Transformed (Ancestral Magic Book 2)

by Michael DeAngelo

  “It isn’t going anywhere,” Lucinda said to the guard. “We’ll find the same moon in Forsynthia.”

  “That’s not what I’m concerned with. I told the others they wouldn’t be seen, but there’s no sense in that. They’ve—we’ve—surely been spotted by someone in their homes.”

  “Well, of course,” the sorceress agreed. “But with all the guards at the harbor looking upon every ship for stowaways, who will the citizens report this grave news to?”

  “Still, a part of me wishes there was another way.”

  “The only other way ends in blood,” Lucinda said. “I’ve seen things like this before.”

  At the rear of the group, Adelia and Merlin walked side by side. The pair gave some room to the escaping werebears and kept attentive eyes on the building at their sides. As they walked beneath the vine-covered canopy, the world seemed to close in on them.

  “What happened when I was a mouse?” the girl asked her friend.

  Merlin shrugged. “When Orson touched you, it changed you back. But you lost your memories of those few moments.”

  “No, I mean…why didn’t they change you back?”

  “They tried. But they said the magic on me was too powerful. Even his ability couldn’t change me back.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. The same magic was used on me.” She pondered that news, though her brow rose as she considered it.

  “What is it?” Merlin asked.

  “She’s led us into a trap!” one of the men toward the front of the procession cried. “The portcullis is down, and the guards are likely right behind us.”

  “Hush now,” Lucinda said. “You think we didn’t suppose this could have been possible?” With a wave of her hand, the white light that indicated her magic was taking shape appeared. A moment later, it had vanished, and the cold, hard steel had turned into a lavish red fabric, catching in the cool breeze and fluttering. “There you are, dear,” she cooed. As the man who called out moved forward again, she grasped his wrist. “Don’t ever doubt my intentions again,” she bade.

  Sure enough, his outburst did arouse suspicion. A few of the merchants who lived at their shops opened their doors and watched the tail end of the procession dip beneath that strange portcullis-shaped curtain.

  Adelia tapped her companion on the shoulder and jogged up beside the sorceress and the guard. “We’ve been spotted,” she insisted. “We should really make haste.”

  “All in due time,” Lucinda said. “Once we’ve crossed this bridge, freedom will be in our grasp.”

  The aspiring pupil blew out an anxious sigh but knew better than to press the matter. Once they had all ducked underneath the transformed gate and followed the path to the crossway, a smile tugged at the corners of Lucinda’s mouth. She turned about when she reached the end and waited for the exodus to pass her.

  “What are you waiting for?” Reya whispered

  “I’m making sure we’re not to be followed,” the sorceress declared.

  After the final escapee crossed the threshold over the bridge, Lucinda entered a more powerful stance, with her legs apart and her arms held out wide. The white light she summoned appeared above each of her hands and formed rolling globes that spun faster as she drew them closer and closer together.

  Adelia came up beside her and watched as the magic took shape.

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll be able to do this one day, my dear. For now, though, let me show you the extent of my powers.” As she finished speaking, she merged the two ivory spheres into one, and at once, they became exponentially bigger. When she directed the combined light forward, it continued to grow.

  The magic stretched larger than Adelia had seen before. When she looked to the experienced arcanist, she saw a glimmer of perspiration on Lucinda’s brow. Her face grew red as she continued the incantation.

  “Lucinda,” Adelia warned.

  The light continued to grow.

  “You need to stop.”

  It widened until it covered more breadth than the bridge.

  The aspiring mage reached out and grasped Lucinda’s shoulder.

  Finally, the spinning orb crossed the span of the river.

  All her other senses were numb in that moment, as the sorceress focused on what was obscured by that light. She couldn’t even hear the words she muttered under her breath. Nor could she feel the desperate grasp when she did not listen to the girl’s words of warning.

