"Make yourself plain, Destiny. What force strengthens and weakens us? What do you believe Nathan covets?"
"As yet, nothing," she replied. "For he cannot see it. Nor will Marcus have felt its effects yet, and if he keeps his obsession upon me, he may never see it.
"Wizards manipulate the natural world to change something, but unlike mere witches, they can access their own psyche to do so. You understand that basic component?"
"I do," Darien said.
"It takes training to manipulate multiple aspects without destroying the mind, though someone who lacks such training might manipulate a single thing on a very minor scale. A herbalist might find some finesse with growing her own plants while her neighbour fails under the same conditions. An army scout might have greater vision at night or over distance than his companion. Small things that any person might achieve through talent or practice, or something a person with latent magic might perfect. Those who unknowingly manipulate magic rather than having innate talent for these small results, we call having an affinity for Lesser Magics."
"I have heard the term."
"Do you understand the rarity of true Lesser Magics?" she asked. "You might find a double handful in a kingdom in any given generation. Not enough variation for a witch, not enough strength for a wizard, simply a minor spark geared toward a single ability. A blip, if you will, of magic concentrated in an individual. Often found in a wizarding family where the magic has otherwise skipped a generation, but very occasionally seen as a wild talent."
She leaned forward now, paying little heed to the hard stone of her bed beneath her backside as she strove to make Darien understand.
"Dalasham has no wizards, but the abundance of these Lesser Magics astounds me. I would guess one-in-three carry the ability. No other kingdom even hints at this phenomenon, nor have I ever read about the possibility. Combine that with the aversion of wizards to spend any time near the heart of your kingdom, and I can only conclude some form of magical interference. A spell designed to keep wizards away while maintaining the natural flow of magic. I believe that most of your population has a small window into magic and no knowledge of how to secure that window. Which makes you ripe for someone like Nathan to pluck. Imagine a wizard, trained to seek and take power unto himself without hesitation or doubt, coming into contact with such an unprotected and unprepared bounty. How easy to round up the people of Dalasham and see if he can transfer that magic into his power base?"
Darien stared at her in silence for a time. Destiny found herself surprisingly short of breath, and realised her impassioned speech had drawn the words in such a rush that she had little air to spare. She forced herself to calm again, her heart to slow, wondering why she should care.
The image of a cruel man experimenting on a nameless child, the one he would only call Girl even while he drew her blood, crept behind her eyes, a wizard trying to steal magic that didn't belong to him. Destiny had never imagined that the thought of that fate befalling others would disturb her so.
"A fine story," Darien finally spoke again, his doubts betrayed by a slight quaver in his voice. "Hard to substantiate."
"Not entirely," disagreed Destiny. "Look to yourself, Darien. Do you even realise what Lesser Magics you hold? For you stand as a further rarity, holding two that I can discern."
He drew back quickly, nearly upsetting his stool. Then he narrowed his eyes.
"You seek to cloud the issues," he began.
"I seek to answer your questions," she spat. "You wanted to know what Nathan would want more than revenge on me, and I tell you, if he knew, he'd seek to steal your magics." Then, before he could argue again, she asked, "Have you ever wondered why people choose to so easily confide in you, Chief Librarian?"
He blinked in surprise.
"Or why you defend those under your care so staunchly with unwavering belief in their character? Do you remember how loath you found it to give me Emily's name? Or how easily you determined my home kingdom and magical affiliations? You believe it your own charisma and common sense. I name them your Lesser Magics. You put people at ease, drawing their confidence. And you see the potential in people. Tell me I'm wrong."
He just stared at her.
"After King Stefan sat the Destiny Seat," she went on, "Emily somehow retained the truth, used it to break the spell. I tell you now, only a magical ability could have allowed such a feat. So I name her Lesser Magic as connected to her memory, an ability I imagine most beneficial to a librarian."
