The Innocent Mage

by Karen Miller

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ said the queen, smiling. ‘I must order a bolt of the fabric for myself.’

  Fane twitched her skirts of deep primrose silk. She appeared pleased by the compliment … and suspicious too. Typical. ‘There’s something you want?’

  Gar stifled his mother’s protest with a glance, and smiled. ‘Yes, actually,’ he said, seizing the moment. ‘Lunch.’

  ‘With me?’

  ‘No, with your lap-dog. Of course with you.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

  He kept his tone light, though his fingers itched to shake her. ‘Can’t a man ask his sister to lunch without first facing a stern interrogation?’

  ‘Of course he can,’ said Dana before Fane could answer. ‘What a lovely idea, Gar. You can make it a picnic. I’ll have the kitchen prepare a special basket for you. Would you like chicken, or—’

  ‘My love,’ said the king, slipping his arm around her shoulders, ‘I think if we don’t turn our attentions to this mysterious chamber at our feet, Durm is going to erupt with impatience.’

  Dana laughed. ‘Of course.’

  Ignoring the calculating looks Fane was shooting him from beneath her carefully lowered lashes, Gar inched a little closer to the edge of the hole and peered downwards. ‘It looks like a study. Or a library. But what’s a library doing here, practically smack bang beneath the Old Palace kitchens? Beneath anything?’

  ‘You’re the historian of the family,’ said his father. ‘You don’t recall any mention in palace archives about this study or library or whatever it may be?’

  ‘No,’ said Gar after a moment’s furious thought. ‘Nothing comes to mind.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s strange,’ Fane said suddenly, ‘that despite this enormous hole in the ground there’s no rubble or dirt down there? Or in the courtyard. At least, nothing that looks fresh.’

  ‘I wonder,’ Dana said slowly. Moving sideways to the nearest stretch of courtyard wall she picked up an ancient, moss-covered lump of rock. Took aim and tossed it at the hole in the ground. There was a vicious crack of sound, a flash of brilliant blue light and a noxious puff of smoke as the stone exploded.

  ‘A shield,’ said Durm, his eyes glittering. ‘Barl’s eyeteeth, the chamber has a shield.’

  For once, Dana made no complaint about swearing.

  Borne stared at his Master Magician. ‘Why would a library needed shielding?’

  ‘It’s obvious,’ said Fane. ‘Because it isn’t an ordinary library.’ She was lit up from within, on fire with excitement. ‘Papa, Durm – do you know what this is? Do you realise what we’ve found?’

  Gar sighed. ‘Fane … no. I’m sorry, but it can’t be.’

  She turned on him. ‘Why not?’

  Helplessly he looked at her. For all her powers she was still a child, and subject to a child’s flights of fancy. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, but … ‘Because the idea is nothing more than romantic nonsense,’ he said as kindly as he could. ‘A fairy tale. At best it’s completely unsubstantiated rumour. There’s no proof, none at all, that Barl’s so-called “lost library” ever existed.’

  ‘It wouldn’t matter to you even if there was proof,’ his sister retorted. ‘What use would a library filled with arcane magical texts be to you? For all we know you’ve come across hundreds of references and you’ve ignored every one of them because either you don’t care or you couldn’t understand what they meant. Both, probably.’

  Gar took a deep breath and kept his tone reasonable. Academic. Adult. ‘Fane, I know what this means to you. I know you want it to be true. You’ve been fascinated with Barl and Morgan and the doom of the Doranen ever since you were a little girl and I used to read you your bedtime story. But no documents from the time of the Great Flight or the Arrival have survived to the present day. All we’ve got are oral accounts, recorded years after the fact. A friend of a friend of a friend of a servant who used to clean Barl’s boots told me. That kind of thing. We don’t know that Barl left behind so much as a note for the kitchen, let alone books of ancient and powerful spells. Certainly not a whole library’s worth of them.’

  Fane pointed at their feet. Her face was flushed with temper. ‘You don’t call that proof?’

  ‘I call it a hole in the ground. Beyond that we don’t know anything.’

  ‘Nor will we,’ said Durm sharply, ‘until we enter the chamber itself and make a thorough examination of its contents.’

  Borne nodded. ‘Exactly. My love …’ He turned to Dana. ‘You’ve a knack for finding things. Would you care to nose out the way into this mysterious library for us?’

