Throne of Magic

by H. D. Gordon

  Charlie clenched his jaw. He was pretty sure between him and Aria, they could take this guy down.

  “She’s no queen of mine,” Charlie said.

  The male Fae disregarded this as if Charlie hadn’t spoken. It was clear in his stance that he was preparing to strike at Aria again.

  Aria switched her staff to her right hand, holding out her left hand the way one might to an approaching beast.

  “Just hold on a second there, buddy,” Aria said. “You don’t have to kill me. We could pull a Snow White and send you back to Tristell with the heart of a dear or something. What do you say?”

  “You’re a Halfling,” replied the male Fae. It was not a question, and his silver eyes studied Aria in a way Charlie wasn’t sure he liked. “And a child,” the Fae added.

  “I’ll be eighteen in a few months,” Aria said, “but whatever. If what you’re trying to say is I’m too young to kill, then I totally agree.”

  She smiled, flashing perfect teeth, and the girl once again awed Charlie. He could see that her charm alone was giving the male Fae pause.

  That was good. If she could distract him long enough, Charlie might be able to take him out.

  “What could a Halfling child have done to offend the Queen?” the Fae asked, his long silver hair spilling over his wide shoulder as he tilted his head to study her.

  Charlie slipped his hand behind his back slowly, so as not to draw any attention, and removed the iron dagger he still had possession of.

  “You ask that as if she’s hard to offend,” Aria replied. “And what does it matter? Aren’t you just her assassin? Someone who does as they’re told?”

  This seemed to offend the Fae. “I’m paying off a debt,” he said. His eyes flicked over to Charlie, who stood deceptively still.

  “Does paying off that debt include killing an innocent girl?” Charlie asked.

  “Mind your business, Sorcerer,” the Fae snapped. “And I can smell that iron you’re hiding behind your back. Make a move with it, and it’ll be your last.”

  One side of Charlie’s mouth pulled up in a smirk. “Is that what you think, fairy?”

  “It’s what I know.”

  “Oh my God,” Aria said, and coughed loudly into a balled fist. “I’m literally choking on the testosterone right now.” She pointed the end of her staff toward the Fae. “What’s your name?”

  Charlie thought the Fae looked like he didn’t want to answer, but did anyway.

  “Arrol,” he said.

  Aria nodded. “Well, Arrol, are you going to kill me, or what?”

  Arrol relaxed his stance a bit, but Charlie kept his guard up, aware that this could be a trick. Aria didn’t appear alarmed, but Charlie noticed she still held her staff at the ready.

  “Is there another option to killing you, Halfling?” Arrol asked.

  Aria’s smiled. “There are always options, Full-blood old man.” She paused. “See how weird that sounds? So I won’t call you that if you stop calling me ‘Halfling’ and ‘child.’ Sound good?”

  “The Fae Queen sent me here to kill you. She said you’re a traitor to the crown, and if I brought proof of your death, it finally would end my debt to her. See the problem here, Aria?”

  Aria tilted her head. “All of that may be, but I don’t want to die before I even get to kiss a boy, so you see my problem here, Arrol? Also, if you’re in her debt, you messed up somewhere along the way, too.”

  Arrol’s hand tightened around his weapon, his silver eyes narrowing. Aria held out a hand again, like a lion tamer.

  “Charlie,” she said, without taking her gaze off the Fae. “Don’t attack him. He’s going to help us. He hates Tristell almost as much as we do.”

  “Don’t dig into my emotions, child,” Arrol snapped. “It’s impolite. Haven’t you learned any manners living among the humans?”

  “Yes, actually,” Aria replied. “For one thing, I’ve learned that entering through the doorway rather than smashing through the window is the polite thing to do… Why do you hate Tristell?”

  “I don’t hate her.”

  “You don’t like her, either, which puts us on the same side.”

  “I can’t move against her,” Arrol said, and it looked as if it pained him to do so.

