Trial of Magic

by K. M. Shea

  Stil, Prince Severin, and several others had once told Angelique they thought she was the Snow Queen of their generation.

  Standing at the base of this statue, Angelique felt their belief made a mockery of the Snow Queen and just how good and pure she had been.

  “That’s the Snow Queen,” Themerysaldi called. Apparently he had decided to never miss an opportunity to annoy Angelique today. “The first enchantress of the continent.”

  His observation broke the hold the faint magic of Jasper Circle had on Angelique. She yanked her hand back and flexed her fingers. “I know.”

  Themerysaldi opened his mouth to say something more, but Quinn slipped off his mount. “Never mind that!” She angled her head to shout to the elves, “Incoming! They’re right behind us!”

  Themerysaldi snapped on a serious expression as he shed his fancy over-robe so he could move freely in a tunic. He took a sword from one of his men. “To your posts!” he roared.

  He marched up and down the lines the elves had formed, murmuring to his people and giving orders. Quinn followed in his trail, leaving Angelique alone.

  Angelique glanced at the Snow Queen’s statue one last time before she left Jasper Circle.

  She started funneling her magic, twisting it into spells.

  If I work fast enough, I can throw out some traps and down the front lines. That will slow the goblins, and the longer we can delay their collision with our forces, the longer the elves will have to shoot them down.

  Angelique tapped her fingers against her chin as she studied the open stretch of land in front of the elves—who were pressed against the trees for cover.

  At least one hole. Maybe an ice field, too.

  She started shaping the spells and fought to stave off the weighty impression that this wasn’t going to be enough.

  She hesitated, holding an ice spell in her hands, and glanced at the closest elf.

  The elf hurriedly tied up the long sleeves of her dress with shaking fingers, then counted her arrows.

  All elves were taught basic combat and archery skills, but if Angelique wasn’t mistaken, the blonde-haired elf was the thoughtful handmaiden that had served Angelique tea—just the way she liked it—during her afternoon with Themerysaldi and Quinn.

  She’s not a warrior. She won’t survive this.

  Angelique swallowed, the thundering of her heart punctuated by the throbbing drums the goblins beat on as they marched closer and closer.

  Angelique’s gaze flickered past the handmaiden to the other elves around her.

  It was the same everywhere. Their eyes were glazed in fear, and their fingers shook as they tried to roll up their clothes and prepare for a battle they hadn’t been trained for. A few tried to use tiny flickers of magic, but they were so weak, it slipped between their fingers.

  Themerysaldi is right. They will die.

  Bobbing torches poked through the trees, and the goblin’s cackling laughter and shouts created a cacophony eclipsed only by the battering of their drums.

  The line of torches extended farther up and down through the trees than Angelique could reasonably see.

  How many are here? If I use spells, how many can I reasonably take down or stop?

  She had a bad feeling that—if she wanted to prevent the total annihilation of the elves—the answer was not nearly enough.

  Angelique clinically stared at the churning goblin forces. I’m faster and more capable than I used to be, but I have no hope of slinging enough spells to make a dent in these forces. If I use my core magic, just how many could I take down?

  The thought made her lungs freeze, but it was inescapable: her magic was made for war.

  Her stomach churned, and while she didn’t entirely stomp the thought down, she pushed it aside as she reluctantly moved to join Quinn, who was standing with a line of archers.

  Angelique narrowed her eyes and tried to better estimate how many goblins marched through the forest. “This is impossible.” She shook her hair out, getting rid of the snow that had coated the locks. “How could the Chosen control this many goblins? Who has this kind of power?”

  Themerysaldi had returned to Quinn’s other side, and he stared out at the goblins with a flinty frown. “I don’t know. But it seems they’ve been planning this for a long time.”

  A long time…that seems to be a pattern with the Chosen. They’ve been preparing for centuries, and we’re always ten steps behind them. What other foul tricks have they prepared?

  Lady Alastryn stood in front of a line of archers and hefted her bow. “We fight as one!”

