The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  “I….”

  “You blame me for magic’s collapse, is that it? For that consequence of Zalski’s demise? Zalski turned magic into the political issue of our time. I never did that. I never wanted that. I didn’t involve myself in politics. Zalski and his soldiers forced me to defend myself, so I did just that, actively and with no regrets. But I…. What am I saying? I don’t have to explain myself to you. What about you, Arbora? You were of age. Where were you while I was fighting for my life? If Zalski’s philosophy was so dear to you, why weren’t you fighting at his side?”

  To hear her self-condemnations echoed in such a way, by such a traitor, was more than Arbora could bear. For Kora Porteg to chastise her indolence and indecision was the same as a physical assault, and Arbora responded in kind. Forgetting Kora’s children, forgetting everything but her own rage and humiliation, she shouted “Espadara,” and a jewel-hilted sword appeared from nowhere, slashing seemingly of its own volition at Kora’s neck. Kora had no time to raise her magic barrier. She flung herself sideways to the floor, avoiding decapitation by inches. Then she did conjure a defense, crossing her arms before her chest as she and Arbora, at the same instant, yelled “Desfazair.” Arbora’s sword clashed against Kora’s crimson shell with a sound like metal against rock.

  The women had thought alike: Arbora freed Dorane from his stasis, while Kora unfroze Zacry. The men needed mere seconds to gather what must have happened, during which Arbora’s magic failed to breach Kora’s encasing and Kora vanished the sword swinging time and again at her crimson shell. Zacry looked as though he wanted to transport nearer, but Kora let her shell drop and motioned for him to stay put. No need to risk one spell taking out them both; she had learned that the hard way fighting Zalski. Kora was shocked, and horrified, at how close that blade had come to lopping off her head, but she forced herself to stare Arbora in the eyes.

  “Espadara?” she said. “I’ve known that spell since my teens. You’ll need to do better than that.”

  Dorane demanded of them, “What are you doing here? Either one of you? You’ve forsworn Herezoth.”

  “Herezoth forswore me,” Kora corrected.

  “All the more reason to let it run to its own destruction, if that’s what you judge is happening.”

  Zacry shot, “And let those children be destroyed with it?”

  Dorane insisted, “Let it run to its destruction or take control. Those are your viable options. Work with us to put magic in its place.”

  “And what place is that?” said Zacry. “What station do magicians deserve? You were born with magic, Dorane. You were born a sorcerer like the humblest shepherd or fisherman was not, and frankly, a fisherman who breaks his back in a boat for hours each day to support his family is more worthy to have his voice heard than a leech like you, who lets a group like the Enchanted Fist care for his every need.”

  Dorane retorted, “I’m curious, Porteg. What exactly do you offer society from Traigland, besides your ridiculous writings?”

  “You oaf…. I forswore Herezoth, but that doesn’t make a difference if I come back to support your faction, is that it? Only if I oppose you. Well, I do oppose you. I oppose reparations and entitlements for the magicked. What they’re entitled to, like everyone else, is not to be kidnapped and held captive for weeks on end.”

  “Ursa and I did that for the greater good. Our standoff with the king would have ended by now, if you hadn’t interfered. Now I’m forced to reveal his powers and your sister’s return.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” said Kora.

  “Won’t I?”

  Zacry pleaded, “Think! Won’t you think? You can think just enough to confuse yourself, can’t you? You can’t reveal both, Dorane. The results would contradict themselves. Reveal the king’s telekinetic, and he’s forced to take his place among the magicked. Forced to support them. Reveal Kora came back, and he’ll have bend to the clamor for her life, in favor of those who hate sorcerers.”

  “The council,” said Dorane. “It’s all for the council.”

  “Then keep Kora’s presence secret,” Arbora recommended. “The king’s fond of her for some ungodly reason. He’ll give us the council in exchange for her safety, for our silence.”

  “Won’t work,” said Kora. “No one else knows I came back. No one saw me. The public won’t just take your word….”

  “You’ll gamble your life on that?” said Arbora.

  “Rexson won’t,” Zacry warned his sister.