  But she did feel that grip weaken. And she felt the rumble beneath her. When Lucinda could see clearly again, she understood she was on her knees, one hand bracing her against the ground. Adelia was no longer focused on her, looking instead at the bridge that sat within the river. It was shrunken just small enough to slip through the gap it had been fashioned to cross.

  “What did you do that for?” Reya asked as she drew to her side.

  While the guard offered her assistance off the ground, Lucinda swept a stray hair from her face. “I’m seeing that the magistrate and his puppets will encounter a sizable delay if he comes after us.”

  “There are other bridges out of Sungarden,” Reya declared.

  “Then consider this a meager satisfaction,” the sorceress returned with an impish grin upon her face. “At any rate, this has become as literal as it was symbolic. You can’t go back,” she told the werebears. “But you can forge ahead. We will help you build a new home. Now, we’ve tarried here long enough. Who wants to help me find some rodents to turn into horses?”

  Chapter Eleven: Refugees

  The door opened, and a weary figure emerged. Gaston looked considerably older in those moments, with his shoulders slumped and his hands shaking at the end of those long, flowing sleeves. The color was gone from his face, and he braced against the opposite wall while he caught his breath.

  Another drew from that room and shut the door behind him. A thin, slender blade was brought up and wiped clean of its crimson stains.

  “I do not revel in any of that, Edric,” the old wizard said.

  “I know you don’t,” the guest in Forsynthia said. “Rest easy, friend. You’re not the one who held the knife.”

  “No, but I am the one who is keeping him in there. It has to be the worst prison anyone has ever seen.”

  “I’ve been in worse,” Edric said. “Sometimes as a visitor even,” he teased.

  “I do not know how you can remain so jaunty throughout all of this.”

  “It helps to recall his knife was against my throat. So he feels a little pinch beneath his fingernails? He’ll live.” When he saw the regretful gaze upon Gaston’s face, he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you think I’ll sleep easy tonight? Every moment in there, I wonder if that’s the one in which I’ve gone too far. Will I look back and see all the light I’ve left behind? Am I satisfied because of vengeance or justice? But my friend, what gets me through it all is that I know these dark acts serve a greater purpose.

  “Thoro cut out his tongue when he was captured—a stunning moment for us, indeed, and one I don’t believe we explored to its fullest. He removed it because he knew he would talk. I can see him shouting his muted screams in there. If he had a tongue, he would have revealed all he knew. A moment of relief there is worth anything. Without the ability to speak, though…he has more time to reconcile with his guilt and his pain. He puts up a good fight. And yet, he’s weak enough that he didn’t take his own life.”

  “Enough,” Gaston declared. “I don’t think my stomach can take much more of this conversation. We’re still getting nowhere in there, despite all our methods.”

  “If only we had reached him while his tongue was still intact.”

  “If only he hadn’t bothered to come here to kill you or Lydick in the first place.”

  Edric furrowed his brow. “I’m rather glad he did. Thoro is involved in some kind of conspiracy that spans from Daltain to Ippius, and we’ve only scratched the surface. My only regret is we’re running out of time. There’s no telling how big of a cog this
assassin was in the machine.”

  The sage stood straighter upon hearing those words.

  “What is it, old friend?”

  “It’s nothing,” Gaston said. “It’s just that…perhaps some new tactics are required to find the answers we’re looking for.”

  “And just what is it you had in mind?”

  Before he could speak, Gaston heard the rapid approach of footsteps down the stone hall. Both men saw the young archer round the corner, out of breath and red-faced.

  “Trevor?” Gaston queried. “What’s got you in such a tussle?”

  The lad took a moment to find composure before bracing against the wall. “I was out gathering some wood for the fletcher, and I was up on the ridge that overlooks the south road. There was a convoy coming this way, Master Camlann. Around ten carriages, rolling at full gallop. Whoever they are, I don’t think they mean to trade goods.”

  “Are you familiar with the style of the carriages?” Edric asked. “Could you describe the way they looked?”

