"Unscrupulous?" she asked hesitantly, her shoulders relaxing a degree when Mantinou nodded.
"Spreading knowledge to shield against unscrupulous," Mantinou cited, repeating the word carefully. "What is?"
"It means those without morals. Those who seek to advance themselves with no thought or care to how their actions might harm others. Nathan is such a man."
"Is enemy?"
"We believe so."
"Believe? Not know?"
Em shifted uncomfortably. They might not know Nathan's whereabouts, if he even headed for Riverbend, but Em firmly believed it a matter of when, not if, the man came for Destiny and Marcus, and woe to anyone who stood in his way. As did Destiny, Prichard, and King Stefan himself. But did that make him an enemy of Dalasham, or simply a very dangerous person wherever he went? Had Destiny stood in another kingdom, Nathan would still hunt her―had hunted her. Dalasham standing behind Destiny made Nathan an enemy, but the man probably didn't care what border he crossed to find her.
"We harbour that which he desires," she finally replied. "Which I suppose makes Wizard Nathan an enemy of circumstance."
"Wizard Nathan," murmured Mantinou, eyes creased in contemplation. "I know not title. What means?"
Em felt herself pale. I have too little experience in limiting information, especially with too little sleep.
"Ah, it refers to―" She stopped. Mantinou would have had no reason to learn any Dalsh words or concepts relating to magic. Bash openly persecuted magic users; they wouldn't teach their Princess foreign terms dealing with the abhorred subject. How then to explain a wizard in the Dalsh tongue?
"Forgive me, Princess," she finally said in Bashite. "But for this, I doubt you will have encountered the Dalsh equivalent, and I wish no misunderstanding as I explain."
Mantinou's eyes narrowed in displeasure before she gave a curt nod of acceptance.
"Wizard refers to a type of magic user. I know Bash shuns magic, but I will assume you understand the concept?"
Mantinou had drawn back in disgust at the word.
"Corruption," she spat. "Men who do evil with unnatural forces."
Catching her lip between her teeth, Em wondered if she should bother explaining further. But when the woman wed into Dalasham, she would encounter magic―at least she would once the prevalence of Lesser Magics became known―and if she adhered to such ingrained repugnance based on flawed knowledge, then many would suffer.
"Magic is a tool, a skill," Em tried. "A natural force some can manipulate. Some, like Wizard Nathan, choose to use this tool for their own gain, twisting it for evil purposes. Others employ magic to the betterment of others. By itself, magic holds neither evil nor goodness; it simply exists as any tool or ability. When immoral people use it, we see corruption, but magic alone does not corrupt."
"That is heresy," affirmed Mantinou.
"That is truth," declared Em. "That Bash teaches intolerance does not change the fact that magic has no inherent qualities on its own. It exists, and only the purpose to which we employ it can determine its properties, whether it hinders or advances civilization as a whole. It's a natural skill, a talent that some people possess, much like a trained lutenist can bring music to life where a soldier would bring disharmony to the strings. To think otherwise is to blame the carpenter for ruining the soup." She hoped she had used that common Bashite phrase correctly, and judging by Mantinou's dark frown―irate though pensive―she thought she had conveyed the concept she wanted.
"I will concede we have different views," the Princess finally said, "but I will reserve judgement as to the veracity of your claim."
"Fairly spoken, Highness," replied Em.
"Now," Mantinou switched back to Dalsh, "Wizard Nathan is enemy of sort. Unscrupulous man. What do with history? And what is Lesser Magic?"
Em's shoulders slumped and her head throbbed. How had it become her place to explain these things to Mantinou? It's not, she realised, drawing herself up straighter. Moreover, she followed King Stefan, not Princess Mantinou. Not yet, anyway. If Stefan wanted his bride to know these things, he would arrange for someone more qualified than Em to teach her. Now to convince the woman of that.
"Forgive me again, Highness," she said with a small shrug. "Some things I may not speak to. I regret that you heard my musings out of context,"―and just why had the Princess roamed the halls so late and barely accompanied anyway?―"and I will accept the blame for speaking out of turn. But those answers I may not reveal without permission."
