Queen of Magic

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  “Protect me,” Taliesin whispered to her sword.

  The Raven Sword struck and knocked the mace aside, then took a swift jab at Folando’s chest. The general struck the blue orb to no avail, and the Raven Sword snuck in a double-tap, leaving two dents in the black armor. Another swift stab from Ringerike slipped under the mace and penetrated the plate mail, cutting deep into the General’s shoulder. The wound caught the Hellirins by surprise, and Taliesin heard Madera cry out in alarm, but Dolabra laughed when his black blood splattered the ground. The sword drew back and made another fast stab as Folando swung the mace. The weapons connected and created sparks of blue and purple that showered the snow, and the crowd gasped again.

  Folando lifted the mace over his head, and a grunt of pain escaped him as he swung it toward Taliesin. But Ringerike did not behave like a normal sword, for it had a mind of its own; it moved Taliesin’s arm in the direction it wanted to go, and she let it do so. The Raven Sword knocked the shield out of Folando’s grip, and when he grasped his mace with both hands, Ringerike sliced through his armor and cut open his thigh. This time, Folando roared in pain, a noise that echoed through the trees. He planted his legs and swung his mace at Taliesin, and when Folando attempted to strike her, she simply moved out of the way. When he stepped back to recover his energy, Ringerike took no pity and struck. The tip pierced the general’s breastplate and penetrated his side, then withdrew quickly, and black blood again splattered the snow. Taliesin glanced at the blade, telling it she did not want to kill Folando, only wound him, and Ringerike replied with an angry whine.

  “That sword…it fights for you,” Folando huffed. “Korax said that it did, but I didn’t believe him.”

  “We fight together! Do you hear me, Ringerike? Together!”

  As the sword steadied in her grip, ready to cooperate and to disarm the general, the howls of wolves and the cries from the soldiers ended the duel. Folando retrieved his shield as Taliesin fell in beside him. He turned toward her, and she smelled his fetid breath.

  “It’s the Wolf Pack,” Folando said, sounding as furious as he looked, and his eyes flashed as he whipped the mace in a circle, stirring the snow at his feet. When he stopped, he pointed the spiked tip toward her. “You have brought these foul beasts to our door. Was this your plan all along? These creatures destroyed your clan; we didn’t. Nor did we bring about the downfall of Korax. So, if you came to exact your revenge, you have wronged the innocent parties, as so many others like you have done in the past.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. I came here to warn you and to plead for your help,” Taliesin replied. “This must have been what it was like in Padama after I left, when the survivors fled the city. With no one left to protect them, the innocent were bitten and forced to drink blood, and when they did, they turned Wolfen.”

  The howls grew louder in response, as if the hunters had heard Taliesin’s every word, and the pack closed in around them—thousands of voices crying in the dark. The Hellirins turned outwards, shields and weapons lifted, all the species acting as one, but they were unable to see the Wolf Pack through the trees. Taliesin could not see the glowing yellow eyes of Lykus and his kin, but she knew they were out there. She knew the Hellirin soldiers were frightened, though their commander was not. Folando was inspiring to watch, emboldened by this new threat, for he had to save his people and the woman he loved. She’d never seen a commander so eerily calm, exhibiting such strength of purpose and willingness to face death. This was possibly Folando’s and his army’s last battle, their final death, and no magic could prevent what was about to happen. But she tried, and as her thoughts linked with the Wolfen, she heard the one thought that compelled them—the voice of Ragnal rang in her head, too. He said a single word. “Kill!”

  “It’s Ragnal,” Taliesin gasped as she broke contact. She stumbled forward and Folando blocked her, letting her slam into his body as his shield pushed her back on her feet. “Ragnal brought them here. I tried, but I cannot control them, General; they will not listen to me. Nor are they here to turn you. They came to kill you, and when they are through, they will move on to Duvalen. Someone must warn Dehavilyn and Boran before it’s too late!”

  “Duvalen is closer to the mountains than Nethalburg,” he said. “If they are here, they are also at the Lorian walls. Something kept me from joining Almaric, and I’d already decided to turn back before the Lorians caught us. I knew the war god meant to destroy us, and that’s why I turned back.”

  “I will stand at your side and fight,” Taliesin said.

