Queen of Magic

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  “She’s Wolfen,” Duke Fergus said with a sniff. “This one is ripe to mate with you, Prince Almaric. But she smells a bit like Sir Roland.”

  “I never liked the Raven Clan,” Duke Volund said, sneering. “Your clan crossed into my lands countless times without permission. If Master Osprey were still alive, I would have words with him and make him pay a hefty fine for his transgressions. As you are the Raven Mistress, I will have my secretary send you a bill.”

  “Do what you like,” Taliesin said. “I won’t pay you a coin, though I might pay for someone to give Duke Fergus a bath; he stinks, and frankly, so do you.”

  “Mind your tongue,” Lord Valesk snarled. “I have stripped the flesh off many a fair maiden who required a lesson in manners.”

  Almaric puffed out his chest. “None of you will lay a finger on my cousin,” he said. “Fergus, you do stink; bathe before tonight’s feast and cut off that rancid beard. Volund, take your son and go; Valesk has worn out his welcome with his threat. If he does not learn better manners in my presence, I’ll be the one flaying him alive.” He turned to Taliesin. “There. You see? I have chastened my Lords for speaking rudely to you. Is it not obvious I have your best interests at heart?”

  “You have a heart?” Taliesin asked.

  Almaric laughed. “Sharp-witted and sharp-tongued. I like you.”

  “Pity I can’t say the same,” Taliesin said under her breath.

  “You can visit the crypt on your own, Prince Almaric,” Roland said as he stepped forward, flanked by Tamal, the Nova brothers, and the Fregian captain. “I am taking the princess back to her chamber. She is tired and must rest before tonight’s feast. I once took a Service Oath to Master Osprey, and as his former captain of the Black Wings, it remains my responsibility to look after the lady.”

  Taliesin wanted to kiss Roland for standing up for her. She didn’t care what Almaric said or did, because she knew he didn’t mean it. Together, the Wolf Prince and his allies were intimidating, but she had her own protectors, and Sir Roland patted Moonbane, strapped to his back, his meaning clear. Duke Fergus snarled and placed his hand around the hilt of Trembler.

  “A shame you didn’t protect Master Osprey and his clan,” Duke Regis said. “I mean to talk to you about Raven’s Nest, Your Grace; I’d like to have the lands restored to me the moment you are crowned king.”

  “Later. Now go away,” Almaric ordered. He stepped between Taliesin and his entourage, presenting his back to the gentry he clearly trusted. They walked off, grumbling together, and left him with only a handful of Wolfmen. “Does the Grand Master always tell you what to do, cousin?” he asked, amused. “Well, Grand Master Roland, my cousin is not going with you; she is coming with me. She has all afternoon to be fitted for a new gown and to soak in a hot bath. Stop annoying me and clear out some of these people.”

  The Wolfmen closed in around them, though Roland and the Ghajar did not leave. They moved nearer as Chief Lykus and Captain Wolfgar approached Prince Almaric and bowed.

  “Lykus, you remember Rosamond, do you not?” Almaric asked.

  The Wolf chief snarled. “I know her, Your Grace; we met a very long time ago,” Lykus said. “My son says she is difficult at the best of times. I wouldn’t get too friendly with her, not when she wears Ringerike. Where is my son, by the way? Is he here?”

  “In the dungeon,” Taliesin said, “with Master Xander. As I said, I have already been to the crypt, and they attempted to kill me there, so I had them arrested.”

  “You did what?” Lykus’ eyes widened. “How dare you!”

  “Calm down, Lykus. If your son attacked Taliesin, be glad he is in the dungeon, or I would rip out his fangs,” Almaric said. He glanced at Wolfgar, who had turned to glare at Taliesin. If they had been friends in the past, even for a moment, the captain showed no signs of it. The prince noticed Wolfgar’s hostility and stiffened. “I can hear you growling, Captain Wolfgar. You have yourself to blame for being attacked by giant rats. Be glad only your men were eaten, and not you.” He smiled at Taliesin. “The captain was ordered to fetch you and bring you to my tent for dinner. I did not intend for him to play so rough; let’s keep that for us in the privacy of my tent, shall we?”

  “I do not want to play with you at all, cousin.”

