Sinners of Magic

by Lynette Creswell

  ‘What do you mean?’ Crystal huffed. ‘You’re not seriously expecting us to just walk through those huge gates unchallenged, are you? I mean, wouldn’t that be like the lamb jumping up on the slab and offering the sacrificial knife in its hoof in preparation for its own slaughter?’

  ‘That’s just it,’ explained Amella with a sudden twinkle in her eye. ‘Forusian will never expect you to enter via the front door.’

  ‘But I’ll be instantly recognised; we don’t exactly blend in, do we? No, that’s a terrible idea, sorry, you’re going to have to think of something else.’

  Amella ignored her words and started to untie the thin blanket.

  ‘Come and sit down here,’ Amella said, placing herself in a shallow dip concealing them from view. She felt Crystal’s eyes bore into the back of her head and she turned and patted the ground, wanting her to do as she was told.

  Crystal finally obeyed, her immaturity showing in her youthful eyes.

  ‘Look, let’s have something to eat before we try to make it into the lion’s den,’ Amella urged, placing the food directly onto the blanket.

  Crystal shrugged her shoulders, acting like a stubborn child.

  ‘I’m not in the least bit hungry,’ she said, lifting her nose in the air. ‘In fact, food is the last thing on my mind because I’m feeling a little sick.’

  ‘Here, take a piece, it will ease your queasiness,’ said Amella, offering her a large chunk of bread.

  Crystal had to admit the fresh-baked dough smelt good and before she knew what she was doing she was reaching out and taking an unintentional nibble. The bread was layered with a thin, brown spread which tasted delicious, and she swilled it down with the spring water which was as cold as when it had first been filled from the stream.

  She felt the sun’s golden ray’s burn down on her body and with it came a strange sensation which started in her mouth. Her tongue went slightly numb and her lips swelled and became puffy. She was not too alarmed at first, but then the sensation travelled through her body, causing her to feel bloated and uncomfortable. Pressure was rising in her head and her blood was pumping around her brain at a dramatic rate, causing a migraine to blast pain into her eyes. Panic set in when she felt her face grow itchy and her nostrils flare. Her look of alarm rested heavily on Amella, who simply pressed her hand to her shoulder to help keep her calm.

  ‘Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine,’ she said, realising the child’s dilemma, ‘that’ll be the magic in the pâté working. I know I should have told you what my plan actually consisted of, but I knew you would have refused me if I had told you what I was really going to do.’

  As Amella spoke, Crystal felt her body transmute. Her arms and legs appeared to grow shorter and she noticed her hands melted together to form small hooves.

  Seeing the fear in her eyes, Amella continued to try to reassure her.

  ‘You won’t stay like that for long,’ she soothed. ‘The spell will only last for a short while, but it will give us enough time to smuggle you into the castle without suspicion.’

  Crystal flailed her arms about in a mad dance; her voice disappeared and tears streamed down her hairy face.

  ‘Why are you acting this way?’ asked Amella, becoming slightly worried at Crystal’s reaction to the spell. ‘Why, you must have changed into another creature at some point in your life?’

  With light fingers Amella helped Crystal off with her clothes.

  ‘I will wrap them inside the blanket for later,’ she explained, grabbing the cloth. ‘Don’t fret; I know you are angry with me right now, but this was the best idea I could think of at such short notice.’

  Amella folded her clothes into a neat pile before rolling them up into a tight ball.

  ‘You said yourself how you couldn’t blend in, so I have made it easier for you to do so, for I have changed you into something no one will ever suspect is you.’

  Crystal had lost none of her senses and opened her mouth to declare Amella’s insanity. She had been caught off guard and felt utterly stupid, but instead of words coming out of her mouth she only made a bleating sound and instantly shut her mouth in dismay. The shock of what had happened to her filled her with fury, but she realised she had no choice but to trust Amella.