"Many people have an eidetic memory―"
"Not one strong enough to destroy a Focus," Destiny countered immediately. "That guard who fought my spell so fiercely, who even at the end managed to trigger my Focus for Emily, what Lesser Magic do you suppose he had?"
Darien's eyes narrowed as he considered her words.
"An immunity to, or at least an ability to fight magic?" he ventured.
"The more I look, the more I see," Destiny said. "If you give Marcus enough time, or Spirits forfend, my brother, they might see what I do. When you know to look, you will see Lesser Magics everywhere in Dalasham. If you wish to preserve your kingdom, I suggest you don't allow Nathan the opportunity to look at it, especially not from within."
"If this is true, then it would behoove us not to listen to Marcus' advice to inform Wizard Nathan of your whereabouts."
"It would, but if you believe that Marcus hasn't already sent word, then you don't understand just how very much my brother wants to get his hands on me, nor the depth of their feelings toward me."
"Why don't we discuss those reasons?" Darien proposed, and Destiny almost laughed when she felt the pull of his suggestion even through the muffling shroud of the wizard cell, the comforting notion that to confide in him would bring peace.
"You try to deny the possibility of having a Lesser Magic even while you employ it," she sneered, then settled back, having little stomach for explaining the torment that led to her slaying Wizard Shelton, her and Nathan's abhorrent father. But she did so, and in great detail.
***
Em heaved a great sigh, her relief at finally escaping the Council Chambers a palpable sensation. She didn't know how much the King had made known about her experience in recent events―if he had even made mention of her role at all―but none of the Council members called exception to her presence. Indeed, beyond the scowl of Sir Castel, the raised eyebrow and slight frown of Sir Edvard, and the speculative mien worn by Sir Pietor, no one took much note of Em as she sat beside Lord Prichard, scribbling furiously as she tried to keep up with the meeting. Prichard had imparted information on each man and the situations they discussed quietly to Em without moving his lips, and she found herself intrigued by his subtlety even as he continued to wear the vapid expression of a fop and use the exaggerated gestures of someone overly absorbed with his own importance, a disguise he wore like a glove.
Eventually, as the morning drew long, her writing had slowed and she began to understand how little of substance actually left the lips of these men who oversaw the smooth running of Dalasham. She didn't know how the King could stand so much rhetoric and empty platitudes. The Prince had worn the stolen crown for a month, yet it seemed to Em that King Stefan could easily spend as long again putting things to right, especially if his Councillors continued to act like spoiled, entitled, self-centred prigs.
The most disturbing moments, Em thought, came when someone who had sat these chambers during the King's exile and the Prince's reign failed to differentiate between Stefan and Whillim. For instance, Councilman Alphonse's reference to Stefan's dealings with Bash―it seemed a royal wedding might lie in the King's future―when in fact Whillim, not Stefan, had spoken to representative Tolnar, brother to the King of Bash, some weeks earlier. Or Sir Byndorf's concerns over Milos' Mercenary Company, currently under guard while their Captain lay recovering in the infirmary―Em had wondered if the mercs had gone to Tox's farm, but Prichard informed her that they bivouacked at the barracks at Cranshaw Fortress―insi
sting that Stefan should recall seeing or hearing of some incident or other at a time when Stefan had not stood anywhere near Riverbend. The Destiny Seat no longer held the memory of Stefan's existence from his people, but it seemed to still have some effect, overlaying Whillim's acts as Stefan's. This had caused more than one uncomfortable moment in today's talks. Em had made sure to note every time Stefan's scowl and dark countenance spoke to the disparity.
Now, finally free from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the Council Chambers―the room itself had enough space for many times the number it had held, but the oppressive and poorly concealed anxiety of the men within had made Em feel enclosed―she felt like a weight had lifted, and she had only sat as a scribe. Sympathy for the King filled her, along with heightened respect for the patience of Captain Frederick, the King's head guard having stood behind Stefan without break for the last few hours, not actively permitted to participate. The large, muscled Captain hadn't allowed his thoughts to show much in his expressions during the long ordeal, but Em had read a mixture of impatience and angst in his dark brown eyes a few times when she had glanced his way.
