"Keeper of the most dire secrets," Norbert said, using Constance's words from her journal. "An ancient magic whereby the Chief Librarian must safeguard the Forbidden Texts, though he remembers not why."
"And a journal masked by magic none should know how to uncover unless the knowledge become needful," Destiny finished, watching the colour drain from Emily's face. "I cannot imagine how Constance might have triggered their spell to recognise when such a need might arise. I can barely comprehend how they worked such a Great Magic in tandem―my sire certainly didn't impart any information on how to weave or braid magic with that of another to accomplish something so incredible that it changed the very flow of magic."
"It requires a level of trust few can master," Norbert said quietly. "A trust and cooperation so complete that even an instant of hesitation would reflect back on the casters and destroy them. Someone like Wizard Shelton could not possibly comprehend that level of trust, too consumed with hoarding power to himself to contemplate sharing it with someone else. He wouldn't have bothered to learn it had he known of its existence, let alone pass along the technique. Even those who can grasp the idea of absolute trust will find themselves loath to risk their life and sanity. I surmise that Constance and her brother had a special bond, a unique talent that made such trust obvious to them. She doesn't write as though a Dual spell appears foreign to her, suggesting they combined magic before. I wonder if they shared the bond of twins?"
Destiny kept her features impassive, though she couldn't stop the painful flash of thought that seared through her mind. Had she escaped with Nathan before Shelton twisted her brother's mind, might they have achieved a similar bond? Could anything bring back the potential destroyed in a four-year-old boy forced to watch his mother's blood flow across the cold stone floor of a dingy kitchen?
What good a five-year-old Girl's memories when trauma dictates the future? She shook her head in exasperation. What, truly, could she do if―when―she faced Nathan with all his awesome and terrifying strength? What good understanding Constance's Dual Great Magic if the knowledge couldn't keep her brother away? And what use exploring how or why someone rewrote history?
None of it mattered; it just wasted their time.
"Could you decipher how Constance created this spell?" Emily asked, glancing first at Destiny, pulling the wizard from her dark thoughts, then at Norbert, drawing his squint to focus on her. "If we found records stating where they enacted the shield, would examining the physical site give you any information?"
"Like what?" Destiny spat, feeling the futility of following useless leads. "Mass graves, maybe? A battlefield of death to add to your nebulous histories?"
"A nexus to alter the spell," she replied firmly, startling Destiny and forcing her to look past her dark thoughts. "Some means of determining whether you can adjust the parameters to keep someone like Nathan at bay, perhaps by erecting a more physical shield. Or a way to instruct those of us who hold some portion of the altered flow of magic in a means to protect ourselves from manipulation. Might we devise some form of defence from the residual energies? Or ... Or could we ..." She paused, then huffed out an irritated breath. "I don't know," she scowled. "You're the wizards; surely you can learn something useful from what Constance did. Like you said, Destiny, that I can read Constance's journal when no one else can suggests that the knowledge has become needful. So how do we use it?"
Destiny stared at her, a renewed respect for the young woman transmuting into a spark of hope. The sensation warmed her yet left a not entirely comfortable weight on her chest, conflicting emotions roiling in her gut, like so many unexpected experiences lately. Captivity in Dalasham had taken her on a strange journey.
Speaking of captivity .... Destiny's gaze dropped to the bracelets confining her magic. Before she could say anything, though, Emily spoke again.
"Wizard Norbert, do you have a spell to bind an oath?"
Norbert blinked three times in quick succession, as though ordering his thoughts.
"Yes," he answered cautiously.
"Wizard Destiny," Emily pressed on. "Would you consent to Wizard Norbert using such a spell on you?"
"To what end?" Destiny demanded slowly, her suspicion flaring.
"If you would consent to not use your magic to harm Dalasham or its people, would in fact work to help us, and will allow Norbert to enforce that promise with a spell so that others will have less reason to fear you, I will release you from your chains."
By the door, both guards, silent until now, shifted uneasily. Ambrose narrowed his eyes with a grunt before looking away and subsiding. Bartok growled and shook his head sharply.