  Trevor shook his head. “They were all so different, and each of them was unlike anything I’ve seen before.”

  The veil of confusion lifted from Gaston’s face. He clapped the lad on his shoulder and gave a nod. “Good man. Run to your father, and both of you get inside. Just in case this isn’t who I think it is, I’d like you both safe.”

  As Trevor spun on his heel, Edric arched an eyebrow. “Friends of yours?”

  “I do believe so,” the sage said. “My pupil has returned, and perhaps with friends of her own.”

  Edric folded his arms across his chest. “I’m glad I could be here in case anything goes sour.”

  “One assassin nearly put a schism in place in Forsynthia. We were lucky to have Miss Kreegan here. I’m not sure I could have moved as quickly as needed. And if these wagons are not occupied by friends…”

  Edric rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. “Lead on, Gaston. Be they friend or foe, we’ll meet them at the gates.”

  The sage bowed his head to that notion before venturing on from that deep hallway of the keep.

  *****

  Gaston held a hand behind his back, a quiet chant undetectable by the companion at his side. The first of those wagons rolled to the front of Forsynthia’s gates, drawing to a halt just beyond the wildflower garden.

  “Well, the lad was right,” Edric declared. “It’s a mighty big caravan not to be flying a pennant.”

  The sage heard that statement as though he were underwater. He would not be pulled from his incantations, however. His eyes narrowed to a point on that carriage.

  Edric was aware of that chant then. As the door to the vehicle opened, he dropped his hand upon the pommel of his sword. “May the gods show mercy to whatever fools we send their way.”

  When he saw the purple dress and the curves that filled it, Gaston finally relaxed and let his magic dissipate. All that unused arcane energy washed over him and flushed his face red.

  As Merlin and Adelia exited the carriage—and the remaining vehicles rolled up behind them—Lucinda swept at her outfit before looking to her friend with an eager smile. “Ah, Mister Camlann,” she cooed. “What a lovely day.”

  “Lucinda,” he scolded.

  “Why, you’d almost think this is the finest day in recent memory, if I do say so myself.”

  “What is this?” he asked.

  The sorceress stretched that forced grin even farther. “Whatever do you mean? Just a score of your closest friends returning to the welcoming city of Forsynthia—the same twenty-some who left a few days ago. Don’t you remember?”

  A collection of other doors opened, and their inhabitants stepped out into the light of morning as well. The refugees of Sungarden observed their surroundings, admiring the stretches of wildflowers and topiaries.

  “Miss Kreegan, I’ll not get anywhere with Lucinda. Would you mind explaining to me what exactly is happening here?”

  Adelia offered a smile to the other sorceress as she passed. When she arrived before her mentor, though, she appeared calm and collected. She offered a curtsy to both men and turned to the side, allowing them to see the exiles that had traveled with them. “Mister Camlann, I don’t presume to know what you’d say, but we decided to take a chance. These people had nowhere to go, and you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met. I had to believe that if we told you Forsynthia was their only hope, you’d offer them sanctuary. Please don’t tell me my faith was misplaced.”

  Gaston furrowed his brow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, that seemed well-practiced.”

  “I especially liked the curtsy,” Edric added, prompting an impish smile from the aspiring sorceress.

  “I’m still not quite sure what’s going on, but” –the sage let fly a weary sigh— “if there are people in need, I’ll not turn them away.”

  Adelia clapped her hands together before leaning forward and pecking her mentor on the cheek with a kiss. She spun about to Lucinda and the refugees and skipped back toward them.

  Edric draped his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “One thing you can certainly say of your ward: she’s in the business of saving people.”

  *****

  It was the first time Adelia had seen a council table, let alone one as intricate as the one in Forsynthia’s hidden chamber. An octagonal design assured that all the representatives were considered equals. Every seat was filled: the three arcanists were joined by Gaston’s companions, Lydick and Edric, as well as three of the refugees—Lieutenant Reya, Orson Blythe, and a fellow who looked as big as a bear, even while he was not transformed, named Abel. Talks were stern, though not without some measure of success.

