Queen of Magic

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  “A woman can become queen in Skarda, but she must defeat the current Talas to do so,” Kull said. “None has ever done so, nor am I concerned one will, for though I am both loved and feared by my people, most of all they respect me. While Almaric is eager to marry you, Taliesin, in my land it is the woman who asks a man to wed. No woman has yet asked to marry me, though I cannot imagine why. You could ask me, cousin. You could even defeat me in battle and take possession of Skarda.”

  “Taliesin would never do either, barbarian,” Bonaparte growled. “I think it is time we let her rest. While she sleeps, I will find out what is going on in the Magic Realms and on Mt. Helos. Wrap up those weapons, Kull, and leave them on the table; I am sure Taliesin wants to give the rest of those swords to her clan.”

  “Right now, I really don’t care,” she replied. “I am so tired.”

  With a heavy sigh, Taliesin twisted her ring to make her armor vanish. Leaving Bonaparte to talk to the animals and Kull to drink mead, she lay on her side on the bed with Ringerike still strapped to her back and used the fur cloak as a blanket. She fell asleep the moment she closed her eyes and dreamed it was springtime at Ascalon Castle. A warm sun shined over the courtyard, and lords and ladies listened to a bard sing. Soldiers stood at the tops of the seven towers, and a trumpet blew as knights rode through the gate and saluted Prince Tarquin and his wife, Valkyri, who walked along a stone path. Butterflies fluttered around the royal pair, rabbits followed at their heels, and birds chirped in the magically tall trees.

  Tarquin turned to Taliesin as she appeared on the path, and motioned for her to join them. “Come sit with us in the garden,” he said in a melodious voice. “It is a beautiful day, and Valkyri likes to sit in the sunshine. In her pregnancy, she eats for two, and such a large breakfast makes my warrior-bride sleepy; however, I prefer to keep her with me instead of seeing her off to bed. You have not seen Ascalon in the springtime before, Taliesin—at least not in a warm spring like this—and we have much to talk about.”

  “Come,” Valkyri said, her voice strong and husky.

  Tarquin and Valkyri led her through an archway into a garden full of wild flowers and thorny rose bushes. A stone bench, covered with a blue blanket and pillows that provided a spot for Valkyri to rest, waited under a tall ash tree. Taliesin sat beside Valkyri, while Tarquin stretched out on the lawn and wiggled his boots with boyish enthusiasm. His black hair and dark blue eyes reminded her of Sertorius; it was a handsome face. Tarquin was a kind, warm-hearted man, with a cheerful laugh, and it pained Taliesin to think of how he and his family had been cut down in their prime. He was nothing like King Korax, who had been an aggressive, abusive man. Nor was Valkyri anything like his Hellirin queen, Madera, who had been a quiet, cunning woman. This queen was fair-haired and bright-eyed, and she attracted a variety of butterflies which landed on her shoulders and swollen belly, and fanned themselves in the sunlight. They were such a lovely couple, and so deeply in love, it was awful to know how they died. But there were no such cares or concern in this strange, magical world.

  “Taliesin is as tall as I,” Valkyri said. “Like me, she is skilled with a sword. There are not many warrior-women like us. My people come from far, far to the west, but I came here with Tarquin a long time ago on a long ship. Eventually, we built this castle and many others like it in the Stavehorn Mountains, and attracted the attention of the gods of Mt. Helos and of the Magic Realms. For a while, we had peace and enjoyed our neighbors.”

  Tarquin smiled. “Back then, Skarda was a great wilderness, and had no name; nor was it inhabited by people, until I conquered it. Now, I have my eye on Black Castle. King Korax is considered a great warrior. I have never fought him before, but I am certain Calaburn could defeat Ringerike in battle. What do you think, Valkyri?”

  “I think you’re a braggart, and I love you very much.”

  “Then I am here before you fight Korax,” Taliesin said. “Where I come from, Ascalon has long since fallen into ruins.” The castle looked brand new, and the mortar between the stones looked fresh. The stained-glass windows were spotless, the oak doors polished, and every shell on the path in its place. Tarquin reached for his wife’s hand and held the palm to his lips.

