The Last Mage Guardian

by Sabrina Chase

  Ardhuin. It suited her. Hadn’t that been the name of a pagan Alban queen?

  He could go to the front door and ring the bell. Then he remembered one of the items Michel had delivered, a soft cheese. It would not do well sitting in the port-cochère in this heat. He should get that too.

  When he got to the port-cochère and opened the cupboard, it was empty. He stared at the bare shelves and rubbed his chin, thinking. Remembering. He went to the door and looked at the ground outside. There were his footprints and Michel’s. No others. No one else had entered the port-cochère.

  So, he was dealing with a magician’s house, was he not? Dominic took the letter and placed it inside on the top shelf and waited. Nothing happened. Something else had to occur—what?

  “Oh, of course.” Dominic sighed and closed the cupboard door. Michel had not commented on the disappearance of his goods, so he had never seen them disappear. When Dominic opened the door again, the letter was gone.

  There was no other explanation; it had to be a spell. But who had done it? Could you leave a spell that functioned for months without assistance?

  There was something else he didn’t understand. The house must be warded. He’d read about wards in The Family Museum; it was one of the first issues he’d purchased. They were hard to do, he recalled, especially large ones. They faded over time, and the magician had to cast the spell from inside.

  He’d gone inside the house last night. Now he could not. A magician had cast wards in the intervening time. Was the magician still there? Was that who Mademoiselle Andrews was afraid of?

  Chapter 4

  Dominic heaved on the rope, and the statue rocked and then slowly lifted. So far, his device worked just as he had planned. He pulled again. The heavy weight swayed and the beams creaked but held. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck, but he didn’t dare do anything about it. First, get the statue down intact.

  He tried not to think about how valuable the statues were. His arms shaking with exertion, he slowly lowered the marble man down to the modified two-wheeled handcart he’d made. Nothing else in the carriage house would fit through the garden gates. The statue sank into the sacking and straw, and Dominic let out a pent-up breath.

  The remaining statue looked like it was reaching out to where her companion had been, trying to bring him back. Dominic felt strangely guilty.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be together again soon,” he said, and carefully lifted the handles of the cart. It was very heavy now, and it took all his effort to get it moving.

  Slowly, he passed the circular enclosure with its strange stone pedestal. It looked like an odd sundial, but instead of a central gnomon it had small crystal posts arranged about the edge.

  Well, this was a triumph of one man’s will against nature. Except for the pulleys, he’d made all the equipment himself, and he was quite pleased with how well his plan had worked. Perhaps he could use it for a story. Someone forced by circumstance to build everything he needed from raw materials. A series of stories, maybe. The man could be shipwrecked far from civilization, with no hope of rescue. He’d have to write M. Sambin and see if he was agreeable to the idea.

  He maneuvered the cart and its cargo into the carriage house and to an empty stall. That should count as out of sight, as she had ordered. Mopping at his forehead, Dominic wearily pulled the empty cart back to the garden for the second statue.

  He glanced up at the library window. Nobody was visible there now, but he’d caught glimpses of movement as he’d worked. He sat down on the tail of the handcart to rest, stirring up a cloud of dust from the straw.

  On the topic of moving heavy objects, how had he gotten from the gallery to the lower level of the library that night? He was quite sure he hadn’t done it himself, and while Mademoiselle Andrews was a tall, healthy young woman, it would have taken considerable strength and agility to carry a man down that narrow spiral staircase. Perhaps she had simply dumped him over the railing. No; if that were the case he would have much worse bruises and probably broken bones in the bargain.

  Someone else had moved him, and then disappeared. Recalling what Michel had referred to as a weekly delivery, Dominic concluded this mysterious person must subsist on air. He doubted two people could live on so little.

  The second statue gave him considerable trouble. First, it would not drop onto the cart correctly. He had to winch it back up three times. When he finally got it in the right place, he discovered it put the cart out of balance, but he was too tired to lift it up again. It took him over an hour to move it to the carriage house. Why couldn’t the mysterious invisible person come out to help him? That would have been greatly appreciated.

  Dominic took the handcart back one last time to remove the pieces of his lifting apparatus. Mademoiselle Andrews was in the garden when he got there, and to his utter astonishment was engaged in trimming buds from the vicious rosebush. The trailing vines were moving, but in a slow, thoughtful way that made no attempt to catch or harm her. When he came closer, though, one vine lashed out at him.

  “How can you get so near to it?” Dominic asked, backing away.

  “It knows me,” she said simply, moving one of her full white sleeves away from the thorns with one hand. She trimmed another bud with her long fingers.

  “You aren’t going to let it bloom?”

  She wrinkled up her face. “They smell horrible. Fortunately, it never has very many.”

  He watched her for a moment, thousands of questions jostling in his mind, wondering if he could ask any of them without making her leave. She hadn’t looked up once since he had returned, and what he could see of her face was pale and drawn.

  Perhaps questions should wait. “I’ll put everything in the carriage house, in case you should have need of it again.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was barely audible. He picked up the handles of the handcart. “How—how long do you intend to stay?”