  Almaric laughed. “For the moment, we are going to the crypt, only I want wine, don’t you? One of you brutes fetch us wine. We will toast to my brother and my father, then find out who is responsible for the king’s death. Chief Lykus, you and Captain Wolfgar will remain outside the crypt; you both frighten my cousin.”

  “No, they don’t,” she said.

  “Yes, they do,” Roland added quickly. “In fact, I intend to bring ten White Stags to the crypt with me, Your Grace. Sir Bedwyn. Sir Landrake. Sir Tamal. Bring your squires and accompany us. Ask the Fregians to wait with the Wolfmen.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bedwyn replied, stepping forward.

  “You don’t take chances, do you, Roland?” Almaric said with a sigh. “Very well. Bring whomever you like, and let’s be at it; I no more like visiting the crypt than anyone else and do not mean to tarry long. Take my arm, cousin.”

  Ringerike thumped against her back in warning as Taliesin took the prince’s arm. With so many people watching, she could not walk off and ignore him, and she had promised Andre she would speak to the dead king. As they walked out the door into the courtyard, a page arrived and handed them glasses of wine. Almaric’s teeth flashed as he drank his in one gulp. He gave a nod and Taliesin took a sip, then another, and finished her drink. His laughter annoyed her. She glanced back at Roland and saw he followed with Tamal and the Ghajar squires while the Fregian soldiers walked with the Wolfmen, both groups eyeing each other. Lykus and Wolfgar had vanished, and the dukes had also left the entourage. Almaric was confident no one meant him harm, and Taliesin found his arrogance a strange, yet nice, distraction compared to that of his brothers.

  “To tell the truth, I have not been able to use Doomsayer,” Almaric whispered. “I am not sure what the trick is and talking to dead people isn’t on the list of my top priorities. I already know what they think, cousin; they regret being dead. I can assure you, I did not poison my father, Rosamond. However, if I had, the Old Laws pardon any princes for committing such a crime. I believe you are after someone else. Arundel? Lykus? Or do you think Dinadan brave enough to carry out the deed?”

  “I think Dinadan is foolish enough to do whatever Lord Arundel tells him to,” Taliesin said. “Lykus does what you want, and has no real thoughts of his own. I again ask you, Almaric. Do you know who killed your father?”

  “Everyone is suspect because everyone hated him. Not me, of course.”

  “But you attack Padama? You have killed your own people. This civil war is all your doing. How can you say you didn’t hate him?”

  “To make a point I don’t like to be reprimanded,” he said. “My father and I had a quarrel. I asked him to step down from the throne, finding him far too frail and feebleminded to continue to rule, and he refused. In truth, I didn’t mean for it to go this far, but the dukes like war. I was always the favorite son, you see; the crown would have come to me eventually, though under the New Laws, a prince waging war against his own father forfeits the crown. So, the Old Laws work to my advantage, which is why I agreed to this three-day truce and came here…and, of course, I wanted to meet you.”

  Taliesin glared at him. “Then why sell Galinn to the Skardans?”

  “I wanted Galinn out of the way. I wanted all my brothers out of the way. When a king has more than one son, there is always a conflict. I trust none of my brothers, and though Galinn was the one I always caught plotting against me, it seems Sertorius now does so in his place; Sertorius has always played one side against the other. I find my little brother very annoying, don’t you?”

  “Most of the time. He did take me prisoner.”

  Almaric held out his empty wine glass for refilling and guzzled another glass before they reach
ed the crypt. The prince refused to release Taliesin’s arm, making her walk close beside him and match his long strides. Roland walked directly behind them, practically breathing down her neck. The Wolfmen followed the White Stags and the Fregians and grumbled amongst themselves. She wondered if Sertorius, Dinadan, Lord Ungus, and Duke Andre would join them in the crypt. Angry she had to return, she attempted to pull her arm free.

  “So eager to leave my company?” Almaric asked.

  “I didn’t want it in the first place. I’m only doing this to help Duke Andre find out who murdered your father.”

  “Then you think the king was murdered? I do as well, but it was not by me. The one thing you can count on is I always speak the truth,” Almaric said. “I have no need to lie. I told my father I would take the throne by force, but now I do not need to; the High Council will vote for me, and then we will wed. Two Wolfen to share one throne. I intend for us to get to know one another quite intimately. Sometimes I do bite, but only in private, and never that hard.” He laughed louder. “You should see the blush on your cheeks!”

