Queen of Magic

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  “Was that Zarnoc?” he asked.

  “He’s says ‘hello,’ but we can talk about him later. Just hold me,” Taliesin said, dreading the rise of the sun.

  The day would be fraught with danger, deception, and death. Not a good recipe for a restful sleep, she thought. One magical lute didn’t seem quite enough to help determine the fate of Caladonia, but it would have to do until she thought of something else.

  “I don’t want to think about today until I am forced to, Roland.”

  “Then shut your eyes and sleep, my love.”

  Taliesin took a deep breathe, released it, and closed her eyes as his strong arms tightened around her. At least for a few more hours, she thought, all was well, and before she knew it, she drifted off to sleep.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  Voices echoed in the royal crypt, and the sounds disturbed the ghosts in residence. Shadowy forms slid across the walls that watched Taliesin, Roland, and a procession led by the King’s Guards walk past a long row of ornate, marble coffins containing the kings and queens of the Draconus family. It was chilly in the crypt, and she noticed there were no rats or cobwebs; it was kept clean and tidy by servants who, she imagined, hated their creepy job.

  Duke Andre had assembled the group after he decided Roland’s idea to use Doomsayer to converse with King Frederick was the best way to discover the identity of his murderer. The duke had invited Taliesin and Roland to join him in the crypt. He had also invited the three princes, but only Sertorius and Dinadan came; Almaric remained absent.

  Without Doomsayer, Taliesin didn’t know why they had to walk among the dead, for she was not able to talk to ghosts without the sword, and Ringerike refused to attempt contact. The Raven Sword had the ability to do many things, yet it also had a mind of its own, and when it disagreed with her, or considered something too dangerous, it erred on the side of caution. The hood of her fur-lined cloak covered the sword’s hilt. She wore pants and a velvet tunic under her cloak, and kept it closed to avoid anyone noticing she dressed as a man.

  Ringerike slapped her backside each time she passed the tomb of a king who had a less-than-favorable reputation. The Kings of Caladonia were historically not known as kind and generous monarchs, and the atmosphere in the crypt was less than receptive. She sensed the dead perceived the group as intruders, and strange voices that did not sound even remotely human cried out beyond the perimeter of the raised torches. The clank of the knights’ and guards’ spears against their shields, and the rattling of armored knees, told her the men were frightened. Duke Andre, Roland, Landrake, Bedwyn, and the two princes put on a brave front.

  She thought Sertorius looked brave and handsome, swaggering at Andre’s side in a dark blue tunic worn over his armor with a sword strapped to his side and a jeweled dagger. Dinadan flinched every time a bodiless voice made a noise behind one of the crypts. A tall, handsome knight, who occasionally touched the prince’s shoulder to help keep him calm, walked beside him.

  “This is the last place I want to be this morning,” Taliesin whispered, her hand on Roland’s arm. “What if Almaric doesn’t come? What if it’s a trap? I know Duke Andre means well, but he’s only twenty years of age, and I don’t think the princes or nobles take him seriously. Why would Ungus pick him to lead an investigation? He’s just a boy.”

  “The court feared his late father, Duke Andriel, and since Andre looks like him, it’s believed he’ll follow in his father’s footsteps and eventually become twice as unpleasant,” Roland said. “Almaric will come. Try to stay calm; Lord Ungus would not have agreed to this if it were a trap. Twenty-five guards and ten of my best knights accompany us, and more are posted outside the door.”

  “What about Arundel? Does he know we’re here?”

  “Arundel was not told about this meeting, but I assume his spies watch from afar,” Roland said. “Both princes have every right to pay their respects to their father.”

  Bedwyn turned in their direction. “The Wolf Prince will bring Chief Lykus and possibly Captain Wolfgar, who sustained numerous rat bites in the sewer, but has since recovered,” he said. “The scribe captured last night has refused to talk. Andre placed the man in the custody of the Blue Star, and Gavin will make him talk. Torture is a skill perfected by the Knights of the Blue Star; no man can last for long under their knives.”

