Now Emily leaned forward, a battered black book held carefully in her hands, a frayed cord dangling past its spine. She opened it seemingly at random and turned it so that the contents faced Norbert. Confusion written on his face, the wizard glanced down at the pages, then up into Emily's earnest face.
"Can you read it?" she asked.
Norbert looked down again, his brows drawing into a frown after a moment.
"It's spell locked," he said. "Useless without knowing the key."
"I can read it," came Emily's surprising reply. "Without a key," she added, making Norbert's eyes widen. Stefan saw Prichard's lip quirk minutely before returning to stillness. He didn't think such a revelation surprised the master spy.
Then Norbert frowned again, his gaze flickering over to Destiny.
"As I can neither confirm nor refute this claim, it fails as a test." He looked back at Emily, a hint of sympathy colouring his expression. "Even if you read it to me verbatim, how can I know you don't make it up? This cannot stand as your only proof to your access to a Lesser Magic."
"Two, actually," Destiny said, drawing Norbert's attention. "She holds two Lesser Magics." Now Destiny shifted her gaze toward Stefan's group, making the King wonder how long she had known of their presence. "As does another in this room."
Emily followed her glance, then shifted back to stare at Norbert.
"Three people sit or stand here now who have Lesser Magics," the librarian corrected. "Three that we know for certain."
A raised brow from Destiny as she brought her focus back to Norbert, no doubt wondering, as Stefan did, to which third party Emily referred.
"As the magic cares nothing for tracing family lines, discerning exactly who can do what and with what level of skill becomes problematic," Destiny explained. "I have seen it in all walks of life here, from the smallest trace, easily dismissed as an everyday talent like creating exceptional meals, to something more extraordinary, such as the ability to resist or see through magic. It appears in people regardless of station, rank, or gender, from servants to guards to librarians, amongst nobility right through to royalty. And in such abundance that, as you say, it becomes difficult to discern if what one feels comes from intuition or imagination. So, what proof can we offer that you will accept?"
While Norbert seemed to consider her words, one phrase circled in Stefan's thoughts. Amongst nobility right through to royalty. Did she refer to something she saw in Stefan, or something she had experienced with Whillim? He opened his mouth to demand clarification, then paused as Darien stepped forward. He set his books down on one of the side tables before perching on the arm of Emily's chair, his face set in a pleasant expression as he turned his regard on Norbert.
"Greetings, sir, and my apologies for the interruption. I'm Chief Librarian Darien. Do I understand correctly that you, like Lady Destiny here, can claim the status of wizard?"
Norbert inclined his head briefly, expression puzzled by the newcomer, but willing to include him in the discussion.
"Wizard Norbert," he introduced himself. "Administrator to Wizard Castillo at Bakaana's Frontier School."
"Here from so far?" Darien raised his brows, impressed. "How did you find the journey? Have you had a chance to refresh yourself?"
"Lord Prichard saw to my needs, thank you."
"And now you find yourself in an unexpected debate with surprisingly strong-willed opponents." Darien smiled, drawing a half-smile in return. "I often found myself in spirited discourse with my predecessor, often without the advanced benefit of full knowledge of or research into the topic at hand. This must seem similarly unnerving, especially in a kingdom you learned had little to no magic at its heart."
"Indeed, it's ... unsettling," Norbert agreed with a slight shiver. "The concept of magic spread so widely throughout the peoples of the land rather than concentrated among a few men who might train to become wizards ... and to suggest such a feat came about at the hands of unknown wizards in a Great Magic that I can scarce comprehend seems so incredible. Had I not felt the strength of her magic, I might mistake Destiny's insistence on the existence of these Lesser Magics as a wish to draw upon the strength of others. As it is, I don't know how I can believe her, though the concept intrigues me."
"Is that something you would normally reveal to strangers?" Darien asked in open curiosity. Stefan noted Destiny's smile, Prichard's nod, and Emily's intent concentration, all aimed toward the wizard.
Norbert blinked, taken aback at the question. Then he frowned, staring hard at Darien.
"No, it's not," he said, voice hard.