  “This place does exist when Korax was alive, and as of this moment, I have yet to fight him,” Tarquin said. “I know it’s a bit confusing, Taliesin. This is the netherworld, like the space between pages in a book, and here anything and everything can happen, time and time again. But no matter what happens, it doesn’t change what happens in your world.”

  “Don’t fight him, Tarquin,” Taliesin said. “I don’t know whether you can change the past or not, but if you can, stay here. Do not do Queen Dehavilyn’s bidding, use Graysteel in battle, or enter Caladonia to kill Korax. My sword means well, but it was made for a Sanqualus, and it will betray you after you kill Korax, and you will die. Talas rules after you, and your wife and youngest son, Lachenvar, are killed by a dragon.”

  The moment Taliesin mentioned the dragon, Vargas the Black, she glanced at Tarquin’s ring on her right hand. The sapphire twinkled in the sunlight, hiding the fact it created red-dragon scales from Huva’khan, whom Tarquin had killed in battle. She assumed Vargus killed Tarquin’s family out of revenge. Tarquin wore the same ring on his left hand, where a wedding ring should have been, and this surprised her. She had not known the Draconus ring was a wedding ring, and wondered if Valkyri had killed the dragon instead of her husband. There was so much to ask the prince about; she wanted to know how he had obtained Calaburn, how he had met his wife, and who had killed Huva’khan, whose spirit was contained in the ring, but she refrained.

  “Talas has not yet been born. I suppose to you this is but a dream,” Tarquin said in a gentle voice. “We are ghosts from the past, Taliesin. Events that weigh on your mind have not yet transpired, yet everything has already happened as it was meant to. That’s the way of dreams.”

  “Why am I here?” Taliesin said. “Don’t get me wrong. I love spending time with both of you. It makes me want to have lived during this time; a type of golden age, I suppose, before the Maeceni forced war on you. I know the gods created the war between you and Korax, and they convinced Dehavilyn to set things in motion to bring about such pain and suffering. I cannot blame only one god or goddess, when I know each had a different role, though I don’t know why they did this.”

  “Boredom, jealously, and a desire for blood,” Tarquin said. “The Maeceni have been here far longer than the Lorians or Hellirins. They have been here for ages, though there are far fewer now who live on Mt. Helos, and their numbers continue to dwindle as they wage war on each other.”

  “We came to warn you, Taliesin. Speaking privately in dreams is the best way to make certain others don’t overhear,” Valkyri said and took Taliesin’s hand. She felt warm and real, and her grip was firm. “We don’t want to be overheard by the gods of Mt. Helos. And they listen, child. They always listen, and they are far more powerful than the Lorians or the Hellirins; do not think otherwise. Arundel was an amateur compared to Ragnal and the others. The Maeceni, like you, toyed with Arundel, and now he is dead. However, your future is open, and anything can happen.”

  Tarquin nodded. “Ragnal and Navenna captured your friends. They now mean to toy with you, Taliesin. They have done so since the day you were born.”

  “I knew it wasn’t Mira, though I know she had a part in what happened to both of you and to Korax,” Taliesin said. “Mira is now Ragnal’s prisoner, and the war god rules Mt. Helos. I suppose that means Stroud is dead. Is he dead? Did Ragnal kill his father?”

  Valkyri and Tarquin exchanged a thoughtful smile.

  “Yes,” Tarquin said. “Let me tell you a little about the Maeceni. They come from a place called Akrillae, across the Urall Ocean, but they left their homeland to seek new lands. Long before our people arrived, the Maeceni arrived to find the Lorians already living here. Two immortal races found it difficult to share the same piece of land, despite its
size, and a great war was fought. Those among the fairy-folk who died were later revived by magic, and they became darklings, the Hellirins—things not dead, yet not alive. Darklings chose to live beneath the ground in Nethalburg, and the fairies in Duvalen, above the surface. But the Maeceni chose to live on top of the highest mountain, and there they built a great palace on Mt. Helos.”

  Duvalen and Nethalburg have always been controlled by Mt. Helos.” Valkyri lifted her hand, and a blue butterfly sat on her index finger. “You have been to Duvalen, but not to Nethalburg, and I fear you may yet travel there, Taliesin. The ‘Mystic Realms’ is an affectionate term, used to distinguish those lands from those of mankind. The netherworld is not ruled by the Maeceni, but there is a doorway from here to the underworld, where Heggen, the god of the underworld, rules, and the Hellirins were created to guard this doorway. I suppose to some, this place is heaven, and the underworld is a type of hell.”