"May not?" Mantinou asked, an edge to her voice.
"These are delicate matters that King Stefan has me researching." A yawn threatened, and Em tried to swallow it. "Until we understand more, we must remain circumspect with the details."
The tanned woman suddenly smiled.
"Confidential," she said. "This I understand." Her smile slowly faded, a flower furling for the night as the sun faded. "Matters will change, then we speak again." A Bashite woman might have no voice without the leave of a man, but Em would do well not to underestimate the Princess. The woman obviously had a keen mind, and a thirst to explore her boundaries. Em felt trapped and out of her depth.
Whether she saw Em's discomfort or had also found the limit of her own endurance for this early hour, Mantinou finally relented. She rose, the firelight draping her in cavorting shadows as she turned away from the warm flames. Em hastily followed her to her feet.
"Mistake not patience with capitulation," warned the foreign woman. "I will have answers."
Em could only nod to that, unsure whether she had made a friend or an enemy, or perhaps something in between.
Mantinou indicated the door with the slightest motion of her chin. Em bobbed a hasty curtsey with a murmured, "Your Highness," then hurried to the door, trying not to make the relief of her escape obvious. She kept her pace even until she reached the stairs, then fled to her room, knowing sleep wouldn't find her any time soon.
Chapter 20
Malcolm paced the hall outside the Council Chambers, his brooding steps and expressionless face distressingly solemn to those more accustomed to Lord Prichard's usual flamboyance and carefree nature. Yet after receiving confirmation from Cristof not only of Prince Whillim's whereabouts, but also those who now held him captive―within the borders of Dalasham and approaching the capital―Prichard found no levity. Yes, they had discussed the possibility of Nathan's incursion into the kingdom, even planned some preliminary defences, but they had no real countermeasures in place. Most of the Councillors allowed themselves to become too wrapped up in the Prince's scandal, or the presence of Wizards Destiny and Norbert, or the endless details and forthcoming banquets leading up to royal nuptials to truly consider the possibility of warfare. They had merely debated an abstract as a means to avoid a frightening reality, and that shortcoming just might spell the doom of Dalasham.
Stefan needed to find a way to delay Nathan's march. No more dressing things down to placate the frightened men of the Council. The King would lay the terrifying seriousness of the situation before those who helped govern Dalasham at this morning's meeting, trying to convince them they had a plan, and that it involved using magic. That it relied on a wizard many still feared and scorned would not sit well, but what else could they do?
They couldn't afford any more circular discussions, and today's session must reflect the gravity of their situation, not deepen the fear of impotent men. If they didn't initiate concrete measures as soon as possible to safeguard the land, they would lose everything. Stefan could fight off any normal army given time to assemble enough troops; what, realistically, could he do against two wizards backed by a fighting force seventy strong? The nobles and knights had enough men within a day's ride―perhaps two―to erect a martial defence, but only if they sent out a call to arms immediately.
Prichard would leave the placating and coaxing of the Council to Stefan. His own task involved working with wizards to somehow develop a tangible barrier against Nathan and his people, and fo
r that, Prichard needed his liaison. Of all the roles thrust upon the young librarian, Prichard suspected Emily least cognizant of how she stood as a kind of bridge between the magical and mundane people now surrounding her. She saw herself as responsible for Destiny―and perhaps Norbert too―not as the voice to which others listened when they discussed matters of a mystical nature. Even Chief Librarian Darien turned to Emily for her insights more often than not, and that man had an uncanny grasp of arcane forces. Emily had become the glue that held them all together, able to see possibilities in both magic and might and, more impressively, able to achieve a fruitful discourse between both factions. He needed that ability now.
When Emily shuffled into the hall outside the Council Chambers, parchment and quill held protectively in her arms, Prichard hurried to meet her. Blood-shot eyes, darkly shadowed by fatigue, emphasized her pale, pinched features and Prichard's brows shot up in concern. He met the pale blue of Ambrose's gaze, reading the worry within as her guard paced quietly behind the young woman. Gently grasping Emily's elbow, Prichard escorted her toward the Council Chambers, now beginning to fill with chattering men. He paused just long enough to whisper a request to Ambrose, sending the young guard hurrying away.
