The Queen of Mages

by Benjamin Clayborne

Amira and Dardan reined to a halt at the edge of the slope. They gazed down into the valley at Tyndam Town nestled beside a river. The River Kallain, it was named, after the first Elibander explorer to discover it. Not that the Caelanders hadn’t already had a name for it, but whatever that had been was lost to history.

  They saw no obvious regiments of royal soldiers waiting to arrest them. After a moment, Dardan nodded, satisfied of their safety, and they began down the long slope toward the town.

  Dardan insisted that this Count Barnard Kirth, who ruled over Tyndam County, was a friendly man. Amira hoped so. Dardan’s distress after Thorncross had nearly broken Amira’s heart. Amira had certainly been disappointed herself, but aside from giving them money and food, what help could nobles provide against a power like Edon’s?

  Still, if Dardan believed that Count Kirth might help them, then she would not object. Certainly they could not receive any colder a reception than they’d had from that rotten Elmer Brahim.

  Foxhill Keep plucked at her memory as they trod through the golden grasses toward the town. The fire and death and chaos had blurred, leaving only a bitter regret that she had brought it on by keeping her power secret, and that she had left Katin behind. The Caretaker alone knew what had happened to the girl.

  At least Dardan had never chastised Amira for keeping the secret. He seemed to understand why she’d done it, and he didn’t blame her for Foxhill Keep. Most men would have run screaming if they’d ended up betrothed to a witch. Dardan had forgiven her and stuck by her side. So why did she keep blaming herself?

  She made herself focus on the land before them. Where Tyndam Town sat astride it, the River Kallain was no more than a wide, shallow creek that meandered off to the north. The town nestled in a valley between long, stony ridges crowned with pine trees. The main road was off to their right; Dardan had insisted that they approach from the woods, in case the road was watched by Edon’s men.

  No longer sheltered by trees, Amira donned her kettle helm against the sun’s glare. The summer had been damply hot, but now, cooling autumn breezes came along more often than they had even a few days before.

  They rejoined the road, and as they drew close to the town Amira could make out the details of individual buildings. The houses had steeper roofs than in Hedenham, of a reddish-brown wood that glowed in the afternoon sun. The walls were all whitewashed plaster, with spots of color here and there, ochres and yellows and tans. Chimney smoke settled into a thin haze over the town, penned in by the ridges to either side.

  They caught up to a wagon drawn by an old draft horse. It bore a whole family, brothers and sisters and cousins and an old grandmother perched on the wagon’s seat, next to a man who was likely her son. Three young girls, one of whom looked almost of age, gaped at Amira in her trousers and mail. They whispered and grinned at each other. Amira was heartened to see something so mundane and normal as children giggling.

  One of the girls shifted over to the edge of the wagon and got Amira’s attention. “Are you a soldier?”

  Amira grinned. “Worse than that,” she said. “I’m a witch!”

  “Amira,” Dardan muttered.

  The girls in the wagon shrieked and laughed, and the oldest boy, barely of age, leaned over the side of the wagon. “You look more like a farmer’s daughter,” he judged. “You ever kill a man with that?”

  Amira glanced down at her sword. She’d never even drawn it, this blade she’d taken from a dead bandit. A flash of blood appeared in her vision for a moment, the bandit collapsing into a heap as she pushed—“No.” She glanced at Dardan. His jaw was clenched tight. What was he so grumpy about? There was no reason to shun contact with everyone. “I kill men with this,” she said to the boy, and blew a kiss at him.

  This drew more hoots and shouts from the other children, and the boy blushed. Amira grinned and looked directly at Dardan, whose cheeks were as red as the boy’s. Now her betrothed stared straight ahead. Didn’t he know when he was being teased?

  “A whole family heading into town,” she said, addressing the wagon again. “And finely dressed, I see.” They were all in their best, starched linen dresses and bonnets for the girls, vests and neckties and shiny boots on the boys.

  “There’s a dance tonight in the square,” said the oldest boy, who’d recovered from his embarrassment and clearly relished the attention from a beautiful woman, dingy though her clothes might be.

  “Jimsy wants a kissy-kiss,” sang one of the girls. The boy swatted at her but she ducked aside.