  Angelique was faintly aware of Themerysaldi and Quinn arguing—the Elf King wanted her to flee because of her injury.

  But Angelique focused on the line of goblins. She was still on the brink of indecision.

  Save everyone and use her core magic—which she knew she didn’t have full control over—or return to building her pitiful ice spell.

  Guilt and concern swirled in her—if she lost herself to her magic, could Themerysaldi stop her?

  Or perhaps, the real question is do I have the strength to stop myself? Because I’ve never fought on this scale before.

  She watched as the first line of goblins broke through the trees, and she knew her answer.

  Chapter 6

  Sighing, Angelique dropped the ice spell. “Every time.”

  Quinn had an arrow nocked in her bow and a goblin in her sights. “Pardon?”

  “Every time I reach the end of my strength, I realize I don’t have a choice.” Angelique hopelessly stared at the goblins—not discouraged by their numbers, but knowing this battle was going to be irrefutable evidence of what she was. And unfortunately, the one person who had shown her the most kindness she had experienced in years was going to witness it.

  Angelique rubbed the back of her neck. “I can’t let innocents die and walk away, even if I pay the price with my soul.” She offered Quinn a tight smile. “Thank you for your kindness, Quinn. I do hope this doesn’t change what you think of me, but if it does…I will understand.”

  Angelique stepped away from the line of archers and felt the weight of her magic as it greedily flowed around her, tugging on her clothes and weaving through her hair, anxious to be used. Longing for it.

  She swallowed, or tried to; her spit lodged in her throat halfway down.

  “Angelique?” Themerysaldi called out to her.

  Angelique considered several various rude gestures before settling on swatting her hand at the concerned monarch—even though he’d badly botched asking her for help, he hadn’t been wrong. “You’re getting your wish, Your Majesty,” she said, using the title as a shield of sorts. “Tell your people to stand down.”

  She didn’t want to risk turning back and seeing the elves’ fright or Quinn’s concern, so she watched the goblins’ torches twinkle in the darkness of the night and cast orange hues on the gathering snow.

  Reluctantly, Angelique released the illusion spell that made her appearance more acceptable, casting it off with a casual toss of the hand.

  I don’t know how difficult this battle is going to be, and I can’t risk losing my concentration over an illusion spell.

  She felt the illusions drop, making her taller, her facial features more angular, and letting her eyes settle into their true hue of silver.

  The second line of goblins had cleared the trees by now.

  Together, the two lines rushed across the meadow, souring the air with their terrible scent of rot and screaming so loudly, it made Angelique’s ears ring.

  With narrowed eyes, Angelique was able to confirm her observation: green-skinned forest goblins scampered around the feet of the taller, gangly, mountain goblins. The cave goblins—most numerous and most stupid—shambled through the meadow with milky eyes glazed with bloodlust as they stumbled over each other.

  The presence of all three kinds of goblins was another indication of the Chosen’s meddling. Goblins usually only operated in small packs, and they never int
ermingled or cooperated with their cousins.

  Fear prodded the back of Angelique’s throat as she stared the goblins down.

  If the Chosen can control goblins in this way, what else can they do?

  Before the fear could take over, Angelique’s cold and painfully sharp magic cut through her, as frigid as ice in its desire to be used.

  An over-eager goblin shot off an arrow that fell short of Angelique.

  She glanced down at the arrow as she unraveled her core magic, struggling to keep a death grip on it while gathering enough to confront the vast army facing her down.

  I hope this works.

  Angelique’s knees, hidden by her dress, shook, and her palms were clammy as she held her magic steady, letting more and more goblins pour into the area.

  A few more goblins released arrows—one coming so close to Angelique’s cheek, it whistled as it shot past.

  Angelique held her ground with her sharp, prickly magic at her back while the din of the goblins’ cackles and the steady thrum of their drums grew so loud, she could feel the noise in her bones.