She shook her head to clear her mind, knowing she would remember everything said in those rooms―having written it down for Lord Prichard would only reinforce her gift of remembering whatever she read, a gift she had discovered also stretched to the ability to recall the nuances of the sword form exercises Fred and the others had taught her on their travels. She thought longingly of those exercises now, knowing the movement helped her focus. She wondered if she might find time to put herself through some of those forms in the near future, using a sturdy stick rather than an actual sword of course.
Before she could start back toward the library, a figure pushed off from the wall and caught her attention, pulling her thoughts away from the physical and back to the scholarly. Chief Librarian Darien approached quickly, his hair, the colour of winter sunshine, in disarray as though he had run his long fingers through it many times in agitation. The gentle crinkles around his blue-green eyes etched deeper with his frown, the concern in them disquieting in a man usually quite self-possessed.
"What's wrong?" Em asked in a soft voice as her mentor fell into step beside her, indicating he'd prefer that they walk while they conversed. Even then, it took many strides before he replied.
"What do you know about Lesser Magics?" his quiet question barely reached her ears. She opened her mouth to reply, but he went on before she could. "Destiny told me an interesting story, one I'm not sure I believe, but I find myself terrified not to." He then proceeded to tell her what the wizard had explained, her insistence that the majority of Dalashamites carried a trace of magic.
Em listened, allowing Darien to chart their route as he spoke. He led them not to the library, but strangely to the same sitting room Prichard had used earlier. For the second time that day, Em found herself sitting in the same crimson coloured chair next to a low fire, absorbing words that would change her life. As Darien finished, she recalled the surprising moment when she had accepted Prichard's request to act as scribe, knowing he had truly asked her to become both spy and advisor. She narrowed her eyes now, considering.
"It makes a certain kind of sense," she murmured, playing out not only the last day, but the last month in her mind. So many things she had recently witnessed, put against the backdrop of Destiny's theory, suddenly shed a different light on various behaviours she had experienced. "I can't speak to the veracity of her claim, but it could explain things I've never thought to question." Such as how Prichard could talk a reluctant and introverted librarian into the role of a spy? "But how could such a thing have come to pass? And how has no one noticed before?"
"A spell designed to keep wizards away," Darien said, repeating Destiny's words. "Yet still able to diffuse the natural presence of magic, distilling it into many instead of a few. From what I've gathered so far, Destiny met the Prince a year ago, came in secret to Dalasmar nearly five months later, but only began to suspect the prevalence of the Lesser Magics some time after employing the Destiny Seat. It took her over half a year to notice, and with no other wizards willing to stay long in the capital, no one else has had such an opportunity to study us. I imagine that if Destiny hadn't focused so keenly on her experiment, she might have noticed sooner, but it would still take time to intuit the course of magic here."
"So no one's noticed because someone designed a spell that causes wizards to shy away. But wizards do work near the border towns, just not near Riverbend. Perhaps this spell works something like Destiny's ward? Or maybe it grows weaker the farther from the capital? Which would indicate it originated somewhere in or near Dalasmar." She felt a flutter in her chest, a stir of excitement at learning something new about history. "I wonder if we could learn how far this feeling of avoidance extends? Locate the origin of the spell? Assuming, of course, it is a spell and not simply a matter of us not accepting wizards." Now she frowned, thinking aloud as she chased her thoughts. "But they didn't always avoid Dalasmar. Not until Henri's Rebellion." Her eyes flashed as she met Darien's gaze.
"If such a spell exists," Darien nodded, expression thoughtful, "it likely came from that time. That's where we need to look."
Always eager to explore history, Em nevertheless forced herself to stillness.
"Will the information help us?" she asked, meeting Darien's incredulous stare even as the other librarian had made as if to rise. "Beyond giving us insight into the past, will this knowledge change anything in regards to either Destiny's or the Prince's trial? Or does it serve as a distraction?"