  Dominic put the cart down again. “Through the winter, at least. I sold another story last week! Why...oh. You have hired a gardener.”

  At this she finally looked at him, and he saw the flash of puzzlement in her grey-green eyes. She had never intended to hire a gardener—she, with her fear of strangers and concealment of her roses always a concern? He tried to keep his sudden understanding from showing.

  “Wouldn’t it be better for you to be in the city? I mean, for your writing,” she said, her words stumbling over one another.

  He smiled. “On the contrary. Here I have peace and quiet.” Then another reason for her concern made his stomach sink. “You would rather I go.” She must still be angry about the incident in the library, and he could not blame her. He must have given her a considerable fright.

  Her face turned a sudden, furious red, and she turned her attention back to the rosebush she was trimming. “It’s dangerous for you here.” Her voice was tight and upset. “There’s too much magic, and I can’t tell you where all of it is.”

  “If it is dangerous, why do you stay?” Dominic asked, skeptical.

  She gave a quick, nervous smile. “I’m not drawn to it like you are, and I have...protections.” She ran one finger along a thin branch of the vicious rose, and it curled around her wrist for a moment before letting go.

  “You say I can see magic,” he said, feeling his own face heat with embarrassment when he realized how challenging that sounded. “I mean, you showed me I can. Is there some way I can learn how to use this to avoid the dangers here?”

  She was silent for a moment. “Very well,” she said, so softly he barely heard her. “I think I can help you.” She stepped away from the rosebush and turned towards the house. “Come back this evening.”

  He watched her go, then returned to his work. As he dismantled his device, Dominic turned over what she had said. Sometimes he thought she was afraid of him, and then he would recall something that made him think she was afraid for him. At least she did not seem to be angry.

  From the garden, Ardhuin watched th
e golden light of the setting sun, glad now that she had decided to wear the brocade. The evenings were starting to get cool. The dress was suitable for what she was going to do, too. It was a tea gown, meaning it was both conventional enough for her to be allowed to wear it at school, and comfortable. Mostly, she liked the rich green color of the fabric.

  The squeak of the gate alerted her to Dominic Kermarec’s arrival. She fought down the panicked impulse to hide, to run back in the house and refuse to let him in. Truly, she was the most cowardly, pathetic creature, completely unsuited for the heavy responsibility her great-uncle had given her. She didn’t even have the resolution to tell him to go away.

  He knew about the books of magic now, and that was dangerous too. She refused to put yet another geas on him, so it was best to keep him here. A good reason, and it would have been even better if she had thought of it before deciding to let him stay.

  He was looking cleaner than when she had seen him last. She could still see damp curls of black hair along his neck. He smiled in greeting, and she actually took a step backwards before she stopped herself.

  “My great-uncle had a collection of magical curiosities,” she blurted, before he could say anything. Her mouth was suddenly so dry she had to swallow before continuing. “I-I’ll show you, and you can guess which ones.”

  He nodded without saying anything, and followed her into the house. Ardhuin glanced at him sideways. Was she imagining things, or did he seem apprehensive too?

  She was excruciatingly conscious of her greater height, giant feet, and all her other shortcomings with him nearby. It wasn’t fair she had to let him into her house, her one refuge. It wasn't fair that he seemed to have a presence larger than he actually was. She opened the double seadragon doors of the library with a jerk.

  “On the desk,” she said, and pointed.

  Dominic glanced at her and went forward, stopping and making a careful detour when he saw an open book she had left on a chair. She felt a twinge of guilt.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I locked up the dangerous ones.”

  “How can you be sure you found them all?” Dominic asked, not looking reassured.

  If she had only locked the cabinet as she should have, the whole incident would never have happened, but she had gotten careless living by herself. And of course she could not inform him how she could tell which were the magic ones.

  Dominic had reached the desk and was looking at the miscellany on the blotter, perplexed.

  “These have magic?”

  “Three of them do,” Ardhuin answered. “Look at them carefully, and see if you can tell which ones.”

  He stared at them intently, his lips compressed and brow furrowed. Ardhuin watched, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she saw him look increasingly frustrated. He didn’t really believe, she could tell.

  She’d made it hard, too. The magical items all looked ordinary, and she’d mixed them in with exotic, non-magical things like the jeweled brooch and the silver puzzle ball.

  “They don't look different at all,” he said finally, throwing up his hands in defeat. “This isn't working.”

  She felt frustrated, too, trying to help him see something she could not. “Look again,” she said, feeling helpless.

  He took a deep breath, looking out the window at the rose garden before turning his gaze back to the desk. He started, and pointed to one of her personal items, off to the side.

  “What's that?” he asked. “It looks like a giant beetle wing made of stone.”

  Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “That is a fossilized dragonscale. It has some residual magic. Very good!”

  “An actual dragonscale?” He stared at it in delighted wonder. “Aren't they rare?”

  “Yes, but one of my father’s friends worked on the excavations in Atlantea and Yunwiya. You weren’t looking directly at it, were you? Try just glancing at them, like you were scanning the bookshelves.”