  ‘You will forgive me,’ said Amella, tying a thin piece of rope around Crystal’s neck. ‘But if you carry on bleating like that you will draw unwanted attention to us,’ she chided. ‘Now, what we are going to do is give the impression I am going to the castle to sell livestock. This will not only get us inside the castle, but give us access to the kitchens. Now listen and listen carefully, for we will only get one shot at getting inside. Stay by my side at all times; on no account must you wander off and no matter what you see or hear you must not alert them to your spell or they will know that we are infiltrators and kill us on the spot. Do you understand?’

  Crystal opened her mouth, but again only a bleat escaped her fur-covered lips.

  ‘We can do this,’ Amella said, ‘but we can only do this together. Remember, brave one, Forusian is an evil man who doesn’t know the meaning of forgiveness and no matter what happens there will be no turning back.’

  With a heavy heart Crystal bleated her alliance. She raised her small round eyes towards heaven and watched the clouds swirl in the sky like the many thoughts drifting through her mind. Amella pulled unexpectedly at the cord around her neck and she jerked her head, pulling back in protest, hoping against hope that no one in the future would ever learn how she had suffered such an indignity as being turned into a goat.

  Chapter 20

  Matt was losing all sense of time and only the edge of reason was keeping him from going insane. He had been separated from Arhdel soon after his first encounter with Forusian and held in a dungeon close to where the king slept. For some strange reason Matt wasn’t clasped in chains like so many, but suffered his confinement in a damp and mouldy fleapit all the same. The walls were bare stone, the air bitter cold and the only thing to wrap themselves around him were the feelings of loss and desperation.

  On arrival he’d been given a tatty blanket to help stop the damp reaching his skin and a small, metal plate, dented and unwashed. His plate now sat on the floor next to the door, a reminder of the pathetic scraps of food he was offered each day. A small flap cut into the lower part of the door lay closed, yet it was his only link to the outside world and it was rarely opened.

  Matt quivered uncontrollably when continuous screaming pierced the darkness each and every night. He recognised the cries to belong to Arhdel and recoiled in horror, cupping his hands over his ears to try and stop the noise mashing his brain to pulp. It was clear Forusian’s fury at losing Crystal could not be quenched and his anger fell at the bloodied feet of Arhdel, and as each day rolled into the next, Matt heard the moans grow weaker until only silence echoed around him.

  Forusian, meanwhile, sat on his bed trying to scratch out the last parts of his plan. He had decided not to treat the boy as harshly as the soldier, realising that when he reclaimed the princess she would look upon him with more favour if the boy had been unharmed. He smiled to himself at the thought of having her back; it wouldn’t be long now, he was sure of it, and he was more than willing to force her to become his wife when he did. His smile faded; he’d wanted her to marry him of her own free will but it was obvious that this was never going to happen now.

  He’d sent many soldiers out in search of her shortly after he had returned to his lair to find that she’d somehow escaped. The Nonhawk searched for a night and a day, but by the end of it they had returned empty-handed and the consequence had been their immediate slaughter. The cliff became stained once again with their blood, and its jagged rocks and the rough vicious sea could not wash away its shame quickly enough.

  Forusian became obsessed with finding Crystal and sent three of his most competent soldiers to enter the forest, covered by a magic spell of the woodland in the hope of tracking her down. They could enter any dwelling
, constructed of wood or of a natural origin, and go undetected, enabling them to spy on anyone unseen, but Forusian gave them a grave warning: return only when they had news of her whereabouts or taste the bitter reward of death.

  The three soldiers left the castle and rode their horses fiercely, confident they would find the princess with the help of Forusian’s magic. They hadn’t taken his warning lightly and knew that if they failed to bring her back it would mean their ultimate death. With his violent words ringing in their ears, they vowed not to return empty-handed.

  They came upon many huts and cabins hidden within the lush, green trees and with the day turning into night they slipped undetected in and out of each dweller’s home. They invaded the hovels of creatures of misfortune, folk who had been forced to live a life of squalor and destitution, exiled by their own people for crimes against their realms. The soldiers’ sharp ears laboured relentlessly, listening to idle gossip and careless snippets of conversation, hoping someone would lead them straight to the princess. But as time passed by the soldiers became disgruntled by the sheer lack of information and so they pushed on until they came upon a hut that was closed up and showing no signs of life.