  Taliesin ignored Bedwyn since she liked Gavin and did not want to think of the warrior-monk as a butcher, and she let the men walk on as she paused to examine the tomb of King Talas. It was set back in a separate chamber, lit by hundreds of candles, and featured an effigy in white marble of a handsome man who held a sword made in the likeness of Calaburn. Prince Tarquin Draconus, ‘the king for a day,’ had left the sword behind at Ascalon Castle, where it had been watched over the centuries by the dragon Bonaparte, until she retrieved it. Both the dragon and the ghost of Prince Tarquin had given their blessings for her to take Calaburn, and now it was inside the Traveling Tower. She caught sight of Roland’s silhouette as he stepped forward and motioned her to join him.

  “You can get lost in here, if you’re not careful,” he said.

  “I just wanted to see Talas. Where is Magnus?”

  The knight pointed at a tomb further in the crypt, and they walked together while voices whispered in the dark. The crypt looked older than the rest of the castle, and she suspected it was part of Black Castle, and that the darkness she sensed came from the Lorians killed by Prince Tarquin and King Talas. Most of the Draconus kings had been bloodthirsty, a family trait which caused her to feel a certain amount of shame. King Magnus was the worst of the lot as far as she was concerned, causing thousands of magic users to die during the Magic Wars.

  His elite group of spellcasters had disenchanted most magical weapons and items, although noble families had hidden their ancestral swords, and a few magical items had ended up in the royal armory. Magnus had burned magic users at the stake, and sometime later, his spellcasters had vanished. She assumed they had sought refuge at Eagle’s Cliff and were the very same people she killed a few weeks ago. She did not feel guilty for their deaths, and she had no respect for King Magnus, knowing he had beheaded his own son who led the rebellion against him. Zarnoc had been in that war, she thought, fighting for the prince, and had survived to live for the last two centuries as a hermit. She put her hand on Roland’s arm, and they moved on, passing more tombs.

  “There is no rest for the Draconus royalty in this place,” Taliesin said, as she watched shadows that did not belong to the knights and guards move along the walls. She counted dozens of coffins, all marble, and shivered as she imagined the skeletons resting on velvet cushions. Ghostly voices cackled further down the corridor where the torch flames danced in a breeze. She wondered where the breeze came from, for the door was behind them, and tightened her fingers around Roland’s arm as Ringerike quivered on her back and offered images from the past of Black Castle.

  “Not now, Ringerike,” she whispered.

  A gust of wind blew past, making the torchlight waver, and the cackle faded, replaced by a soft snarl. She pressed against Roland and tensed at the sound of padded footfalls somewhere in the dark.

  “I smell a wet dog and snails.”

  Roland patted her hand. “King Frederick is in the tomb just ahead of us. The glass top will be exchanged for one of marble as soon as the sculptor finishes carving his image. The king has only been interred for two days, Taliesin; he cannot smell that bad.”

  “I don’t mean my uncle,” she said, finding it strange to think of the king as family. “We are not alone.”

  “Of course we are not,” he said. “The Draconus dead are here. A man would have to be blind not to see the spirits gliding among the crypts. That is why only priests or priestesses visit down here. You’re not afraid of ghosts, are you?”

  “It’s the living I speak of, dearest; I smell a Wolfen and a Tritone,” Taliesin said. “Arundel and Lykus must be in the crypt. Keep a sharp eye
out for them; this might very well be an ambush, and I do not want my spirit trapped in this evil place.”

  At Roland’s nod, Landrake and Bedwyn walked back to them. The two knights turned in opposite directions to keep their eyes on the tunnel. Roland pointed at Frederick’s tomb where a Stroudian priest prayed with Sertorius, Dinadan, and Duke Andre.

  “Why must I pray?” Taliesin whispered. “It’s not like I cared for the man.”

  “He was still your uncle, and it’s proper to do so.”

  Golden light from the torches reflected on the coffin where the others stood, eyes lowered and staring at the king under the glass lid. Taliesin kept hold of Roland’s arm as he led her to the tomb where they stood at the end of the coffin and gazed at the body of King Frederick. Coins covered his eyes, and his gaunt, waxen-like hands were folded across a sunken chest. His black tunic was exquisite, etched with gold thread and three gold lions. He had been a tall man, quite thin, and his skin had pulled tight across his face. His thick gray beard was groomed, his hair was tidy, and a slender, silver crown rested on his head. It wasn’t the original Raven crown of King Korax he had worn in life, and she noticed neither prince wore it either; instead, each had similar silver circlets on their heads.