  She held her breath as he screwed up his face with effort, looking without looking directly. At the end of half an hour he had found all three of the magical items, and had not guessed incorrectly once.

  “They look...bright,” he commented. “Or clearer. I think I am beginning to see it,” he said, looking at her eagerly. “Can I try again?”

  Ardhuin scooped up the decoys, putting them in a pile on a nearby chair, and went to one of the curio cabinets, studying the contents while thoughtfully chewing her lip.

  “Do you know what they do?” Dominic asked. He held up the filigree inkwell.

  “Mmm. If you tip it, it doesn’t spill,” she said. Very useful for someone with her clumsy habits. “The silver half-guilder is a real coin, but it has a spell on it to make it easy to find. You could give it to someone you wanted to follow, as long as they didn’t spend it. The glass jar is for collecting insects. It has a vital stasis field to keep them alive.” She should give that to her father; he would find it very useful in his work.

  “You seem to know quite a bit about these things,” Dominic commented.

  “I spent a great deal of time here, while I was going to school. All my holidays.” She could see his interest, and the questions forming behind his eyes. Quickly, she made her selection and returned with a glass flute, an egg speckled with purple, and a handful of walnuts carved with grotesque faces and added them to the items on the blotter.

  It didn’t stop him.

  “What of your family?” he asked. “Couldn’t you go home?”

  She shrugged, frowning. “Atlantea is too far, and with my brothers off on their own my parents travel frequently.” She gestured. “I hardly know where they are sometimes.” At the present moment that was rather an advantage, since it meant she could quite easily prevent her mother from discovering she was not, in fact, still at the Metan Seminary for Young Ladies in Rennes.

  Dominic examined the new assortment of objects in the unfocused way he had discovered worked best, and made his choices. They continued like this for some time, with her adding new things and removing others. And always, constantly, answering his endless questions.

  She struggled to preface her answers with “my great-uncle told me” or “I read somewhere,” but sometimes she forgot. She didn’t think he noticed. He was too enthralled with what he was learning, and strangely, she found it enjoyable teaching him.

  “I can’t explain it, but these two things look similar to me,” Dominic said, holding up the glass insect jar and the ivory juggling ball, which she had retrieved when he asked about it. “Obviously, not in their outward aspects,” he added, grinning.

  Ardhuin considered. “Well, they have similar elements. Vital stasis starts with the ordinary stasis as a basis, and the juggling ball uses that too. How extraordinary, that you can tell what kind of spell is present! I had no idea that was even possible. For someone with no talent you learn very quickly,” she teased, then felt her face go hot at her daring.

  He laughed then, and was about to say something when the clock on the mantel struck the hour. Ardhuin looked at it and gasped.

  “Have we really been doing this for three hours?”

  Dominic also looked a little startled at how late it was. “I beg your pardon, but it was so interesting I did not keep the time in mind.”

  “I think that will do for tonight. There’s a book you might want to read—a sort of magic primer.” She darted to the shelves, running her fingers over the spines and pulling out the familiar fat volume bound in brown calf, her longtime friend. “Oh, and I finished reading your story,” she said, picking up the magazine from a side table as she returned. She gave him a shy smile. “I enjoyed it very much. I will have to find a way to subscribe, if there will be others like it.”

  “There will be if I have any say in the matter,” Dominic said with vehemence. “I have the strongest of motivations. The only alternative occupation for me is that of tutor, and I begin to think death preferable. You don’t have to subscribe unless you wish to,” he added earnestly. “I would b
e happy to let you read what I finish. I have to make a fair copy to send for publication in any case.”

  Ardhuin clapped her hands together in delight. “Yes! That would be wonderful. But you should know,” she said as she led the way out of the library, “you don’t ever have to work as a tutor again. Your gift will permit you to obtain employment with any magician who can afford your fee.”

  Dominic gaped at her, looking incredulous. “What do you mean? A magician would know magic without any help at all, wouldn’t they?”

  She held up a finger. “Ah, but they can’t see it. Not unless they use special tools or spells, which can change what is there—and in any case they aren’t very accurate. And there are...my great-uncle told me there are many times when precision is crucial. People like you are quite rare, more rare by far than magicians. You would almost be able to name your price.”

  “I am very much in your debt,” Dominic said warmly, taking her hand and shaking it before she could move away. “You have saved me from a terrible fate.”

  “I think you exaggerate,” she said, amused and embarrassed at the same time. “Was it really that bad?”

  He sighed. “I had not suspected how ingeniously destructive small boys can be. I certainly do not recall being so myself. For example, how did three boys, the eldest not yet ten, move a large carpet from an upstairs room to the carriage drive and set it on fire in the space of a half-hour?” Ardhuin could not help chuckling, and he assumed an air of mock dudgeon. “I assure you it is no more than the truth. And in addition—”

  As they passed the door to the workroom, Dominic stopped short. He stared at it, and Ardhuin felt herself go cold.

  “Don’t!” she cried, just as his hand reached out to touch it.

  He could see the wards. The wards on her workroom. What had she done?

  Dominic swallowed, his face pale. “It’s moving,” he said, pointing. “How—?”