Sorcery (Dragons & Magic Book 3)

by Dave Higgins

  Books didn’t have any secrets in them. Just dusty, dead words. Beyond the castle walls, in the depths of dark forests and hidden caves, that’s where the secrets lay.

  She hopped over a stone wall and staggered through a field of cows. A few of them started in surprise when they saw her, but went back to grazing when she took no interest in them.

  Without more immediate concerns to take her attention, her thoughts turned to the same thing they always did: how different things would be if she could travel in time. She could go back twelve years, to the moment of her birth, and warn her parents what a huge mistake they were making. She could tell them to put her points into Strength and Dexterity instead of Wisdom and Charisma. To create a hero, not a scholar.

  She rested the axe on a field wall and rolled her shoulders. Her muscles felt as if she’d been adventuring for ages, but when she looked back, Blackcrest Castle still loomed over her. Clambering over the field wall, she eased the axe onto her other shoulder and lurched on.

  Chapter 3

  Suspicious Quiet

  Edmond caressed the page with the edge of the knife. He’d soaked up as much of the ink as he could before it dried, then blown on it until it was set enough to scrape. The trouble was, once it soaked in he couldn’t get the ink off without damaging the page itself. It had taken him the better part of two hours to repair as much as he had. He dropped the knife and straightened, looking at the book from every angle.

  There was no getting away from it, it was ruined. The page would never be the same. He could now read everything it said without difficulty; but that wasn’t the point. The book was an original rather than a copy and now that originality was tainted.

  Having the book copied by the Order of the Word would cost more than most people earned in a lifetime. Would the royal coffers stand that? They wouldn’t have to if Peony hadn’t been so careless.

  Where was Peony? It had been long enough since she flounced off for her to come back and start a new argument. She’d inherited her mother’s stubbornness. She couldn’t let things go. She had to keep telling him endlessly how he’d ruined her life.

  For a moment, Edmond was tempted to enjoy the peace and quiet, but he knew better. Silence meant a bigger argument later if he didn’t do something about it. He closed the ruined book and replaced it on the library shelf.

  Sliding his reading glasses onto the top of his head for safe-keeping, he made his way from the room. The corridors were quiet around the library, out of respect for his work, but he was soon surrounded by hustle and bustle. He stopped in the middle of the corridor. Could something be both at the same time? Or was there a difference? Servants filtered past him, mostly ignoring him other than a small nod. They all knew who the real monarch was, and it wasn’t Edmond.

  After making a note on his sleeve, he made his way up to the royal suites. The door to Peony’s room was closed, as he expected. But the usual sounds of petulant stomping were missing. He dreaded to find out what she was up to.

  He knocked gently. “Peony?”

  There was no reply. There wasn’t even the pregnant silence of a fuming twelve-year-old. He turned the knob and opened the door, finding a chaotic mess inside, but no angry daughter.

  Closing the door again, he cast about for someone to ask. Two servants were washing the floor at the end of the corridor. They looked up as Edmond approached.

  “Your Majesty,” the one on the left said.

  Her rosy cheeks and the wisps of red hair sticking from under her bonnet seemed familiar. “Maeve, right? Have you seen the princess?”

  “Mary.” The maid thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Not recently, Your Majesty.”

  Edmond frowned. There seemed to be something she wasn’t telling him. He had no way to make her talk, though. Ambling down to the courtyard, he glanced about.

  The sergeant of the guard approached at a swift march and snapped a salute.

  “Guthfrinn, have you seen my daughter?”

  “Not for over an hour. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It messes up the rota if Her Highness sends us on wild goose chases.”

  “Wild goose chases?”

  “She came to the gate talking about a man on the battlements. When we went to check, there was no one there. By the time we’d finished searching properly Her Highness was nowhere to be found. If she—”

  “The bolt on the wicket gate, was it open?”

  Guthfrinn frowned. “One of the servants was leaving as we returned. I guess Her Highness could have left the castle while we were away.”