  The front line—made up almost entirely of tall mountain goblins—was nearly on her.

  She felt horribly alone, but she didn’t allow herself to take a step back as they bore down on her.

  The goblin directly in front of Angelique threw a spear at her, aiming for her heart.

  Angelique raised a hand and released the smallest bit of her magic. It caught the spear midair and kept it there, hovering within an arm’s reach.

  The goblins directly in front of Angelique slowed down to squint at the spear. They must have recognized the work of magic because they turned on their heels and tried to flee.

  The rest of the horde hadn’t paused, however, so they trampled the terrified few as they converged on Angelique.

  Angelique’s heart pounded faster as she loosened her core magic. She raised her arms and stretched out her fingers as she directed her silvery magic so it spread out over the goblins, in a glittery veil, converging on their weapons.

  Angelique felt each individual weapon that her magic wrapped around and consumed.

  Every blade, club accented with spikes, and arrow was a pinprick in her mind, filling her consciousness like a prickly sea. It was an odd sensation, to have her consciousness covering an entire area. Each weapon her magic covered brought back a zap of feedback, and Angelique soon knew the count of every armament in the goblin army from general numbers all the way down to the specific weight of individual spears.

  Slowly, each weapon pulled free of the goblin that wielded it and rose into the air. Arrows, crude knives, spears, rough swords, clubs studded with nails—every—goblin weapon hung above the army. Some of the knives cut themselves free of belts and pouches, and the arrows rose from quivers in thick bundles.

  The area was so cluttered with weapons and dusted with the glowing silver of Angelique’s magic, it was hard for her to see much of the army, but she felt how far back her magic prowled, asserting authority over everything with an edge.

  Briefly, Angelique’s lower lip trembled as she realized just how big the goblin horde was and just how much magic she was using.

  There was so much. Her magic drifted farther than her eyes could see, past layers and layers of trees all the way to the last goblins bringing up the rearguard.

  And still her magic tugged at her, rubbing around her ankles and swimming in her chest, slowly spreading cold through her body.

  More. It wanted more!

  Angelique stiffened her spine, forced her chin up and kept her eyes open as she raised the weapons higher and higher. She wouldn’t falter in fear of the goblins…or in fear of her own magic.

  The goblins stopped their forward progress. Some—like the cave goblins—screamed in anger as they hopped up and down, trying to grab their weapons. A tiny percentage of the goblins huddled low to the ground and suspiciously peered up at their confiscated blades.

  They pounded the drums with extra force, as if that could make the weapons return. But Angelique could barely hear it above the buzzing in her brain caused by the feedback from all the connection points her magic had forged in engulfing the weapons.

  When the weapons had reached roughly the height of a two-story house, even the dumbest cave goblin seemed to realize they were beyond their grasp.

  The forest turned eerily quiet, and the goblins gaped up at their hovering weapons with fear.

  It had been theorized that she could defeat an army by herself, but she had always refused to test the guess. It had been a final hold out—a possibility that just maybe she wasn’t the powerful monster made for bloodshed that all her instructors claimed she was.

  Even though her foe was goblins, she took no pleasure in killing them and no pleasure in the vast strength of her all-consuming magic.

  She was glad to save the elves, but she knew in her heart this was the end of an era, the end of her innocence.

  Angelique dropped her arms, feeling defeated.

  “So may it end,” Angelique whispered.

  She triggered her magic, which dropped the weapons with pinpoint precision on the army, tearing the goblins to shreds in their messy formations.

  Goblins gurgled and shrieked, but that single use of her magic had wiped out more than half of their immense army.

  The goblins that were able to flee turned on their heels and ran, but they were too late.

  Angelique sent out a pulse of her core magic, and again all bladed and pointed weapons—no matter their size or material—rose into the air.

  The coolness of her magic and the way it eagerly wrapped around her fingers was intoxicating.

  It took only the smallest flick, and her responsive powers dropped the weapons again, slaughtering more of the goblin troops.