  “This is not your fight, girl. You must reach Mt. Helos.”

  The polar bear lumbered to the general’s side, and he climbed into the saddle. At his order, Madera and Dolabra were ushered into Nethalburg, and the goblin infantry filed back out, but in the distance fighting could already be heard. The battle cries of darklings and the snarls from Wolfen mingled with the ringing of swords and the crash and splintering of trees as the sounds of battle filled the night. Folando turned to Taliesin, as Bonaparte grew and turned into a dragon. Bonaparte lifted his head to the sky and belched out fire; the forest grew bright, and Taliesin saw skirmishers fighting in the trees.

  “Ragnal and Varg must be killed,” Folando shouted. “It’s up to you, Taliesin! You have my permission to enter Nethalburg and take a boat to Mt. Helos. Pay the boatman a gold coin, and he will take you to the door in the mountain. Whatever you do, stay inside the boat, and speak to no one on the shores of the river. Leave your fear at the bottom of the stairs, girl, for once you go through that door, there is no turning back. Find your friends and free Zarnoc and Mira. If I can, I will meet you there.” He straightened in the saddle and cast his eyes forward. “You are so much like Korax; it pleases me to know the Sanqualus line lives on. Now, go before it’s too late.” He lifted his mace in the air. “Dragon, are you in the mood to kill Wolfen?”

  “I thought you’d never ask!”

  “Hellirins! Fight! Fight for your very lives!”

  Bonaparte jumped into the air with a mighty roar as Folando charged forward on his polar bear, leading his soldiers. As soon as the dragon gained height, he flew low across the forest and fire spewed from his jaws in a wide arc, burning trees and Wolfen. Taliesin ran to the mouth of the cave to find soldiers filing out as a horn blared within, and she passed hundreds of armored darklings eager to join their general. A regiment of soldiers with tusks and long snouts rushed out, and she slipped inside and followed torches that made crystals in the walls glow like lanterns. Footsteps heading in her direction caused her to pause and press against the side of the tunnel as darkling knights in Maldavian, Fregian, and Bavolian armor, led by a darkling Knight of Chaos, jogged past her.

  As soon as they were gone, Taliesin ran toward a wide staircase that led deep into the ground. Several small demons brushed against her, jabbering in a strange language as they ran up the stairs. She went down and entered the subterranean kingdom of Nethalburg. The cave was nothing like she expected; it was enormous and seemed like another world, a dark world. Overhead, roots from trees made a strange sky, and a large gold bridge arched over a foul-smelling black river. There was no need to cross the bridge into Nethalburg, for a pier with a boat jutted into the water on her side of the river. She stepped off the stairs onto the pier, aware of ghostly shapes that flew through the air and spoke in garbled, haunted voices.

  “Keep moving,” a loud voice shouted.

  Taliesin looked up at the bridge where officers with pale faces and purple lips led a regiment of lizardmen carrying jagged-tipped spears out of the cave. She heard the gates to the cave close with a loud clank as she continued down the staircase, slick with moss, to find a black sail already raised on the barge. A boney hand stuck out, waiting for a coin. She held Ringerike aside, aware of a strange force that tickled the outside of the blue orb like fingernails scratching at silk. She knew it was Death, and it wanted to get inside the orb to claim her life. Ringerike never felt more powerful in her hand
, and she felt no fear as she removed a coin from her pouch. A pair of glowing, yellow eyes peered from beneath a hood as she placed the coin in the boatman’s palm, and at his nod, climbed into the barge.

  “General Folando has ordered you to take me to Mt. Helos. I will pay you another coin when we reach our destination.”

  “Not needed. Sit,” a hollow voice said.

  Taliesin found a place at the prow, among bags of what appeared to be crushed bones, beneath a signal lantern that hung on a pole and provided a golden light as the boatman started to untie the line. She placed the sword on her lap, still bathed in its light, and heard a rat squeak as it crawled out from between the bags. Its eyes were pale and flesh hung on its black, furry body. A zombie rat, she thought, watching it scurry along a rope, attempting to leave the boat before it pushed away from the dock. A long, wooden oar, darkened with moss, skimmed the surface of the water, and the sail filled with a breeze Taliesin could not feel through the slits in her helmet.