  “King Frederick Draconus was a good king,” Roland said. Sertorius lifted his eyes and sneered. Roland continued, “When I first came to Padama with the White Stags, I fought in a tournament and defeated all opponents. I was eighteen at the time, and he summoned me to his pavilion and awarded me a bag of gold coins and a new shield. We talked at length about many things, mainly his wife, whom he missed. At your birth, Prince Sertorius, he said your mother gave you your name with her last breath. King Frederick always said you reminded him of Queen Aislynn—he said you had the same eyes and smile. I know he loved all of you and was hurt deeply when Almaric left after harsh words were exchanged. He decided to send for Almaric to attempt to reconcile, and that is when he sent me to Raven’s Nest to find his niece. Some say the king overindulged you because he felt guilty you had no mother.”

  “You are impertinent,” Sertorius said in a bitter tone. “I do not recall asking for your opinion, Sir Roland. Nor do I care what my father said to you. In truth, I never loved him.”

  “Nor did I,” Dinadan said.

  “He was my uncle, so I suppose I should not hate him for ordering the death of my father.” Taliesin held Sertorius’s gaze. “I think you take after the king, not your mother. I was told she had fair hair and a gentle manner. Konall was gentle and you killed him. His body must be in one of these coffins. I’d like to see it and pay my respects.”

  “Rosamond, you have no idea what my father was like. I may not have known my mother, but I do not think I would have liked her any more than my father. Dinadan is six years older than me. He knew our mother. Tell our cousin what our mother was like, Dinadan. Tell Rosamond how she used to lock you in your room because you spoke with a lisp, and how she laughed at Konall when he cried over his dead dog, and how she scorned Almaric because he had beautiful blond locks, and she thought it unmanly compared to the rest of her dark-haired sons.”

  “Shut your mouth! She was an angel, and you killed her,” Dinadan said. He turned with a sob to the duke. “Andre, I do not want to be here. I have told you repeatedly I did not kill the king. Why are we here? Do you expect my father to sit up and speak to us?” The priest, an older man, glanced at him. “All your prayers did little to save my father when he lay dying. I think you should leave.”

  The priest bowed his head and walked off, making a soft noise as his robes swished together, and his sandals brushed across the stone floor. He did not return.

  “I suppose you think you were her favorite? You were not.” Sertorius caught Dinadan and jerked him around to face their dead father. “Perhaps you would prefer to be fitted for your own coffin,” he said. “Continue to do Arundel’s bidding, and that’s precisely what will happen.” He shoved Dinadan aside. “Duke Andre, my big brother has no intention of coming here to converse with the dead, and I have not yet had breakfast. Dinadan the Dense can stay here and weep, but I am leaving.”

  “Almaric said he would bring Doomsayer and meet us here,” the duke said.

  “I don’t care what he does,” Sertorius said, lashing out. “Almaric broke our father’s heart when he turned against him. All Almaric had to do to inherit the crown was wait until our father died; instead, he decided to take it by force. Reinstating the Old Laws might have worked for my benefit, for I am now forgiven for killing Konall, but Almaric incited a civil war, just like Magnus’ son, Maynard, did. The Magic Wars nearly destroyed our kingdom, and now history repeats itself. Reinstating Titus’ laws has given us both a full pardon, but this war is all Almaric’s fault. He should not be king.”

  “Doomsayer? What is that? A magical sword?” Dinadan asked. He looked at Taliesin for an answer, and she was ready to respond, but a slap across the side of his head from Sertorius brought tears to the older prince’s eyes. “Why did you do that? I haven’t said anything wrong. Can’t you see I’m grieving?”

  “Because you are not paying attention,” Sertorius said. He walked to the head of the coffin, placed his elbows over his father’s head, and rested his face in his hands. “Almaric has Duke Hrothgar’s family sword, a magical sword that will allow someone of intelligence to speak to the dead. I killed Hrothgar at the Battle of Bernlak, so technically it is Hercule’s sword, only that fat toad is too afraid to take it back. Rosamond found the sword after the battle, gave it to Secretary Glabbrio, that fat old slug, and he lost it to Chief Lykus, who gave it to Almaric.”