  With her magic crashing across the battlefield, no goblin escaped. Angelique swept the area, her power splashing farther and farther as it searched for more goblins.

  When she had successfully slain the entire army, Angelique cut off her magic.

  It fought her for a moment, desperately sinking its cool, powerful sensation deep into her bones.

  Angelique forcibly peeled it off, then paused.

  Her mind had settled as her awareness of all the goblin weapons had faded.

  She nodded in acceptance and took a step back, intending to turn around to face the elves, when her price slammed into her gut, making her stomach flip.

  Instantly, she fell to her knees and painfully retched, her entire body shaking at the strength of it.

  Every mage had a price or a limit on their magic.

  Limits were limitations in the operation of the magic—rules that one had to follow. Evariste had a limit—he couldn’t open a gate in an area that had been desecrated by black magic.

  Angelique had a price—a cost she paid every time she used an extensive amount of magic. For her, it was an intense, awful sickness that made her terribly weak and open to attack.

  The sickness didn’t last as long as it had the first few times she used great amounts of her core magic, but it was still just as painful, and it was awful enough to throw her to her knees and drive her to the limits of her strength.

  “Angelique!”

  Angelique’s second retch jolted her entire body and made her cough and cry once it had briefly subsided. It was so hot, so nauseating that Angelique could barely tell upside down from right-side up.

  When someone crouched at her side, it took a soft hand on her shoulder for Angelique to realize it was Quinn.

  “I hate this,” Angelique panted. “I hate my magic.”

  Quinn rubbed Angelique’s back. “Thank you for…saving…us.”

  “Quinn?” Themerysaldi’s voice punctured the haze of sickness that clouded Angelique’s mind.

  Angelique registered the blonde solider had tipped over and collapsed on the ground moments before another spasm in her stomach made her retch.

  “Quinn!” Themerysaldi shouted. “She reopened her
shoulder injury!”

  “Anyone with a scrap of magic—you are needed!” Lady Alastryn bellowed in a voice that was very un-Lady Alastryn-like.

  Angelique dug her fingers into the snow as she tried to hold on—as if she could forcibly repel the nausea that ebbed through her.

  She was shocked when she felt Themerysaldi place a hand on her back. “Angelique needs help as well! Do we have any healing tonics or draughts?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Angelique clutched her stomach, groaned, then retched again, her throat burning as it felt like something gnawed on her innards.

  “That’s hardly convincing,” Lady Alastryn drawled as she crouched next to Angelique.

  Angelique squeezed her eyes shut. “My price,” she got out. “It’ll go away. Check Quinn.”

  “Should we move them?” Themerysaldi asked, his voice crusty with worry. “Is it safe?” He sounded so unsure, Angelique peeled an eye open to confirm it really was Themerysaldi—the smug, rude king of the elves—and not an illusion that didn’t know the Elf King’s personality.

  “Apply pressure to Quinn’s wound,” Alastryn instructed as she pressed a bundle of cloth to Quinn’s shoulder, then forcibly moved Themerysaldi’s hands to push against it. The sharp-eyed elf woman glanced at Angelique. “How are you, Lady Enchantress?”

  Angelique dimly watched groups of elves scout through the fallen goblin forces as her skin turned clammy. “Dying, I think.”

  “What?” Themerysaldi yelped.

  Angelique raised her eyebrows in disgust. “I was kidding, obviously. Idiot. Though I must say I’m touched you’re at all concerned.” She bit off the rest of her response and deeply regretted her sarcasm when her stomach rolled.

  “Is she feverish?” Themerysaldi asked, his annoying voice able to pierce the haze of Angelique’s nausea. “Alastryn, check and see if Angelique is feverish.”

  “Just focus on Quinn,” Angelique snarled.

  Alastryn ignored Themerysaldi and set her cool hand against Angelique’s forehead as she shouted. “Who has any magic? There must be someone!”

  “I used everything I had when we healed Quinn the first time,” someone replied.