  The prince pointed to the east. “You must go to Mt. Helos, if you are to save your friends. The Maeceni do have a weakness, and we want you to know why they left the lands of Akrillae.”

  “My people drove them out,” Valkyri stated. “I come from a long line of fierce, warrior women. We are invincible in battle because we show no fear. Without fear in your heart, you can defeat the Maeceni; it is the only way. Magical weapons can help, especially a sword like Ringerike, which was actually forged to defeat the Maeceni, not the Draconus family. King Korax was always at war with Ragnal, and now you are because you are Korax’s heir. Nor was Calaburn created to fight Ringerike, as you were told, but to protect the Draconus family. The Lorians, like your friend Zarnoc, did not tell you this, Taliesin, because if they had, the Maeceni, who are cruel, selfish, and lazy, would have punished them. They would not have survived as long as they have if not for their powerful, dark magic. Tarquin and I came here with our people to finish them off, but we fell under their enchantment. This is partly due to the Lorians and partly due to us underestimating the power of magic in this realm.”

  “I should have listened to Zarnoc, who visited us here and told me to return home, across the sea,” Tarquin said. “He warned me what would happen, yet here we are, and I continue to make the same mistake, or rather will make the same mistake, by waging war on Korax, as I have done countless times. We are forced to relive what happened, Taliesin, unable to change things, for that is how it is in this place. But, you can change this for us if you destroy the Maeceni; it is their dark magic that created the netherworld, after all.”

  “I have fought Ragnal three times,” she said. “Ringerike wounded him in the last fight, and now I understand why. Is Mira on my side?”

  Tarquin nodded. “Yes, but she is still a Maeceni and must die. Do not trust her, but you may surely sympathize with her plight. All must die for the dead to be set free, Taliesin, and the gods and goddess do bleed. They can be killed. You have magic, and you have Ringerike, and you can defeat them.”

  “The Maeceni have magical weapons too,” Taliesin said, “and they have my friends. For whatever reason, Korax was unable to kill Ragnal, and Arundel made the mistake of trusting them. I do not intend to make either mistake. I plan to defeat them, but I must know how many gods and goddesses actually remain, and whom I am to fight.”

  Valkyri released Taliesin’s hand. “Can you name them, Tarquin, or has death made you forgetful, my love?”

  The prince laughed “Stroud, Broa, Heggen, Ragnal, Mira, and Navenna are the only gods that remain. Once there were thousands, but they do not breed with men, fairy folk, or darklings. This, and war, has led to their dwindling numbers, but they also have supernatural creatures who protect them. Varg, the wolf, you know. There are also Midus, the four-headed dog, and Vendel, the raven. You must kill them, too. Now, how many fingers do you see, hmm? How many?”

  A hard shake to Taliesin’s shoulder sent the butterflies into the air. Another caused Valkyri to smile sadly, and Tarquin jumped to his feet, alarmed, as the garden vanished under a cold wind. Left alone in the dead of winter, a third shake awoke Taliesin to find Bonaparte holding her shoulders and staring into her eyes. Kull knelt beside the bed with his hand in the air.

  “How many fingers do you see?” Kull asked, and held up nine fingers. “You have given us both a fright. Your eyes were wide open, and you have been talking out loud. Bonaparte says you were in a trance. Are you awake?”

  “I was in Ascalon in the springtime,” Taliesin said, as a tear slid down her cheek. She already missed Tarquin and Valkyri, and the peace found in old Ascalon. The smell of rabbit on Kull’s breath worked like smelling salts, and she bolted upright. “Only nine Maeceni live on Mt. Helos. Six gods and three beasts, and we must kill them to end their reign of suffering and cruelty. Princess Valkyri said her people drove the Maeceni out of Akrillae, and that Ringerike was actually made to defeat them, not the Draconus family. I must kill the old gods, and you must help me.”