"Darien has a talent for inviting confidences," Destiny admitted quietly.
"I merely invite honesty," Darien refuted, though without rancour. "If we can prove any aspect of our Lesser Magics, would you then consider the possibility of someone creating them through a Great Magic that altered our understanding of history?"
"I suppose it's possible." The frown that still marred Norbert's face shifted from disquieted to contemplative. He glanced at Destiny. She met his gaze evenly.
"You felt it that time, didn't you?" she queried. "You're wondering if it's your imagination, but you felt it."
Not sure what she meant, Stefan watched as Norbert slowly turned back to Darien, who just smiled in a benign manner.
"I don't influence thoughts," said the librarian. "I just make it easier for someone to share their concerns with me. Until now, I've never actively tried to engage this skill I hadn't realised I had until Destiny's theory prompted me to do some research."
"A formidable skill that invites a closer study," Norbert agreed, then scowled, first at Darien, then at Destiny. Finally, heaving a sigh somewhere between angry and rueful, the wizard allowed one firm nod.
'It seems I have much to consider; far more than I anticipated when I answered your summons."
"Why did you answer?" Emily piped up, drawing a surprised expression from Norbert. "Why you, of all wizards? Surely Wizard Castillo could have spared someone less expendable."
Norbert snorted, perhaps amused at her near flattery.
"I never trusted Wizard Marcus, and because of that, he's not likely to influence my opinions. And, despite recent evidence, I'm more open-minded than many of my colleagues, who might consider sharing any information of a magical nature to mundanes as beneath them. That combination allowed me to argue persuasively for Castillo to endorse providing Dalasham with additional support, and that I stood as the best candidate to deliver said aid."
Prichard laughed.
"Qualified and willing. I'm guessing you stood among the few Castillo had to choose from."
Norbert smiled thinly, acknowledging this with a small tilt of his head.
"I did indeed."
Before they delved down that path deeper, or any other line of inquiry Stefan could see marching across both Prichard's and Norbert's face, he stepped forward, drawing every eye to him.
"As fascinating as I find this discourse," he said, "I've come for a different purpose. I require the Lady Destiny's presence alone for a moment."
"Of course, Sire," Prichard said, rising to his feet with a small bow. Norbert's brows winged up, his eyes wide as his mouth worked to produce sound. Emily also stood, Ambrose her ever-present shadow, and with a soft, "Your Majesty," she gave them space, Darien following them out of the room. Belatedly, Norbert gathered himself and found his feet, a quick glance to Prichard, who watched him with a twisted grin.
Of course, Norbert had only known them as scholars, and while he had likely surmised Prichard's subterfuge in their recent adventures in the west, the Lord had clearly kept Stefan's real station to himself, leaving a very surprised wizard now in the presence of royalty. Stefan would leave the spy to disclose what he felt Norbert needed to know; right now, the King had his own blanks that required filling.
With only Fred looming at Stefan's shoulder―Bartok and Stefan's other guards standing attention near the door that Prichard had just ushered Norbert through―the
King regarded the lady wizard who hadn't moved from her chair. Destiny had drawn herself up, perched on the edge of her seat, but she hadn't stood, perhaps as a reminder that, while Stefan had a certain power over her, he did not stand as her King. Or she felt herself more than his equal. He chose not to take offense, having more pressing concerns and little time; time he had already stretched by listening to wizardly debates.
He took the chair Emily had vacated, settling himself to face Destiny. He allowed a moment of eye contact, from which neither party flinched, but before he could launch into what had brought him here, Stefan addressed a new concern first.
"You told Norbert you have experienced Lesser Magic even among royalty." A sudden intake of breath from Fred at this unexpected topic, then silence as Stefan waited for Destiny's slow nod. "As you know, I have sent my brother into exile," he continued. "Do I need to worry that Whillim might harness some latent talent, as Darien just demonstrated, or do my people remain safe from any further interference from him?"
Destiny sat regarding him from eyes gone deepest blue, taking time before formulating a reply. Gathering her thoughts and determining what to reveal, in Stefan's opinion. Finally, she drew in a breath, sitting even more erect as she confronted the King.