Darien sat back, acknowledging her point with a reluctant nod. He steepled his fingers together, tapping them against his lips as he considered.
"It likely won't matter in her defence," he conceded. "But it might help us block wizard Marcus' insistence in turning her over to Nathan. If an old spell has spread the flow of magic into the general populace, and Nathan's goal is to take what power he can wherever he can find it, we dare not allow him close enough to reach the same conclusion Destiny has. A spell made can be unmade with enough information and strength. We barely know what to do with Destiny; having yet another wizard lacking morals intruding on us cannot go well. But we only have Destiny's theory at the moment. If we can discover the truth of her claim, one way or the other, we might avert a potential disaster.
"So yes, I believe the information will help us."
"Then it looks like we have some research to do," Em said. "Though I don't remember reading anything that spoke to such a possibility, I certainly haven't read everything in the library."
Darien's lips twisted into a wry smile.
"I have never doubted your memory, magically enhanced or not. And I can think of a few places to look you might not have seen."
Em shot him a disbelieving look, first for implying that magic might aid her memory, and second for insinuating the library held any corner she hadn't explored. He smiled.
"Just as I knew about the warded cells in the dungeon where Destiny now resides, a room she calls a wizard cell, I, as Chief Librarian, have access to some unusual cubbyholes. I think you might find them interesting, given the contents."
"What's there?"
"Information," he said, rising to his feet. " Much of it written in Old Dalasham."
Her eyes grew wide and an excited smile spread across her face, giving her plain features a childlike glee. She loved these kinds of puzzles.
Chapter 4
Em thought she had known every section of the library. Darien proved her wrong when he led her to the Chief Librarian's private enclave. Or rather, to the room concealed beyond it. She had seen the private enclave before, a small, dimly-lit room with two walls of carefully bound tomes mostly detailing the running of the castle. A few books on history, etiquette and court manners also dotted the shelves, along with a row of adventure stories to round things out. A single cot sat against the third wall, a small table next to it supporting a partially melted taper in a slightly batt
ered candle holder upon its scarred surface. While the other librarians could use any of the tiny sleeping niches if a project ran long into the night, the Chief Librarian made exclusive use of this little enclave when he didn't retreat to his own chambers.
And apparently held exclusive knowledge of its secrets.
Darien went to the far wall, slid his hand behind the shelves, and with a satisfied grunt, activated a hidden mechanism. The whole shelf unit shifted, then pivoted without a sound or so much as a scratch against the stone floor, revealing a dark space beyond. Em stared with wide eyes, her heart speeding up in anticipation.
"More secret tunnels?" she asked on a quiet breath.
Darien turned to retrieve the taper on the table, lighting it with a quick strike of flint, then turned to the darkness, a small smile playing at his mouth.
"Not tunnels, no, though I find your knowledge about those fascinating. This just leads to another room."
Without explaining further, he moved into the black. Em followed without hesitation.
Twice the size of the enclave, this hidden room held a treasure trove to Em's glittering gaze. She clasped her hands in front of her in near reverence as she took in the table with its two chairs in the centre, surrounded by shelves of books she had never seen before. Books, she understood from the few gilt-edged titles she could read from where she stood, that mostly dealt with history and magic. Well preserved tomes written in Old Dalasham.
The Rise to Power of Henri Muskander, she translated, and Magics of pre-Revolutionary Dalasham. The Founding of Dalasmar Castle sat next to the Final Days of King Albert. Stefan's great-grandfather, she wondered, or one of the two other Alberts from an even earlier generation? Other titles gleamed in the flicker of Darien's candle, which he now set on the table. The Chief Librarian swept his arms out in invitation.
"Welcome to the Forbidden Texts," he said, looking directly at her. "A secure room for the eyes of the Chief Librarian and his successor only, unless circumstances of the utmost importance arise."
The Forgotten Magic Page 3
