The Forgotten Magic

by Kelly Peasgood

  "Aiding him," Destiny repeated numbly. She stared at Darien. "And you convinced Stefan I should receive a fair hearing?"

  Darien shook his head. "Actually, I needed some convincing too. But after hearing the arguments, I decided I could use my knowledge of the law to make sure you had a voice. Which means we will spend a lot of time in each other's company, Destiny. You can't dispute what you've done, but perhaps you can explain it in such a way that won't earn you the execution so many wish for."

  Not sure she trusted this turn of events, Destiny could only stare at him.

  "And who, Chief Librarian, could possibly convince all of you I deserved such a chance?"

  Darien actually grinned at her, an oddly vindictive glint in his eyes.

  "Emily, of course. Who else?"

  Chapter 2

  Em loved the library; the long aisles with their rows upon rows of books, ancient to new, each with their own scent of age or ink, the secluded nooks and forgotten niches where she had explored as a child and now worked as a young woman, the solitude and freedom from overwhelming human interaction. But since her return from the west with King Stefan, she had begun to see what the library of Dalasmar Castle lacked, and while the exclusion of books of a magical nature had never bothered her before, if she hoped to assist Chief Librarian Darien in his quest to defend Wizard Destiny in her upcoming trial, then she needed to know more about magic.

  Em didn't particularly like Wizard Destiny, could even make a case for loathing the lady wizard who had so nearly destroyed the kingdom when she helped Prince Whillim try to usurp his brother's throne, but Em couldn't sit by while fear and bias dictated the woman's fate rather than truth and justice. Not long ago, King Stefan and his chief bodyguard Captain Frederick would have insisted Em merely felt some sympathy for Destiny's twisted and tormented childhood, a tale heard in the halls of the Frontier School of Wizardry, and because of that sympathy―and her supposed inherent frailty as a female―that Em had no business concerning herself with Destiny's fate. If those two factors alone had informed Em's objections to the summary execution of the Lady Destiny, she would have had few difficulties turning her head away from the ugly side of politics and court intrigues. But Em had forced Stefan and Fred to look beyond their fear of magic and their angst at acknowledging a woman with such strength and influence―roles so long held in the hands of men that someone like Destiny, able to tug on the reins of power, screamed anathema to them―to the underlying danger of recent events in Dalasham. Yes, Destiny had used magic to try to subvert King Stefan, but she had done so at the instigation of the Prince. Whatever fate awaited Destiny, Em hoped a similar one would find the Prince as well.

  And so Darien had chosen to lead Destiny's defence at trial, pulling Em, as Junior Assistant to the Chief Librarian, in his wake. To understand how Destiny had achieved her status and employed her magics, however, required a better understanding of magic, a subject sorely lacking in the depths of Dalasmar's Library.

  Yet what had Em so off-balance today didn't lie in what the library lacked, nor her difficult task of helping to defend the inexcusable actions of a wizard in a land with so little experience with magic. Nor did it come from once again stepping outside the familiar confines of that library in response to a summons, but rather where that step had led.

  Young Brand, a librarian for less than a year, had found Em searching the shelves in the north wing. Face flushed, chestnut curls barely contained by his scholar cap, Brand had stared at her with wide, wondering eyes before blurting out his tidings.

  "A manservant of Lord Prichard waits at the entrance," he said.

  Em blinked at him, her hand pushing a large tome back into its slot even while she met the lad's gaze.

  "Yes?" she finally replied when Brand just kept staring. He coughed.

  "Says his master sent him to find you. The Lord wishes to speak with you."

  Now Em understood Brand's consternation. Few people had known Em, a woman, worked in the library, and none had ever requested to see her. For that first request to come from a Councilman, and a noble at that, must seem shocking to Brand. Em wondered how much more surprised the boy would become did he know that Lord Malcolm Prichard, ostensibly a bit of a poseur with a rather flamboyant style, sat not just on the Council, but as the master spy for all of Dalasham. Far better not to reveal that bit of information.

