Queen of Magic

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  “I am aware she has fangs, Princess Calista. Take the prisoner, Captain Wolfgar. We have delayed here long enough. Good day to you all,” Lykus said, withdrawing from the crowd.

  While Taliesin was rolled in the net like a sausage, she caught a glimpse of her mother pausing to kiss Dinadan on the cheek before she left with Lord Arundel. It appeared a conspiracy existed, yet again, but no one else commented. A spark of hatred for Calista ignited in Taliesin’s heart as she felt a hard tug on the net and was pulled across the lawn and onto a paved road. Red sparks shot into the air as her armor scraped the stones. Wolfgar walked beside her, holding one side of the net, gazing straight ahead. The stench of sewage caught her nostrils as she was pulled into an open grate that led into a dark tunnel, and dank water and filth splashed her face. Wolfgar growled as he wrapped his arms around her, lifted her out of the sludge, and proceeded, as the Wolfmen walked behind them. The light from the entrance faded, but her Wolfen vision made it easy to see in the inky black, and her Wolfen nose filled with the noxious smell. As the sludge deepened, Wolfgar pulled her into his arms and carried her like a child.

  “You don’t have to do this, Wolfgar,” she said, spitting when a trickle of filth slid down her face. “We were friends once. Just let me go.”

  “Be silent,” he said, gruffly.

  “Please. I’m willing to help. I don’t want Dinadan to be king.”

  “It is for Almaric to decide what happens to you, not me. I have my orders.”

  “I am not going to let you take me to Almaric. I can stop you any time I want to, Wolfgar. Please. Let me go. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Wolfgar let out a whistle. The men paused, and he dropped her into the brackish, foul water. Taliesin closed her eyes and mouth as she sank, wondering when the captain intended to pull her up and let her breathe. As the pressure in her lungs built, the net was pulled upward, and her head broke the surface. She coughed out a mouthful of filth and vomited.

  “Keep your mouth shut if you don’t want it full of crap,” Wolfgar said. “I have no intention of releasing you, Raven Mistress. What might have been between us is no longer there; you belong to Almaric, now. Bring her along, and dunk her if she tries to speak again.”

  The Wolfmen grabbed the net. Her captors did not attempt to keep her head above the surface as they dragged her through the muck, and her helmet acted like an anchor. She tapped on her left hand and the helmet and armor vanished, allowing her to remain above the surface, while the sword used its magic to become buoyant. A surge of black water poured from a tunnel ahead, adding to the strength of the current and the depth of the mire. Blasted by the deluge as the Wolfman pulled her forward and struggled to hold the net, she calmed her thoughts, and imagined sewage draining from the tunnel. Her head broke the surface as the sludge started to flow quickly in another direction, until only an inch remained. One of the Wolfmen growled and muttered something to his companions. Wolfgar turned to look at her, his eyes glowing soft amber. Whiskers sprouted on his cheeks and his nose quivered.

  Taliesin spat rancid water. “I am sorry, Wolfgar,” she sputtered.

  “What do you mean? You are my prisoner.”

  Desperate times required desperate actions, she thought, and reached out for help to the one thing that lived in the sewers—rats. Thousands of rodents lived beneath Tantalon Castle, and they responded to her silent cry for help. Squeaks grew in volume and prompted the Wolfmen to quicken their steps. Wolfgar reached for his sword and signaled his men to halt as the squeaks turned into vicious snarls and hundreds of red eyes appeared in the gloom ahead of them.

  The rats scurried toward the Wolfmen in a carpet of fur, and their size quickly increased. Creatures as large as war dogs, with teeth as sharp as daggers, attacked from both sides, while others crawled across the ceiling and dropped onto the heads of the Wolfmen.

  Wolfgar charged the rats with a roar, and chopped them with his sword. The men, bitten by the rats, lost control of their tempers and morphed into Wolfen. They burst out of their armor and tore into the oversized rats. With the Wolfmen occupied, a scurry of rodents raced to Taliesin and gnawed at the net; silver strands snapped, and several tried to bite her. Taliesin turned her ring, and armor covered and protected her from the sharp teeth. “Get off me,” Taliesin shouted. She broke through the net, raised her hand, and pulled Ringerike from its scabbard. Its bright blue glow scattered the rats. She left the rodents to feed on the Wolfmen and ran along the tunnel.