  Edmond stalked to the council chamber.

  Inside, Daffodil and Marshal Tiller hunched over a map. Daffodil glanced up, her look of irritation vanishing when she saw Edmond’s expression.

  “Peony left the castle after I argued with her,” Edmond said. “She was talking about becoming a hero.”

  “What’s she going to do? Fight dandelions?” Marshal Tiller asked.

  “The maids upstairs know something,” Edmond said. “They wouldn’t tell me what, though.”

  “Then I’ll flay them until they scream the answers,” Daffodil said.

  Edmond scurried after her as she stormed from the room.

  “Should I rally the castle guard?” Tiller asked.

  “No,” Edmond said. “Not while Her Majesty is in this mood. An army couldn’t stand before her. Mind the castle while we deal with whatever this is.”

  Chapter 4

  Quest

  Somewhat over an hour later, Peony staggered into the village of Rapid Bluff, the axe dragging behind her. Only a few houses were clustered around the square; most were spread further out, close to the farms. She whistled in what she hoped was an adventurous fashion, casting about for someone to talk to.

  Apart from a young boy sitting on a wall—and a few tiny figures in the distance—the village seemed empty. She fixed her gaze on the boy. Staring into space while chewing a piece of straw didn’t seem important. Even if it were, he’d be grateful she’d come to save everyone. “You there. I’m Princess Peony, here to rid your village of wights.”

  The boy looked her up and down. “A princess? Shouldn’t you be off kissing frogs?”

  She frowned at the boy. “What’s your name?”

  “Why? You going to have me beheaded?”

  “Maybe.” She dragged her axe up to rest it on her shoulder. “Or perhaps I’ll just swing the axe myself.”

  “Some hero you are. My name’s Alf, but I’m not telling you where the wights are.”

  She stared at him. “Why not? Don’t you want me to get rid of them for you?”

  “They’re a nuisance.” He shifted the straw to the other side of his mouth. “But I reckon not as much of a nuisance as an angry king and queen. You’re only a little girl, you can’t fight wights.”

  “How dare you?” She stiffened, the effect somewhat spoiled by one shoulder remaining lower than the other. “I’m twelve.”

  “And I’m thirteen,” Alf said. “You don’t see me fighting wights. There are soldiers to do things like that. Or heroes.”

  He seemed far too smart for his own good and didn’t know how he should answer his betters. She considered the problem for a moment. If he wouldn’t tell her outright where the wights were, she would have to get the information some other way. “You’re right. I shouldn’t try to fight the wights. Maybe I’ll just visit my aunt in the west.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Alf said.

  “Or my second cousin in the east.”

  “The aunt sounded like a good idea.”

  “Ah ha!” Peony swivelled left. “So the wights are in the east.”

  “No. Don’t go that way. Don’t go where the dangerous wights are. You’ll be killed.”

  Something in the way he said it gave her pause. After a moment’s struggle with the axe, she turned to face him. “They’re not in the east.”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  She couldn’t believe his cheek
. Why wouldn’t he tell her what she wanted to know? And then to trick her?

  “You ever seen a wight?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “They’re hideous. Sharp teeth, long arms and legs, and eyes that glow deep yellow. I saw one rip a sheep apart. Wasn’t pretty.”

  She considered that for a moment. “Show me.”

  “No, you’ll try to fight it.”

  “No, I won’t. Not if it’s as bad as you say. I’ll go home and let the soldiers take care of it.”

  He considered that for a moment. “Fine. For a kiss.”

  “A kiss?” She glared at him. “This is hero’s work and you’re talking about kissing?”

  “I want to be able to say I kissed a princess.”

  “Fine. You did say I should kiss some frogs.” If agreeing got him to show her, it was worth it. She could change her mind later, anyway; what was he going to do, walk up to the castle and demand to kiss her? The guards would chase him off once they’d finished laughing.

  Rather than getting angry at the frog crack, he laughed and hopped off the wall. “Let’s go.”

