Seeker of Magic

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  “She had the gift then?”

  “Yes, my wife was a witch. But she used her arts for healing only, and she, along with her coven, took care of the rich and poor alike. It wasn’t until she died that the problems started with the Djarans. They revered my wife for her powers and blamed me for her death. Being in this room reminds me of how much I loved her; I feel like she is still here with me. Some say they’ve seen her haunting this tower. Perhaps she does, for even now I can hear her tell me that I must protect you.”

  Taliesin frowned, aware Ysemay and Zarnoc had grown quiet, the argument undecided, and the duke was scrutinizing her too closely. “The tower is haunted?” She said the first thing she could think of, not expecting the duke to nod, but he did. “If you brought me to your wife’s room, you must have decided to help us. Don’t shame her memory by speaking any lies. If you have troubles here, my lord, then tell me, and perhaps I can help you.”

  “Denira, Denira,” the duke cried, wringing his hands, turning, and gazing toward the mirror. “If you would but come to me, tell me what to do, then I could know peace.” He lifted his hands to his face. “I had hoped that by bringing you here, Denira might appear. The servants often see her here, under the pale moonlight, brushing her hair at the window the way she always used to. I thought you would be able to see her with your magic powers. I thought your wizard might see her, too. The raven is your wizard; I know this, but I don’t think even Zarnoc is powerful enough to deliver me from the Wolf Pack.” The brush was placed aside. “That is why I sent two knights to find Prince Sertorius and Master Xander and bring them here in haste. I control the castle, for now, and have placed Master Phelon and his men in the north tower to rest. I’m sure they know Lord Arundel’s aides, Orell and Ethon, are waiting on board their ships for the arrival of the prince and Xander, and that I have few guards to defend my home. Master Phelon expects me to turn the Eagle aides, the ships, and my army over to them. What can I do? The Wolf Pack was over the walls before I had time to send word for my troops to disembark. As soon as Master Phelon rises, I must go to him and sign the Eagle envoy’s death warrant. I have no other choice.”

  “Then you must gather your lords and ladies and lock them in one of the towers. I can send Zarnoc to the Eagles to ask for their help. All we have to do is hold out until Sertorius and Xander arrive. I said I would help you. Let me.” Taliesin saw tears streaming down the duke’s gaunt cheeks. Moved by his plight, she went over and placed her hand on his shoulder. The moment she touched him, Taliesin felt a strong current of energy running through her hand into his body. Richelieu threw his hands over his face, groaned in pain, and turned from her. “What’s wrong, my lord? Have I hurt you?” She couldn’t imagine what she’d done to cause such a reaction, but when at last he lowered his hands and looked at her, his blind eye no longer looked white. The iris was green, like his other eye, and appeared healthy; alive. He stared at her and openly wept, overwhelmed by the unexpected restoration of his vision, while she could only marvel at the miracle that had occurred.

  “You are indeed the blessed Sha’tar,” Duke de Boron said. A thin smile spread across his scarred face. “I did this to myself. Out of grief. I vowed I would never see another sunrise or sunset without my Denira. My knights stopped me before I was able to blind my other eye. Here I have placed you in the gravest danger, yet you have restored my sight. I am in your debt, my lady.”

  “Not in the least. I said I would help. I’ll send Zarnoc to the Eagle envoys. Do what I said, and lock up your lords and ladies. Bring your daughter and my friends to me. I can defend this tower until help arrives.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “That’s what I’ll do. Stay here for now, and I will send everyone to you. Leave the arrangements to me.” Richelieu walked to the door. “Bless you for coming, Raven Mistress.” He walked out and shut the door behind him without bolting it and locking her in.

  Zarnoc immediately turned into his human form and lounged on the bed beside the sword. He waved his hand and the tub filled with hot water. A pot of hot coffee appeared on the table, along with a stack of scones and a bowl of butter. “It’s from the kitchen,” he said. “Eat, take a bath, and relax. Phelon still slumbers. Ysemay has promised not to trouble you until everything has brewed over.”

  Taliesin kicked off her boots. “I can’t handle the secrets, Zarnoc,” she said, angrily. “Like the Lorians. Why didn’t you tell me you knew Korax or that the Snake Cult was fairy-folk? Didn’t you know what was waiting for us inside the temple? You see some things, but not everything; you tell some facts, and withhold others.”