  “We’re not looking to rent a room here,” Abel said.

  Gaston offered a disarming smile. “That’s good. My keep is not a tavern.”

  “What he means,” Reya interjected, “is they left their home, and they need a new one. We need a new one.”

  The smithy that lived there turned to the sage. “Forsynthia, in its current state, won’t be able to accommodate everyone. Tents aren’t homes, my friend.”

  “No, they are not. But you recall, I’m sure, when there was no castle here either. We call this place by a name as if there were roads and houses out there already. But you won’t find Forsynthia on any map—not yet. Perhaps that is the future we look toward? I’ve heard of other wizards taking on such aspirations.” He looked to the larger refugee. “What say you? If we opened our gates, so to speak, and you set down stakes here in exchange for—”

  “Fealty?” Abel interrupted. “If you don’t mind, I’ve seen where that leads. I’m not interested.”

  Beside him, Orson couldn’t restrain himself, a wide smile stretching his lips.

  “And what are you on about?”

  “He already knows about the wild magic that transforms us. He’s a wizard himself.”

  “Too true,” Gaston declared. “What I was going to suggest was a mutual interest: we work together to make Forsynthia stronger and safer and more beautiful together.”

  Edric tapped his fist on the table. “Gaston, if you do this, you make an enemy of the magistrate of Sungarden. You effectively cut yourself off from the capital. It’ll be that much harder to get supplies or entertain guests from beyond the sea.”

  “A small price to pay, I think you’ll find. We can’t very well turn these fine folks away now, can we?”

  “No, we cannot,” Lucinda said. When Gaston looked her way, she gave him a proud nod. “I will stay as long as it takes to see your new guests are accommodated.”

  The sage clapped his hands together. “The deal is off,” he teased. That invoked some laughter from everyone in attendance, even the sorceress. When that moment of respite had passed, he focused once more on the guests. “So, what say you, Abel? Make a living here by making it a place worth living in. I doubt you’ll find better terms than that.”

  Reya turned to Abel as well. “I don’t think you will. The only other option
is building your own town somewhere out in the wilderness. At least this way you’re protected by someone who already knows what you are.”

  A sigh shook Abel’s large frame. “If I agree to this and we end up facing the same prejudices we did in Sungarden, as the representative of my people, I will have failed.”

  “But if we do nothing to forge our future, we’ve already failed,” Orson offered. “Take the deal. Let us begin a new life here while some of us are still young.”

  Abel nodded after a long pause. “Don’t make me regret this, wizard.”

  The sage offered a warm smile and pushed a piece of parchment across the table. “I’d already drawn up a contract. It isn’t substantial; it just reiterates my necessities. And you can see by signing it, you and the other werebears will become official citizens of Forsynthia. You’ll all have the same rights as anyone else, and we’ll work at making those rights truly mean something.”

  After a moment more of hesitation, Abel signed his name to the accord and watched Gaston do the same when it was back in his possession. The two men rose and shook hands while the rest in attendance beamed with pride at the promise of prosperity before them.

  “Now go on and tell your families the good news,” Gaston said.

  Orson rose to follow the representative of his people, but as Reya pushed out her chair, Lucinda bid her to remain behind.

  “Lieutenant,” the sage pressed when the werebears had departed. “There are some things I would ask you now that we’re alone.” As she placed her hands upon the table, Gaston noticed the tenuous gaze she returned. “These werebears,” he went on. “Lucinda and Adelia tell me they were horribly mistreated by your magistrate. And thus, my question to you: will he continue to be a problem for them?”

  The former guard of Sungarden relaxed her shoulders. “Ivan’s hate for them was so strong, it drove him to parade them around like circus attractions. He used fear for them as ammunition that they would be executed without any other crimes committed except for being themselves. His hatred is vile, Mister Camlann. This is surely not the last time you’ll hear of him.”