The Queen of Mages

by Benjamin Clayborne

The scent of flowers in deep bloom wafted through the open doors. King Edon Relindos glared out at the morning sky from the desk in his private office. He could see the tops of the trees in the royal preserve from here, white oaks and poplars reaching high for the sun.

  It was not enough to mask the stench of failure that had followed him since Elland. He had hoped his men would stop just out of Elland’s reach, so he could catch them and turn back to attack the city once more, and capture that blasted woman. She was the key; she would be his. He would break her.

  But she’d kept him in the dungeon too long. His army had gone straight on to Callaston, them and their honor. He hadn’t caught up to them until he’d passed Hedenham Town, and by then the prospect of marching all the way back to Elland did not please even him. He arrived in Callaston at the head of a spent army. Only one out of every three mages he’d taken with him had returned.

  He could have stopped in Hedenham, burned it down, taken revenge on that traitor Tarian. Killed his family, his people. Taught him a lesson. But it seemed a petty thing, him surrounded by half a dozen tired soldiers who just wanted to get home to their families. No. He would bide his time, return with a proper army, and make Tarian pay.

  For now, he was stuck managing affairs in Callaston. By the time he returned to the city, a month had gone by, and of course in his absence the dukes on the Grand Council had let their myopia and selfishness run wild. Why couldn’t they obey? Why couldn’t they act as proper stewards to the realm and the people? Why did he have to do everything himself?

  He went out on the balcony and took several deep breaths. Each morning he took some time to relax, to bring himself calm. Ruling Garova meant a constant series of meetings, discussions, appointments, letters, papers, dealing with the treasury, the army, the guilds, everyone who wanted something from him. If they waited, they’d get their due. Why couldn’t they wait?

  A knock came from within. “Enter,” he called out, stepping back through the balcony doors.

  The visitor was his sister Taya. Today the princess wore a low-necked gown of spring green with an emerald choker to match her eyes. “Your majesty,” she said, dipping her head only slightly. She came without her vala, that poisonous girl. He knew Taya shared her bed with the vala. It was wretched, but beneath his notice.

  And he was less than pleased by her insolent excuse for a bow. Does she forget am I her king as well as her brother? She should show proper deference. He held that thought in check. For now. “What do you want?”

  Taya smiled faintly. “Are you well?”

  “Do I not look well?”

  “You have been brooding a great deal since your return. Men speak of it. They also speak of Elland.”

  “They will hold their tongues if they know what’s good for them.” He glanced down at his marriage rings: an amethyst in gold on the left, a sapphire in silver on the right. Purple and blue. His wife, Queen Cheraline, was likely still in their chambers. She did not rise early, as he did. “I had her. I had her. And yet somehow she defeated me. Treason. Treachery. How does she inspire it?” Mason Iris, that cursed traitor. Would that he’d seen the man’s weakness in Vasland and left him there.

  Taya shrugged. “You’ve seen her. She can inspire men to many things on her beauty alone. And with this power you share… The world has only begun to change, brother. Do not let one failure guide you.”

  “Who are you to mock my failure, you who let that stupid vala sneak out from under your nose?”

  “I told you, that was a ruse. That girl was canny; and besides, she had help from Count Tarian’s valo.” She waved a hand absently. “They are irrelevant. Countess Amira is the prize, is she not?”

  “Yes,” Edon admitted. “And I will deal with her.” He shifted in his chair, considering his sister. So far she had not been of much help to him, despite her insistence that she cared as much for the security of House Relindos as he did. Perhaps she needed a specific task. “What I need from you is to manage affairs here. Politics. The dukes are all cravens. I cannot again go into the field for a month and return to a Greater Council that has wasted that whole time with greedy bickering.”

  Taya had frozen for a moment, then settled back casually into her chair, her usual smile resuming its place on her lips. What was that about? Edon wondered.

  His sister shrugged faintly. “Well. I suppose. I cannot openly join the Greater Council, of course, so my methods will have to be somewhat more subtle. But I shall let it be known—quietly, of course—that I bear your will in these matters.”

  The offhanded way she spoke unsettled him. “Do not think to turn this to your own advantage. I will not have you after my throne as well!”

  Taya laughed. “Fear not, brother. I could never rule the kingdom. They are not prepared for a true queen.”

  You are wrong, something inside him screamed. They are being prepared for a queen of mages.

  ———

  He could have won. He could have taken all his mages to Elland.

  But he’d left too many of them here in Callaston, thinking that half his mages would be more than sufficient for his purposes. His recruiting parties had done well, scouring the countryside for those with the power. The process went even faster once he had a few mages of his own, who could tell another mage just by looking.

  Their ranks had swelled. He had housed them in the palace at first, and then had a barracks erected for them at the edge of the royal preserve. It would not do to put them in the city itself; the people might panic, and of course the mages themselves were dangerous.

  He’d wanted to guard against some sort of coup while he was gone. He’d left Lady Helena in charge of the academy, to see to their training and keep them out of trouble while he went to Elland.

