A knock at the door had drawn their attention. Fred exchanged words with Kato, who stood guard just outside, then sent a surprised glance to the leaders. Curiosity piqued, Stefan had indicated that Fred let in the unexpected guest. The King had anticipated perhaps Prichard or someone else from Emily's crew come with a desperately needed answer to their problem; maybe even one of the other Lords who had gathered at Dalasmar in the last week in preparation for his upcoming nuptials, hopefully with some strategy or plan that gave Dalasham the better advantage. He had not expected the young, smooth-cheeked beauty with her exotic tanned skin and wavy auburn hair draped like a cloak to her elbows, carrying herself with grace and confidence as she swept into the room, capturing him with dark slanted eyes. And he certainly hadn't expected any lass from Bash able to draw a scowling Prince of the Blood silently in her wake.
It had taken Stefan a moment to gather his wits. He turned with a small bow.
"Your Highnesses," he greeted, a frown of consternation puckering his brow. He straightened, gazing down at Mantinou. A quick glance at Tolnar confirmed that the Princess' uncle didn't speak here; his niece did. Curious, he had thought, supposing the woman had questions about wedding preparations that interested Stefan very little at the moment. "While your presence brings pleasure, you must understand I have little time to spare―"
"You need soldiers," Mantinou interrupted. "I have."
Stefan remembered drawing back, startled by her bald statement, let alone her desire to discuss anything of a martial nature rather than a marital one.
"Honour guard protect you as much as me," she went on. "Need distraction so librarian who scribes for King and her wizard can work magic to weaken enemy. Strength of Bash men yours to command in this fight."
Stefan didn't know what had surprised him more: Mantinou's temerity; Tolnar allowing a woman to speak in his presence (and successfully dictate the actions of soldiers assigned to watch over her); that the Princess obviously knew of Emily and Destiny and their plans; or a Bashite's ready acceptance of magic as not only a force, but a tool to augment strength of arms. It hadn't taken long to accept the proffered aid, though he found himself profoundly grateful that she hadn't suggested joining the expedition herself.
The promised men had materialized this morning, added now to the vanguard of soldiers awaiting Nathan's arrival upon the Fields of Erinnerung as the afternoon began to stretch long shadows over the area.
Stefan had sent Jo out before dawn on a fresh mount, rested and fed, though still somewhat haunted. Jo should have circled Nathan's hidden troops by now and hopefully found those who had once followed behind. Whether Milos and his mercenaries would join the fighting, or even stood close enough to do so, Stefan didn't know. The King had promised further payment―Jo carried a sizable retainer as incentive―if Milos engaged the enemy's flanks when the battle began, but knowing the mercenary's aversion to wizards, Stefan couldn't count on any intervention from that quarter. He would welcome it, but he wouldn't count on it.
Norbert and Destiny had warned him of the likelihood of the enemy marching under layers of magical protection and strength, augmented for however many days Nathan had traipsed through land not his own. While Stefan's wizardly allies had cast what limited aid over those fighting for Dalasham that they could―protections that would lack the efficacy of Nathan's enhancements simply due to time constraints―Stefan knew his men faced a perilous struggle against a foe with deceptively fewer numbers. He had tried to instill a proper respect for the true strength Nathan's forces would bring to the fray, but Stefan suspected most of his men wouldn't believe the reality until faced with the superior might of those slathered in magic. Especially those overly cocky, such as Sir Byndorf's troops, and those who openly scoffed at the concept of magic. Which included every Bashite on the field. Their Princess might entertain the existence of magic and its potential, but her soldiers would rather limit their concerns to what they could perceive with the naked eye. Yes, they would make a fine stand, but ultimately, they merely protected those to whom the real trial fell.
Not that Stefan had informed those with no tolerance for the unknown that they acted only as vanguard and shield to forces they could neither see nor readily define. Nevertheless, the real battle lay in the hands of two wizards and a terrified little librarian.