  The queen lowered her unhappy gaze from Gar and Fane to the breached courtyard. Sadness gave way to a sense of purpose. ‘I can certainly try.’ She managed a small smile. ‘No promises, mind.’ Stretching out her palm, she closed her eyes and whispered under her breath. The air above her hand quivered. Thickened. Coalesced into a small orange ball of energy.

  For a moment the questor hovered there, like a hunting dog uncertain of the scent. Then it leapt upwards, swooped over the hole at their feet, circling, buzzing like a bee – and darted through the main door opening onto the kitchen courtyard.

  ‘After it!’ Borne cried.

  Acrimony forgotten, they hurtled in pursuit.

  The queen’s questor led them through deserted kitchens, along dusty corridors and down rickety staircases. After a few minutes Durm conjured glimfire to light their way. On and on they hurried until they reached an enormous echoing meat larder where once, years and years before, whole sides of beef and mutton and venison, plucked pheasants, ducks, geese, swans and peacocks had hung from polished hooks dangling from the ceiling. The hooks remained, tarnished and dulled by age.

  ‘Oh no! It’s lost!’ Fane cried, almost stamping her foot with frustration as the orange ball bumped blindly along the larder’s far wall, humming faintly.

  ‘Wait,’ said Durm, hand lifted.

  With a triumphant chime, the questor plunged through what appeared to be solid whitewashed bricks and disappeared.

  Fane rushed to spread her palms flat to the old, cold stone. ‘No! Durm, do something!’

  ‘I have a better idea,’ the Master Magician suggested. ‘You do something. Unlock for us the key to this hidden door.’

  ‘But I …’ Fane began. Glanced at Gar, then nodded, her expression hardening. ‘All right. I will.’

  Fingertips lightly searching, she explored the section of wall where her mother’s seeking spell had disappeared. Lightly frowning, lips pursed and eyes closed, she teased at the stonework.

  Gar, watching, felt a familiar stab under his rib cage. When I’m fifty, he thought, despairing, will I still be jealous? Will I never outgrow this useless, unspeakable resentment?

  As though reading his son’s mind Borne rested a hand on Gar’s shoulder and squeezed. Gar smiled at him, a brief, wry quirk of lip, self-mocking. Borne’s answering smile was approving, his raised eyebrow a compliment, of sorts.

  ‘I think I have it,’ Fane murmured indistinctly, with her cheek pressed hard against the stone. ‘It’s a masking incantation all right. So old. So faint. Like a song carried on the breeze over distant water. If it was just a little louder, I could sing it …’

  Dana was frowning. ‘Durm, you do this. Please. She’s still not fully recovered from her first WeatherWorking, and unravelling another magician’s lock-and-key spell is hardly—’

  ‘I’m fine, Mama,’ said Fane, opening her eyes. ‘Stop fussing. Anyway, this spell is so old it’s practically nonexistent. I just need to – ah. There.’ She stepped back. Struck the wall above her head three sharp blows. ‘Impassata.’

  The stone rippled. Melted away, to reveal a door-shaped space.

  ‘Well done,’ Durm said quietly. He turned to the king. ‘Indulge me, Borne. It may not be safe beyond this portal. Let me take the lead.’

  ‘You are far less expendable than I,’ Borne objected.

  Dana too
k his arm. ‘Let him.’

  ‘My love …’

  ‘Let him.’

  Borne sighed and waved an inviting arm. ‘Very well then, Master Magician Durm: lead on.’

  Conjuring fresh glimfire, tossing it into the air, Durm stepped through the unbarred doorway and into the unknown.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  There was a narrow passageway beyond the meat larder, hung with old cobwebs and starved of clean air. Sneezing, breathing heavily, Gar and his family followed Durm along it. The glimfire illuminating the gloom cast elongated eldritch shadows on the floor and up the walls.

  ‘There,’ said Durm at last. He pointed. ‘The questor, do you see it?’

  The little ball of orange light hovered further along the passageway, glowing faintly. ‘What’s it found?’ said Fane, peering.

  With a wave of his finger Durm increased the power of the glimlight. ‘A door,’ he said. He nodded at Dana. ‘My compliments. Your Majesty. We appear to have reached our destination.’

  Warily, they approached the end of the passageway.