  “You might not believe me if I told you everything, and I need you to believe me,” he said, flippantly. “I’ll get right over to the ships and bring reinforcements, and then I’ll find Sir Roland; by now, he should have caught Sertorius. Whatever you do, Taliesin, don’t leave this room. Bathe off the scent of the wolves before Phelon starts sniffing around. I’ll return as soon as I can, and we’ll sort everything out. I promise.”

  The wizard turned into a raven and flew out the window.

  Taliesin went to the door, slid the bolt to lock it from the inside, and went to the bed. Her red scabbard had grown longer and Ringerike could now be tucked away inside; Zarnoc had been most helpful. She opened the pouch, removed the Deceiver’s Map, spread it out on the bed, and thought of Master Phelon and the Wolfmen. A diagram of the interior of Dunatar Castle appeared, showing Phelon and his men in the north tower, the rooms where Jaelle, Wren, Hawk, and Rook were now in, the duke’s daughter on the level above them, and the Eagle envoys on the flagship. She thought of the duke and saw his tiny effigy appear in the grand hall. Her next thought was of Roland. He was still thirty miles away, accompanied by Prince Sertorius and the Maldavians, Master Xander, and an army of one thousand Eagles. She folded the map and put it away.

  ‘It’s been nearly a day since Captain Wolfgar bit you,’ Ysemay said, not keeping her word to remain silent. ‘The only reason you haven’t turned is because your magic is strong. If you free me from the sword, I will remove the curse. I don’t need Zarnoc’s help to make you human again. My own powers were very strong until I was locked away in this sword.’

  Ignoring the witch, Taliesin stripped out of her dirty clothes, wrapped everything in the coverlet, and placed it under the bed. She could still detect a faint scent, but it wouldn’t be enough to draw the attention of the Wolf Pack. The water inside the tub was warm, and she sank to her chin, and then went under. When she popped up, she saw a nasty film floated on the water. Wolf scum. Hydra blood. She washed her hair with scented soap, scrubbed the filth off her skin with a hard brush, and remained in the water, thinking about the last few weeks of her life, until it turned cold.

  When she climbed out of the tub, she realized she had nothing to wear. Her filthy clothes were bundled and stuffed under the bed, and the rest of her belongings were in her saddlebags, which had been taken to Jaelle’s and Wren’s room. The girls weren’t at her door yet, which she found troubling, but she couldn’t do anything about that now. She wrapped a towel around her body, another around her hair, and went to the table to eat a scone. It didn’t taste as good as the raw rabbit, but she didn’t throw it up, much to her relief, and was able to eat five before she felt full. The coffee was Djaran, hot and strong and her new favorite drink. She sat on a chest pressed against the footboard of the bed, put aside the cup, towel-dried her hair, and thought of the one person able to set things right.

  “Hurry, Roland,” Taliesin whispered. “I need you. Please hurry.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty

  With nothing but time on her hands, Taliesin sat at the vanity and brushed her hair out with the duchess’s brush, mingling her reddish-gold hair with the dark brown ones. She thought about Denira, what she’d looked like, and how she’d died. The wardrobe doors behind her opened with a loud creak. In the mirror, Taliesin watched the sleeve of a blue dress rise and fall. The vague outline of a slender wom
an stood in front of the wardrobe and watched her as the blue dress fell off its hanger to the ground. The ghostly form smiled.

  “Denira?”

  The duchess nodded, glided to the vanity, and gazed at her brush with longing. With a wave of her hand, the blue dress lifted from the ground, floated through the air, and landed upon Taliesin’s lap. She set aside the brush and slid her hand across the soft material.

  “I’m sorry about your father, Duke Hrothgar, and your Uncle Jasper,” Taliesin said. “I didn’t see them die, but I saw their bodies. I spoke with Jasper, but I suppose you know that already. They aren’t ghosts haunting the battlefield, are they?”

  Denira shook her head. She pointed at the ceiling and then at the wardrobe. Taliesin was annoyed Denira seemed unable to speak; this was her first ghost, and the rules of interaction were unclear.

  “I guess you mean they have crossed to the other side. I’m glad for that, my lady. Neither should have died, and not a day goes by that I don’t think about your father and uncle.”