  The Fist’s foundress told Kora, “He should be a party to this little chat, the king. Dorane sounds an alarm about his exilee’s return, and even without proof, the bigots would raise a cry for your neck, a cry to reach Traigland, no doubt about that. Your king over there would have an interesting dilemma concerning whether to turn you over. Funny, how you put your royals in spots time and again.”

  Kora rolled her eyes. “What’s your point?”

  “Rexson understands the pressure that man would face better than anyone. Knows that eventually, Traigland’s king would have no choice but to arrest you if he can and extradite you here. Yes, Rexson will be granting our council. You put him on the throne. He won’t be murdering you, and he won’t risk straining relations with Traigland.”

  “Perhaps we should involve him in this,” Dorane conceded. He glared at Zacry. “At least this kingdom concerns him. What gives you twits the right to interfere? You self-righteous….”

  “Dorane,” Arbora began, half-protesting, half-warning him. He didn’t let her finish, for his instincts took over. He shouted “Hielkor,” and an energy ball barely visible, with a shadow’s lack of corporality, sped toward Zacry. Kora and her brother both moved to deflect its path with Mudar, and the ball rushed to the wall instead, where one of Crale’s porcelain bowls reflected it back across the kitchen. Before anyone could react, Dorane’s spell collided with the stony figure that was Arbora’s mentor; the shadowball struck him in the chest.

  Arbora let out a shriek as Crale’s gray skin took on a bluer shade and fissures spread throughout his body. The four sorcerers could only watch as the old man crumbled like a brittle piece of sandstone. There was no blood, no shout of pain from the spell’s unintended victim, only a pile of dust and pebble-like fragments where seconds before Crale had been locked in place by Arbora’s Estatua-type magic. Everyone cognizant gazed on, transfixed.

  “That shouldn’t happen,” Kora stammered. “That’s impossible.”

  “Desfazair,” the women muttered in unison, eyes locked on Crale’s remains, trying to reverse Dorane’s spell. Unsurprisingly, no change occurred.

  “Zac….” Kora pleaded, and this time all four sorcerers tried as one to save the aged painter. They had no more success than the women had found alone.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Of Magic Bound

  A long cease-fire followed the sorcerers’ attempts to save Crale. The entire room could well have fallen under the dominion of Arbora’s magic, which still held Ursa, Rexson, Gratton, and the geese inert. Then Arbora began to shake. She marched up to Dorane. “What have you done?” she cried. “What have you…?”

  She could not quite repeat her question. Dorane muttered, “It’s a spell to freeze the heart,” and Zacry and his sister locked eyes as he spoke, both inspired by the same idea, unwilling to lose their window of opportunity.

  Together the siblings shouted, “Tod-quita Sorcerum,” and Dorane turned weak, weak enough that he lost the strength to stand; he fell to his knees, Arbora clutching at him to hold him up. Kora and Zacry repeated their incantation, and Arbora dropped as well, one hand against the floor. After that, without missing a breath, the siblings bound their rivals with magical cords a subdued shade of lavender, cords that tightened the more Dorane struggled. Horrified by what he had done to Crale, he lacked the heart to cast a spell to free himself. Arbora, though, tried to vanish her bonds to no avail.

  “What’s happened?” she cried. “Why can’t I…?”

  “We bou
nd your powers,” said Zacry.

  That brought back Dorane’s voice. “What?”

  “Be glad we didn’t slice your heads off.”

  Dorane said, “You didn’t bind our powers. There’s no such spell. No sorcerer would write….”

  Kora said, “Hansrelto wrote it. Hansrelto, the ancient champion of magic rights himself. It’s in the Librette Oscure. Arbora’s precious Zalski got his hands on that book, did you know that? In his heyday. And he cast that very spell on his sister.”

  Arbora’s gray skin turned white. “There’s no way that Zalski….”

  Kora shot, “I was there, Arbora. Unlike you, I was there the day his reign collapsed.”

  “You monster! You monster, you’ve no right....”

  “No right? You should be thanking me. Would you rather solitary confinement, for God only knows how long? In a tower of the Palace, in a room that’s secured against magic? That’s your other option.”

  “I prefer death.”