"You can't free the witch," he said, voice like gravel scraped across stone. "You got no authority."
Emily never took her eyes off Destiny, though she nodded to acknowledge the guard's words.
"Would you consent?" she asked again.
Destiny held the younger woman's steady regard, believing Emily would keep her intent if she could, knowing the librarian had little power to see her desire through. But the chance at freedom soared through her, and Destiny wanted it fiercely. Harming the people of Dalasham had never motivated her. Whillim had wanted Stefan to suffer, and she had used the Prince's selfish interests to her benefit, but causing pain and discord hadn't driven her.
She had set out to try to reclaim her brother, restore a measure of his innocence, or at the very least, divorce herself from his retribution so that she might live her life without fear of his heavy hand finding and smothering her. Such a goal seemed fantastical to her now. Somehow her thoughts now revolved around stopping Nathan from surpassing the cruelties of their sire, by whatever means necessary. If that meant protecting Dalasham and her people while looking to her own safety, Destiny could live with that.
But not if she remained helpless.
"I would so consent," she vowed.
Emily breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. She rose to her feet.
"Then I will request, in the interests of peace, that such a thing come to pass as quickly as possible."
She took a single step toward the door before she paused, even with Destiny's chair. Craning her neck back to meet Emily's serious eyes, Destiny heard the girl's whisper.
"Left to me, I'd free you now and get on with protecting the kingdom. But you know how men are."
And with that quip, she hurried from the room, accompanied by Destiny's startled laughter. A strange young woman that Destiny couldn't help but admire, even if her odd blend of innocence, intellect and cynicism would likely hurt her in the end. Why Emily trusted Destiny as much as she did, the wizard couldn't fathom, yet Destiny found herself wanting to live up to that trust. She would have liked to blame that desire on the influence of some aspect of Emily's Lesser Magics, but deep down, Destiny understood the woman herself simply elicited such confidence. A novel concept for a Girl raised to fear and mistrust the charisma of others.
Chapter 16
One thing led to another, and Stefan found himself yearning for the kind of escape he had experienced when he had fled west to Bakaana, that brief taste of freedom. He could do without the threat of losing his mind along with his kingdom, but those times when only a handful of people gathered round him and the most dire decision lay in whether Fred or Prich would end up cooking over the campfire of an evening called to him with a certain nostalgia.
Better than the ridiculous turmoil over wedding preparations truncated into weeks instead of months. The steward had sent out the appropriate invitations as soon as Stefan had confirmed with the Council Whillim's proposed date―though given the timing, many nobles would arrive well after the bride, expected in just a couple of short days―and the kitchen busily prepared for several rounds of banquets and parties leading up to the actual event. Stefan didn't know why his brother stipulated two months between his agreement and the nuptials, nor why the Bashites had agreed. He could only imagine that Whillim had wanted to consolidate his rule quickly and acted in eager ignoran
ce. Why Tolnar had acquiesced with little fuss Stefan planned to ask when the man arrived with his niece.
Stefan had married before, his wife and unborn child dead of a fever some eight years ago, shortly before his father's death and his own ascension. He still remembered the fuss leading up to the wedding, the infinite details he had happily left to his mother―herself dead three years now―and soon-to-be bride. The pair had planned enough festivities, decorations, flower arrangements, place settings, and other myriad minutiae he would have never considered to set his head spinning. Now Stefan had to oversee many of these details himself, at least until Princess Mantinou arrived. Still, he had capable people to assist―most notably his steward and his mother's senior lady-in-waiting, drawn out of retirement for the occasion―and had this served as his only additional diversion, he might have more tolerance for it.
But he had other matters that lay far more heavily upon him. Emily's request, for one, brought to him via Lord Prichard.