  “Careful, Sertorius; Hercule is a member of the High Council, as I am,” Duke Andre said. “I will not listen to insults. It is unbecoming for a prince to speak in such a fashion. If you want to go to breakfast, then go.”

  “That’s enough, Your Grace,” Roland said. “Arguing about the past does not restore life to the dead; it only adds salt to old wounds. Leave it alone. You married Lenora and cannot set her aside to marry another. What if she is with child?”

  “What if she is? I left her with her cousin, Sir Mikel, and I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to look after her,” Sertorius said. “I could have had Rosamond that night in the desert, but she resisted. I have asked her several times to marry me, Grand Master Roland. I think she believes she can become queen and put a crown on your ugly, boorish head. Well, she’s wrong.”

  “Shut up, Sertorius,” Dinadan said. “Andre, I am going to leave. Come with me. Please. This place scares me, and Sertorius talks so loudly and with such disrespect, I fear he will wake the dead. This place is haunted.”

  “Calm yourself, Your Grace. It’s all right,” Duke Andre said, and placed his hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Look here, Prince Sertorius, you blame my father for going to war against your cousin. In truth, Regis attempted to waylay my father. It was the Battle of Bernlak all over again; my father merely defended himself.”

  “So, now you want to get into the details of Bernlak. I suppose you and Roland are still upset I killed Hrothgar and his one-handed brother Jasper.”

  Taliesin ignored the arguing men and slid her fingers along the glass. An image of the king when he was alive appeared in her thoughts; memories long repressed now remembered, and she saw him on a white horse, riding with his five young sons, and accompanied by an entourage of knights and lords. She and her father stood at the door of his smithy to watch the procession. As King Frederick gazed in their direction, her father had pulled her into the shop and closed the door.

  ‘You must not become too friendly with the princes, daughter,’ Mandrake had said. ‘I know you often play with Sertorius in the garden. From now on, I want you to avoid him.’

  She had stared at her father, confused and frightened. ‘Why can’t I play with Sertorius, Father? He is my friend—my only friend—and I’m often allowed to study with him. His tutor likes me and says I learn fast. Is it because we are poor, and poor peo
ple are not supposed to learn how to read and write? Why is that, Father? Why?’

  Her father had pulled her into his arms. ‘I intend to take you away from here, child. A friend has suggested we travel to Thule, to a place called Talbot Abbey, where a dear friend of mine lives with the nuns. Would you like that, dearest? Shall we go to the abbey?’

  ‘Who is your friend, Father? Is it a nun?’

  “I suppose she is a nun now. But the three of us can take a ship and go across the sea. There are other realms, my child, and other places where we can live together.’

  Mandrake had meant to leave that night, and he had helped her pack a bag, then placed his favorite magical swords in a box, planning to sell them on the road for money. That same evening, the king had sent an assassin to kill her father. She remembered a masked man entering through a window and catching her father with his back turned as he finished packing, and they scuffled. A knife had ripped open her father’s chest, and she ran out the door, screaming into the night, and bumped into Master Osprey. He had whisked her away to Raven’s Nest and turned her over to a woman named Mrs. Caldwell, who had comforted her while she cried. In the morning, the Ravens named her ‘Taliesin,’ and she forgot all about her father, Sertorius, and their life in Padama.

  She opened her eyes, the images faded, and she again smelled wet dog and snails. Taliesin frowned as the men continued to argue about old hurts and old wars, and followed her nose. The royal guards stepped aside for her, and Bedwyn called out, not wanting her to venture far, but Ringerike gave her a push that kept her on the move. Her fingers reached for Tarquin’s sapphire ring, and she resisted an urge to summon her armor. The odor led her toward the far side of the crypt, where the torch flames flickered wildly in a dank breeze that came from beneath the stones. Ringerike had shown her tunnels beneath Tantalon Castle that led her into the old throne room beneath the dungeons, where she had found the wrathful Lorian spirits, and experiencing a rush of fear, she tried to remain calm.