  He raced through the village, leaving her struggling with the axe. She refused to fall behind, though, pushing her tired legs to follow him. Bursting onto the common, she lurched and staggered her way between scattering sheep.

  About quarter-of-an-hour later—just as she thought the axe was going to win—Alf slowed to a halt and waved at a copse. “They’re in there somewhere. We should wait here until one comes out to feed. There are plenty of sheep around.”

  She peered into the shadowy trees, then behind her at the village. The castle was out of sight, but it hadn’t taken her long to get here. Just long enough for someone to notice she was gone. Her parents would be on their way. And even if they didn’t know which way she’d gone, it wouldn’t take long for them to work it out. She didn’t have time to hang around and wait for a wight to get hungry. “No. You said you’d show me, so show me.”

  He looked at her the way her embroidery teacher did whenever she suggested making something more heroic than a sampler of seasonal flowers or a genteel quotation.

  “If you don’t,” she said. “I’ll go in there on my own.”

  He sighed and crept forward. “Fine, but if we find one, drop that axe. Carrying it, you’re slower than a three-legged pig.”

  She flushed, but let it pass.

  Alf glanced all around them as they got closer, his eyes growing wider and more alert. The cheeky smile was gone now. He held his finger to his lips as they passed the treeline.

  She shook her head in irritation. As if she didn’t know to be quiet around monsters. She placed her feet as best she could, trying to avoid the leaves and twigs on the floor of the wood.

  The daylight vanished behind and the trees grew closer. Sweat broke out on her brow and she trembled. She assured herself it was just the effort of carrying the axe.

  After leading her several paces deeper into the gloom, he crouched behind a fallen bough and pointed at a small hillock ahead.

  She stared at it. Apart from a few feeble saplings jutting out, the rise seemed empty. She was about to make a cutting remark when the hillock moved.

  The branches shifted in all directions and thin limbs extended. The creature’s shoulders rose almost to the height of the surrounding trees, even hunched as it was. Its narrow head turned to sweep the wood, revealing beady, mucus-coloured eyes, and a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth. Hard knots of skin studded its grey flesh, increasing its resemblance to a tree.

  Her cheeks burned as she realised the wight was utterly naked; that that branch was… not a branch. Alf tugged at her sleeve.

  She ignored him and focused on other bits of the wight. Much as it pained her to admit, she had no chance against it. Even if its claws didn’t gut her before she got close enough to—

  Alf wrenched at her arm. “The axe.”

  She scowled at him, then realised he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, his gaze was fixed behind them where a second wight loped in their direction, slime dripping from its maw.

  She handed over the axe with a squeal, accepting the shaking wasn’t just tiredness. Her eyes locked on the wight as it strode closer. Somewhere inside, a voice screamed for her to run, but it couldn’t break through the icy terror.

  Alf stepped in front of her, axe held high. He was nothing like the soldiers she’d watched train; he looked tiny and ineffectual. With a roar, he ran to meet the wight.

  The wight drew back one taloned limb as it charged.

  But, before it could slice Alf in half, flames erupted across its skin. Alf backed away, exchanging a look of confusion with Peony, as the creature yowled and beat at itself.

  A roar undercut the wight’s screams as Daffodil sprinted from the shadows, sword raised above her head. A flaming arm landed on the floor nearby, followed by the creature’s head.

  Peony raised her eyes to her mother’s, but Daffodil continued past her to meet the second wight. Stepping into a wide, ballet-like plie, Daffodil ducked beneath the beast’s swipe and cleaved its legs from under it. Shoulders rolling, she drove her blade into the wight’s chest.

  A second column of flame erupted to Peony’s left, then a third. With a start, she realised more wights had been approaching, drawn by the noise of the humans. Edmond danced out of the trees, his movements casting magic about them. She hadn’t realised he knew enough dancing to cast a light spell. After a final measure, he halted near her, gaze sweeping the surrounding woods. “I think they’re all dead or running.”