  There was no denying that he’d made a tactical error in bringing mostly male mages. He had thought that breaching the wall of Elland would be the hard part, but that had turned out to be surprisingly easy. Until his men had rushed through the breach in the wall, he’d lost only three or four soldiers, mostly to arrows. His mages had been more than equal to the task of suppressing Amira’s mages.

  But once they’d gotten inside the city, the men had become less useful. Suddenly the city itself had become a weapon used against them, the streets turned to obstacles, ambushes set upon the roofs, stone façades toppled upon them as they passed. And then the castle. Using mindfire in close quarters was something only suited for women. They had all the luck, didn’t they? Women could use it to kill, as men could, but they could also use it to mend, create, warm. All he could do was destroy. Is that not enough for a warrior king?

  The memory of Warden Iris’s betrayal—of the deaths of the women who had fought beside Edon—drove him to a near-fury, ruining whatever further comfort he might take in his solitude. After Taya left, he went out into the anteroom. Alice sat there, flaxen-haired and bored. She was his bodyguard today. Since returning to the city, he’d tasked the female mages with taking turns as his guard, for the same reason that women would have been more useful in Elland: they could kill cleanly and silently, without destroying everything around them.

  The girl smiled as he emerged. “Your majesty,” she bowed, her neckline drooping to show excellent cleavage.

  Edon had resisted for an entire week before going to her bedchamber in the middle of the night and taking his pleasure with her. He’d tried to promise himself that he’d keep faith with his wife until he’d gotten her with child. It was important that he sire no bastards while king, or at least none older than his legitimate firstborn. Which he was certain would be a son.

  Cheraline was a good wife. Obedient, quiet. She did her duty, lying still until he finished, only rejecting him when her moon blood was upon her. Soon, she would catch. And if not, well, it was hardly an onerous duty for him.

  He led Alice out of his chambers and into the halls of Elibarran. He silently reminded himself, again and again, not to stare at her. Palace guards saluted him as he descended out of the re
sidential halls toward the parts of the palace where work was done.

  He was on a staircase when footsteps echoed up toward him. His secretary, whose name he had never bothered to learn, jerked to a halt. “Your majesty, good morning,” the man said, bowing so low that he almost hit his head on the step before him.

  Edon barely slowed to nod at the man, who scurried after him, clutching at a leather folder. “The Greater Council has sent a report about the, er, readiness of your army. It seems…”

  The man droned on while Edon made his way to the royal dining room, a private chamber meant for meals with his family. No one else was present, and Edon did not feel like sending for them. He ate luncheon alone, save for the secretary, who continued babbling about Edon’s schedule, and Alice, who sat in a chair by the door, smiling unchastely at Edon.

  The Greater Council met that afternoon. Edon sat in attendance. In some strange way, watching the dukes from the vantage of the throne appealed to him in a way that the council meetings never had as a prince. The dukes chattered nervously, as they had every day since his return. They had all clamored to agree with his plan to take Amira, as soon as he had revealed it. Not one of them had spoken a word of caution or worry. Did Edon inspire so much fear? When had he ever punished men for speaking truth?

  His thoughts drifted as the dukes debated how much another deployment of the army would cost the royal treasury. He had made mistakes, it could not be denied, but they were not his fault. No, he had been misled. Misled… by the Caretaker himself.

  Edon had heard the spirit of the Caretaker speaking to him through the spark in his mind. In his bedchamber in Gravensford, he’d dreamed of the Caretaker, a blazing figure with a face of pure light, his hand outstretched to guide Edon to his destiny. And he knew that Amira was tied to that destiny; he dreamt of her as well, her beautiful face, her golden hair floating in a halo around her as she knelt before Edon and surrendered her will to him.

  He had been at a loss when the dreams began. What had they meant? After his return to Callaston, he’d sought counsel from Aerandin himself, the most exalted priest of the Niderium. The wizened old fool had spoken of prophetic dreams had by old kings.

  The priests of the Niderium knew nothing. Their Aspects gave them comfort, but what good were comforting lies to a king? The Caretaker had tried to teach him to shepherd his people, to protect them. But that was not his place. Edon had to lead, not shepherd. A shepherd followed from the rear, driving the flock before him. A true leader went in the van, with his people at his back.

  A bolt struck him, as sharp as any thunderclap he’d ever made with his power. He instantly understood with perfect clarity that the temples of the Niderium were spreading heresies. Something had to be done.

  He rose and said, “I must go.” The dukes stopped their blathering and watched him with jaws open as he left. But they were the furthest thing from his mind. “Where is my brother?” he asked his secretary, who had been hovering at the margins.

  “Um, in the library, I suppose, sire,” he said. “I can send for him…”

  “No. Send for my mages. All of them, even the greenest recruits,” he said, flush with excitement. “Bring them to the throne room.”

  Edon did indeed find little Luka in the library, sitting on a thick tome to boost his height. He looked up from a dusty pile of parchment, and grinned at Edon. At least he seems to know I still protect this family. Luka had never known their father as anything more than an old man who wore a crown, and he did not seem to miss Viktor.