  She had thanked Brand and made her way to the library's main doors, curious why Prichard would want to speak with her now that she had returned to her sanctuary. Yes, they had travelled to Bakaana and back with King Stefan and his guards, thwarted the Prince's vile attempt upon the crown, shattered the power of Destiny's Focus, but three days had passed, and Em just wanted to ensconce herself in the quiet of the library. What could Prichard possibly want to discuss with a librarian that he wouldn't discuss in the library?

  So she had found the manservant at the library's entrance and followed him to one of the sitting rooms set between the library and the main gate of the castle to find out. Wide chairs of sturdy oak cushioned in shades of crimson and burnt umber dotted the room along with small tables strategically placed for drinks or snacks. A desk sat under one of the windows, the other two framed by long curtains the colour of walnuts tied back with gold bands. A man lounged on a settee nearest the hearth, the merry little fire consuming a stack of wood keeping him warm. The red streaking his auburn hair seemed to dance with the flames and deepen the sharp angles of his face. He glanced up with dark eyes and straightened his tall form to wave her closer, the gems on his many rings catching the light. The extravagant clothing and foppish air didn't fool Em for a second, though she hadn't seen him so attired on their recent journey. But even in the library, before she had made his acquaintance, Em had heard of the vain and oft times vapid Councillor. Someone easily dismissed yet so often in a position to hear the currents of the kingdom. A perfect disguise for a spy, and with that knowledge, his airs held no sway over Em.

  "I'm pleased you could accept my invitation, Junior Librarian," he said, his voice light.

  Em regarded him in silence for a moment. He studied her in return.

  "What can I do for you, Lord Prichard?" she finally replied.

  He smiled, and she saw a glint in his eye, a spark of cunning. His voice and mannerism, however, remained the fop to any who might pass by.

  "It has come to my attention that you possess a fine hand and a quick ear," he said. "I find myself in need of a scribe, and wish to offer you the position."

  Em blinked several times, wondering if she had misheard. Prichard just smiled at her, awaiting her reaction.

  "I have duties in the library, sir," she said quietly, taking a seat near him. "And also with assisting Chief Librarian Darien with the defence of the wizard."

  "Yes, Darien so informed me when I approached him with my proposal."

  Em frowned.

  "Then he must have told you I would find little time to pen your letters―"

  Prichard held up a hand and Em swallowed the rest of her words.

  "On the contrary, he agreed you would make an exceptional asset to my team and could provide an excellent ear at any upcoming sessions."

  Now Em shook her head, her frown deepening. Had he just intimated that Darien worked for him?

  "What sessions?" she asked, trying to sort out her thoughts.

  "The Council sessions, of course," Prichard said, leaning back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach.

  Wide eyes staring, Em fought to keep her mouth from falling open.

  "Council sessions?" she squeaked. "With King and Council?"

  "The same," he nodded.

  "But," she stammered. "But ... with the Councillors?"

  Prichard laughed at her discomfort.

  "Yes, Emily, with the Councillors." He dropped his vapid air and leaned forward. She unconsciously copied him, though her hands cramped from clutching each other so tightly. When next he spoke, the dandy, less-than-effectual Lord with holdings in Westa
m had disappeared, and Dalasham's master spy addressed her. "We're a bunch of men set in our ways, dealing with the end of a crisis few of us are equipped to deal with. As you lack a title or position of influence, King Stefan cannot easily flaunt tradition and admit you to the Council, despite his eternal gratitude and the sound advice you have offered in the past, but he won't bar my scribe from attending. In that role, you will have the opportunity to express any concerns or insights we might miss to me, and I can pass them on to the King."

  Em felt herself begin to tremble.

  "I'm just a librarian," she whispered. "And a woman at that. The Councillors will never accept my presence."

  "You'll reprise your garb from the road," he said reasonably. "Dressed in tunic and trousers, with your scholar's cap to contain your hair, none will look twice at a scribe to try to discern your gender. And any who do well know the eccentricities of Lord Prichard. Perhaps I'll even start a new fad," he grinned, but Em couldn't share his delight. He turned serious again. "Dalasham needs your insight, Emily, and the King and I need your wisdom. Will you help us once again?"