Her argument to unshackle Destiny under the geas of Wizard Norbert had merit, especially in regards to Destiny's ability to sense when someone crossed her ward. With Marcus locked up and Destiny still under guard within Dalasmar, Stefan believed a confrontation with Wizard Nathan inevitable, and the kingdom had little in the way of defence against one such as he. But Stefan had to find a way to make the Council agree to the stipulation. He wouldn't free Destiny, per se, but rather gain her aid in a more useful manner. The problem lay in trusting yet another foreign wizard to ensure that the woman who had so easily blinded the proud Councilmen could cause no additional harm; would, in fact, work to the advantage of Dalasham, incredible as that sounded. Yet Emily had extracted her promise, and if Norbert could enforce it to the satisfaction of the Council, Stefan fully intended to see Destiny's frightening skills employed for the safety of his people.
Even that daunting task, however, didn't occupy his mind as fully as the dismaying news from Cranshaw. Willi had escaped, a hunter on his trail. Stefan hadn't expected his brother to move so quickly, though he and Prich had discussed the ramifications should such an event occur. Though Willi hadn't shied from the thought of fratricide, Stefan found himself loath to take that final step, hence Prichard's man set to deal with the matter. To further the possibility of still achieving a less-than-lethal solution, Stefan had arranged this next meeting immediately upon learning of Prichard's report, received via messenger bird from Cranshaw just this morning, followed closely by a less cryptic detailing of the events that allowed the Prince to slip away unseen, penned by the garrison Captain. It seemed Willi had found a way to bribe one of the mercenaries into creating a diversion, likely with the assistance of his wily valet, whom the Council had deemed necessary to the Prince in exile, though Stefan had warned them not to underestimate the man who had shared in Willi's pranks for more than fifteen years. That he hadn't received a report from the man set to watch Otto did not bode well for the well-being of the erstwhile spy.
The mercenaries had dealt with their fellow who had initiated the diversion, beating the man into unconsciousness, but that told Stefan only that they hadn't appreciated not sharing in the spoils. He wouldn't mistake their enthusiasm for chagrin for allowing a high-profile prisoner to escape from under their noses. After all, Milos' Company, though enjoying more freedom than intended for Willi, nevertheless remained confined pending the release of their Captain.
A release to which Stefan must now attend. With stipulations.
A knock on the door to his private study announced the arrival he awaited. After a nod from Fred, standing at the King's side, the guard at the door―Kato this morning―admitted two men. Corporal Joseph ushered in Captain Milos. The mercenary Captain held himself carefully erect as he approached Stefan's desk, cushioning healing ribs with his right arm, immobilised in a sling. He almost succeeded in disguising his limp, though he couldn't hide the sickly yellow and green hues of the fading bruises on his face. In fact, it almost seemed to Stefan as though his jutted chin and hard gaze served to emphasize those bruises, badges of pride displayed in a silent statement: I survived. The man even tilted his head toward Fred, an acknowledgement between equals. Fred scowled, but finally returned the greeting with a curt jerk of his chin. Only then did Milos meet Stefan's regard with quiet equanimity.
Stefan indicated one of the chairs set before the great oak desk across from him.
"Sit," he said.
Milos glanced down at the cushioned seat, the pinch in his eyes the only indication of his surprise at the comfort provided. His gaze flicked to the tall man sprawled in the second chair, dark eyes piercing despite his relaxed demeanour. Lord Prichard made neither sound nor movement as Milos slowly lowered himself into the proffered seat, Jo taking up station just behind the merc's shoulder. When the mercenary met Stefan's eyes again, the King spoke.
"We've held your men outside the city until you could rejoin them. Given the confusion caused by the Destiny Seat, you will understand how men-at-arms learning they had cooperated with mercenaries, and not King's soldiers as they had believed, could lead to bitter feelings. Initially, we needed your Company out of Riverbend to reinforce the peace you and my brother had cracked, yet not roaming our kingdom at will, especially leaderless. With you incapacitated, and your lieutenant dead, they lacked a certain discipline, though not as much as feared once we provided barracks space instead of prison cells.
"Circumstances have changed."
Stefan watched the dusky man's eyes, saw them turn speculative at his men's confinement, hard at the casual mention of his lieutenant's death, and finally wary with the bite of Stefan's last sentence. The man let no other emotion cross his battered face, waiting for Stefan to proclaim the fate of those under Milos' care. The King doubted the merc would expect his solution.