  Aria’s head tipped back as she came to a realization Charlie wasn’t privy to. “You swore to her,” she said.

  Arrol nodded.

  “I hope whatever got you into her debt was worth it.”

  Arrol’s gaze went distant, but returned quickly. “Depends on who you ask.”

  “Well, then you should be really excited,” Aria said, grinning. “Charlie here has a really powerful girlfriend, and she’s going to kill Tristell. So you see, you don’t have to kill me. Your debt to Tristell will die when she does.”

  Arrol’s brow arched, and he looked at Charlie as though he’d forgotten he was there. “You’re putting a lot of faith in his girlfriend. Tristell is not a weak opponent.”

  “Neither is Surah Stormsong,” Charlie said, wondering if he might not have to kill this Fae after all, which was good and well. He had a feeling there was enough death to come.

  “Surah Stormsong? The royal Sorceress?” Arrol asked. “So it’s true. The Fae Queen is making a move for Sorcerer Territory.” Arrol eyed Aria. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

  Aria only looked at him.

  “You’ve got the Touch real strong, don’t you?” Arrol said.

  Charlie had no idea what the Touch was, but Aria must have, because she shrugged and pushed some of her wavy, red-brown hair out of her face.

  “Or maybe you’re just not as comfortable with killing as you’d like to think,” she said.

  “Stop that,” the Fae warned.

  Slowly, Aria moved over to the couch, setting her wooden staff on the coffee table, eyes never leaving the Fae. She took a seat, holding both hands up.

  When Arrol made no move against her, the blank expression on his face saying he wasn’t fully decided on the matter, she gestured at the armchair across from her.

  “Please,” she said, “take a load off.” She looked at Charlie, telling him with her eyes that it was okay, and added, “you too, Charlie.”

  Charlie was not at all sure this was a good decision, but so far the Halfling girl seemed to know how to handle tough situations. She’d saved his butt more than once in the past twenty-four hours, and he knew that he could trust her.

  Not for the first time, he wondered about Aria’s history, about how she’d come to be the girl she was now. He knew there had to be a hell of a story there.

  He moved over to the couch and took a seat beside Aria as Arrol sat in the armchair. Charlie noticed the envious look that came into Aria’s eyes when she watched the Fae’s dragonfly-like wings folding over his shoulders and back, melting into his skin to resemble nothing more than intricate tattoos.

  “Wonderful,” Aria said, with a bright smile. “Now, Mr. Arrol, let’s discuss all the benefits of not killing me, shall we? First of all, you won’t have to live with the death of a child on your conscience, and that alone is a pretty big thing, am I right?”

  Arrol only looked at her, and Charlie was not aware of it, but the expression on his face was much the same as the Fae’s. Aria had a strange way about her, even in a room full of supernaturals.

  The way Aria shifted in her seat said that she was used to this. “Also,” she quickly continued, “I’m a Peace Broker. I don’t know if Tristell told you that, but it’s true.”

  Aria reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and removed a gold medallion with the letters PB stamped into the face. Charlie leaned forward to get a look at it along with Arrol. He’d never seen one of them before, but assumed it was the equivalent of a badge for the Peace Brokers.

  Aria flipped the medallion expertly over her fingers and it disappeared back into her pocket.

  “Killing me would bring a world of trouble your way,” she said.

  Arrol gave a
single nod. Apparently Aria’s Peace Broker badge was legitimate enough for him.

  “Reason numero tres,” Aria continued, “You don’t have to get beat up by my stick.” She gestured down at the staff on the table between them. “If they were here, those who have been beaten up by my stick would totally testify to the fact that it sucks. Trust me.”

  Arrol raised an eyebrow, but he seemed more amused with the girl than angry. “You are a strange creature, Aria Fae,” he said.

  She sighed. “So they say.”

  “Aria,” Charlie said, eager to end this now that it was clear Arrol wasn’t going to try to kill her. He had not forgotten that Surah was likely in serious trouble, and time was of the essence. “I need to go.”