  The door barring their progress seemed to be made from solid wood. The dark timber was intricately carved in patterns alien to their eyes. In its centre was a seal of faded crimson wax, shot through with green and blue and fashioned into a complicated woven knot. It shimmered in the glimlit air.

  ‘A ward,’ said Durm, and looked at Dana. ‘Your Majesty?’

  With a snap of her fingers she sent the seeker spell forward, encouraging it to travel through the carved door. The moment it touched the timber the questor exploded in a shower of sparks.

  ‘So,’ said Borne. He glanced at Durm, eyebrows lifting, and together they stepped up to the door. ‘The rest of you stay well back,’ he added over his shoulder. ‘Any ward that can survive untold centuries and retain any level of potency at all is not to be trifled with.’

  ‘Then pray do not trifle,’ said Dana tartly. ‘Explaining an exploded king to his kingdom may prove somewhat awkward.’

  Borne grinned. ‘Yes, my love.’

  In cautious unison he and Durm stretched out their hands to the knot of wax centred on the door. ‘Can you feel the skill, Borne? Magnificent,’ the Master Magician murmured. ‘A work of genius.’

  ‘But weakened, yes?’ breathed Borne.

  Durm nodded. ‘Yes. Weakened enough to break, I think. Not easily. Not without danger. But it can be broken.’

  They lowered their hands, stepped back a pace and soberly regarded each other. ‘The fashioning of that seal,’ said Borne. ‘Do you recognise it?’

  ‘I do,’ said Fane, shrugging aside her mother’s restraining hand and crowding forward. ‘It’s Barl’s.’ She spared Gar a look. ‘That is on record. In the Magia Majestica. Durm showed it to me.’ Then, her attention back on the door and her father, she said, ‘I was right, wasn’t I?’ She was quivering. ‘This is Barl’s lost library.’

  ‘I concede,’ Borne replied after a pause, ‘that the door appears to have been sealed by Barl. Beyond that we don’t know.’

  ‘And we won’t until we get in there and look,’ she replied. ‘I could do it. I could break the seal. Can I?’

  ‘No!’ Borne and Durm spoke together, a single peal of thunder. Borne continued, ‘Be silent a moment, Fane. I need to think.’

  ‘She’s right, Borne,’ Durm said. ‘We must know what lies beyond this door.’

  ‘Must we?’ Borne pressed his fingers to his temples as though his head were aching. ‘Think, Durm. Think what this might mean, if … if fantasy were to become fact. If we have indeed found Barl’s lost library.’

  ‘It could mean the discovery of a lifetime.’ Durm’s eyes were fevered. ‘After six long centuries we could bridge the gap between ourselves and our ancestors. Once we Doranen were a proud and mighty race of warrior mages. But what are we today? To what ends do we employ our skills? Plumbing. Glimfire. Bookbinding.’ The contempt in his voice was searing. ‘We open doors. Close windows. Bloom pretty flowers and keep our clothes clean without soap and water. Domestic comforts and rustic pursuits are our purview now. WeatherWorking aside, that is the length and breadth of our magic. Yet our ancestors had knowledge of spells and incantations that we, pale reflections of their former glory, can only dream of!’

  Slowly, Borne nodded. ‘My friend, that’s what frightens me.’

  ‘Frightens, Borne?’ Durm shook his head. ‘Why?’

  Borne stared. ‘How can you ask me that? Barl and our ancestors faced a mage war of such cruel violence it was either flee into the bitter unknown or face destruction. That is what might await us beyond this door. After six hundred years of peace, would you loose such evil upon our people again?’

  Durm frowned. ‘You know me better than that.’

  ‘I thought I did.’

  ‘Majesty …’ Durm sighed. ‘Forgive me. In truth, it’s most unlikely that this chamber contains books of arcane lore. I fear that great knowledge is long lost to us. But I beg you to consider this. If it is not lost, if we have indeed discovered a buried treasure trove of ancient Doranen magic … can you truly contemplate not unburying it?’

  ‘To keep my kingdom safe?’ Borne’s eyes were stark, haunted. ‘I’d burn it.’

  As his father and his father’s best friend stared at each other like strangers, Gar cleared his throat. ‘But, sir … what of our history?’

