The Last Mage Guardian

by Sabrina Chase

  Their transfer from the train on arrival at Baerlen had been equally secretive. Major von der Kleist disembarked like an ordinary traveler, but she and Dominic had left from the back of the train and were whisked through the station on carts with luggage piled artfully around them.

  Sitting so close to him on the hard seat, Ardhuin could feel the tension in Dominic’s body. She didn’t dare ask him anything; the silence was absolute and the smallest sound would have been noticeable. Far from reassuring her, these stringent precautions were making her extremely nervous. Something was very wrong.

  The boat came to a halt at a series of stone steps that descended into the river from an imposing building, which she assumed must be the Imperial Palace. Ardhuin, Dominic, and Major von der Kleist disembarked in silence, and the boat moved away and vanished into the dark. A door opened, but no light was visible within. A hand gestured them on.

  Once inside, light flared about them. Gutrune von Kitren was waiting for them, looking exactly the same as Ardhuin had last seen her—severe yet beautiful, like a statue of Justice. Outwardly, her expression revealed nothing, but from the gleam in her pale blue eyes Ardhuin suspected she was glad to see them. Gutrune wore a formal, close-fitted dress of watered dark blue silk with a small jeweled royal eagle insignia pinned to one shoulder. It echoed the uniform worn by von der Kleist, but remained graceful and elegant. Her honey-blonde hair, which Ardhuin had always envied, was in a braided chignon at the nape of her neck.

  Beside her were several guards, and two men clad entirely in black who were watching them closely. One of these black-clad individuals looked distinctly non-Aeropan, with his heavy jet-black hair and bronze skin. Ardhuin felt her heart skip a beat. Was it possible? A Yunwiyan, here?

  Von der Kleist launched into a staccato burst of Preusan she could not follow. No doubt he was complaining about what had happened on the train. She glanced at Dominic, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth confirmed it.

  “He’s reporting in, having made an end...sorry, having completed his assignment. Strong hint of washing his hands of the entire affair. He delivered the documents but cannot be sure the seal worked correctly since you were the one who opened them.”

  At this, the two black-clad men reacted visibly, looking startled and unsure. Gutrune permitted herself a small smile. “I was warned of his...what is the word? Eccentricity?” she said in Gaulan. “Even beyond the grave, it is evident. Thank you for coming so quickly. I am greatly relieved.”

  Ardhuin hesitated, then lifted the veiling from her hat. As much as she would have liked to remain hidden, matters had progressed to the point where she would have to reveal herself sooner or later. “I doubt your relief will be universal,” she said, stumbling over her words. “I hope my...that is, I hope this will not cause you too much trouble. He—he didn’t always think things through.”

  Gutrune barely raised one hand, and Ardhuin understood. They could not talk freely, even here.

  “You are to come immediately to the Council chamber. Major von der Kleist, thank you for your assistance.” The major bowed punctiliously, but did not look at all sad to see them go. He refused to even glance at Ardhuin.

  As they followed Gutrune from the antechamber through the polished marble and wood of the palace proper, Dominic murmured under his voice, “This is the friend you spoke of?” Ardhuin nodded. They passed another brace of soldiers at a doorway, and he added, “They like to have guards, don’t they? I wonder why she is our only escort, though. What happened to the two—” he glanced over his shoulder and blinked. “Oh. Still there, but illusioned. They illusioned the boat, too, you know.”

  Ardhuin just nodded, too nervous to speak. She was profoundly grateful for Dominic’s presence. Besides his talent for seeing magic and knowledge of Preusan, he seemed to regard this as a grand adventure. It made it just slightly less terrifying.

  It was going to be bad. She started to feel sick just thinking about it. There would be people. Strangers, and she would have to talk to them. Argue with them. Prove what they would consider two impossible things—that she was a mage, and the heir of Oron.

  When they reached the imposing doors of the Council chambers, Ardhuin had to force herself to breathe deeply. Dominic looked at her, concerned, and she tried to smile.