  “Good to know,” Kora quipped. “We’ll need to set a guard on suicide watch, Zac. Don’t let the king forget that.”

  Zacry restored Ursa’s consciousness. He and Kora stripped her magic, adjusting the incantation to account for her lack of sorcery, and Kora bound her like her companions. Then Zacry cast Aberigwa Podair on all three captives, just to be certain their powers had in fact disappeared. Though Ursa was silent in her confusion, disoriented by the quick succession of the weakness and chills caused by Zacry’s spells, Arbora groaned in protest and Dorane demanded, “Why? Why her too?”

  The absurdity of the question made Kora’s eyes widen. “You saw what she did with those geese. You think there won’t be vermin in the prison?”

  “Wait,” said Ursa, “I ain’t goin’ to no prison. What’s that spell you cast? Did you just strip my powers?”

  “Don’t complain about prison,” Arbora advised. “At this point, I’d just hope the king decides not to break your neck.”

  Dorane caught Kora’s eye, and she jumped back. His face was twisted, distorted with hatred and pure determination. “You’ll regret this,” he warned.

  “Regret what?”

  “Coming back, binding our magic: all of it. I have nothing to lose now. You think I won’t shout from the rooftops you were here? That’ll I go down without dragging you with me?”

  “Let her be,” pleaded Ursa. “It’s over. Just let her be. She’s got kids, ain’t she? Maybe we can bargain keepin’ quiet for a lighter sentence.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Kora suggested. Something about the moment felt familiar to her, though far from comfortable. The tightness in her chest, the adrenaline, the edginess, and what most surprised her, the intuition she had known in her days with the Crimson League had returned in full force. She turned invisible and spun to look outside, where just a second later, a pair of teenage boys entered her range of vision. They crept toward the open window, through which most of the smoke in the room had now cleared. The fumes, the noise, Ursa’s conscription of the geese: one would have been sufficient to draw attention to Crale’s house, let alone all three together. If the battle had kept curious eyes at bay before then, the relative quiet of the past few minutes had provoked public gumption. Kora knew she should transport back to Bennie’s room, but she did not, not just then. Instead, she vanished the paint on her arm and restored the king and Gratton to consciousness.

  The guard rolled over, nursing his sliced and gushing cheek. While the king adjusted to the changed scene, Zac skillfully, but discreetly, healed the soldier. The man’s wounds closed, but his face and fingers were covered with blood, and he made a fearsome figure as he used the windowsill to pull himself up. Catching sight of the adolescents outside, he didn’t even have to speak; they caught one sight of his expression, recognized his uniform, and fled.

  “Who was that woman?” he demanded of Zacry. “Where’d she go? Was she…?”

  “Quiet!” Zacry demanded.

  “Don’t you hush me. I know who that was, and she has no business….”

  “Do you want to get me killed?” Kora hissed in Gratton’s ear. He jumped a foot before he grabbed his aching head and turned a nauseated gray. “We’re on the same side. Be quiet! Who knows who’s listening?”

  Kora could only hope they were, in fact, both supporters of the king, but even if Gratton were not, he wouldn’t dare expose her here, in Rexson’s presence. The guardsman changed subjects. “Where’s the old man?”

  “That one killed him,” said Zacry, indicating a bound and livid Dorane. “Spell went awry.”

  “What?” cried the guardsman. “Spell went awry, did it? That’s all, just went awry. That spell could have hit any one of us.”

  Zacry retorted, “An ingenious observation,” and the combination of the previous night’s drinking with the existential shock of a brush with death was too much for Gratton. He vomited over the goose that had attacked him. Ignoring the guardsman, Zacry addressed the king.

  “We bound their powers,” he specified. “They can go to the public jail, unless you want to keep their arrests hidden. I wouldn’t recommend that, though. Ursa’s a public figure down south, from what I understand. They’ll notice she’s gone. Clandestine revenge invites bad karma.”

  Arbora said, “I’m amazed you’re not worried about your own karma. Sorcerers stripping others’ magic, that upsets the natural order.”

  “And kidnapping doesn’t?” Zacry snapped.

  Arbora insisted, “Who wrote that spell again?”

  “Hansrelto.”