  The path descended. Certain she had chosen the wrong direction, she turned and slipped on the slime, landed on her backside, and slid forty yards before the tunnel ended and she flew into the air. She clutched her sword tightly as she landed with a hard smack in a large chamber, and the blue light surrounded Taliesin as she pushed up onto an elbow to examine the chamber. Two grates thick with green moss offered pale light from an unknown source, and hundreds of corpses, some fresh, provided enough meat for the rodents to live on for months. Although she closed her visor, the ripe stench remained. As she rose to her feet, she noticed colorful paintings on the walls, chipped or covered by green mold that provided a glimpse into the past of King Korax; the chamber had to be part of Black Castle.

  As she searched for a way out, the bodies twitched, and spirits groaned as they slid out of the corpses and proceeded toward Taliesin. The enchanted royal court inside her pouch started to shout, their frantic voices attracting the dozens of ghosts that swirled around her. Their transparent hands reached for her belt, but were blocked by the sword’s blue light. The dead did not want her in the room, which resonated with an ancient, evil magic. Tantalon Castle, built on top of the burial chamber inside Black Castle, absorbed the darkness. The citizens of Tantalon Castle dumped prisoners considered unfit for proper burial into the chamber and through the ages had fed the evil.

  “I am the Raven heir,” Taliesin shouted, as a knight materialized in front of her. She pointed the sword at the specter as it raised a rusty axe. “This is Ringerike, and you must let me pass!” She watched the knight point toward a wall, and the stones moved to reveal a tunnel. Careful to not step on the dead, Taliesin, followed by the ghosts, hurried to the exit. As she entered the tunnel, she pointed her sword toward the ghoulish faces and envisioned the fire needed to cleanse the chamber. She smelled smoke, then, in the far corner, flames lapped at the frayed material of a woman’s dress and spread. Taliesin ran into the tunnel as the wall behind her closed, screams thick in her ears, and she quickened her pace as the floor slanted upwards. The floor was thick with dust, and cobwebs hung overhead. The tunnel, not used in centuries, ended at a door cloaked in webs. She used the sword to brush aside the spider webs and placed her hand on the rusty latch. The door opened under the pressure of her shoulder, and she staggered into a corridor. The door slammed shut and vanished into the wall.

  “Stay shut,” Taliesin whispered. Shaken by the experience, she wondered why anyone had seen fit to leave the dead in the chamber. It was no wonder the Draconus House had a desire for war and bloodshed; for too long the spirits had manifested hatred and a need for revenge. The fire she summoned would burn the bodies and cleanse disease, but the dark, tragic memories would remain. The spirits trapped within the chamber would find a way out, and when that happened, Tantalon Castle would be in danger. It, too, would fall into ruin like the Black Castle, a fact that made her reluctant to remain for any length of time. Perhaps Zarnoc and Ismeina knew how to lay the spirits to rest. The royal court had quieted, at least for now, and she sensed they were relieved she had not left them in the chamber with their friends and comrades.

  “We will sort this out. I promise,” Taliesin said. “But I am not here to exorcize evil spirits or use my magic to bless Tantalon Castle. I need to find Roland and my friends.”

  Ringerike let out an affirming noise and directed its light toward the corridor ahead of her. She had found the dungeon, but doubted Wolfgar had been as fortunate. It was a shame Wolfgar had learned nothing during their
time together in Duvalen. He had stood up to King Boran and Queen Dehavilyn, showed his bravery, and championed Taliesin in a fighting pit. She had hoped they had forged a friendship, but it was not meant to be. Wolfgar’s eagerness to obey Lykus and turn her over to Almaric made it clear that one day they would have to fight, and he would not hesitate to kill her; he had chosen his fate.

  Torches in iron stands on the walls offered light. She wanted to locate Roland and glanced at her armor, which was covered in a layer of black muck and stunk like a latrine. This was not the way she wanted Roland to see her after so many months of separation. Zarnoc was able to change his clothes with a snap of his fingers; all she had to do was think about clean clothes, with no grime and no smell. She did so, and in a twinkle, her armor appeared clean and smelled like mint; she had not been thinking about mint, but it was a nice touch.