  “I’m not blushing,” Taliesin snapped.

  “No doubt your Grand Master wants to stab me in the back. I can smell his rage and a little bit of yours. Fergus was right about that,” he said. “I don’t approve of you sharing your bed with anyone else, Rosamond. You have cursed him with your kiss. Maybe I should force him to drink human blood.”

  “Do not bother; he wears a Broa necklace. The nails, I’m told, sealed the coffin of Chief Caninus, but were later retrieved after his body had turned to ash. In fact, I gave it to Sir Roland this morning.”

  “How early this morning?” Almaric asked.

  “Very early. I don’t need the necklace. I can control my wild side, and I assure you, cousin, you do not bring it out. Say what you like; nothing you say can upset me.”

  A dark eyebrow lifted. “You are discreet—I like that, and the Grand Master is certainly brave. With me, you never need worry whether I will or will not turn into a wolf; I, too, control my wild nature, Rosamond. We both will turn into beautiful wolves when we run with the pack at night and howl at the moon.”

  Taliesin yanked her arm free. “I do not desire to run with your pack.”

  “Then perhaps I will give you to Ragnal.”

  “In either case, I am certain you will do what you want, cousin.”

  Taliesin came to a halt and waited for Roland and the White Stag knights and squires to join them. They stood in the center of the main courtyard, surrounded by soldiers, where only yesterday she’d been trapped by a silver net. The family crypt loomed across from them, and guards stood outside the entrance. She did not see Duke Andre or Duke Hercule, and assumed they had joined the rest of the High Council. Almaric motioned for his men to wait.

  “I do not care to enter the crypt again, cousin,” she said. “It is late, Almaric. I intend to retire to my room and prepare for tonight’s banquet; I need to wash my hair.”

  “A woman’s excuse, true, but I insist,” the prince said and extended his hand. “Take it, my Lady. Show my Wolfmen we trust one another. There is a three-day truce, after all, so don’t make me regret it. I wish to see my father, and if we are to speak to him, it will be in private.” His eyes glinted with anger. “Do not make me ask you again, Rosamond; there are limits to my patience.”

  Taliesin made no attempt to take Almaric’s hand. He could have been a great leader for his people; instead, he served Ragnal. With a snarl, Almaric grabbed her arm and leaned toward her.

  “The throne is mine, Raven Mistress. I’ll kill you if you stand in my way.” Almaric glared at her with yellow eyes that glowed like a raging forest fire. “Now come with me, or I will drag you into the crypt.”

  The Wolf Prince led Taliesin down the steps and into the tunnel. Roland and the White Stags surged forward to keep up with the royal pair, while the Fregians and Wolfmen remained outside. The guards from the earlier excursion into the royal tomb stood by, and every torch remained lit, the golden light illuminating the faces of each tomb’s effigy. Taliesin jerked her arm out of Almaric’s grasp and marched to King Frederick’s coffin. She stared at his pale face as Almaric joined her and drooled on the glass. One quick glance confirmed his ears had grown to points, whiskers mixed with his thick beard, white teeth had become fangs, and he breathed heavily as he stared at his dead father.

  “It’s all right, cousin,” Taliesin said in a soothing tone. “Let us say a prayer for your father. I do not pray to the gods of Mt. Helos, but I will pray to the unnamed god the Ghajar refer to as ‘Nature.’”

  “I do not want to pray for my father. Ragnal doesn’t care,” Almaric snarled. Fur appeared on his face and his fangs flashed. He spun as several men approached the coffin.

  Roland and his men moved aside as Duke Andre and Lord Ungus, on the arm of Sertorius, appeared. Dinadan was not with them. Almaric wiped the drool from his lips and closed his eyes; his features returned to normal.

  “I apologize for my behavior, Rosamond. To pray for my father means I must contact Ragnal, for he is my god, and I do not think it would be a good idea; I know how much he wants to get his hands on you.”

  “Thank you for protecting me,” she said.

  “Are you prepared to use Doomsayer? If so, then let’s get this over with, for it is difficult to control my emotions.”

  “You loved your father?” Taliesin asked.

  “Yes, as well as my mother. My life took a turn for the worse when she died; my father was never the same, and the world seemed a little grayer.” Almaric’s hand rested upon her hand, which she had pressed against the top of the coffin, and she felt his pulse throb under his palm—a fast, steady thump. “Can a sha’tar not speak to the dead without the use of a magical weapon? What good is magic if it cannot be used for such a purpose?”