"I hardly had a traditional upbringing in magic, so I don't have first-hand knowledge of the workings of identifying and nurturing youth with potential. However, I do understand that not all children access power in the same way. On occasion, the flow of magic will meet a blockage, or become twisted in some way within the child. Wizards who examine likely students can detect such flaws and work to overcome them, or, in rare cases where allowing continued access to magic will grow dangerous, to sever the talent entirely.
"Dalasham has no such observers, so any child whose magic ... malfunctions has no recourse to safety. I believe your brother's Lesser Magic―if indeed he has one and I didn't simply witness a vain, ambitious yet lazy man―developed along these lines; a magic twisted without knowledge on how to treat the malady. If so, any magic he might possess remains stunted and harmless to those beyond himself. I do believe, however, that it manifested by warping his mind, turning into an exaggerated hatred and envy of you. Do I think he can learn any mastery over a Lesser Magic? No. Do I believe him harmless even in exile? Unlikely, but without access to resources, his malaise should remain impotent, centred around the corporeal, not the magical."
Stefan stared at her, trying to digest that. A sickness of the mind, brought about by a magic none of them knew to look for. What kind of magic could twist a child into a monster? How many others might have suffered something similar, the kingdom's ignorance of magic and shunning of wizards dooming children with incurable madness? And could they find a cure if they learned the secret to this Great Magic that supposedly altered the flow of magic in the first place?
Another question for wizards and librarians, Stefan realised, hopefully hidden somewhere in journals apparently only Emily could read. So much riding on the shoulders of the young woman and those she had unwittingly gathered into her circle. Such as this wizard sitting before him, an enemy turned reluctant ally, or so he had to hope. Helping them find answers for as long as it suited her. Or rather, he thought, his gaze dropping to her chained wrists, for as long as they held her captive. An ally, but not by choice.
He brought his attention back to her face. He must leave such matters of magic to others. Matters of state, however, he could work on.
"Tell me the details you and Whillim arranged with Bash," he said, finally broaching the topic that had brought him here. By Destiny's slight start, he knew he had surprised her. Obviously not what she had expected. He wondered briefly what she had feared he had come to say, for a flash of worry had sparked deep in her gaze despite the stoic mask she had donned, now dispelled by his demand. A question for another day.
Chapter 13
He thought he had hated it here before. Now, trapped in a cell with no access to his powers, bereft of the illusion of superiority―how did a kingdom lacking even the semblance of magic manage to subdue and incapacitate a wizard?―Marcus felt a lack he had never dreamed he'd encounter. On the cusp of victory, both Girl and Dalasham in his hands, ready to hand to Nathan as the greatest gift, somehow Marcus had failed.
That cursed librarian's fault, he snarled to himself as he prowled the confines of his strange cell ceaselessly. Stride, stride, stride, stride, then the slap of his hand against the wall before twirling to pace in the opposite direction. All had gone so wonderfully, especially given the suddenness of his brilliant plan, every person in that room vulnerable to his awesome magics. And then ....
Somehow, that Emily had resisted his efforts, pulling away from him as he crouched to retrieve his prize. A blinding pain that consumed him in darkness, and ... he had woken up here, confined in a stone cell that somehow stole his magic.
Impossible, he had initially berated himself, but nothing he did would affect the outside world. He could feel his magic, pent up somehow behind an impenetrable barrier. He didn't know how long he had battered uselessly against what bound him, searched for some flaw, desperately sought any unguarded edge to his confinement, but he had finally conceded defeat. Whatever restrained his magic and kept him imprisoned truly held him captive. These weak Dalashamites had somehow captured him, and all because of that damned librarian, who clearly had unseen depths to her.
Marcus snarled again, his only comfort in knowing that Nathan at least knew where to find him. Whether he would effect an escape for Marcus or lose himself in his revenge upon Girl, Marcus refused to contemplate. Nathan would come, and Dalasham would tremble.