  ‘Our history, Gar, as you damn well know, is blood and terror and exile!’ Borne replied. ‘We came to this land in desperation and in desperation we conquered it. Only Barl’s great sacrifice and the willing aid of the Olken people have kept us safe since then. This kingdom’s prosperity owes everything to the partnership of mutual trust and obligation between its two peoples. I will not be the one who teaches the meaning of desperation to the descendants of those first Doranen and the Olken who joined with them to make a better world for all.’

  ‘But, Papa, nobody’s asking you to!’ said Fane. ‘All we’re asking for is the chance to see what’s behind that door!’

  ‘Borne, dear friend,’ said Durm. ‘Your love for this kingdom and its peoples is beyond question. And so, I had thought, is my love for you. Let us cease this profitless speculation and instead uncover the truth. If we find anything you mislike, anything at all, we can destroy it.’

  Borne stared at him searchingly. ‘You could do that?’

  Chin lifted, shoulders braced, Durm nodded. ‘If you told me to, yes. I could. I would. You are my king. I live to serve you, and your kingdom.’ Stepping close, he rested one hand on the king’s shoulder. ‘Borne. All our long lives have you trusted me. Tell me now, and tell me truly: have I ever failed you?’

  Borne shook his head. ‘Never.’

  ‘Then please. I entreat you. Trust me now.’

  Borne looked at the queen. ‘My love?’

  Dana was pale. ‘I think we must. Even if you buried this place again and swore us all to silence, who can say how long it would remain secret a second time? And if in the future it was discovered again … by someone less scrupulous than you … who knows what might happen? For better or worse, we are here now. I think we must act.’

  Borne took a deep breath and let it escape, harshly. Looked at Durm. ‘Very well,’ he said, voice and face grim. ‘Breach the chamber, Master Magician.’

  Durm bowed. ‘Majesty.’

  Borne glanced at his family. ‘The rest of you stand well back.’

  Dana reached for his sleeve and tugged. ‘And you.’

  For a moment Gar thought his father might argue. Then the king sighed, and nodded, and urged them all away from Durm and the sealed door.

  In the flickering light Durm’s expression was grave. Facing the wooden door he spread his hands wide above the ancient wax seal, tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and sank into a deep meditation.

  Gar glanced at his father. Borne looked calm enough, but there was doubt in the droop of his eyelids, and disciplined fear in the tightness of his lips. He reached out a hand and brushe
d his fingertips against his father’s forearm.

  ‘Even if your worst fears are realised and we do find books of magic in there,’ he said, keeping his voice low, ‘the danger is remote. Until they’re spoken, spells and enchantments are nothing but words on paper.’

  Borne nodded. ‘I know. But even so …’

  ‘I am ready,’ Durm announced. ‘Go further back, all of you. This ward may be breakable but there yet remains enough power to crisp the hair on all your heads, or worse.’

  ‘Be careful, Durm,’ said Borne, shepherding his family to safety.

  ‘And when, old friend, have you ever known me to be otherwise?’ Durm raised his right hand and waved it over the seal from left to right, then traced an intricate sigil in the air with his right forefinger. A twisted thread of green glowed briefly in midair, then faded. With his left hand he waved from right to left, and with his left forefinger traced the empty air. A blue thread glowed and died. Three more times to left and right he unwove the seal’s bindings, until the faded red wax was untouched by other colours. ‘There,’ he said, as the last glow of blue died. ‘So much for the peripheral wards. Now for the heart ward.’

  He raised both hands and spread them over the dull red seal of wax. Shoulders hunched with concentration, head tilted forward, he began to breathe heavily, groaning. A thin keening, faint at first, then gaining in strength, reverberated in the musty air.

  ‘Stay here,’ said Dana as Fane tried to wriggle free of her mother’s restraining arm.

  ‘But how can I see what he’s doing from way back here?’ Fane argued. ‘If I can just get—’

  Borne took her other arm. ‘Be quiet. Is this a parlour trick for your idle amusement? Hold your tongue and don’t distract him. He risks his life for all of us.’

  Chastened, Fane fell silent.

  The keening was loud enough to be painful, drumming against their ears, driving iron nails into their heads. Higher it rose, louder and more shrill. From the seal pulsed a vibrant red light; Durm became a silhouette of fire. He was shuddering.

  Then, with a blazing flash of heat, amidst a shriek of surrender from the wax and a cry of agonised triumph from Durm, the ward exploded.