  And somehow, Em had agreed, drawn back into a world she had barely known less than two months ago. She found herself now standing outside the Council Chambers, cap pulled low, eyes downcast, arms hugging parchment to her chest, waiting just behind Lord Prichard for admittance to today's session. She felt so off-balance she feared a light wind would push her over. But when their turn came to enter the room, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and followed Prichard within, the spy and his newest asset quickly finding their seats near the back of the room where they could watch over nearly everyone.

  Chapter 3

  "Emily," Destiny repeated in a flat voice, staring hard at the man seated before the door to her cell grinning like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. "Your junior assistant, Emily. The woman who somehow undid all our plans, who thwarted me time and again, who fought so hard against the odds. That little base-born chit with defiance in her eyes. You expect me to believe she convinced you I deserved a chance?"

  Darien inclined his head.

  "Why?" Destiny wondered, unable to fathom a motive.

  "She has a strong concept of justice for all," the Chief Librarian replied with a small shrug, clasping his hands around one raised knee as he leaned back on the stool. "It bothered her that fear and prejudice might dictate your fate while ignorance and unfair preference might afford the Prince some leniency. She has convinced us not to see you as a woman with unnatural and unknown powers, but as a person who acted in concert with an equally culpable associate. While some wish to believe you enspelled Prince Whillim and corrupted his will, a fear played upon by those with a seeming grudge against you, Emily believes the Prince chose his actions of his own will. I tend to lean toward Emily's theory and would very much like to hear your side."

  Destiny could only shake her head. How often had she chafed at men seeing her only as a woman, and thus dismissing her without thought? In fact, had that not defined her from birth, her own despicable father cursing her gender and refusing to see the potential beneath? And now, a woman points out that fallacy to men, forcing them to see a person and not a gender, and they listen to her? How did a librarian get a king to understand? What had Emily done to win such respect?

  And then Destiny's mind fastened on something else Darien had intimated.

  "Who plays upon this fear?" she asked. "Who holds this grudge?" Eyes narrowed, her thoughts leapt ahead, or perhaps back. "What wizard came to aid you?"

  Darien's expression sobered and he studied her thoughtfully, his ocean-tinged eyes in sharp focus.

  "Wizard Marcus, come to us from the Frontier School in Bakaana."

  "Marcus," her eyes slid shut as she tested the name, filtering it through memory. "Dark hair, overinflated sense of his own importance, disdainful of anyone he thinks inferior to himself, certain women only have use as servants or whores. Clever with wards." Yes, that would fit with the familiar sense of the wizard she had felt crossing her ward and trying to draw her attention. She opened her dark eyes, found Darien's gaze, remembered her surprise when he had so easily determined her own origins. "Innosvaran accent and mannerisms, perhaps, even if you did find him in Bakaana?" she added. "That Marcus?"

  "The same," Darien confirmed. "You know him."

  "Sad to say," she agreed. "A lapdog of someone far more powerful."

  "Wizard Nathan," Darien named her adversary, his stare intent upon her face. "Your brother."

  She found, with that naming, that holding a neutral expression became very difficult. She thought she had managed, but the tightening of her shoulders and the brief flash of emotion in her eyes gave her away.

  "Marcus didn't tell you that," she stated with utter conviction, her voice low and flat. Nathan would never acknowledge any blood connection between them; could not since that moment when their father had stolen him away and convinced him Destiny acted as no more than a servant. By the time sycophants like Marcus and Tyrandel had joined Nathan's coterie, her brother had no memory of a sister. Marcus thought her a traitor who had killed his teacher, not a sibling to his vindictive playmate.

  She had killed that teacher, the vicious, ruthless, power-hungry wizard who had sired and abused her, but she had betrayed no one. She had instead avenged her mother and freed herself. Marcus would never understand, and sadly, she feared, neither would Nathan.

  Darien regarded her in silence for a moment before nodding.