"Hard night?" he murmured, bending close to Emily to keep their conversation private as they made their way within the Chambers. Emily's grey eyes, darker than usual, stared up at him through a haze of exhaustion before she blinked them clear.
"Couldn't sleep, but I had some interesting thoughts when I went to stare at the Destiny Seat," she answered. Prichard nearly missed a step, curious at the workings of Emily's mind. What had possessed her to venture into Destiny's Sanctum? "Even managed to write them down after a bit of an intimidating conversation with Princess Mantinou, where I either made an ally or caused a schism when I taught her the Dalsh words for magic and wizard."
Prichard barely caught himself on the nearest table when total astonishment caused him to stumble. Emily continued on without him, quickly finding their usual seats near the back and slumping into her chair gracelessly. When he managed to join her, she gave him a wry little smile.
"You need to teach me how to extricate myself from awkward conversations with nobles and royalty with a modicum of dignity, maybe a little finesse that doesn't offend."
He gaped at her; he couldn't help it. Where could he even start with that kind of plea?
"Any fires I have to put out right away?" he finally managed to ask.
Emily shook her head, cupping her chin in her hands, elbows supported on the table where she had dropped her scribing equipment.
"But you might want to warn the King that his bride might start asking some uncomfortable questions regarding Wizard Nathan, altered history, and Lesser Magics."
Prichard blinked at her, trying to sort out what kind of conversation she must have shared with the Princess, and how the two had encountered each other. Then the direness of their present circumstances intruded, and he pushed aside his desire to learn more for later.
"We have bigger problems this morning," he intoned quietly, bringing her groggy attention away from her contemplation of the swirls of wood grain on the table before her. "Did any of your thoughts as you communed with the Destiny Seat address the imminent appearance of Nathan and a fighting force of more than three score aimed at us, irate Prince in tow?"
"He―" she stammered. "They―" she tried again. With a steadying breath, he watched her gather her wits, pushing her obvious weariness aside to draw on reserves she didn't know she had. "I need to speak with Destiny and Norbert about its feasibility, but I had hoped we might fashion a means to reinstate a collective memory using Constance's nexus of power. If we alter her Great Magic so that we remember magic, could we also impart a memory on how to guard against it? Teach those with Lesser Magics how to shield against Nathan, perhaps even how to hone our ability to work against him?" She frowned. "However, with the majority of the populous ignorant of the existence of Lesser Magics, such instruction and knowledge might hinder us instead of him. Either way, it won't stop Nathan's advance, but it might give us a small advantage.
"I did have another thought, but it would require an uncomfortably close association with wary wizards and a lot of luck. How close have they come?"
"They haven't tripped Destiny's widened ward yet, giving us a couple of days at most. No more than that, as Nathan found Whillim last night within a half-day's ride from Innosvar, on the Dalasham side of the border. It will depend on the pace they set.
"Stefan will stress the need for haste. We don't have time for the Council to bicker and posture, but they'll try anyway. You and I must convince them we have a viable plan, even if we mostly only have speculation at the moment. We need to curtail the inevitable panic, not feed it."
"Malcolm," she hesitated. "If he's that close, we don't have time to both argue with the Council and work out how to modify a spell nearly two centuries old with only two wizards and a bunch of guesswork. I'm of no use here." She started to rise, but he held her arm until she settled again.
"On the contrary," he disagreed as Stefan slipped in from his private entrance and called the Council to order. "You're needed to help keep people calm when we explain our options. You can plead for sanity, because they're going to implode if they only have the word of a woman who terrifies them."
"What―" she began, then turned at a commotion from the entrance. Prichard smiled grimly as Ambrose courteously pulled Destiny into the room, the shorter stature of Norbert nearly lost behind them as he stood next to a perplexed Chief Librarian Darien.
"Now it gets interesting," Malcolm said, meeting Stefan's surprised glance with a firm nod.