  The door opened. It was not a large room, but was furnished with the same richness as the rest of the palace. Seeing the elegant splendor of the people gathered about the table, she was conscious of feeling distinctly shabby.

  “The Mage Guardian of Bretagne, Fraülein Andrews, and her assistant, Herr Kermarec,” announced Gutrune von Kitren.

  Ardhuin stifled a gasp. How like Gutrune to simply state the whole, complicated truth from the very beginning. She wished she were one-tenth that brave.

  The councilors stared, petrified into silence. Then a swell of outraged muttering grew until one apoplectic gentleman sputtered something she didn’t understand. Gutrune had spoken in Gaulan, but the Council refused to take the hint.

  Ardhuin could tell what the general topic of conversation was without Dominic’s whispered translation. She was a woman, and therefore could not be a mage.

  Gutrune replied to the shouted imprecations calmly, but the angry voices were having their effect. Ardhuin stepped back, desperately wanting to escape. There were more of the black-clad men here, including the one who looked Yunwiyan, some between her and the door.

  “They ask if you have any proof of what you claim,” Gutrune said, looking as if she were merely discussing the weather.

  What had her great-uncle told her? A tedious formality, the gloire, but it has its uses. It is essentially a sigil that cannot be written, for it is power incarnate. A formality between mages, he had said, that she should know.

  Ardhuin swallowed, gathering the magic thickly close to her, reassured by the silky feel of it. Unlike other spells, this one had words. Just like in fairy tales. Dominic sensed the magic and turned his head sharply to look at her, his mouth open in shock.

  “Plaestutiis karon ote Oron hai!”

  Dominic cried out and flung up his arm. She should have warned him, and she felt a stab of guilt. The gloire burst around her, a slowly fading golden shimmer that surrounded her like a cloud. Suddenly all the black-clad men were standing between her and the Council, looking angry and intent. She found herself gathering magic for defense instinctively, but Gutrune placed a hand on her arm and shook her head emphatically. She looked startled and a little frightened.

  “Ein gloire,” someone said, sounding shaken. “Können sie falsch gemacht werden?”

  This started another angry argument between an elderly councilor with muttonchop whiskers and a man in resplendent military uniform.

  “Rühe.” The word was said quietly, but with an undercurrent of power that silenced the argument completely. All eyes turned to the figure at the head of the table, whose face bore an expression of grim weariness. Ardhuin blinked, recognizing that face. It was on many of the Preusan coins and was featured prominently in newspaper illustrations. The King of Preusa looked up from his clasped hands and regarded her steadily. “We thank you for your prompt and swift response to our request for aid,” he said in Gaulan.

  A ripple of reaction went over the faces of the councilors. Emotion was carefully submerged, and none ventured to speak. The King’s words apparently had more meaning than she understood. His acceptance made her even more terrified. Ardhuin realized she had been hoping they would reject her, but the King was not going to let her go.

  He looked so tired.

  Ardhuin swallowed again, trying to overcome the sudden dryness of her mouth. “They are right, really, they didn’t know—I mean, my great-uncle intended to introduce me himself before it was necessary to...” she mumbled, feeling her face go hot and red. Again. “I have no wish to intrude if I am not needed. The other Mage Guardians will doubtless be able to manage without my assistance.” The silence in the room deepened, and the councilors were still, looki
ng away or down at the table. “You have contacted the others?” Ardhuin felt a stab of fear. There had to be others. Who would help her with her problem?

  “Tell her,” said the King, with a hint of a snarl in his voice.

  A grey-whiskered councilor said nervously, in accented Gaulan, “Well, the mage from the Low Countries, Schulyer Colfax, he had a debilitating stroke two years ago. Died not long thereafter. Couldn't speak, didn't name an heir.”

  Ardhuin thought for a moment. “The Alban Mage Guardian can't be that old; he isn't one of the originals like Colfax. Where is he?”

  “MacCrimmon vanished into some godforsaken corner of Asea called the Tian Shan eight months ago and hasn't been heard of since. And we weren't the only ones searching for him, either,” said a lanky man in uniform, considerably younger than the others in the room. “Looking for dragons, supposedly.”