Stefan hadn't wanted to bring Emily to war any more than she had wanted to come. He knew Fred liked the idea even less, but two factors had overruled good sense. First, Emily's ability to see magic might spell the difference between a chance at victory and the certainty of defeat―Prichard's overly dramatic phrase, yet a sentiment Stefan couldn't rule out. And secondly, the amulets Destiny and Norbert had created would only respond to two people: Destiny and Emily.
Stefan didn't fully understand why no one else could trigger them, though it had something to do with how Emily had transformed the Destiny Seat. Wizard Norbert had assured him of the safety of modifying parts of the Destiny Seat into the required talismans, insisting that its original purpose wouldn't colour its new function. Stefan had no choice but to accept those assurances, promises added to by both Prichard and Darien. The King had to trust the confidence of a master spy and a learned librarian, else the last weeks of research delineated wasted time.
Still, knowing Emily stood in the rear, not far from Stefan himself presently, with only Ambrose and Prichard to guard her―and two wizards, Stefan reminded himself―didn't sit well with the King. She had little skill to defend herself. Once Nathan saw the image of his sister and a bound Wizard Marcus (Norbert's disguise had captured Marcus' arrogant smirk wonderfully) standing next to the young woman―once again dressed as a lad―and under limited guard, he would head right for them, putting Emily in the greatest danger. Stefan suspected Nathan would find a way past the gathered might of the Dalasham forces―if one could term 150 fighting men the full of Dalasham's might―and he didn't know how to defend the helpless librarian. Fred had taught her some of the sword forms in their previous travels, and she had mastered them surprisingly well, but even with sword to hand, Emily had limited experience with violence. Hardened soldiers often blanched in pitched battle; how much worse for an untried woman who only knew warfare through books?
He had to trust to those who could guard her, and concentrate on his own role in the subjugation of an enemy who cared only about power and vengeance.
I'm trusting the skills of a wizard who helped my brother overthrow me, he mused. In a struggle that only touches my land because that same wizard stands upon my soil. Had he time to consider the irony of his situation, Stefan might have smiled in grim acceptance of the vagaries of fate, but he caught a slight stirring from those nearest Emily. He turned to see Destiny wave a hand before her as though parting a curtain. The woman's lips moved, but she stood too far for Stefan to hear her words.
Until she called loudly.
"The enemy approaches."
Stefan whipped his head back to the fore and watched as Nathan's men suddenly materialized in the distance, revealed by Destiny's spell.
"Magic," Fred spat beside him. "I prefer to rely on what I can actually see." His large Captain held his sword loosely in his fist. He frowned over toward the wizards acting as bait. "Still, if we have to put our fate in the hands of mystical forces, I'll trust those that our girl believes in."
Stefan knew he referred to Emily, and he found himself agreeing. The fate of Dalasham in the hands of an Assistant Librarian. They could do worse.
***
Em swallowed hard, felt her gorge trying to creep up her throat, and swallowed again. It didn't ease her terror any, but she supposed battling nausea gave her something to concentrate on besides the imminent threat of combat.
Em had fallen asleep last night curled up on a sofa in the sitting room as Destiny and Norbert toiled on imbuing the amulets the Destiny Seat had produced with a spell of forgetfulness. She had woken with a blanket draped over her, the sky visible through the windows just beginning to chase a
way stars as it lightened with the hint of dawn. Ambrose sat on the floor at her feet, his ash blond hair painted with deep oranges and reds by the low flame flickering amidst the embers of the fire in the hearth. He had regarded her silently for a moment from solemn pale blue eyes, then asked quietly if she might enjoy going through some of the sword forms Fred had taught her.
"It might help take your mind off what's coming," he'd added.
She remembered the peace she had found in flowing through those forms on the road and had agreed, though she soon learned why he thought she might need a diversion.
As they rose to find room to move, Destiny stirred from where she had fallen asleep on an adjacent seat. She blinked wearily at them, pushed up on an elbow, and spoke.
"They're ready."
Em had smiled, but something in Destiny's dark eyes gave her pause.