  The ghost watched patiently as Taliesin set aside the dress and searched for clean undergarments at the bottom of the wardrobe. She located a stack of neatly-folded drawers and a soft chemise, slipped them on with the ghostly duchess watching, and then put on the blue dress. Taliesin had lost weight during the last few weeks, and the dress fit, though it was a little short in length and the sleeves, long and tapering, seemed far too long. She found a pair of brand-new slippers that fit her feet. She tied a sash around her waist and turned in the mirror. Not the type of outfit to wear to escape from the castle with her friends, but it suited her red hair and made her green eyes appear blue.

  “Not bad,” Taliesin said.

  The duchess looked into the mirror, and for a moment Taliesin was able to see Denira de Boron as she had been in life. Her long brown hair, blue eyes, and smile could have melted the heart of Captain Wolfgar. The magical sword thumped the mattress.

  ‘Sha’tars used to walk the land freely,’ Ysemay said. ‘They could heal the crippled and mute with a single thought, cure insanity and blindness with a mere prayer, and even make magical swords sing on occasion. It is a shame you have not developed your full powers or you could possibly restore the duchess’s life. What you see in the mirror is how she looked, and could look again, if you would but release me from Ringerike; then I could help you recite the spell to bring her to life.’

  “Duchess Denira, this is Ysemay the Beguiling. Like you, she was a witch, though you used white magic, and she was a dark witch. As for me, I’m a sha’tar, though I really can’t say what that involves, or what I’m supposed to do with that type of magic.”

  The ghostly duchess sat on the bed beside the sword. But it was Ysemay who answered.

  ‘Sha’tars were born to every fifth generation in a line of warlocks and could live more than a hundred years. They were able to shape magic, to give it life, and to restore it where it was needed, so it could flourish again. They could bless a sword to give it powers or take those powers away with a single wish. I am but a witch, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to be a sha’tar. It is a blessing. All you need do is pray for me, Taliesin, and I can be free.’

  “First, tell me about your relationship with King Korax and Zarnoc. What happened to you? Why did they place your soul inside Ringerike?” Taliesin said. “No woman should ever suffer such a cruel fate. I do want to pray for you, Ysemay. I’ll pray to Navenna for you to be free, and in return, ask that you both help me restore Denira’s life. It’s the least I can do to repay the duke for his kindness.”

  The ghost had a troubled look on her face—Duchess Denira apparently didn’t like Ysemay’s energy, which radiated from the sword. Perhaps she knew about the witch’s past, and why she’d been condemned to an eternity of imprisonment inside a sword. Denira gazed at Taliesin and gave a shake of her head.

  “What’s wrong?” Taliesin said. “Am I wrong? Do you prefer death to life? I just thought you might want to be reunited with your husband.”

  A ghostly gasp came from Denira as Ringerike started shaking violently on the bed. The sword, shining a bright blue, half-pulled out of the scabbard, and a look of concern appeared on the apparition’s lovely face. A shadowy form like a black cloud oozed out of the exposed part of the sword, and the dark silhouette of a woman appeared, hovering over the bed.

  Ysemay radiated pure evil; a mane of ratted hair and crazy eyes turned toward Taliesin as the dark witch’s mouth opened and a scream of rage came out and shook the timbers overhead. A dark-purple bolt of energy shot out of the witch’s transparent fingertips and struck the duchess, sending her flying across the room. The duchess recovered quickly and attacked with swift revenge, grabbing Ysemay by the throat with ghostly hands. Denira squeezed with all her might, showing she still possessed the aggressive nature of the Fregians, and the witch fell to her knees, half-sinking through the floor.

  A pink light appeared like a circular band around Ysemay’s throat, and dark-purple light radiated from Ysemay’s entire body, filling the tower with sparkling, dancing lights of pinks and purples. The two ghostly women set upon each other, tooth and nail, upsetting objects in the room. Taliesin ducked her head, ran to the bed, grabbed Ringerike, and pulled the sword out of the scabbard as the ghosts continued to fly around the room. They created such a ruckus with their frightful screams and destruction that Taliesin knew the guards had to have heard, and were coming to find out what was going on.

  “I didn’t release you, Ysemay the Beguiling,” Taliesin shouted. “Stop fighting with the duchess and return to the sword!”