  “Well,” Amira confided, “dances are indeed a good place for kissing.” She eyed Dardan again. A dance would be a good place for kissing. It had been near on two weeks since Foxhill Keep, and nothing but gloom and terror since. She and Dardan could both use some entertainment.

  The family’s father, driving the horses, glanced back at her. “Quiet down, you lot,” he snapped at his brood. “What business have you here, strangers?” he addressed Amira.

  She waved a hand airily. “Following fortune, good sir. Tell me, is tonight’s dance open to one and all?”

  “Any who can conduct themselves peacefully,” he said, eyeing her weapons. “We don’t want troublemakers.”

  “Then we shall be no trouble at all,” she said, smiling, and dropped back toward Dardan.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered urgently.

  “Having a chat. Is something wrong?”

  “We should not be making ourselves noticed.” His eyes cast around now, as if spies might be lurking in the grass all around.

  Amira sighed. “We cannot spend all our days being grim and aloof. Not even at a time like this. In fact, I believe it’s especially important that we keep our spirits up. Doesn’t a dance sound like fun?”

  “Fun? My lady—” He cut off, and glanced at the wagon. “Amira. We must go directly to the count and speak with him at once. There is no time for this.”

  “On the contrary, the count will likely be at this dance of theirs. What better place to approach him?”

  Dardan shook his head. “I will not have it.”

  His refusal rankled Amira. “Well, I will,” she said, and kicked her horse to a trot. Dardan did not race after her as she’d hoped he might, but nonetheless she did not slow down or turn back.

  Tyndam’s square was of a size with Hedenham’s, though it was unpaved, a border of packed dirt around a well-tended field of grass. Amira steered clear of the magistrate’s office on the near edge and rode for the inn on the other side. Townsfolk were setting up long trestle tables on the grass, to bear refreshments for the festivities.

  She settled at a table in the common room of the River’s Bounty and got a cup of wine. Dardan stepped inside several minutes later, slapping the dust from his clothes. He dumped himself into the chair opposite her and leaned in close. “What in the black spirits is wrong with you? You’re doing nothing but calling attention to us. We should have gone to find the count’s manor directly, as I said.”

  “I asked the innkeep. The count will indeed be at the dance tonight.” Amira shoved her wine cup at him. “Drink.”

  Dardan stared down at it. “Why? Have you poisoned it?”

  “Would that be preferable?”

  “The way you’re acting, yes,” he said, but took a gulp, and another. A serving girl brought them more wine. They sat for an hour, trading drinks and loosening up as the sun went down and darkness settled outside. Dardan eventually ordered dinner, and devoured two large steaks and a mound of mashed potatoes. It dug into their silver, but she was in no mood to nag him about their finances. Count Kirth would help them with funds, or he wouldn’t, and a few coins would make no great difference in their fortunes.

  A rhythmic thumping came from without, followed by shouts and cheering. Amira drained her fourth cup of wine. She was quite tipsy now, but she’d always had a strong stomach. Even most men she knew couldn’t hold their liquor half as well. Amira pulled Dardan to his feet, planted a kiss on him, and then ran outside into
the evening, laughing at his startled expression.

  A hundred townsfolk or more were scattered across the square, their hubbub filling her ears. A ragged group of local musicians played at one edge of the grass, wielding harps large and small, horns, drums, and a large bass viol. The music of Tyndam County seemed to involve a great deal of pounding and stomping; even the harps were used as percussion. It made for a grand cacophony, and even the old and infirm, seated on benches at the edge of the square, tapped their feet in rhythm.

  Everyone else danced, or rested with cups of ale in hand. Amira saw the boy from the wagon dancing in circles with a brown-haired girl his own age. Two long lines formed across the grass, couples facing each other in formal dance. Others whirled around in exuberant pairs, hands held high. There was none of the grandeur of the summer ball, but a great deal more enthusiasm.

  Amira doffed her mail shirt and piled it with her kettle helm and sword near where she’d tied up her horse. She dragged a protesting Dardan onto the grass, and they joined the long lines, clapping hands and swinging past each other in time with the music.

  Torches on tall poles flickered over the proceedings, casting a skein of shadows. Amira’s blood rose as the music filled her ears and sweat trickled down her back. After several minutes in the lines, she pulled Dardan away and they spun each other about. She finally caught him grinning, his worries left behind in a haze of drink and song.