  Aria stood, retrieving the staff from the table with her left hand and holding out her right to Arrol.

  “Right, well, it was nice to meet you, Arrol. We gotta go, but thanks for not, you know, skewering me with your sword.”

  Arrol stared at her hand for a moment, then took it into his own and kissed it. Charlie suppressed an eye roll at this. This guy clearly thought he was cool. But by the blush that rose into Aria’s cheeks, Charlie could see that the girl obviously agreed.

  “It was a pleasure,” the Fae said. He looked at Charlie. “I hope you’re right about Princess Stormsong. If she should fall to Tristell… Gods help us all.”

  “Oh, Surah isn’t a princess anymore,” Aria said, as if pulling the thought from Charlie’s head. “She’s a queen. And in this case, she’s definitely the good guy, and the good guys always win, right?”

  Aria’s grin gave away her youth, for only those of so few years would hold to such a belief. Both Charlie and Arrol were old enough to see it.

  Charlie knew well that this was not always the case. Maybe in fairytales, or the movies humans created to entertain themselves, but not in the world Charlie lived in, not in real life.

  In real life, the good guys did not always win.

  In real life, sometimes the good guys finished dead last.

  Chapter 40

  Surah

  The Black Stone glowed and pulsed at her neck, the dark magic running through her as if in her veins, leaving no part of her untouched.

  Possessing her.

  Having moved a mile out of Zadira, she came to a stop in a wide, open field. Tall, yellow-green grass bent heavy in the wind, lying down nearly flat, blanketing the ground, shielding it from the massacre that was going to take place here.

  The thought of so much death should have sickened her, but it did not. Surah was tired of being afraid, done with playing the defensive. This mess Black Heart and the Fae Queen had dumped on her would be cleaned up today, one way or another.

  They wanted blood, so she would give it to them. She would give them enough to satiate them for the rest of eternity, and they would see how much they’d underestimated her when she tore their hearts from their chests and their heads from their shoulders. They would rue the day they’d crossed her.

  She was well aware that the eyes of her people were on her. Thousands of them, staring into crystal balls and magic bowls and brews and whatever else common people used for their magic. She could feel their gazes on her, and she was glad for the audience, glad that what went down today would be recorded in the memories of all.

  Lifting her arms high into the air, eyes writhing with ebony, Surah pulled the dark magic around her and began to open the portal into her Territory. It was not a simple spell, but Surah was not a novice caster, and she was up to the task.

  She found that the more she used the Black Stone, the more its power invigorated her. This was a side effect she had not anticipated, as the use of magic always depleted the user.

  Rather than feeling depleted, she felt supercharged, ready to take on the whole damn world.

  And it would be a bold-faced lie to say that she didn’t like it, that it didn’t feel good.

  As if ripped by the hands of a God, a hole opened in the air before her, an impenetrable blackness filling its center, the atmosphere around its edges blurring as the light itself struggled not to be sucked in.

  Power surged through Surah, heady and invigorating. She felt it shooting from her fingertips, from her toes, out the top of her head, as if magic was emerging from her very pores, rising out of her skin.

  Along with this opening, she shut off any other entrance or exit in her Territory, so that if someone on the outside wanted to enter, they would have to come through this very spot… Where she would be waiting with sais in hand.

  The thought made a terrible grin stretch her face, which was somehow less lovely than it had always been. All throughout the land, Sorcerer people gritted their teeth and cringed inwardly to see their ruler in such a manner, all the while unable to pull their eyes away from the scene. Hardly a word was uttered.

  The portal gaped like a wound in the air, promising an outpouring of poison, disease that needed to be purged, burned away before it could taint her land.

  She’d never felt as alone in her whole life as she felt in that moment, never more resolved or angry or vengeful than right then.

  Reaching into her cloak, the fine material flying out like wings behind her, she removed her silver sais, clutching the weapons in her hands.