  “The ancient sorcerer. The famous villain with his dark spellbook and his plans to unseat the king. Did his revolt succeed?” It had not. “Who’s used that spell, besides you?”

  “Zalski,” answered Zacry without a flinch.

  “And where is he? What happened to him?”

  The king said, “Everyone dies, Arbora. And if you think that spell was Zalski’s worst crime, let me set you straight.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Dorane.

  “Shut up!” Ursa shot. “Just shut up! You tryin’ to get us killed?”

  Arbora paid her no mind. “Don’t worry,” she told the king. “All your little secrets, including your guest here, they’re safe with us. I don’t need to call attention to her to cause her destruction. She’s done that herself. She’s unsettled the balance of magic. That balance will right itself, and in the process see she pays.”

  Ursa added, “In exchange for lettin’ the cosmos fix its own affairs, we’d appreciate some consideration, though.”

  Rexson stared her down. “You won’t hang without a trial, if that’s what you fear. That’s where my administration differs from your ever-admired Zalski’s.”

  “He ain’t my admired anything. I was barely ten years old.”

  Dorane prompted, “So a judge will hang us, not you. That’s your grand concession?”

  “If the judge has any sense, he will,” said Gratton. By that point, he had run his sleeve across his mouth and thrown out the goose responsible for the blood he had merely succeeded in smearing across his face. The fowl were all still frozen.

  Dorane told the king, “You act so high and mighty, don’t you? So full of self-restraint. You’re just delegating your revenge. Be a man, why don’t you? Kill me yourself.”

  Everything had fallen apart. Dorane had lost his family and his freedom, and was sure his life would be next to go, and with that, there would be no council, not ever. The thought of that much sacrifice with nothing to gain was unbearable, but if Dorane could convince the king to kill him here, the man might later feel remorse. He might decide to form a council or reach out to the magicked in some way. Dorane could get his heart’s desire after all….

  “Shut up!” Ursa hissed at her accomplice. “You shut your mouth!”

  It was too late; Rexson was marching up to Dorane as she spoke. Bound as the younger man was, the king jerked him to his feet without resistance. “Don’t tempt me,” he growled, and m
ade clear, “This is for my boys, you son of a bitch,” before he crushed Dorane’s instep, making him wince. “Valkin,” he specified. Then, kneeing Dorane in the groin, he said, “Neslan.” The powerless sorcerer doubled over, but the king forced him upright again without mercy. “Hune,” continued Rexson, and broke Dorane’s nose with a spine-tingling crack that brought Kora to let out an audible gasp and Ursa to whimper like a wounded wolf pup. Gratton was no longer the only man present with a bloody face.

  Ursa looked to Zacry. “Stop him!” she pleaded. There were tears in her eyes. “Won’t you stop him?”

  The king punched Dorane in the stomach with enough force to bring him to all fours, had the man not been bound. Rexson gave no sign of relenting were someone not to intervene. Zacry took pity, more for Ursa’s sake than Dorane’s—the woman was truly distressed—and pulled Rexson away. Dorane tumbled to the floor, panting.

  “I’m not finished,” said the king, struggling to break free. Zacry held him firm.

  “He got the message.”

  Only when Dorane vomited, blood mixed with his stomach acid, did the king cease struggling, seemingly satisfied. When Ursa shouted the sorcerer would die, Rexson replied, “He should be so lucky.” He then instructed Kora to go—“You should never have come in the first place”—and told Gratton to commandeer the first troop of soldiers he should run across, to escort the kidnappers to the city prison. At that, Zacry had to speak up. He did not trust Gratton in the slightest.

  “I’ll go,” Zacry offered.

  “I want a sorcerer here,” the king insisted. “How do you know you fully stripped their powers?”

  “I’ll be here,” came Kora’s voice from nowhere. “Zac checked already that the spell worked, but I’ll be here.”

  “I told you to go,” Rexson said.

  “Which is ridiculous.” After listening to Bennie and spending some time around Gratton, Kora shared her brother’s misgivings about the guardsman. “Let Zac get the soldiers. He can transport, so he’ll be faster,” she added, to avoid raising Gratton’s suspicions.