it," I said. "But I have to get going. Gustobald will have my wand."
"Seriously?" She stood up first, giving me the courage to follow through, but I shook my head. "All right, go ahead then. Off to Astar. I'm still jealous."
"Don't be. Look after my cat?"
She nodded. "I'd love to see the capital. We should go together someday. You can be my guide."
"Maybe after you earn your freedom," I joked, giving her a long hug.
"Sooner than that would be nice." She laughed, escorting me out the door. She gave me one last embrace and went on her way, stopping short and waving back to me. "Bring back something expensive for me!"
I shook my head to banish that notion immediately, and then made my way toward the Tower of Many Tongues. Caller's Court was empty that morning, from the Tower of Seeing all the way to the Calling Grounds, reminding me that all members in good standing were hard at study. Regina would surely be counseled for neglecting her own duties to meet with me.
Miss Ives. The Tower of Many Tongues. Come at once! I pressed my lips together to avoid calling out. I wouldn't have arrived at my destination yet even if I had left straightaway at his first message. I bolstered my patience and doubled my pace. As usual, I spotted the tower long before I turned off of Caller's Court.
The summoning school was unique in décor, forgoing the customary stone courtyard for a dirt exterior. It had a large outer ring reminiscent of a jouster's tilt, draped with bright fabrics embroidered with all manner of bird and beast, both real and mythic. The artistry was top quality, but the design choice made them something of a joke among the other schools. When I turned onto the West Tradeway, I could see Gustobald and Master Rupert waiting within the tower's garish outer ring. They were lost in conversation and didn't notice me until I was upon them.
"Come now, girl," Gustobald said, blowing out his pipe. "No time for layabouts."
"Is it noon already?" I asked, prompting a double-take from the old man.
Gustobald was decked out in his finest dress robes, an ensemble I hadn't seen since Master Bartleby's funeral. He had brought his deathknell staff along for the journey, too—the tool of a true necromancer. He rarely took it from its resting place on his sitting room wall, as it was forbidden to carry on academy grounds. It made Master Rupert jittery, his eyes darting up and down its mock-bone façade.
"We're leaving early," Gustobald replied. "Our client isn't accustomed to waiting. Master Rupert has been kind enough to agree to take us. Pay the man."
I reached for the coin purse representing Gustobald's treasury, but Master Rupert raised both hands in front of him. "That won't be necessary," the conjuror said. "My only wish is to be of service to the academy."
"Good man," Gustobald said. "I'll be sure to spread the word of your generosity."
"Don't mention it." Master Rupert shook his head as sharply as if he was being chased by a bee, and the warmness seeped out of Gustobald's face in response to the man's undisguised desperation. "Please don't mention it."
"Our bags, Miss Ives, if you please." Gustobald turned his back to the conjuror and pulled a small cloth from one of his pockets. He watched me with disinterest, wiping down his pipe and blowing it out once more for good measure. The luggage was light, but difficult to manage—two large duffel bags, each half my height in length—and the fabric rubbed together with a loud swish! with each step I took. I could only hope we never had to move quietly. "Ready when you are, Master Rupert."
The conjuror took me by the arm and then hesitantly offered his hand to the necromancer. Once Gustobald had accepted, Master Rupert wasted no time in working his magic. One second we were standing in the shadow of the tower, the next we were surrounded by heavily clad soldiers in a round well-lit chamber. "Good luck," Master Rupert said, disappearing.
Startled at the sudden appearance of armed strangers, I dropped my bags and loosened my wand, but Gustobald's poise settled my nerve. I took a breath and examined my surroundings. The room was a large sphere, the concave walls chiseled with runes of warding and lit by perpetual flames suspended at regular intervals. There was only one exit from the chamber, guarded by a pair of Sentinels decked out in black and indigo robes.
"Master Gustobald Pitch!" A man in black master's robes—with a cape, no less!—stepped out of the wall of soldiers and gave us the most stately bow I had ever suffered. His academy robes were stylized with fine embroidered dots placed at random intervals across the dark field. Some points were connected by silver-stitched lines, which I later realized were star constellations. "I am Xavier, Royal Seer and Court Magician. We are grateful to you for accepting His Majesty's summons in his time of need."
"His Majesty?" I whispered. Gustobald nodded in reply, and I realized how close I was standing to my master. When I stepped back to give him some room, my foot caught on the strap of one of the bags I had dropped. I swung my arms for balance, reaching out to Gustobald for aid, but the old man didn't budge an inch to help me. The raised step complicated matters, causing me to twist my ankle and fall onto my hands and knees just hard enough to damage my self-esteem.
"I'm the Royal Seer, but I'm not royalty," Master Xavier said. "So please stand up. The men will see to your bags. We mustn't keep His Majesty waiting."
Chapter 3
Only a select few were given permission to teleport directly into the Silver Palace. There were a number of wards in place to punish those who made the attempt. Instead, Master Rupert delivered us to the Astar Hold, where the First Sentinels kept the most dangerous rogue sorcerers locked away in interdimensional prisons. I gave Gustobald his space when the passing Sentinels took interest in his staff.