  "No, he didn't tell us. Emily learned that information elsewhere. Nevertheless, Marcus urges us to turn you over to Wizard Nathan for justice."

  Destiny froze. She couldn't help the resurfaced panic that tore through her, the icy dread at the possibility of finding herself helpless in the hands of her brother. But damned if she would allow that terror to dominate her. Anger and hatred fought to free her immobility.

  "That would prove a mistake," she said, absurdly glad her voice remained level. "If Nathan ever set foot in Dalasham and learned what I learned, he would destroy you. But then, you wouldn't see me as such a threat anymore either, so perhaps I should rather encourage the fallacy that he would benefit you."

  "It seems you have more than one story to share," Darien mused, studying her face closely, his brow drawn in speculation. "Do we start with how and why you and Prince Whillim met and conspired, leading to you locked in a cell, sealed away from your magic? Or do we look into the narrow view of one Wizard Shelton, a vicious and amoral man who sought to augment his powers through his offspring, his disappointment in Girl and success in Nathan? Shall we discuss how and when he left this world, an action that perhaps sparked the ire of both Nathan and Marcus?" Destiny felt her eye twitch, held tight to painful childhood memories, silently cursing that this man knew so much already. Darien leaned forward, hands on knees as he held her with an avid gaze. "Or do we now find it needful to explore this new concern you've laid before me? What have you discovered in Dalasham that would interest Nathan more than retrieving you?

  "I will know the answer to all those questions, Destiny, but I will leave you to pick which to explain first."

  She stared at him, noted his resolve, wondered at his calm. She could sense the quiet sincerity of his regard, the oddly compelling weight of his surety that she would tell him all he wanted to know. Even confined in the wizard cell, blocked from her own magic, she could feel the pull of Darien's will, his desire to have her confide in him, and that last, she decided, she would address first, though it also touched upon his initial question.

  "When I met Whillim," she began, watching as Darien absorbed every word, "we stood within the borders of Dalasham, in a moderate town in Sudam. He wanted a way to take power without earning it, and I wanted the resources and space to perfect a spell."

  Memories of the town of Terandale―the smokey tavern with its lightly watered down ale and decent food, a Prince trying to disguise himself as merely a wealthy merchant wont to complain―attempted to swim up and claim
her attention, but Destiny pushed them aside, knowing she would revisit them later. To this portion of her confession, they bore no importance.

  "I had roamed the edges of Dalasham, as many wizards do, for over a year, and noticed little out of the ordinary. Seeing no reason to shun the capital as others of my brethren do, I accepted a position in Whillim's court and journeyed to Dalasmar. I kept myself unobserved for many months while devising my spell to suit Whillim's whims, but even in such seclusion, I observed those around me, and I slowly came to a startling conclusion, one borne out after Whillim took the throne.

  "Dalasham lacks wizards, but it does not lack magic."

  She waited a moment, let that thought solidify in Darien's mind. He didn't dismiss her out of hand, and she nodded slowly to herself, wondering if he already knew or suspected this truth, although his eyes shaded more blue than green in the lantern light, some emotion she couldn't name affecting him.

  "I have no proof or sure knowledge of this," she continued. "But I believe, some time in Dalasham's past, someone worked a spell to transfer the flow of magic; perhaps those very wizards you say existed before Henri. I haven't the slightest idea how one might achieve such a spell, but I have seen its results often enough now to believe in its existence.

  "Wizards will find it uncomfortable to reside in Dalasmar or its vicinity for any length of time without purpose. I myself have felt a certain restlessness, a strong desire to quit this place, and every set-back only heightened that need. I fought that compulsion, obduracy and an iron will warring with an unseen hand. However, without the Destiny Seat and Whillim's unachieved ambition to urge me on, I admit I may have succumbed to the impulse to leave. But I persevered, and in doing so, learned what makes Dalasham strong despite its lack of wizards; yet this strength also spells your weakness, and Nathan would exploit both, harnessing and harvesting your people."

  Darien's frown had deepened, and his lip curled briefly before he smoothed his features.