"The Council, in its infinite wisdom, sent Prince Whillim to Cranshaw Fortress, placing him in exile surrounded by luxury," Prichard drawled, drawing Milos' attention. Stefan felt his eye twitch at Prich's disdain, but he didn't admonish the man; he even agreed with him to a point. Willi would have learned nothing under such confinement, but most of the noblemen refused to consider the indignity of harsher conditions for a Prince. Now they would pay the price for their folly, forcing Dalasham to suffer along with them unless Stefan and Prichard could resolve this quickly.
"Same place they sent your men," Prich continued, studying his nails in apparent unconcern, his air of nonchalance tempered by the steel in his voice. "Still, put two disparate powder kegs together, even kept separated by space and intentions, and it takes but a spark to blow the whole thing to shreds."
"The Prince escaped," Stefan snapped, bringing Milos' focus back to him. "Aided by one of your men."
Nothing showed on Milos' face, neither pleasure nor worry, his stoic expression remarkable only in its total lack of emotion. A rock would impart more information, though Stefan suspected the mercenary's thoughts spun along many avenues. He just had to direct those thoughts to travel the path he wanted.
Stefan leaned forward, hands clasped before him on the desk, gaze direct.
"This man acted on his own in such a manner as to apparently offend the rest of your company, given the report I received regarding his present dubious state of health. Nevertheless, he allowed the Prince to escape and made a fool of the rest of your men. I propose a method to restore the confidence of your Company in a way where all your members benefit, not just one misguided lad."
Milos' right brow lifted slowly and the fingers on his good hand twitched slightly.
He only said, "I'm listening," voice rough from years of shouting orders. Stefan sat back in his chair, clasped hands still on the desk.
"We have someone following the Prince. I'm told you have an excellent scout in your ranks. I propose you utilise his skills to find and assist our man as he tracks Whillim south. As you journey, you will watch for signs of another man potentially making his way north; fit build with black hair. A rotund man will accompany him, along with a
small host of ruthless guards. I need to know if they approach Dalasmar, how quickly, and in what numbers."
Milos frowned.
"You want us to scout your land?"
"I want to hire you to find this man if he has found his way into my kingdom. You will begin this search by helping to reacquire the Prince."
"Why?" Now Milos leaned forward, his gaze flicking briefly to Fred. "You have your own soldiers, men already gathered with the intention of forming an army against us, unless you've since dismissed them. Why would you turn to a Mercenary Company instead of your own troops?"
"Because you understand the dangers of going up against wizards, whereas my people only understand enough to allow fear to rule their actions. I need accurate information, not fear-induced accusations against the innocent."
Milos' face grew ashen, making the healing bruises stand out in lurid detail. He pulled himself back in his chair, the sudden motion forcing a hiss of pain past his teeth as broken ribs protested.
"I won't work for a wizard again," he insisted.
"No," Stefan agreed. "You would work for the true King of Dalasham. I don't ask you to go up against these wizards, merely to scout out their location and report on their progress. Assuming they aim for Riverbend at all."
"Both Marcus and Destiny agree he'd come here," interjected Prich, all pretense of being a fop erased as he studied the merc Captain. "Pride and arrogance will allow nothing less."
Milos stared at Prich.
"You would send her with me?" he asked, incredulous, paling even more so that Stefan feared he might pass out.
"They both remain under guard here," Stefan assured him. He wondered at the extent of the hard-bitten man's distress and couldn't help but compare it to Emily's strangely calm acceptance of Destiny. How much animosity and agitation came from experience in dealing with Destiny, and how much from expectation? Stefan suspected Milos and his men had initially underestimated her, seeing only Willi's plaything, and that the powerful woman would have responded with some impressive show of strength. Emily had seen a wizard first, respecting the position and ability without paying any heed to gender, something that allowed the librarian to see both threat and potential when others hadn't seen past the wizard's sex and their false assumptions based thereon. That reversal alone gave Emily an unusual power over Destiny that no man would ever achieve. Or did Destiny simply play a game of manipulation, biding her time until the only person who might trust her secured her release?
The Forgotten Magic Page 16