  She took the stance of a fighter, her body as capable and graceful as a deadly dancer, her face set in the manner of a warrior.

  Her lavender hair lifted off her shoulders, which were loose and ready. One side of her mouth pulled up in a crooked smile, and her heart settled into stone.

  She waited.

  Chapter 41

  Black Heart

  The fires of the Underworld blazed around him, the heat only exceeded by that in his soul.

  Michael had been using dark magic for years, and it had slowly eaten away at his core, until all that remained was a shell built for holding hate.

  He was distantly aware of the fact that he was too far gone to save, would on occasion hear the whisper of a familiar voice, saying that this was not who he’d been meant to be, that somewhere along the way he’d taken a terrible turn, that it was all somehow…wrong.

  But that whisper would be drowned out as quickly as it arose, fading into nothing, like the memory of a ghost.

  All he understood now was vengeance, violence, the need to obtain more power. There was no doubt in his mind that had the royals cared more about the people they were supposed to serve, his mother and father would still be alive, and he would be a different man completely. He would be Michael.

  As it was, the title Black Heart was a better fit.

  The only thing that did cause a small ache in his chest was the thought of Charlie. Even after all these years, he could not shake the last sliver of regret he held over the way things had turned out between him and his little brother.

  When their parents had died, the two of them had been just boys, and Michael had taken care of Charlie. He had made sure they had something to eat, somewhere to sleep, had watched over his little brother the way a parent would.

  Because of the rough orphan lives they’d lived, Michael had been forced to grow up very early, to skip his childhood altogether.

  He’d been shoved into adulthood, and slowly, along with his addiction to dark magic, it had turned him into this.

  Had Surah Stormsong suffered the same? Or her brother, Syris? Or any of the rest of the Sorcerers who called themselves royal?

  No, they hadn’t. They never had to scrounge for food, to sleep freezing under the stars, to listen to the screams of their loved ones as they burned alive, trapped within the confines of their modest homes…

  It had all happened so long ago, and yet the memories came flooding back as though it were yesterday.

  Reaching into his cloak, he removed the small box Dagon had given him. When he opened it, he would have the power to control an army of a thousand of Dagon’s Demons.

  They would follow him into Sorcerer Territory and tear through anyone who stood in his way
. Tristell and her Fae Warriors would follow shortly after, ensuring the win.

  The presence of the box had summoned the Demons, and they circled in the starless sky above him, their shadows passing over the barren, scorched ground at his feet, the flickering light of the ceaseless flames of the Underworld the only source by which to see.

  Their screeches filled the air, the creatures angrier, more agitated than Black Heart had ever seen them. Something had gone wrong with Dagon, most likely. Perhaps the Dark Lord had underestimated Surah and gone at her alone.

  It didn’t matter in the least. Black Heart had paid for the box he held in his hands with the blood of a king, and the Demons would do his bidding as long as he held it. If Dagon had gone and gotten himself caught or maimed by the Sorceress Queen, it was no concern of his.

  He was not underestimating Surah Stormsong. He knew better than to do that. Instead, he was throwing two armies at her, and she was damned no matter what position she took.

  He was sending the Demons to attack the people, so if she left them unprotected, it would only prove his point. If she chose to divide her forces to protect the people, her castle would fall to him with ease.

  Either way, a usurp would take place this day, and one day, the Sorcerer people would thank him for it, would see how much better and more equal life would be under his rule. He would keep them safe in the dark days ahead. A war among the races was coming, and they needed his strong leadership if their kind was going to survive it.

  People were thickheaded, set in their ways, scared. They just needed to be shown the way. Tristell and Black Heart could do that. They would unite the Fae and Sorcerer Territories and be stronger for it. A whole new world awaited them.

  All that stood in his way was the current ruler. Surah Stormsong. Thanks to him, the last of her line and name. He’d killed her father, the former king, and now it was her turn.