  They encircled the small cabin before entering through the front door. Once inside, they dispersed their spell and showed themselves to all but an empty room.

  ‘Search the place,’ commanded the Nonhawk leader, knocking the table bare of most of its meagre tableware whilst he searched for vital clues. He wore the black livery of Forusian and his metal fist hit the surface of the table, shattering what was left of the shabby crockery.

  His eye caught sight of the makeshift bed and he made his way towards it. With a sharp tug he pulled the covers back and glanced down at the lumpy mattress, resting his eyes upon something that resembled dark, silken thread lying on the pillow.

  Pulling off one of his leather gloves he enabled two of his podgy fingers to pick up the single strand of auburn hair. He sniggered outwardly before calling his companions to his side.

  ‘She was here!’ he said, producing the strand and holding it up to his torch. It shone a thousand shades of copper and grunts of welcomed satisfaction came from each of their hardened mouths.

  ‘Whose hut is this?’ the leader demanded. The two soldiers shook their heads, unsure.

  ‘No matter,’ he said, carefully placing the evidence inside a piece of torn linen which he spotted lying on the floor. ‘We will find out who owns this place the minute we get back, for this hut is on King Forusian’s land.’

  Within minutes the soldiers were back in the saddle and making their way to Forusian’s castle. They travelled through the night and when they reached the castle, thousands of torches had been placed around the towers, lighting up the night sky to create a blaze of firelight.

  ‘It is our welcome home,’ shouted one of the soldiers, pulling at his horse’s reins to make him slow his pace. ‘We are going to be made heroes.’

  Once inside the castle they were announced to the king and Forusian didn’t hesitate to offer his men a welcoming drink when they were shown into the drawing room. The ambience gave the impression of warmth, but Forusian’s expression was ice-cold.

  ‘What news do you bring of the princess?’ the king asked, staring at them with hardening eyes.

  ‘My lord,’ said the leader, taking a low bow. ‘We have found evidence of where the one you seek has been sheltering.’

  ‘And where would that be?’ asked Forusian, forcing his lips tight.

  ‘A hard day’s ride from here, deep in the forest.’

  Forusian rolled his eyes. ‘So damn close,’ he cursed aloud. ‘I knew she couldn’t have gotten far.’

  He edged his way towards a nearby carafe and filled his goblet to the very brim, downing the liquid in one mighty gulp.

  Forusian looked sharply at the soldier.

  ‘So, what proof do you have of this?’

  Without delay, the commander moved to the king’s side. With shaking hands, he reached inside his pocket and drew out the cloth.

  ‘Come on, man,’ Forusian snapped, clearly losing his patience, ‘I haven’t got all day.’

  Without further delay the soldier unfolded the small piece of torn linen to show his master his prized possession.

  ‘Where did you find it?’ Forusian asked, moving closer, his voice turning to a whisper when he reached out and touched the fiery strand with his newly manicured fingers. He felt a tremendous burst of elation; there could be no doubt that the familiar auburn thread, glistening in the light, was indeed a stand of Crystal’s hair.

  ‘We found it in a small hut near the area called Sorin’s Copse, sire,’ the soldier explained, looking pleased.

  Forusian gave him a long, cold stare. ‘Are you sure she wasn’t still there, hiding somewhere?’

  The commander looked resolute.

  ‘No, sire, there were no signs of life.’

  ‘Who owns that piece of land?’ the king asked, taking the hair from the soldier’s outstretched hand and rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.

  The soldier hesitated and the blood drained from his face.

  ‘We don’t know the dweller’s name, sire, but we thought you would have some record of them in your deeds of ownership.’

  For a moment Forusian fell silent and the atmosphere crackled with mounting tension.

  ‘Well done, men,’ Forusian said, at last, turning to face them with a dazzling smile. ‘You have found me a lead although not the girl, I will make sure you are well rewarded.’

  A look of relief registered on all the soldiers’ stricken faces and they each broke out into toothless grins.

  Forusian absentmindedly chewed the inside of his cheek in concentration, a habit he seldom displayed in public.

