Trial of Magic

by K. M. Shea

  Marzell jumped off the stairs two steps early, cradling a few rolled-up bandages in his arms. “That is a very interesting treatment, Angel.”

  Why is it that for the first time ever, everyone feels the need to stick their nose in my magic process? No one did this to me when I was bespelling the city of Ciane—which is a much larger task than a mere healing spell!

  Angelique sniffed to cover up her growing nervousness. “Do not question the power of healing herbs.”

  Wendal—the dratted warrior—peered in her direction. “Those are cooking herbs.”

  They’re what? ELLE! I’m going to put a spell on you that makes you jingle like a bell whenever you move—good luck escaping your guards with that on you!

  Angelique peered down at her herbs and tried to channel a haughty Conclave mage persona. “Obviously,” she said. “The best healing always starts in the stomach—remember that.”

  Rupert cautiously opened his eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense—”

  Angelique whacked him with the frilly herb, eliciting a sneeze from the warrior.

  “Hah,” Oswald snorted, though he had his uninjured arm draped across his eyes.

  Angelique watched him with both concern and relief. I think he’s in more pain—which means he’ll be easier to fool than Lord Critical.

  As if he could sense her thoughts, Rupert opened his large yap. “This is strange.”

  Yes, all hail Lord Critical.

  “It’s working, is it not?” she demanded.

  “It is—my wrist feels better. That’s why it’s strange.”

  “Trust in the magic—and the herbs.” Angelique added a nod for good measure, hoping it appeared mystifying enough.

  She was quickly becoming aware just how much she used her appearance and pretty dress to communicate her confidence as an enchantress-in-training. Dressed in an oversized tunic and with wild hair, the task was much harder.

  But I don’t have to be an ethereal enchantress—I’m a sour assistant to an herb wizard!

  With that in mind, Angelique smirked as she swung around to face Marzell. “Now you—the bossy one. Clean his wrist off with the boiled water once it has cooled enough, and wrap it.”

  Marzell laughed good-naturedly. “I’m Marzell.”

  “I know that. I’m just choosing to let you know you’re bossy.” Angelique bustled over to Oswald. “Now hop to it.”

  Oswald was a lot more subdued, which actually made Angelique feel bad because he didn’t even protest when she accidentally got some of the rafter-herb (which Marzell told her was dill) stuck up his nose.

  Better put a stronger healing spell on him.

  She crouched at his side, shielding most of her work with her own body—though she took special care to screen her fingers, covered in silvery magic, from Lord Critical and Sir Bossy.

  Oswald’s breathing became less tight, and she saw it in his wiry frame when the magic started to soothe the pain because his tenseness melted away.

  Thankfully, he seemed inclined to keep his eyes closed, which gave Angelique the chance to ponder the battle.

  Those constructs…they had to be made by highly advanced spells.

  Angelique discreetly checked Oswald’s injury. She wanted to make it scab over, but if her spell outright healed it, it would raise more than a few questions.

  I suppose it doesn’t mean the black mage that cast them has to be powerful. It’s possible for a less powerful mage to use powerful spells if they’re given the right tools—like Clotilde cursing the Arcainian princes and turning them into swans. But to do that, she had to be with them.

  What, then, are the chances that the mage who created those constructs is still mucking around Luster Forest?

  Angelique tensed at the thought, and her heart started to pound faster—not in fear. Quite the opposite, actually: anticipation.

  If I could find the mage and capture him, surely we could make him tell us all—where Evariste is, what happened to Faina, perhaps the mage would even know where the Snow Queen’s mirror is!

  Her cheek muscle twitched, and everything in Angelique wanted to go sprinting outside. But she couldn’t very well reveal her true self on the chance that a black mage might be near.

  Instead, she poured a little more healing magic into Oswald than she ought to.

  I need to finish this as quickly as possible. Then I will go hunt down the mage!

  The mirror was doing something different. Evariste could tell because his pain had decreased significantly.

  It hadn’t been long since he’d considered death and truly thought the end was coming. And now, the mirror had stopped gnawing at his powers.

  Minutes passed, and Evariste wondered how long it would be until his pain spiked again.

  The same rusty color was still splashed everywhere, but there were innumerable chains of magic—written out in an archaic language Evariste didn’t recognize and that pulsed with an eerie light.

  The spells were gone before he had a chance to notice much more. Given that he was in the mirror, he could feel it sending the spells out, rolling them so far it had to be a fair distance from their location.

  Once the spells arrived at whatever location it was the mirror desired (Evariste could feel the activity of magic, nothing beyond), the mirror sparked the spells to life, creating a miniature army of constructs.

  Since he was only feeling the magic through the filter of his surroundings, Evariste couldn’t quite tell what shape the constructs took on, but he knew they were fighting—even if he didn’t know whom.

  “Snow White…” the mirror breathed.

  Evariste—stiff with muscles that still ached, but at least he could breathe without pain—slowly pushed himself off the ground. “A bit obsessed with the Mullberg Princess, aren’t you?” He almost didn’t recognize his own voice—his throat was raw from the yelling, and he hadn’t said actual words in a long time.