  After a half hour, Amira needed to catch her breath. She skipped aside, taking a cup of ale from one of the common tables. Dardan had been seized by a gray-haired matron who twirled him around like a rag doll, making Amira laugh. She gazed around the crowd, reveling in the simple pleasure of a country dance.

  Only a minor fistfight marred the proceedings. Two middle-aged men, flushed and weaving drunk, clashed together all of a sudden, throwing clumsy punches. They were separated almost at once by a swarm of other men, who had the look of kin to the two brawlers. There were some nasty looks and sharp words cast, but soon enough the knots of men dissolved back into the crowd and it was as if nothing had happened.

  She noticed a more courtly cluster of men standing to one side. They all wore finery and seemed to be centered around a man who, in his aspect, resembled Count Asmus. She wondered if this was Count Kirth. Made intrepid by drink, she marched toward him, still clutching her half-empty cup.

  “Count Barnard Kirth?” she called out as she came near, taking care to enunciate clearly so as not to sound as drunk as she felt.

  He turned his head, and blinked at the apparition who approached him: a sweaty, tipsy blonde girl wearing a tunic, leather vest, and trousers. “And who might you be?”

  “A weary traveler, grateful for your town’s hospitality.” She bowed low and flung her arms wide, rather than try a curtsey.

  “Odd raiment, for a girl,” the count remarked. The other men around him chuckled knowingly.

  “Odd times, m’lord,” Amira replied. “A new king, nobles warring…” She shook her head sadly, but gestured back at the dance. “It is good to find such life and warmth in the world, as we head toward winter.”

  The count frowned. “Warring? What do you speak of?”

  “Ah,” Amira hesitated, raising her eyebrows. “Perhaps… a moment alone, my lord?” She took a step away from the crowd. There would be no true privacy out here, but the count nodded after a moment and followed her, his valo trailing behind.

  The count looked at least fifty years of age and was taller than Amira by a head. His dark blond hair had long since been overtaken by gray, but he kept it trimmed close. His beard had grown white at the chin, fading to pale blond along the jaw. Amira thought he would have been a wide, strong man in his youth, but the years had added quite a belly to him.

  He came to a stop some distance away from the other men, who Amira assumed were barons and wealthy merchants. Amira could feel their eyes on her, and she forced herself to come no closer than arm’s reach to the count. Hanging on the man would be all too easy in her state. He might not be the kind to tolerate such public affections from a strange woman.

  “M’lord has no doubt had news of the king,” she began. She had to stop herself from giggling. Too much ale. Was this a good idea?

  Count Barnard nodded. “A week past,” he said. “This celebration was meant to help raise spirits in the wake of that terrible news.”

  “And well done, may I say,” Amira agreed. “Do you see that man over there?” She pointed out Dardan, who had escaped from the matron’s clutches, and stood at the edge of the grass, bouncing to the music. “That is Lord Dardan Tarian.”

  Barnard jerked, and stared at Dardan. “Indeed… He does resemble the boy, though it’s been a few years since I last saw him. If that is indeed Lord Tarian, where is his valo? Or his father? And who in Chaos are you?”

  “A victim of King Edon’s wrath,” she whispered. “May we call upon you in the morning to discuss matters, my lord? I fear a full recounting of events would not be prudent here.” She managed caution on that point, at least. Little lights swam in her vision. She was seized by a momentary madness to use her ember. No. It would be impolite to incinerate the count.

  Count Barnard exchanged an uneasy glance with his valo, a man who seemed only half the count’s age. After a moment, the count turned back to her. “Indeed. My manor is at the eastern edge of town. Come in the morning.”

  She bowed, thanked him, and withdrew. Her head spun as she weaved her way back to Dardan, slipping her arm through his before he noticed her. His face was flush and he smiled down at her. “Where did you get off to?”

  “Oh, introducing myself to the count,” she murmured. Dardan stiffened, looking around in a near-panic, and she laughed. “Calm down, dear boy! We shall meet him in the morning. It’s all been arranged.”

  “But we should speak with him now!” Dardan said, low and urgent.

  “We have other matters to attend to,” she said, and kissed him again, long and deep.

  “You bedevil me,” he murmured when they came up for air, and suddenly she wanted him very badly. She drained her cup, then tossed it aside and dragged Dardan toward the inn.