  “Good morning, your majesty!” the boy said brightly. His tutor, the old scholar Warwick, bowed to his king from his perch atop a nearby stool. Luka needed little instruction, but it was good having someone to keep an eye on him.

  “Good morning, Luka,” Edon said, feeling truly cheered for the first time that day. “I have a task for you.”

  Luka wrinkled his nose. “I don’t have to go riding, do I?”

  “No, nothing like that. I need a word.”

  Luka’s eyebrows went up. “Huh?”

  “You’ve studied old Elibander, yes? What is the word for ‘fire’?”

  The little boy thought for a moment, his face scrunching up. His dark brown hair was getting long again. Didn’t their mother ever tend to the boy? She had to come out of her chambers sometimes. Luka was only nine. “I think…” He hopped down from his seat, but halfway to a shelf he stopped and whirled about. “No, I’ve got it. I think. Wait, I should look it up.”

  “Just tell me,” Edon said, “and look it up later.”

  “Oh. Okay. The word is… zhar, that’s it.”

  “And how would you say ‘heart of fire’?”

  “Um… zharran! Just like how ‘Elibarran’ means ‘heart of Eliband.’” Luka grinned, excited, but then his smile became a little uncertain. “Is this about your…” Luka’s hand came up to his temple.

  “Perhaps. How would you say ‘little fire’?”

  “That’s easy. Senzhar.”

  Edon smiled. “Thank you for your help, Luka. Now back to your studies.” Zharranai. It was perfect.

  Alice followed him to the throne room. Several of his mages had assembled already, and he sat on the throne to wait, tapping his fingers impatiently. More of his mages filtered in, and then a group of them arrived all at once, led by Lady Helena, she of the black hair and knowing smile. She’d been only a commoner—a merchant’s daughter or something—when Edon found her, but as haughty and arrogant as any duchess. She had agreed to follow Edon on the condition he ennoble her. Any woman audacious enough to demand peerage can bloody well have it.

  Finally they were all gathered. Edon dismissed all the mundane guards and attendants, even Helena’s vala. This was the first time he’d gathered them all since his return. They watched him, curious, eager.

  “My friends,” Edon began. “We have been deceived.”

  Their curiosity turned to confusion, but the mages kept silent. Not one of them turned their eyes away from him. “We all know the Caretaker, and the Aspects. All of you have been praying to them since you were children. But with the power we share, this has become a new world, and the Caretaker is an old, old god. He cannot help us. He cannot guide us. His faith was meant for those who did not have the true light to guide them.”

  They had all pledged their loyalty to him, and he would reward them for their service. There had been one mage, unwise enough to refuse his offer, whom Lady Helena had found in a village to the west. No mage would live who did not swear fealty. Helena had killed the foolish man, burning him slowly from the inside out.

  “Yesterday we were mere mages. Today we are the Zharranai. The Fire’s Heart. We are the new power in this world, and we will no longer tolerate the pettiness of our lessers. We will rule. We will rule as the shining light that chases away the darkness. We alone will protect Garova from its enemies.” Every eye was intent on him. Lady Helena’s lips were parted slightly, curved into that cruel grin of hers.

  They could all see what he saw, he was sure of it. They would act as one, a mighty flame to scour the land clean of its heresies and lies. None would stand before their radiance. Amira will kneel before me. I will break her.

  Edon summoned his spark, and floated the silver bead out over their heads. He could detonate it and kill them all, and they knew it. They looked up as one at the deadly argent light glinting above them. “This is our destiny. This is the light that will shine on the whole world,” he said, almost breathless, standing before the throne that was finally, rightfully, his.

  “This,” he said, putting all his power into the spark, “is the light of your new god.”

  To be continued

  in Book 2

  of Mindfire

  The Silver War

  AFTERWORD: A PLEA

  Writing is a lonely pursuit, made bearable only by the promise of eventually creating a completed work. We then cast our child out into the darkness, leaving it to the tender mercies of the world.

 
; If you enjoyed reading The Queen of Mages, I ask only two things of you: return to wherever you purchased it, and write a positive review; and encourage your friends and family to buy copies, if you think it’s the sort of book they’ll enjoy. This is a one-man operation; I don’t have the support of a colossal (or even a tiny) publishing company at my back.

  The more that readers support me, the more I can afford to undertake writing as my sole profession. If you’re willing to go the extra mile, then like the book’s Facebook page! Read my blog! Follow me on Twitter! All these things can be accomplished by visiting https://benjaminclayborne.com, which will only take a moment of your time. (Certainly, I would hope, less time than it took to read the book!)

  Either way, the journey will continue as soon as humanly possible, in book 2 of Mindfire: The Silver War.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Benjamin Clayborne lives in Los Angeles with his family. The Queen of Mages is his first released novel. He hopes you found that blurb interesting, but totally understands if you don’t, because really, it’s short enough to fit on Twitter.