  The mirror shockingly ignored him; it was too invested in whatever its constructs were doing.

  Evariste stared into the bleak, rusty red scape surrounding him and wondered what he should do.

  I’m not in pain. Does that mean I should try getting up? But what’s the point? The agony will come back. It always does.

  Despite his grim thoughts, he staggered to his feet. For a moment, everything around him shifted in a sickening swirl. When he could stand without swaying and grew more stable, the swirling stopped, and for a moment, Evariste almost felt human again.

  The mirror is fighting. Anyone who opposes it is automatically an ally. I need to do whatever I can to annoy the mirror—or distract it.

  His thoughts came more from habit than anything else. He used to think like that—before physical torment had become all he knew. But a tiny part of him, the last sliver that made him hang on instead of giving into the mirror’s madness, was glad he was still capable of such thoughts, even if it was from routine.

  “Seems like she’s got some help,” Evariste observed as the fight raged on. “Must be pretty significant forces given that you appear to be losing this battle!”

  The mirror savagely ripped magic from Evariste, which made him sprawl to his knees as white-hot pain ravaged his body.

  He couldn’t breathe; it was a struggle just to survive.

  Dimly, he felt the spellwork that created the constructs crumble. They were effortlessly snuffed out, and though the mirror pulled more power from him, it didn’t seem to be able to patch the spell.

  Why not?

  “Snow White…” the mirror repeated, this time as more of a snarl.

  Everything shook, and when Evariste peeled an eye open, he could see the rust color was deepening into a darker shade of red.

  “Fair and wise. You will fall! I shall return you to my grasp…”

  This would have been the perfect time to wheeze out an insult, but Evariste was tired of fighting. He couldn’t resist any longer. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing someone was resisting the mirror, even if
he could not.

  But that small part that hadn’t yet given up pierced the haze of pain to question the situation.

  Strange, though. The mirror is brimming with my magic. It’s angry that its constructs were destroyed, and yet it didn’t use my magic to finish off whoever fought against it. Is it because it can’t?

  He doubted it had anything to do with his particular magic. Sure, his magic had forcibly included the weakness of romantic love to the many curses the Chosen had placed using his powers.

  However, that wasn’t shocking—he’d already established the weakness was due to his love of Angelique.

  But why have a weakness at all? Once removed from me, my magic should be entirely theirs to manipulate. My core magic is rare, but there’s nothing special to it. They haven’t had a problem creating portals in tainted areas. And yet, there seem to be problems when they try to spin it into anything besides my core abilities…

  A new round of searing pain ripped through Evariste, and all thoughts disappeared under the savage attack as the mirror fed on his magic.

  Chapter 21

  When Angelique finished healing Oswald, she approached Fritz as he put the finishing touches on the newly fixed door.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I would like to check on the outdoors.” Angelique smiled and used the tangy dill she’d used to swat Rupert to gesture at the door.

  Marzell spat out the nail he was holding between his lips and finished hammering a nail into the board he was securing over a broken window. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s unsafe—there could be more of those creatures outside.”

  “All I intend to do is inspect the perimeter,” Angelique lied. “I’ll move the starfire crystals into a more serviceable formation and put some herbs out to ward off evil.”

  Marzell’s forehead wrinkled. “Can herbs actually do that?”

  “Of course, they can!”

  “But you said you can barely heal, and that’s the main focus of herb magic,” Marzell pointed out.

  How is it that I had such terrible luck to be stuck with people who know more about herb wizards than I do?

  Angelique puffed her chest with as much pride as she could muster. “It is. But when an herb wizard has as much passion and anger as I considering what we were put through tonight, it is possible to channel that feeling into magic!”

  Marzell didn’t look convinced, but Fritz opened the door.

  Angelique scurried through—her satchel thumping on her hip. “Thank you, Fritz!”

  “Don’t wander too far,” Marzell warned her. “Stay within sight of the cottage.”

  Angelique waved her now-drooping dill at the warriors’ leader as he poked his head outside. “Yes, yes. I’ll screech if I see so much as a suspicious squirrel. Besides, the starfire crystals are my possessions. I have more I can use if necessary. Now, leave this apprentice to her herb magic!”

  Marzell frowned, but he shut the door, leaving Angelique outside in the chilly night air.

  Between the bright moon, the still glowing starfires, and the white snow—or what parts hadn’t been marched into slush by the constructs—it was quite bright outside.

  She glanced back at the cottage, then started to pick up a few starfire crystals and toss them closer to the wooded perimeter as she stretched her magical senses.

  She felt nothing—not even a glimmer left from the constructs.

  Drat. That means I can’t use a tracking spell—no easy fixes for me. But the mage likely dropped the spell holding the constructs together after we cleared out most of them. It wouldn’t have been worth the effort, particularly once we brought out the starfires. That doesn’t mean he—or she—isn’t skulking around, still. It hasn’t been that long. If I move fast enough…

  Angelique bit her lip as she glanced back at the cottage. One of the windows had yet to be covered—Marzell and Aldelbert were starting to get to it, though.

  She hurriedly bent over and picked up a few more starfires, chucking them so they landed in the outer perimeter, then slowly strolled up to them.