  The boat glided through the murky water, and Nethalburg faded from view as the oarsman guided the boat into the middle of the river where the current ran fastest.

  Taliesin’s thoughts drifted to Heggen, and she wondered how he had been chosen as keeper of the dead, charged with bringing souls to Mt. Helos, as she gazed at ghostly forms that flew across the rocky landscape on either side of the river. How far did the Nethalburg domain extend? Had the cave always been there, or had the Hellirins dug it out by hand or with magic? Her questions were many, yet she did not dare ask the boatman for answers. Overhead the roof of the cavern lay hidden in gloom, yet she saw roots descending from it, and a few had turned white where they dipped into the river. The sounds of battle, mixed with Bonaparte’s occasional roars, drifted across the water and left behind ripples, and she shivered before Ringerike reminded her to ‘feel no fear.’

  Part of her regretted leaving the battle, for she knew Folando and Bonaparte might die. If the Hellirins were defeated and Nethalburg overrun by Wolfen, she knew the Lorians would not fare any better, given their dislike of war. She noticed an empty bag on the bottom of the boat, and pulled it up and over her shoulders to hide her armor and sword, but the blue glow remained. Boats passed them on the river, but the Hellirin crews ignored the boatman. Ringerike throbbed on her lap, warning her to remain silent. Heggen might be in one of the boats looking for her, so she lowered her head when she heard the shrill cry of a raven.

  Vendel, Heggen’s pet raven, ate the souls of the dead, she thought, as a raven flew over their boat and vanished from sight at a bend in the river. She wondered, for a moment, if Vendel searched for her, too, and then turned her thoughts to the identity of her silent oarsman. The urge to turn and gaze at him gnawed at her, but she refrained from doing so. If Heggen were steering the boat, he would try to kill her on the journey. Yet again, Ringerike reminded her not to be afraid.

  A scaled tail slid past, and Taliesin wondered what horrible things lay submerged in the black water. Her nostrils filled with a fishy odor as the boat entered a large chamber, pushed along by the breeze that filled only the sail and did not touch her. She heard the loud roar of a waterfall, and felt the oarsman lean the boat to the starboard side as the river forked in four directions. Three forks spilled over the waterfall, but the fourth led into another tunnel, and this was the direction they followed. As they glided on, the dead, human and fairy-born, appeared on the shoreline. Their piteous cries haunted her as the boat passed the forlorn figures, their robes in tatters and their faces so gaunt they resembled skeletons. The Raven Sword told her these were the damned, left unclaimed by Heggen, and they wandered the underworld, tormented by past sins too great to forgive. What had they done to deserve such a fate? Had they killed in wanton abandon or done too little during their lives? Had they angered the gods or merely been too selfish or cruel to forgive? The sword did not answer, but the oarsman suddenly spoke.

  “Unwanted. Unloved. The forsaken call to you,” he said. “Do not speak to them, no matter who you see, or they will attempt to swim to us and swamp the boat. If they tip our boat, you will die, your soul will absorb their pain and suffering, and you will join them, Raven Mistress.”

  “Taliesin! It is me! Osprey! Your father!”

  The voice was true to her memory; she knew it was her adopted father, but she kept her eyes on her lap. Her sword vibrated as it recognized Osprey’s voice. A loud splash from the shoreline and the sobs of the former Raven Master twisted her insides. Guilt lifted her eyes. She spotted Master Osprey wading out to the boat. Deep claw marks mangled his face, an eye hung from a socket, and he carried his right arm. She avoided eye contact. Shadowy forms joined the old man wading into the black water.

  “Throw off your cloak. Let them see you,” the boatman demanded.

  “Why?” Taliesin hissed.

  “Do as I say or we will both be drowned!”

  Taliesin tossed aside the filthy bag and lifted Ringerike into the air. The blue light radiated bright and sharp, and the dead screamed, hands pressed over their eyes, as the current carried the boat away. Master Osprey sunk under the water, and something slid beneath the boat before a scaled tail slapped the water. The sounds of screams filled her ears, and Taliesin pulled Ringerike against her chest and refused to be afraid as she willed the boat to move faster. With a sudden jerk, the sail filled completely, and they sped past the dead.