  “I am not brash—I am clever,” Taliesin said, as she proceeded. “I am going to find Roland.” She turned a corner and found a long corridor with many closed cell doors. As she approached a door, she thought about what she wanted to say to Roland. Something simple to start with; “I’m sorry,” followed by, “I love you.”

  With a smile on her face, she checked for guards, found none, and reached the nearest cell door. Since she had no key, she relied on magic to open the lock. Inside was the body of an old man; from the smell and the state of decay, it was obvious he had been dead for weeks. She looked inside every cell, and every prisoner was dead. Discouraged, she paused at a staircase to the next level to take a quick look at the Deceiver’s Map. She willed it to appear as a board and held it in one hand. Using Ringerike’s blue light, she studied the map.

  “Show me Wren and Rook,” she ordered. Her friends’ names appeared in the Tannenberg Forest, near the remains of Raven’s Nest, in the company of Tamal and the Nova brothers; they were safe for now. She didn’t know why they hadn’t gone to Tantalon Castle. Someone must have given it a second thought and decided not to help the king. Whoever had the forethought to remain in the forest deserved a medal. “But, where is Roland?”

  The map altered, turning into a blueprint of Tantalon Castle with its multiple levels, winding halls, and numerous chambers. There were three dungeon levels beneath the castle, and she was in the bottom one. The names of dozens of tradesmen, rich merchants, and landowners appeared on the next floor, and Roland’s name was on the top level. The names of the dukes from Fregia, Thule, and Bavol showed in cells, as did those of many lesser nobles and knights, locked away by Dinadan, under the advisement of Lord Arundel. Each of the upper two floors was guarded by ten men. She took a breath and imagined the twenty guards falling asleep. The map confirmed the men lay on the ground, under her enchantment—but for how long?

  She tucked the map under her armor, quickly climbed the staircase, and opened the next door. On the opposite side lay the guards, snoring. Confident she was in control of her magic, she found no reason to retrieve the keys from a guard’s belt, but merely waved her hand and every cell door opened. She heard startled voices and footsteps. Heads poked out from the doorways. Frightened and confused people flowed into the corridor and approached Taliesin.

  “What is going on? Who are you?” a man with a black eye asked.

  Taliesin pressed her sword against her chest as the freed prisoners gathered around her. They looked exhausted, starved, and beaten. “I am the Raven Mistress,” she said, “and I have come to rescue you. The guards are asleep. Come with me, and I will see you safely out of this dungeon, as soon as I release Sir Roland Brisbane.”

  Knowing she would soon see Roland again set her nerves on edge; she was more nervous to see him than facing the palace guards. With the crowd at her back, Taliesin climbed the stairs to the upper dungeon level, holding her sword aloft, hoping Roland would be happy to see her. Her sword gave a soft hum; even Ringerike hoped for the best.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Ten

  Taliesin continued to climb the stairs. A shadow passed before her and she caught a glimpse of a figure in a hooded purple cloak. The tap of a staff on stones raised the hairs on the back of her neck; it had to be Heggen, coming to see what she was doing. She ran to catch the god of the underworld, but found only a single black raven feather at the top of the stairs. She tried to still her heart and listened for the tap-tap-tap. Nothing.

  “Go away,” she muttered under her breath. “You’re not wanted here, Heggen.”

  She peered around the corner of the staircase and saw that the guards slept on the floor or slumped against a wall, propped up by their spears. With a jingle of keys, the outside door opened. The jailor, a gruff man in a leather jerkin, stared in shock at Taliesin, not expecting to encounter an armored warrior with a sword. He lifted a dirty hand to his mouth to shout for help, but Taliesin made a fist and cracked the jailor in the jaw. He slammed against the wall and fell unconscious, keys still clutched in his hand. The door swung closed with a groan, and she kicked the keys aside.

  “It’s best they stay here until everyone is free,” Taliesin whispered to her sword. She turned and caught the gaze of several men on the stairs. “The guards are asleep. Tie them up and wait for me here, while I release the high lords and knights.”

  Men rushed forward and used their belts to bind the guards. Taliesin swept her hand across the air as she imagined the doors open. In succession, each door unlocked and pivoted inward with a loud bang. She hurried down the corridor, nodded at a nobleman, smiled at a knight, and kept moving. Each prisoner stared at Taliesin as she passed, and knights, barons, counts, and noblewomen whispered together and tried, without luck, to guess who she was.