  “Herbs of the forest—protect us this night! Poison the stomachs of any evil doers who might approach us so they cannot step even one foot near us without getting the worst case of stomach cramps ever,” Angelique shouted.

  There was no reaction from the cottage. Sir Bossy didn’t even poke his head out to criticize her form or provide some other obscure detail about herb lore that she didn’t know. Instead, the light emitting from the cottage disappeared as he and Aldelbert put the last board in place.

  Perfect!

  Given the cleared area around the cottage, Angelique could see the dark sky—which shimmered with stars. Her eyes traced over the formations, pausing when she saw what she was looking for—Pegasus’ constellation.

  Angelique pointed to it, wiggled her fingers, then scooped up a single starfire crystal and bounded into the forest.

  She kept her magic close—she didn’t want to notify the black mage that she was coming for her or him—and ran for a good three minutes before she judged she was far enough away from the cottage that they wouldn’t hear Pegasus.

  Just in case his return is more…explosive than usual.

  “Pegasus! It is I—Enchantress-in-Training Angelique.” Angelique paused—she thought she heard a boom overhead.

  Like a shooting star falling to the earth.

  Oh, he’s really going to crash this time!

  Hurrying, Angelique spoke so fast her words mushed together. “I summon you from the skies to carry me quietly across the lands. Come—with the softness of a mouse, please!”

  She braced, clenching her eyes shut as she waited in anticipation.

  Several moments passed, and she heard nothing.

  Is he refusing to come because he’s mad at me?

  Angelique was about to peel an eye open when something soft brushed her arm. She shrieked and jumped backwards, her eyes popping open.

  Pegasus tossed his head and snorted. He pranced in a circle around her, each thump of his hoof growing closer to the volume of thunder.

  “Sorry—I’m sorry.” Angelique held her hands out, trying to appeal to him. “I didn’t know you’d be that quiet!”

  Pegasus tossed his head again and arched his neck.

  “No, I’m not saying you’re incapable of being quiet. It’s just, you’re coming from the sky realm, and I assumed—that is I imagine it takes a lot of power…and…” Angelique hesitated as she stared at the equine of the sky—who, she suspected, had powers far beyond anything she could dream.

  The breathing constellation took a step closer to her, bringing his muzzle close…and then sneezed in her face.

  Angelique scowled and tossed the starfire crystal she’d brought in her satchel. “Forget it—there’re more important matters. We were attacked by magic constructs. I want to ride through the forest to see if we can catch the mage who made them—or at least find a trail.”

  Pegasus swung around so fast, he almost rammed his hindquarters into her.

  “Thank you.” Angelique scrambled onto his back, awkwardly throwing her leg over his hindquarters and yanking on his neck as she pulled herself into position.

  Pegasus didn’t seem to mind. He hopped a little, sliding her into the correct spot on his back, then turned in a circle.

  “I’ll try to sense the mage with my powers. If you could make sure I don’t get smacked by branches, I’d appreciate it.” Angelique twisted her satchel so it rested behind her on Pegasus’ back, then leaned low over his shoulders.

  The constellation snorted, then started out at a prancing trot that moved into something uncomfortably close to a canter. (Uncomfortably, because it was still dark—especially now that they were in the forest with no moon to light their path—and because Angelique still harbored the fear of colliding with a tree.)

  She stared at the blue, flame-like fringe of his mane as she finally loosened her magic, letting it spill around her, hungrily covering the ground as it pr
owled around.

  If the mage is still in Luster, we’ll find him. He can’t possibly outrun Pegasus!

  The duo searched for at least an hour—traveling from one end of the forest to the other. Despite their meticulous exploration, they didn’t uncover so much as a scrap of magic.

  Nor did they uncover any trace—magical or physical—of the constructs.

  “Which means they weren’t built in one location and then physically sent here, right?” Angelique braced her palms on Pegasus hindquarters and leaned back as the constellation picked his way back to the cottage. “They would have left some kind of trail—broken branches or stamped-on snow. Especially with as many as attacked us. But that means we’re dealing with a mage who is capable of creating constructs a long distance away from their location, and it kills the possibility that it could be a less-powerful mage using artifacts. A single, powerful black mage is a terrifying thought, but it would take more than a single enchanter’s power to pull that off, I think.”

  Pegasus was quiet as he drifted through the forest.

  “Unless…we think Evariste is in Juwel, and if the mage responsible for Faina’s outbreak is the same mage who attacked us here, it’s probable that he’s using Evariste’s magic. So perhaps he used Evariste’s magic to create a gate for himself? We’ve seen the Chosen use his magic before, after all.” Angelique groaned. “I don’t know enough about black magic and advanced spellcasting to know this! I assume you didn’t feel any other mages, Pegasus?”

  Pegasus shook his head and snorted embers from his nostrils.

  “I’m glad it wasn’t just my inability to sense magic.” Angelique sat straighter, flinching when one of the herbs tied to her satchel poked her in the back. “But none of this narrows down the possibilities very much. I’m too ignorant to deduce anything.”

  Pegasus swished his tail as he passed by a tall fir tree. He stopped, awkwardly arching his neck so he could partially peer back at her.