  “But you did pray for me,” Ysemay said, speaking aloud. “And Navenna answered.”

  The witch took solid form, as real as Taliesin, and pointed a finger at herself. The ragged garments vanished, replaced by a long black robe, and her wild gray hair changed into long black ringlets that fell to her hips. The duchess, however, lay on the floor; she was unharmed and still a ghost, but she needed time to recover from the fight.

  “Korax commanded Zarnoc to bind me to the sword in punishment for our love; for Zarnoc and I betrayed the king, but I was the one punished. When Korax went to war against Tarquin, I betrayed him again, refused to strike Tarquin, and so the king was slain. But I did not stop there, for Tarquin refused to free me as well, so I let another strike him down. That is why his son, Talas, imprisoned Ringerike in the temple. Your powers are strong, Taliesin, but you have no idea how to use them. I’m in corporeal form now, and I have no intention of returning to that sword or of restoring this bitch’s life.” Her crazed eyes turned on the duchess, and she sneered, revealing dirty, yellowed teeth. “Had you killed me while I was a ghost, Denira de Boron, you would have done a great service to your husband and the Sha’tar, but you have failed. I am flesh and bone, and you are but a shadowy memory that needs to go back to your grave. Bye-bye.”

  Ysemay clapped her hands and the duchess vanished with a soft cry. Taliesin heard angry shouts and swordplay outside the tower door. A fierce battle was being fought on the landing that led to the tower, but Taliesin kept her attention on the witch, and pointed the sword at the old hag as she walked to the window and placed a foot on the windowsill.

  “For the last thousand years,” Ysemay said, “I have summoned men to the Cave of the Snake God in search of Ringerike. All those lost souls who died were claimed by Chu’Alagu. He was once a god and sat among his fellow immortals, Stroud, Navenna, and Ragnal, but like Korax, he fell from Stroud’s favor. Both were locked in the temple together; one in the shape of a hydra, and the other a corpse. But you killed Chu’Alagu, and Korax’s centuries of suffering ended when Wolfgar took his unnatural life. Now both of my keepers are dead.”

  “How did you get out of the sword?” Taliesin demanded to know.

  “You said ‘I do want to pray for you, Ysemay. I’ll pray to Navenna for you to be free.’ That is a prayer. And now I am free.” The witch climbed onto the windowsill and laughed madly as she turn
ed into a black sea gull and flew out the window.

  Heavy bodies slammed against the door, making it tremble and shake on its iron hinges, causing the wood in the center to splinter. A hairy fist punched through the door, extended its fingers, revealing long, tapered claws, and reached for the lock. Taliesin held Ringerike in both hands, ran forward, and sliced through the arm. The clawed hand fell to the floor, turned into a human hand, and crawled away as angry voices shouted behind the door. She stepped back and raised the sword over her head, prepared to kill whatever came through. The door broke apart with a crash, and soldiers in black, armed with swords and axes, stormed into the room. Wolfmen. Slain Garridan soldiers lay on the platform, trampled as the Wolfmen rushed toward Taliesin. She lifted Ringerike and sliced into the nearest Wolfman, cutting him in half. She spun and killed another before she was overpowered and dragged to the floor. Hands tore at her dress, tore the sword out of her grasp, and pulled her to her feet. Two Wolfmen grabbed her arms and held her fast, while another attempted to pick up Ringerike. The sword refused to budge and remained stuck to the floor despite every attempt. A Wolfman came in with an axe, hacked at the floor to cut the sword free, and suddenly flew backwards and crashed into the wall.

  “Stand back,” a loud, angry voice said.

  The Wolfmen moved aside as a lanky, red-haired man in black armor stepped forward, his face elongated into a wolf’s visage. He carried a round hairy object in his hands and tossed it at Taliesin’s feet. The thing rolled over several times before it stopped at the edge of Taliesin’s gown and oozed blood across the floor. She looked at the eyeless head of Duke Richelieu de Boron. The Wolfmen behind her started to panic and snarl and Taliesin glanced over her shoulder. Two glowing, golden forms appeared at the window, the duchess and the duke, who exchanged a tender kiss before they looked at Taliesin, smiled sadly, and faded away into the sunlight.