  “That is a good question, brother,” Sertorius said as he sauntered forward. “Our grandfather insisted we both witness this rare moment in Caladonian history. Dinadan refused to join us; he is afraid of what our father will say. Please, Rosamond, commence when you are ready, for I am certainly anxious to hear who killed the king.”

  “This is most unusual,” Lord Ungus said, as he leaned on his cane. “If you insist this is the only way to learn the truth, Duke Andre, then I approve. But if any harm comes to the princess, I will not be pleased. Be careful, dear Rosamond; this is dark magic you deal with, and it makes all of us uncomfortable.”

  “Be quiet, Grandfather,” Almaric snapped.

  “Please,” Sertorius added.

  The old man nodded and fell silent.

  Almaric drew Doomsayer from the jeweled scabbard at his side. Ringerike slid an inch from its sheath on her back, and a pale blue light shone on the dead king’s face beneath the glass lid. Taliesin checked to see Roland stood close before she took the gold-covered sword from Almaric. Roland gave a nod, and she took Doomsayer’s hilt in both hands, closed her eyes, and immediately heard ghostly whispers. Thoughts and images exploded in her mind; the resident dead each had a story they wanted to tell her. Overpowered by the information, her knees buckled. Two strong hands cupped her elbows; one was Roland’s and the other Almaric’s. She focused and cleared her mind to seek Frederick Draconus among the dead. At contact, she opened her eyes, able to see the ghost of King Frederick, who stood on the opposite side of the coffin. He gazed at his corpse and lifted his haggard face. His eyes were filled with hatred, but whether for her or his killer, she wasn’t sure.

  “Who killed you, King Frederick?” Taliesin asked. She was in a trance, unable to break free, and watched as the king pointed an accusing finger at her.

  “I do not know who poisoned me, Rosamond Mandrake. Why did this happen? I was a faithful servant of the gods of Mt. Helos. Yet, they took my wife from me, at the birth of Sertorius, and now our son, Konall, has joined us. The gods can be cruel. See what they have done to my poor boy?” Frederick glanced over his shoulder, where the shadowy forms of Queen Aislynn and Pr
ince Konall appeared. The queen was pale, her blonde hair floated around her face, and her gown was white. Her son held his head in his hands, his severed neck exposed, and with the queen’s help, placed it on his shoulders.

  “It is not Rosamond’s fault either of us are dead, father,” Konall said. “Do not blame her. It was Sertorius who killed me. Tell her who murdered you, father. Let her avenge you, for she is here to help our family…she is family.”

  “To what purpose?” Frederick asked. “My sister dared to have a child with a commoner, and this monstrosity is the result of their marriage. I never forgave Calista for her betrayal, nor shall I forgive her child for being born. This is a Sanqualus, not a Draconus, who stands before us, and she wants my throne!”

  “I don’t want your throne, old man,” Taliesin shouted. She tried to open her eyes, but was unable to. An arm wrapped around her waist as the strength fled her body, and another hand closed around her fingers, to help her hold onto Doomsayer. She gave a hard shudder and sobbed. “Just tell me who gave the order to kill you, Your Majesty. Your friends are here; they listen, and they want to know the truth. Tell us and we will leave you in peace.”

  “Peace? You think there is peace among the dead?” The king reached for a sword at his side, but his wife placed a hand on his arm and shook her head. “Very well, my love. For your sake, I will show this monster what I know, for I care not to speak further to her; I leave that for you and Konall.”

  “Then show her, my love. Show her what happened,” Queen Aislynn insisted.

  Taliesin no longer stood in the crypt, but inside the king’s bedchamber. The drapes around the bed were open, a fire burned in the hearth, and Frederick Draconus lay next to a female servant, ordered by Lord Ungus to keep the king warm at night. Frederick awoke from a nightmare, sweating, and pressed a hand to his forehead. Fear shined in his eyes, and he threw off the blanket; a thin white gown, dampened by perspiration, clung to his thin body. The servant, her back to him, remained asleep. The king rose from the bed and walked to a table near the fire where a pitcher of wine and two goblets sat. He poured wine, sat in a chair close to the fire, and gazed at a portrait of Queen Aislynn above the mantel.