***
The sitting room near the library felt lonely to Destiny despite its four occupants. A low fire flickered in the hearth, adding a gentle glow to the early morning sunbeams peeking through the windows, the lights mingling to paint shadows on the faces of Darien and the two wizards, while the guard Bartok lounged near the door. Yet somehow, without Emily, or even Lord Prichard, the room lacked a sense of welcome. Strange to think that Destiny might actually miss her interactions with the young woman.
After having extended her ward yesterday while they walked the Fields of Erinnerung, pushing the perimeter spell out an extra day and adding a pulsing wave to slowly sweep the land beyond even that to detect encroaching powers―a technique Norbert had explained and even helped her to enact―Destiny found herself feeling a little more secure. She had no doubt Nathan would come, but even an extra day of warning to prepare better defences might spell the difference between utter panic and the possibility of surviving whatever her brother would bring to Dalasham. That Norbert had offered to instruct her in a magic unfamiliar to her had surprised Destiny; that he had done so with no expectation of reciprocation astounded her. Never before had she encountered someone willing to teach magic with no strings attached. Even the wizarding schools she had attended expected something for their services. Granted, Nathan showing up at Dalasmar Castle would affect Norbert so long as the Bakaana wizard also graced the halls, but Destiny suspected he had helped her modify her perimeter spell more to see her work than for the added security the widened spell would afford. That he had known a method that would work on the existing spell rather than having to dispel it and invoke a new one had saved her time and travel that the King likely wouldn't have allowed. It also promised an unexpected wealth of knowledge on spell adaptation, something they needed if they hoped to work within the pre-existing constructs of Constance's magic. Although Prichard had introduced Norbert as an administrator, Destiny suspected the man held untold depths of arcane mastery hidden in his deceptively innocuous frame.
This morning, without the presence of Emily and Prichard, Destiny and Norbert had gathered to discuss possibilities for how to alter Constance's nexus, exploring what unforeseen effects might spring from trying to modify a Dual Great Magic. Destiny had found a brief scrawl in Emily's hand next to her usual seat, adding
the young woman's own questions and possibilities regarding restoring the memory of magic through the nexus. Chief Librarian Darien, despite having no background in the study of magic, nevertheless added useful insights backed by the information in the special texts that Emily had mentioned.
The last words of Emily's note, obviously added as a hasty afterthought, confused Destiny. It read simply N's memory of magic? She would have to wait to hear what Emily meant by that.
They hadn't sat for very long when Bartok suddenly straightened, hand on the hilt of his sword, as the handle on the door turned. He relaxed only marginally when Ambrose walked in. Before Destiny could fully wonder why Ambrose didn't stand with the woman he guarded―she had grown so used to his ash blond head hovering next to Emily's auburn locks that seeing him stand alone almost seemed to diminish him somehow―his pale blue eyes found hers and he spoke.
"Lady Destiny, Lord Prichard has requested your presence in the Council Chambers." His gaze swept the others. "All of you, actually."
"What's happened?" Darien asked as he rose.
"Lord Prichard didn't specify, just indicated that he'd like you all there." Ambrose inclined his head slightly in thought. "If I had to guess, I'd say he's hoping for something dramatic to spur the Council members to a course of action. But that's just a guess."
Destiny stood and glanced at Norbert, who met her stare.
"If it's Nathan, he hasn't crossed my ward yet," she said.
"It's only a matter of time," Darien replied darkly, to which Norbert nodded his agreement.
Destiny turned back to Ambrose.
"Let's not keep them waiting then."
With a nod to Bartok, Ambrose turned and led them from the room. While Bartok kept close to Destiny, he didn't crowd her, allowing her some space as she walked between Darien and Norbert. As they passed the staircase near the Council Chambers that led to the Ambassador quarters above, Destiny noted a swirl of autumnal colours descending. She had a moment to recognise the dusky complexion beneath the red hair of the richly dressed man as the Prince from Bash that Whillim had had her enspell in the Destiny Seat, a moment to watch eyes hard as obsidian first widen in surprise, then narrow in anger, before Ambrose took her arm and drew her away from the Bashite's scrutiny.
The Forgotten Magic Page 21