"But?" Em asked.
"But Norbert can't trigger them. Nor, it seems, can anyone else, save me. And you."
"Me?" Em had squeaked. She'd cleared her throat. "How do you know?"
In response, Destiny pulled something from the ground, tossed it over. Em caught it in reflex. An amulet fashioned from the black quartz of the Destiny Seat rested in her hand, feeling heavier than its size merited, a weight borne of Em's foreboding rather than any actual heft.
"Say, memdar," ordered the wizard.
Stomach clenched tight, Em did so, and watched the amulet flash white. She nearly dropped it. Ambrose sighed heavily beside her.
"It didn't react to anyone else like that other than Destiny," he said. He glared at the wizard. "I'd suspect she'd done it on purpose, but Norbert says not."
"I don't want her there any more than you do," Destiny snarled. "Any more than I want to stand there, naked to his ambitions," she added bitterly. "But it seems neither of us gets our wish."
"Where?" Em had whispered, knowing but foolishly hoping Destiny would prove her dread wrong.
Destiny held her gaze, eyes hard and cold.
"Wherever Nathan shows up," she affirmed.
Em had swayed, and only Ambrose's steady hand on her arm kept her from pitching face-first to the ground. He sent an angry scowl at Destiny, then pushed something into Em's hand.
"Sword forms," he barked. "Sword up."
Memory took hold, sweeping Em's arm up into the first form Fred had shown her. She held Ambrose's dagger in her hand and latched onto his gaze with a desperation born of terror.
Terror that still gripped her hours later, as they stood cradled by the curve of the river near the nexus Wizard Constance had created in the Fields of Erinnerung, waiting for a power-hungry wizard to appear with his army. It didn't help that the obscene amount of food Destiny had insisted Em ingest earlier to help her withstand the overwhelming sight of her Lesser Magic so near the nexus sat like a lead weight in her roiling stomach.
She tried to master her emotions, draw some semblance of peace like she had very briefly achieved working the sword forms with Ambrose, but feared she failed miserably. What use hiding her trembling when those around her could likely hear her teeth chatter as she shivered, or sense the tremors from her quaking bones? Even Ambrose's supportive arm about her shoulders did little to warm the icy finger of dread slithering down her spine.
She stared over the Fields, past the men King Stefan (and Princess Mantinou, for she saw Bash uniforms mixed with Dalasham crests) had assembled, swallowing hard again. She wished she stood anywhere else.
Her mouth grew dry as she saw something strange appear on the horizon over the crest of the furthest hills. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but the haze of wavering light remained. She stepped away from Ambrose, closer to Destiny.
"There," she whispered, though who she thought might overhear, Em didn't know. "On the horizon. Do you see that?"
Destiny squinted into the distance, much as Norbert did in his guise of Marcus.
"I see nothing unusual," Destiny admitted. "Describe it to me."
"To the left of the low scrub, descending between those two hillocks," she pointed out, keeping her gesture low. "A shimmer to the air, like a heat wave, but with a hint of red."
Destiny frowned. Although she obviously didn't see what Em saw, she raised her hand and made a sweeping motion before her, murmuring something under her breath. Em watched as the shimmer twisted then shattered like a mirror, revealing what it had held hidden. Nathan's soldiers marching toward them.
"The enemy approaches," Destiny called to the King.
Em clamped a hand to her mouth, whether to keep in her scream or her breakfast, she honestly couldn't say. Again, she desperately wished she stood anywhere but here. The slight bulge of the amulet strung around her neck meant for Tyrandel hung like a lead weight beneath her tunic as it pressed heavily against her chest. Destiny wore its twin more openly, the dark stone meant for her brother draped as though in challenge against the icy blue of the wizard's tunic. Em fancied her talisman warmed in recognition at the sight of the approaching figures, but couldn't say whether it had in truth or just in her overly stimulated and paranoid imagination. She refused to ask Destiny her opinion, fearing the answer. Why choose me for your champion? she asked it despondently. Why not choose a warrior instead of a frightened woman who'd much rather cower among her silent books? Thankfully, she heard no answer to that.