  ‘Leave me!’ he ordered, shooing them like flies towards the door. ‘You have done all you can – for now.’

  Without hesitation the soldiers made their leave, filing out one by one and heading for their billets. Forusian called to the main guard.

  ‘Have those imbeciles executed,’ he commanded, his eyes turning black with evil intent. ‘Yet again they fail me.’

  The guard left and Forusian made his way down the stone staircase and straight to his vault. Once inside he lit several sconces and the room blazed with bright light. His eyes soon adjusted to the glare and he flashed his gaze cross the interior, checking all was as he had left it.

  The vault throbbed like an Aladdin’s Cave, bursting at the seams with many stolen artefacts and trinkets. It had been divided into three sections, each committed to one division of his wealth. These sections consisted of gold (including jewels), magic spells and land.

  He walked over to a small box, opened it and quickly removed the contents. He retrieved a piece of jewellery and, placing it between his fingers, stroked the magnificent work of art. Mesmerised by its beauty, his eyes gleaming, he drank in its wealth and took an involuntary breath when the exquisitely cut stone set in its centre sent a radiant pyramid of colour straight through his fingers and he felt the surge of its kinetic force. He wished he knew how the amulet worked, but he also knew he would never know its secret. Closing his eyes, he tried to connect to its power but felt no tingling sensation and he became infuriated. The amulet could be his greatest weapon but only if Crystal helped him to use it.

  He pulled a face, his mind flooding with images of the princess, and then his half-made army and the blue slimy body parts of the gruesome goblins flashed before his eyes, pushing thoughts of Crystal aside. His latest experiment was cultivated from pieces of dead tissue from those he’d had murdered in the past and he needed the power from the amulet very soon or everything he had dreamed of would die of decay and be destroyed. Pressure was building behind his eyes and with some reluctance he dropped the amulet back into the box and promptly closed the lid.

  His day of triumph would come soon enough he vowed and when he married Crystal, the necklace and its power would be his for the taking, for h
e would force his bride to use the amulet once she became his queen. A desperate stench poured from his mouth when he produced a sudden roar of laughter caused by his darkest desires.

  He turned and made his way to a darkened corner that resembled a small library. Row upon row of long, wooden shelves held much in the way of brown leather-bound books, books which calculated his vast fortune and ill-gotten wealth, including extensive documentation on all his tenants and owners living on his land.

  A small ladder lay forgotten on the floor; he clicked his fingers and the wooden steps flew to his hand. He grasped them firmly and then placed them in the very centre of the bookshelves. Each row represented a county within his own realm and he called out to the volume which contained the details of Sorin’s Copse.

  A large book flew from one of the shelves and levitated in front of him, the pages acting as wings whilst it sat poised in mid-air, making the air stir with the faintest of breezes.

  Snatching the book with his fingers, Forusian placed the heavy tome under his arm and made his way back down the ladder. He reached out and expertly extinguished the torches one by one before leaving the vault with a lighter step. Filled with enthusiasm, he made his way to the comfort of his chamber. His lips were set firm when he closed the door and then headed for his desk, slamming the volume down before grabbing a seat. He meticulously turned over each page, drinking in long-forgotten information, and whilst the moon began to glow, he smiled a somewhat chilling smile when he placed his finger upon a name.

  ‘Oh, my lord,’ he gasped, remembering long years past. He snapped the book closed and immediately called for his guard.

  Chapter 21

  The sun was almost set when Bridgemear reached the kingdom of the Nonhawk. An orange glow was throwing itself against the outer walls of the castle, giving the evening some added warmth, and Bridgemear envied those who would have time to sit and enjoy it.

  He kicked his horse on and drew his sword tighter around his waist, checking to see if his cloak still hid it from view. He knew he would not be made welcome within the castle walls, but they would not refuse him entry. Bracken was not far from sight, having followed at a safe distance. There was something magnetic in Bridgemear’s mannerisms which drew Bracken to him; he felt curious about the wizard and now ceased playing tricks, keeping a close watch over the mage instead.