  “Is that all?” Kull said, as he stood. “You were right, Bonaparte. The ghosts of Tarquin and Valkyri did pay a call on Taliesin; I was going to blame it on the mead. I know I drank too much, and I need to lie down, so move over, cousin.”

  “You can have the bed,” Taliesin said. She took Bonaparte’s hand, cool and firm, and slid out of the bed. The exchange was timed to perfection; Kull took a nosedive into the pillows, and she covered him with a fur blanket.

  “Let him sleep,” Bonaparte said. “You and I can now make plans to attack Mt. Helos. I do, however, wish a few dragons still remained.”

  “Margery, I think I love you,” Kull groaned in his sleep.

  Taliesin and Bonaparte looked at each other and laughed.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Taliesin and Bonaparte leaned over the table and stared at the Deceiver’s Map. It was late afternoon, and Kull still slept while patrols came and went, reporting to Bonaparte. She marked the positions of their enemies on the map. Almaric, at the head of his massive army, had left Padama and now moved northeast, and she wondered if his destination might be Mt. Helos.

  As the dragon filled two glasses with water, she grabbed a piece of cornbread, slathered it with honey, stuffed it into her mouth, and spoke with her mouth full. “Had I lived a thousand years ago, I would have stopped Tarquin and Korax from fighting each other. I may not understand how things work in the netherworld, but I can’t imagine anything worse than reliving that duel every day for eternity.” She reached for another piece of cornbread, liking the grit and the still-warm center. This time she didn’t bother with honey, since she wasn’t overly fond of sweets.

  “Be glad you are not trapped in that dream world,” Bonaparte said. “Even if you had lived back then, Taliesin, I doubt you would have been able to stop Tarquin and Korax from fighting, and you would have ended up another casualty in the war. Since you mentioned Jaelle earlier, and told me that she has the Moon Ring, I will tell you going to Nethalburg without it to ask for Folando’s help is as dangerous as entering Mt. Helos. Madera lives in Nethalburg and serves Duchess Dolabra. I visit her now and then, but I do not think she will be happy you gave her ring to your gypsy friend.”

  Taliesin tapped on the map, which now showed a detailed layout of Mt. Helos. “The Maeceni and their three pets are in the palace,” she said. “They have an armory filled with weapons, and that’s nice to know, since my friends will need them. Map, show me the location of Roland and Zarnoc! Show me where to find my friends. I know you know where they are being kept, and I demand you show me!”

  The map suddenly cleared and showed her nothing at all.

  “Zoltaire made seven of these maps, but only three survived the Magic Wars. I have one, you have one, and Dehavilyn has the third,” Bonaparte said with a snort, and tiny bursts of smoke jetted out his nostrils. “That old sorcerer was a trickster, to be certain, and so are his maps. Some say Zoltaire lives in Nethalburg, but that is only gossip, of course, for I have his bones in a jar downstairs; I had the pleasure of kill
ing him when he came here to rob me. The sorcerer was evil, and he used these maps to deceive people he wanted to send to their deaths, hence the name. Since you are a powerful sha’tar, it works for you most of the time.”

  Taliesin removed her sword belt, placed Ringerike on the table, and stretched her back; her muscles ached after her nap. As she gazed at the map, the dragon-man leaned over it and the Magic Realms appeared. He traced a long, black fingernail across Nethalburg and then across Duvalen

  “It works better for you. But you are a dragon,” Taliesin said.

  “The wizard cast many spells on this map, but no magic exists that can keep a dragon from seeing through it. The map never lies to me, since I killed Zoltaire.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I am full of amazing knowledge and information, Taliesin. Dragons are far older than the Maeceni and Lorian. When I told you before that I was the last of my kind, I was being evasive; I am the last dragon in Caladonia. Many dragons still live in Akrillae, but that is very far away. Perhaps one day I shall return there, for I do miss the company of dragons.”

  Taliesin leaned back as the dragon-man continued to study the map. His elegant, long fingers slid across images only he could see. His nails were black and tapered, and tiny scales, smooth as snakeskin, covered his dark hands. On his shoulders were the largest scales, fashioned like pauldrons, and his muscular chest looked as if he wore a thick breastplate, but it was all him. She could not imagine any knight fighting a dragon, either in his natural form or in the form of a man, and living to tell the tale.