There came a moment when the enemy realised that those of Dalasham could see them. Nathan's forces pulled to a halt, looked to confer briefly amongst themselves, then reform slightly to meet the unexpected defenders. Em watched a curtain of energy fold around them, shimmers of light encasing each soldier in a blanket of strength that sank beneath their skin. She shivered, then related the sight to her companions.
"An additional layer of might or imperviousness, I imagine," Norbert guessed, his lips barely moving. He no longer seemed surprised by what Em could see that others couldn't, though she herself still found her ability unnerving. "As we've surmised."
"Would that we could spare anything more to do the like with Stefan's forces," rued Destiny, her eyes pinched in worry.
"Just keep them occupied once we've sprung the trap," Norbert said. "I'll do what I can to strengthen Dalasham after that."
With a mighty roar and a dramatic burst of flame from brandished weapons, Nathan's army swept toward the gaping men of Stefan's forces. Those who had scoffed at the possibilities of magic now faced a horde who thought nothing of utilising the benefits of arcane powers. Em despaired that those who had clung to arrogant ignorance despite proof to the contrary would suffer for their folly now, and lamented that her King and country would pay for that wilful pride.
"Do you see him?"
Em blinked before realising Destiny had spoken to her.
"Nathan," Destiny hissed. "Do you see him?"
Em frowned. How could she determine one man from another across a field of battle, let alone pick out a man she had never seen before? Nevertheless, she swept her gaze over the combatants as they met in a horrendous clash, the flash of swords meeting combined with the sparks of magic flying, all screeching together to raise a cacophonous din. Yet that magic came from pre-existing spells, not the immediate machinations of wizards, making the locating of two mages impossible.
"I don't see―" Her gaze swung violently to the east, just beyond the melee of the field. Her eyes narrowed as her Lesser Magic picked out a veil shrouding six people on horseback circumventing the battle. A dark-haired man whose intense gaze she could feel even at this distance, and a rotund man with drab brown hair, his labouring mount barely equal to the task of carrying its master, rode unseen at the edges of the fray, their destination clear despite their winding path. Four burly men sporting black and burgundy uniforms trailed close behind, swords drawn and manic grins on rough faces.
Em swallowed hard, her voice cracking as she trembled violently.
"They're on their way," she managed as the blood drained from her face. The predatory anticipation on those crazed faces, somehow highligh
ted in her strangely enhanced sight despite the rapidly closing distance that remained between them, sapped what little courage she had managed to scrape together. "They're well protected," she whispered, seeing swirls of darkness shimmer around the pair in the lead. Sparks of energy danced at temples and fingertips, the mind directing the power of magic into waiting hands.
And then, from behind her, Em heard an angry rumble. Startled, she glanced back.
"Constance's nexus doesn't approve of them," she squeaked. Not only did that towering inferno of barely visible energy not approve as it growled in menace, it wanted to actively oppose such an incursion; at least in as much as residual vestiges of a spell meant to restrict outside forces could offer an opinion. A wave of ... something ... pulsed from the nexus. It swept over Em's little group without effect before encircling Nathan and Tyrandel and their escort. The cloak of concealment dropped away and their galloping horses faltered. But the two wizards didn't seem to care. They stepped from their mounts, barely a score of paces away, and approached, their avid intensity focused on Destiny and Norbert-disguised-as-Marcus. It occurred to Em at the last moment that neither man knew their veil had vanished, nor that their guard had fallen behind to dismount.
In that moment, Em wrestled her fear aside, unlocked her frozen limbs, and threw caution to the wind as she took advantage of the slim opportunity afforded by Destiny's suddenly bold greeting when it stunned the wizard duo to immobility.
"Hello, Brother," Destiny said.
The little librarian launched herself at a man three times her size, the amulet pulled from beneath her tunic clutched in a tight fist.
The Forgotten Magic Page 26