  “MacCrimmon of the dragon book? He is a Mage Guardian?” asked Dominic in a whisper. Ardhuin just nodded.

  “And the mages of Preusa and Ostri?” she asked.

  “The nature of the difficulty makes us very reluctant to ask Ostri for help,” said the King flatly.

  “And I am afraid Professor Siebert met with an accident...let me see, it was three weeks ago. In his laboratory. If he had an heir, we are unaware of it,” said the whiskered one.

  “Do you....” Ardhuin took a shaky breath, and continued, “Do you mean to say I am the only Mage Guardian you have?”

  “Yes,” said the King. ”That is precisely what we mean.”

  Dominic picked his way carefully around the scattered trunks and boxes. All of them were open, and many had their contents strewn about. The rooms they cluttered had been provided for Ardhuin’s use, once she had recovered from her shock at the Council’s news and requested them.

  He’d never seen her so terrified, and he couldn’t blame her. This was a trifle more adventure than he had been looking for.

  “Blast and damn! I can't have forgotten to pack them!” Ardhuin sat back on her heels, looking red and flustered, and gave the trunk she had been searching a scowl.

  “You haven't looked in that one,” said Dominic quietly, pointing.

  She glanced at the trunk in question and dove into the contents. Ardhuin gave a triumphant cry, pulling out a heavy wooden box with metal clasps. “Now we can get something done,” she said. She sounded much less frantic, and Dominic felt relieved.

  She set the box down on a table and opened it. Dominic came up beside her to observe. The box contained pieces of a beautiful silvery material in a variety of shapes and sizes, each in a padded hollow.

  Ardhuin picked up one of the silvery objects and looked about the room. It was a good-sized space, somewhat bare of its usual furnishings, but the walls still had the gilt ornamentation he’d seen throughout the palace. It was interior, which meant it had no windows, and instead of a fireplace it had a beautiful cobalt-blue ceramic cylinder stove.

  There were guards outside. Everywhere Ardhuin went now there were soldiers, and the men all in black. They were only alone now because she had convinced them, with unusual vehemence, that setting up a workroom that no one but her assistant and herself would be able to enter was, in fact, increasing her safety.

  At last Dominic’s curiosity overcame his concern. “What are you doing?”

  “Setting up for the warding,” she said absently, fingering another of the silvery pieces. “These are channels—made of specially tempered chryselectrum. Sometimes it is also called silverglass. The channels shape the field to fit the room.”

  “When you set wards before you didn't use them.”

  “Ah.” She looked at him and gave a shaky smile. ”Those were simple wards of force, cast from within. This will be a ward of intent and defense. It will be permanent, and we will be able to enter and leave without lowering it. The kind of ward I have at home for my workroom.”

  “Oh.” He thought for a while. He remembered that workroom, or at least the door of it. Even when he was just beginning to see magic it had made an impression on him. “Do you have to do it now? You look tired.”

  “I'm tired because I was up half the night setting minor shielding and detection spells. If they hadn't played games with our luggage I would have set up wards last night,” she snapped. Then, more evenly, she continued, “I'll feel better when I get the wards up.”

  “You could have set up a ward of force.”

  “You were in a different room, far away.” She shuddered. “If I set a ward of force I would have been unable to detect any attempt on you.”

  He helped her place the channels at all the corners of the room, and several on the ceiling for good measure. Ardhuin took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Right,” she said softly to herself. She looked over at Dominic. “I'm going to need to concentrate now. Don't distract me.”

  She closed her eyes, standing tall and straight. No longer did she seem flustered and hesitant; her chin jutted out stubbornly. At first, nothing seemed to happen, even though he could see power building and roiling about her. Her eyes opened, wild and stormy, and the table beside him rose a few inches in the air. Soon all the luggage, furniture, he, and Ardhuin were no longer in contact with the floor. Lines of strain were visible on Ardhuin's face, and power built to a blinding intensity.