  “Is that Sir Karlton or Sir Malanfee?” a woman asked, a hand to her heart.

  “The armor is so unusual. I have never seen this knight before,” another said.

  Voices raised as a debate broke out about whether Taliesin was male or female, but she paid them no attention; she did not see Roland among the freed prisoners. She sheathed Ringerike, to give people room to pass her, and quickened her pace. Roland might be injured or sick; many of the prisoners bore the bruises and wounds of torture. Judging by the amount of filth and the starved looks, it appeared more than a few of these people had been prisoners for a long time. She cried out Roland’s name, and a bearded knight in a White Stag tunic pointed to the far end of the corridor.

  “Thank you,” Taliesin said. She ran down the hallway and came to the last door on her left. She paused to tap her left hand and her armor vanished. With a pat to smooth her wild red hair, she entered the cell.

  An armored knight in a filthy white tunic lay on a cot. One boot touched the floor near a plate of rancid food, attended to by a rat, and one arm crossed over his eyes. “Roland?” she asked, in a nervous voice as she approached the cot. “Roland, is that you? It’s me, Taliesin. I’ve come as you asked. Are you all right? Say something.”

  “I didn’t think you would come,” a deep voice replied. It was Roland, but he did not move an inch. “The king is dead.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry, but I am here. Arundel and Lykus set a trap, but I managed to escape. The rest of the prisoners are free. I brought Ringerike.” Taliesin chased away the rat and knelt beside the cot. She placed her hand on his arm, aware she trembled, and she bit her bottom lip, wondering if he noticed. “I’m so sorry, Roland, about everything. I never should have doubted you. I’ve done so many foolish things since I left your side and seen so much bloodshed, but I never stopped thinking about you.”

  Roland moved faster than she expected. He sat up straight, swung his legs off the cot, and snaked out a hand to grab a handful of her hair. He had grown a full head of hair, and his beard was long and scraggily. His brown eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. A cut over his left eyebrow was crusted over, and the skin around his eye was swollen and purple. His strong body odor was not repugnant; it reminded her of his days with the Raven Clan. As Grudge, he had not spent time bathing; he had been a dirty companion who worked beside he
r collecting weapons on battlefields and had eventually risen to the rank of Captain of the Black Wings. His scent, and those happy memories, brought tears to her eyes, but he showed no tenderness.

  “You are hurt,” Taliesin whispered and pressed her hand over his injury. This time she felt Roland tremble. When she removed her hand, the cut and bruises had vanished. “Is that better?”

  “What are you doing here? How did you know I was a prisoner?”

  Taliesin smiled. “You sent for me, and I came.”

  “Things have changed since I sent for you,” Roland said. “Obviously, I am no longer in command. Lord Arundel has seized power, and anyone who objected was locked in the dungeon. I am a little surprised to see you, that’s all.”

  “Oh, Roland. I am the one who is responsible for what has happened to you. Had I gone with you to the Cave of the Snake God to find Ringerike and returned to Padama at your side, the king would not be dead, and you would not have cause to hate me. I never meant to hurt you, Roland. We left Raven’s Nest together, and something happened on our travels, something that changed us both. I should have told you long ago how I feel about you.”

  “I do not hate you,” he said. “Believe it or not, I understand why you ran from me. Perhaps I would have done the same if I had been in your place. There is much I want to say to you, Taliesin, but let’s save this discussion for a suitable place. I’d rather not discuss us in this dreadful dungeon.”

  “Us? Then you still care for me? I still have reason to hope?”

  “You are stubborn, woman; there is only one way to quiet you.”

  Roland forced Taliesin to rise from the floor as he continued to wind her hair around his hand. He was a large, broad-shouldered man, and in comparison, she felt small and feminine, not at all like a warrior when she was with him. His anger faded, replaced by something that sent a shiver down her spine. She caught her breath as one arm clamped around her and a firm kiss landed on her lips. He kissed with such passion she melted against him, and his grip on her hair lessened and he pressed her head closer as the kiss deepened. He tasted like stale beef, yet every inch of her quivered when his tongue plunged into her mouth.