Whereas the Hold of the Academy Magus was built with practicality in mind, the Astar counterpart was grandiose, intimidating in its majesty, as if daring the good wizards of the world to step out of line. The arched ceiling stretched thirty feet above; like the walls, it was carved with enormous bas-relief chains that stretched from one side of the building to the other. The chain sculptures were ablaze with arcane enchantments both practical and aesthetic, bathing every inch of the voluminous chamber with pure white light. Our guards marched on without a second glance at the magnificent scene around us.
I was relieved to get out into the open air. The city streets were alive—a twisting, breathing throng of citizens going about their everyday lives laughing, shouting, fighting, buying, selling, pushing, pulling; engaging in cooperative chaos for the good of all. I grabbed hold of Gustobald's arm in nervous excitement.
Our guards cleared the way with booming voices and the banging of swords on shields, allowing me to examine the goings-on from a safe distance, though the experience diminished somewhat as people gave up their business to catch a glimpse of those worthy enough to receive a palace escort.
We followed the Cradle until it intersected the King's Way, where a troupe of fire-breathers and body-benders were entertaining
the masses while a troubadour strummed his lute so viciously one of the strings hung broken from his instrument. The people tossed copper studs at a pair of men who deftly caught them between their teeth. The roar of applause was unceasing.
Finally, we turned north and continued to the silver gates. They opened and closed around us, our escort never slowing their march. When the gates closed, the din of the city streets was replaced by the tranquility of the inner courtyard, and half of our guards broke off to return to their normal duties.
"Follow me," Xavier said as we entered the Silver Palace. "And see that you don't fall behind. It's easy to get lost here."
I don't expect you to truly appreciate the unique situation in which I found myself. I'm not even sure I did at the time. I was invited to a private audience with the most powerful person in Coranthia, King Eamon. There are some who say the king rules over all creation, governing everything from the changing of seasons to the yearly harvest. I didn't believe any of it, but the man could have taken my head with a single word; that had to count for something.
After ten minutes of wandering through a spider web network of passages, we found ourselves kneeling before His Majesty in a quiet sitting room. He was older than I expected, the first tinges of grey dappling his rust-tinted beard. His gel-slick hair was unmaintained, his eyes bloodshot. He stooped his shoulders and leaned heavily on the oversized table in the center of the room, measuring us.
"Rise." King Eamon's command sounded more like a question, so weak was his tone.
As I stood, Gustobald grabbed my hand and pulled himself up, straightening his dress robes. I felt self-conscious about my choice of dress, so I stood back and let him draw attention away from my nondescript travel cloak. Gustobald had been understandably secretive as to the identity of our client, but it would have been nice if he would have given me fair warning.
There were five unfamiliar mages present, each clad in the peculiar leather battledress of the First Sentinels. The academy tasked these wizards with the protection of the royal family, and they took their work seriously. Though it was ever the policy of their order to serve in silence, their icy stares sent a clear message to the necromancer in their midst. They held their wands at their sides, ready to cast at the first sign of provocation.
Queen Valora placed her hand on the king's arm and whispered to him gently. He gave her a dismissive nod, and she relayed the gesture to her daughter. The two ladies took half the soldiers and two sentinels with them on their way out. With that, the tension drained from the room and only the king's sorrow remained. He clutched tightly to a blue stretch of fabric, which he frequently brought to his face to wipe away his tears. Upon closer inspection, I realized the article was a shirt.
"Majesty." Xavier moved aside with a simple bow. "I present Gustobald Pitch, master necromancer and dispenser of the king's own justice."
I tilted my head at the odd title, but Gustobald stood taller, rotating his deathknell staff for a more comfortable grip. The necromancer had a hungry look in his eyes waiting for his turn to speak. Judging by the king's somber mood, it was a good thing Gustobald held his tongue. His words rarely improved a situation.
"The hero of the magic school," King Eamon said. "Word has it you were the one who avenged Master Bartleby."
"Hero?" Gustobald puffed up his chest. "I simply dealt with the matter after all others had given up. With the help of my assistant, of course." He shot me a sideways glance to bask in my appreciation.
"Master Pitch is being modest," Xavier began. "He—"
"I suppose some might consider that heroic," the necromancer said, staring into the distance and nodding thoughtfully.
"He—" Xavier glanced at Gustobald before continuing. "Master Pitch is the best necromancer the Academy Magus has to offer."
Gustobald took a deep breath but thought better of responding. Instead, he squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. "At your service," he said.
"Can you be discreet, Master Pitch?" the king asked, staring down at his ring-laden fingers.
"None are more so than I," Gustobald said, and my mouth went dry.
"None more so than you?" The king nodded. "What I am about to tell you is not common knowledge. If it were to become so, many lives would be at risk, none more so than yours."
"You have my complete confidence, Your Majesty," Gustobald said. "You may speak freely. What manner of mischief has Prince Jasper wrought?"
The king tensed up at the mention of his son, his eyes fierce, all but accusing Xavier of treason. The court wizard shook his head, retreating a few steps under the king's bitter scrutiny. To this day, I have never seen another man fall from such pomp to such despair in the space of a single breath.