  “Onward, east to Mt. Helos,” Taliesin whispered. “Eyes straight ahead. Boatman, this is the second time my adopted father has been eaten; I hope he can forgive me.”

  “Curious you say that, Raven Mistress. Do you forgive the Raven Master for his past sins? Do you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I forgive Osprey for not telling me Lord Arundel was the man who murdered my real father, John Mandrake. I forgive him for keeping the identity of my mother a secret—she is dead, too. I hope neither of my real parents are here, but if they are, then I forgive my mother for conspiring against me, and my father for loving her too much and leaving me alone.”

  “Forgiveness is all it takes to free their spirits,” the oarsman said in a knowing voice. “Those who are free, go to netherworld, but until Heggen is dead, none can know true peace in the afterlife. You alone must kill Heggen.” He guided the boat away from the rocks and whirlpools that appeared in the river. “Here I have been for ages, taking the dead to and from Mt. Helos, but this is the first time a live human has sat in my boat; the first time, and perhaps the last.”

  “I forgive you too, sir, though I do not know your sins.”

  “Too many, too many,” he said. “But I thank you all the same. Until Folando releases me for what I did to him, I must remain at the oar. Ask not what I did, as I will not, and cannot, say, for it is…forbidden.”

  Taliesin thought of Zarnoc, and his image formed in her mind and helped shut out the cries of the dead. In an instant, the wizard’s shimmering form, wearing a robe and a tall, pointed hat, appeared next to her, and pointed down the tunnel.

  “You will soon reach Mt. Helos,” Zarnoc said, and laughed when she tried to touch him. “I am here, and not here, child.”

  “Are you all right? Has anyone been harmed? Am I in time to save all of you?” Taliesin asked. She felt her confidence soar at his smile, and felt certain she would arrive in time, until he answered.

  “Some are good. Some are not. Navenna and Broa have left with armies to fight the Lorians. Heggen and Ragnal storm Nethalburg. They believe you will fight with the Hellirins, and for the moment, no Maeceni are in Mt. Helos, at least not those who appear human. But, their pets remain.”

  “What about Mira?” Taliesin asked.

  “Mira remains a prisoner in Mt. Helos and waits for you. We all wait.”

  “The All Father is dead,” the oarsman croaked. “I should not have looked, but there he is, standing on the shore. Watching us, he is.”

  “I forbid you to stop for him. Keep moving!” Zarnoc shouted.

  The barge trembled, and Taliesi
n resisted the urge to look at Stroud, though she heard his cries. ”Taliesin, help me.” She shivered at the distress and mournfulness in the dead god’s voice, and her fingers, encased in Boran’s gauntlets, tightened around her sword. More voices called out, “Help us, help us.” She concentrated on the boat and heard Zarnoc laugh as they raced rapidly through the water.

  “Nicely done, child; you will arrive sooner than I thought,” Zarnoc said with pride. “When the boatman lets you off at the pier, take the stairs to the very top, and Ringerike will show you where to find us. We are in a tower to the north side of the palace, locked in cells and guarded by Varg.”

  “Has Talas Kull reached the mountain yet?”

  “Mortal men who do not use magic must rely on their own two feet. No, he has not yet arrived, child. Ragnal sent a Wolf Pack to deal with Talas Kull; if you want to save him, you had best hurry. Kill Varg and you will set all Wolfen free, and they will surrender and go home. Hurry. I will be waiting.”

  The wizard’s form started to fade, and Taliesin looked up as the boat glided toward a grand marble dock that jutted into the dark water. There was a single galley at the dock; Heggen’s vessel, a beautiful, yet horrific thing. Skulls were tied onto its golden sides, and three black sails hung limp on their masts. No guards stood watch, and torches in stands on the pier flickered to life upon their arrival. The Maeceni had not anticipated an assault on their mountain from the Shadow River, she thought, and Ragnal had seriously underestimated her abilities. She took another coin from the pouch as the boat knocked against the dock, climbed out, turned, and tossed it to the boatman. His hand snatched the coin out of the air.

  “I said it was not necessary. But thank you, and farewell, Raven Mistress,” he said. “If ever you come this way again, the trip is free.”

  The boat turned and headed up the river.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Three