In the meantime, Marcus prowled his cell, almost looking forward to the next time Stefan sent someone to question him, if only to alleviate the sameness of his days now. Boredom (mixed with helplessness, though Marcus wouldn't allow himself to admit just how powerless he felt stripped of magic) held an intriguing aspect as a means of torture he hadn't considered before. That he might look forward to seeing someone―anyone―just to change the scenery let Marcus know he had, perhaps, relied too much on the presence of others, no matter how subservient to his strength. Of course, they hadn't resorted to actual torture yet, only questions he had refused to answer, so perhaps the introduction of pain would change his desire for a voice other than his own.
As though in answer to his desire for a break to this monotony, Marcus heard something from beyond the dark confines of his cell. The flickering of the torch in the hall that sent the only source of light to penetrate into his darkness danced fitfully as an outer door opened, bringing a subtle change in the air. Boot strikes beat the floor in the corridor, approaching. Certain this presaged someone other than the silent guard who shoved in a plate of food twice a day―he had already devoured the meagre contents of the morning meal and knew not enough time had passed for an evening one (assuming his sense of time hadn't utterly failed him, having no daylight to truly discern day from night)―Marcus turned to face the door, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. If he couldn't intimidate through his magic, he could at least use his bearing and features to express his superiority. He refused to cower, even as he yearned for company.
The door opened, revealing a silhouette holding a lantern, backed by two other shadows. Marcus blinked to hasten his eyes' adjustment to the welcome light as the figure hung the lantern on a hook by the entrance, then stared in stupefaction at the wiry man who stood revealed in the door, his arms crossed and a smug expression on his olive toned face as he squinted down his nose at the captive wizard. Marcus quickly revised his notion that he would accept any company. Of all the people Dalasham could have sent to his prison, Marcus wouldn't have even thought to include Norbert, the annoying little administrator who worked under Wizard Castillo. Why does an office clerk stand at my door, acting as though he has any right to judge me?
Marcus stared over the man's shoulder, almost expecting to find Wizard Castillo standing behind his subordinate, but he di
dn't see the large man with his salt and pepper hair and silver beard who could have hidden three Norbert's in his bulk. Instead, he recognised Lord Prichard, the man who had posed as a scholar's aide when he travelled with Marcus yet who turned out to hold a seat on the Council. Beside him stood a pale-haired stranger. No, not a stranger, Marcus noted with a shock, but the man who had brought Girl to the Greater Audience Chamber when Marcus' triumph had turned to failure. His lip curled in derision to hide his discomfort and uncertainty. What did these three men have in store for him?
"Well," Norbert finally spoke, his reedy voice dripping disdain as he leaned a shoulder against the door frame. "It seems you've made an even bigger nuisance of yourself here than in Bakaana. Only here, I see you've committed an offense grievous enough to warrant imprisonment." The little man swept his gaze over Marcus' confines, the slight widening of his dark eyes the only evidence that he found this strange cell interesting.
At that moment, Marcus actually wanted to sense what the Administrator did, to know how this stone room confined his magic. Armed with that knowledge, surely Marcus could find a way to free himself.
"And quite the predicament, locked in here, helpless as any ordinary citizen," Norbert continued. "At the whim of mundanes."
Marcus clenched his fists, teeth clamped tight enough to make his jaw throb. Stoop to insults would he? Did he honestly expect Marcus to lose his temper at the reminder of how these un-magical people had somehow captured him, or did he simply express his contempt for Marcus' situation? Either way, Marcus refused to give the annoying bureaucrat the satisfaction of a response. He fastened his eyes over the small man's head and controlled his breathing, trying his best to ignore this officious reminder from Bakaana. It took longer than he liked for his hands to relax at his side again.
"I admit, it did surprise me," Norbert said when Marcus held his silence, "to hear that you had volunteered to take on a high level wizard with prowess in multi-layered spells. Of course, when Wizard Castillo informed me your usefulness would likely expand only to bindings and wards in this matter, I figured you just wanted any excuse to show off to those who might not know better than to marvel at your one area of expertise." Marcus' eyes narrowed, and he could feel the left one twitch as he tried to contain his outrage. How dare this useless man scoff at him? Norbert sat holed up in an office all day, surrounded by men of might, while Marcus―
The Forgotten Magic Page 13