"What is this?" King Eamon clenched his fist and walked around the table. Gone was the broken man of moments before, replaced by a red raging giant. He bellowed and jabbed a finger toward Xavier, faster than any duelist who'd ever brandished a wand. "I'll have your tongue pulled, wizard!" He spat the word with such derision it made my skin tingle, but the sentinels held their composure.
"Mercy, Your Majesty." Xavier, too terrified to run, froze in place as the king closed the gap between them. "I swear I would never!"
"Master Xavier speaks the truth." Gustobald never wavered as he stepped in front of the court wizard. "In fact, he's told me very little."
"Perhaps not his tongue then," Eamon said, not pacified in the slightest. "If you have information on my son, you'd best speak now while you still have a chance."
"Far from it," Gustobald replied. "Your Majesty is vexed. Prince Jasper being the only member of the royal family not present in your time of need, it is quite obvious who grieves you so. It doesn't take a seer to know which way the sun will set."
Xavier moved out from his hiding place behind Gustobald, and I slid away from both of them, a twinge stirring in the pit of my stomach. The blood still hadn't returned to Xavier's face, and his voice was shallow. "Your Majesty—"
The king gave a beastly growl, tossing the shirt in the chair beside him. "Enough! You had your chance, dog. What good is a seer that can't bloody see?" He grabbed a goblet from the table and hurled it at Master Xavier. It glanced off of the wizard's shoulder, showering him with blood-red wine. Unsatisfied with his aim, Eamon threw a second, but Xavier just bowed his head as the goblet sailed past him. "Pour the wine, pet wizard. I'll find a use for you yet, you cur, you worthless bag of bones. Same for the rest of you. Sentinels. Sentinels! A disgrace to the name!"
"I need time, Your Majesty." The Royal Seer pleaded.
"You've had it," the king said. "And now it's gone. And now we have a necromancer. So, necromancer, tell me the truth. Can you succeed where these charlatans have failed?"
Gustobald rapped the butt of his staff on the plush carpet floor and furnished a well-practiced bow. King Eamon shot me a wicked glance that made my knees weak, but didn't linger long enough to see my awkward imitation of a curtsey. Instead, he broke down into tears and bent over the table, hiding his face.
"My son is dead!" His wail plucked at my heart, and I instantly forgave his previous outburst. This was a man undone. He would have been on the floor, had the table not broken his fall. One of the guards rushed over to help him up, but King Eamon shifted his weight into the nearby chair, sitting directly on top of the blue shirt. He fell back and closed his eyes, shaking his head back and forth and taking deep breaths. Xavier and Gustobald said nothing. They just stood watching the king suffer.
"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty," I said, breaking the uncomfortable sound of Eamon's sobs. I sent Gustobald a dirty look and he shut his gaping mouth. "We're here to help in any way we can."
"My enemies are all about me," Eamon said, cupping his hands over his face to rub away the tears. "I want the names of those responsible, be they here or abroad. Whether you must chase them to the edge of the world, I want my son avenged!"
"I will set to work at once," Gustobald said with a quiet enthusiasm that was thankfu
lly lost on the king. Uncomfortable with theatrics not of his own making, the necromancer was eager to put this emotional display behind him. "Of course, I'll need to see Prince Jasper's remains as soon as possible."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Xavier said, provoking another glare of contempt from the king. "That is, the prince's remains have not yet been recovered."
"But you know where the body is," Gustobald said, but Xavier just shook his head. "You're telling me there's no body?"
"The Royal Seer may as well be blind," Eamon said, sliding an unthrown goblet closer to him. Xavier shifted in place, but Eamon wasn't willing to waste any more wine on him. Instead, he tipped the jug and filled his cup to the brim, drinking it down as quickly as he had poured it.
"I cannot see him in the stars," Xavier said.
"When is the last time you saw him with your eyes?" Gustobald asked.
"Days ago. The prince has been busy—" The court wizard's tone hung unfinished as he made a deferential bow to the king, who waved his hand in response. "The prince is nearly two months into his betrothal. Lord Ashdown of Northsgate will arrive in three weeks to prepare for the ceremony, only to learn of the prince's demise."
"My enemies," Eamon said. "They have finally brought me to ruin."
"I will continue my search alongside the Sentinels," Xavier said quietly. "In the meantime, you should speak to the Crown Inspector. He's an able man and is gathering information as we speak."
I had almost forgotten about Bastion Raines. It had been a month since I'd bid him farewell from the magic school. 'Able man' was an understatement; his was a rare mind indeed—kind, fair, and efficient. It was impossible for me to hold ill will toward him even after he had mistakenly arrested me for conspiring to murder.
"I look forward to speaking to him," I said, and my master scoffed. It was to be expected. He hadn't said a good word about Inspector Raines in the month I had lived under his roof. No one maintained a grudge like Gustobald Pitch.
"If there is no body, there is no murder," Gustobald said. "He is young. He may have just made off of his own accord. He wouldn't be the first to flee an arranged marriage, would he? How can you be so sure he's even dead?"