  Daffodil strode back, wiping her sword on her sleeve. “Good.”

  As one, they looked down at Peony. She tried to build up a head of anger, but it withered beneath her parents’ matching frowns.

  “What,” Daffodil asked, “was that?”

  “Wights,” Peony said.

  “Don’t you dare be cheeky, young lady. You know what I’m asking. You stole my axe and sneaked off. For what? To let a wight rip you to shreds?”

  “Someone needed to deal with them.” It sounded forceful in Peony’s head, but out loud it sounded pompous and prideful. She tried again. “They were eating the farmers’ sheep.”

  Daffodil’s eyes narrowed. “First, we have soldiers to deal with monsters. Second, do you know why they’re eating the sheep?”

  Peony shook her head.

  “The farmers have hunted all the game in the area. The wights have nothing to eat but sheep. Not only that, the farmers are clearing the trees to expand their farms; which means the sheep are grazing right beside the wights.”

  “Wights are monsters,” Peony said. “Monsters are supposed to die. That’s why soldiers and heroes fight them.” She turned to Alf for support, but he was crouched against a tree, failing to hide behind the axe. If anything, he looked paler than when they’d faced the wights.

  Behind her, she heard her mother growl something under her breath and stomp away.

  “Peony.” Edmond rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been given such a gift. Do you realise what I’d have given to have your Wisdom or Charisma? Or your position? You’re a princess. You don’t have to fight anything.”

  “I should just marry someone and let them do everything?” she asked. “Be a dutiful wife and queen?”

  “That’s unfair. We’ve never said you had to do that.”

  “You never say I have to do anything; you have people to do that for you. What if I said I wanted to marry Alf here, instead of some prince?”

  Edmond smiled toward Alf, but Peony could see her father was already distracted. No doubt his thoughts were half on whether the fight against the wights was worth writing about. “Then we’d support you, like we always do.”

  “Then support me now! Let me fight monsters and go on quests.”

  Daffodil strode across the clearing. “You’re twelve!”

  “And you were fourteen. Not twenty-six, or whatever age it turns out to have been when I hit twenty-six.”
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  “I had Strength!” Daffodil screamed, her face white. “And armour, and your father’s Luck!”

  “And Grew,” added Edmond.

  Daffodil glared at Edmond. “Yes. And Grew for some of it. You have a farmer’s son and an axe you can’t lift!”

  Daffodil yanked her axe out of Alf’s grip and tied it to her belt. Turning on her heel, she headed a short distance into the trees. Her back was rigid, but Peony knew from the slump of her mother’s shoulders that she was crying.

  Edmond motioned for Alf to leave. The boy unfolded and dived in the direction of the village, feet racing before they even touched the ground. Once he was out of sight, Edmond crouched in front of her. “You can’t risk your life like this. Your mother and I became heroes because we had no other choice. Otherwise, we’d have been pig farmers all our lives… at most a village smith and her farmer husband. You have every choice in the world. You can be anything you like. There’s no need to fight monsters and risk your life like this.”

  “You didn’t give me the stats to be a hero. Right?”

  “Right. I’m glad you understand. Now, I think you should go and apologise to your mother.”

  Peony fumed at her father. He never even listened to her. Instead, he just talked and heard what he wanted to. Still, she couldn’t stand to see her mother cry. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it made Peony ache inside. She walked over, working out how to word her apology.

  She wondered if Alf would be angry he’d never got the kiss she promised him.

  Chapter 5

  Six Years Later

  “I’m eighteen, Dad. I should be able to choose.” Peony tried to set her father on fire with the power of a glare alone, but nothing happened. He just kept looking back at her with a patient smile on his face. The one that drove her crazy.

  “It’s two weeks,” Edmond said. “That’s all. You’ll be back before you know it.”

  “I don’t want to go to a conference. It’ll be filled with dusty old people like you talking about the importance of the Women of Tangen or something.”