  Suddenly Dominic could see a wall of magic that enclosed them completely, like a bubble. The bubble expanded, and where it met the channels it flattened and deformed from its original spherical shape. It seemed slightly thick and elastic, and the sheer density of power it contained made him shiver. He had never seen her perform such powerful magic before.

  At last the bubble fully conformed to the interior of the room, and Ardhuin let the floating furniture back down. The floor felt as if it had been covered by a thin layer of rubber when Dominic's feet made contact again. Ardhuin collapsed into a chair, looking completely exhausted but relieved.

  Dominic paced as best he could for the scattered luggage. “We still don't know what happened to make them summon you. Unless they think the accidents involving the other Mage Guardians weren't accidents.”

  “Why do you think I was so desperate to get the wards up?” asked Ardhuin wearily. “It sounded like there was some other problem, though, and they only found out about the other Mage Guardians when they tried to invoke the compact. It could just be coincidence and bad luck. But if it isn't....”

  Dominic felt himself growing colder as she spoke. “And if it isn't?”

  Her narrow face was pale. “Few people know of the compact's existence. Even fewer know who the Mage Guardians are. It is the kind of information governments like to keep secret, you understand. Then, who has the ability to remove such powerful magicians without being detected? The person doing so would have to be a powerful mage in their own right. If the Mage Guardians are being deliberately removed, it must be because of something they would otherwise have prevented. And that,” she sighed, “means something very, very nasty.”

  “You think the attacks on Peran are connected to this,” Dominic said.

  Her forehead wrinkled in thought, and she shifted restlessly. “It’s hard to tell. My great-uncle died naturally, so I don’t think...but he was suspicious of something. If they are connected, whatever it is has been planned some time in advance.”

  “Did he tell anyone else you were his heir?” Ardhuin shook her head, looking sad. Dominic felt his stomach knot. She would have been safer if they had just stayed in Bretagne. No one else knew her secret. Now she had come to Baerlen and identified herself to the Council. If the person behind the plot had known the identities of the other Mage Guardians, what were the chances he could find out what the Council now knew?

  Ardhuin was in terrible danger, and he could do nothing to protect her. It was all magic. He would only be able to see it happen.

  A muffled thumping came from the direction of the door. He and Ardhuin looked at each other for a moment, then he went to open it. He could feel a slig
ht resistance as he passed through the ward.

  Gutrune von Kitren and the foreign-looking black-clad man from the previous night were waiting in the hall. “If Fraülein Andrews is free, we would like to speak with her,” said von Kitren.

  Dominic relayed the message.

  “It was decided you should have some personal protection,” Gutrune said when Ardhuin appeared. She indicated the man who stood beside her. “This is Markus Asgaya, a defensive magician of the King's guard. He or another will be with you at all times.”

  Dominic glanced at Ardhuin. Knowing her dislike of close contact with strangers, he was surprised to see her looking pleased. She glanced at the other magician and said carefully, “O'siyo. Tse' salagi?”

  A smile flashed across the man's dark face. “I would answer, but my accent would shame me. I have not spoken Yunwiyan for many years. How do you come to know it?”

  She had an answering smile when she replied. “I spent several seasons with my parents on Duno Elutani when I was young.”

  “At the ruins, then?” Asgaya was clearly interested.

  Ardhuin nodded. “Have you been in Preusa long?”

  He made a deprecating gesture. “Most of my life, in fact. My mother is Preusan. When my father died, we returned to Aerope.”

  “Yes...of course.”

  Gutrune cleared her throat, and Ardhuin returned her attention to her former schoolmate. “It was also decided you should be given the full details of the situation as soon as possible. It has been arranged, but I am afraid Herr Kermarec will not be allowed to attend. The matter is extremely sensitive.”

  Ardhuin frowned. “He is my assistant. He will be with me when I deal with...with whatever it is, so why can't he know now? Besides, I need his help. I understand barely five words of Preusan.”

  Gutrune smiled slightly but shook her head. “It is not completely sensible, I agree—but those are the orders I was given. As for translating, I will be happy to assist you. Given our connection, I will be the liaison with the Preusan government in any case.”