  She barely had patience for the innkeep’s daughter to find them a room—the innkeep himself had gone out to the dance, it seemed, and the girl pouted that she had to mind the desk while everyone else got to go have fun. Upstairs they went, Amira improvidently bestowing the last of her coppers on the girl in a fit of gratitude. She slammed the door and turned to face her betrothed.

  Dardan stood staring, like a big, dutiful sheep. She leapt onto him, wrapping her legs around his hips and clinging to his neck, smothering him with a kiss. He lost his balance and fell onto the bed, not exactly resisting, but flailing like a man thrown overboard, struggling against the implacable sea. Amira rolled off of him and started pulling off her boots.

  “We’re not married yet!” he gasped, propping himself up on an elbow.

  “We’re married in all but name.” She flung her boots onto the floor and slid off her vest. “Should we go find a steward to say the words? I saw a temple on my way in. I’m sure the priest would be happy to perform a surprise midnight wedding for two complete strangers.” She pushed him down and straddled him. She could feel him hardening beneath his trousers. Amira pulled her tunic and shift over her head. Her breasts flopped down, feeling suddenly cool, released from the sweaty garments.

  Dardan stared, shocked and spluttering. “But—we are betrothed, the wedding—we cannot—”

  Amira pulled him up so they were face to face. “I am bound to you,” she declared. “I am pledged in my heart, with or without a ceremony. Don’t you feel the same?”

  “That is lust and drink I hear speaking,” he insisted weakly.

  She kissed him again, and then pulled at his shirt. Despite his protestations, he obligingly raised his arms until the shirt slid over his head. She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, scratching him lightly with her fingernails, and he moaned a little.


  It was short work removing the rest of their clothes, and the rest of Dardan’s objections went with them. Back in Hedenham, Amira and Katin had speculated about Dardan’s bedroom experience. Katin insisted that he must have been with at least a few girls—with Liam for a valo, how could he not?—but Amira saw the nervousness in his eyes whenever she came close to him or touched his hand. She’d be surprised if he’d ever had even one girl.

  Well, his nervousness was gone, but his inexperience showed. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, grabbing her breasts too roughly until she pushed them away. “They aren’t clay,” she scolded him, and stopped her writhing. “You haven’t done this before, have you?”

  He stared up at her. Amira had pinned his hands up above his head, her face only inches above his, a bead of sweat hanging from her nose. Dardan shook his head a fraction. “No. I… almost, once…”

  His breath felt hot on her ear when she nuzzled his neck. “Well I have,” she whispered. “So hold still.” She reached down between them and grabbed his cock, hard with the iron of youth, and pressed it up until it slid in.

  “By Ardor,” he groaned as she thrust down onto him slowly, rocking back and forth until the wetness had spread and he was all the way in. Her back was sore from the day’s ride, so she bent over until her breasts pressed against him, sliding back and forth. His hands fell to the side, and despite her instruction he pushed his pelvis up with each stroke. His timing was poor, and she finally had to stop and tell him again to hold still.

  As young men do, Dardan came quickly, just as she was starting to hit her own stride. He emitted a series of staccato grunts, and his whole body clenched repeatedly until he was gasping for air. Amira only slowed at this, and when he stopped she doubled her speed, sliding one hand between them to massage her little bud.

  It took a few minutes of steady effort, and she nearly lost the thread a time or two when Dardan shifted under her, but he seemed content to wait. He probably had no idea what she was doing, the poor boy. Well, he’d just have to be taught. Men were so bad at understanding what went on down there.

  When she finally came, she bit down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. He grunted at the pain, but to his credit he didn’t try to shove her away. She slid off him, feeling the sticky wetness leaking from her, and wiped it away with the bedsheet. He was still at half-mast, and for a moment she considered using her hand or mouth on him, but she decided he’d had enough excitement for one night.

  She nestled her head into the crook of his arm, and as her heart slowed she felt herself growing drowsy. She felt like they’d either be dead soon or live forever.

  Dardan startled her when he spoke. “Will I be a father now?”

  He sounded sweetly nervous, she thought, but it was a good question. “Maybe,” she whispered. “Sometimes it takes months to get with child. Sometimes it only takes one try.”

  “We must wed now,” Dardan insisted quietly. “Soon. Tomorrow.”

  “Soon,” she promised. “But tomorrow we see the count.” She drifted off, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, faint music lulling her to sleep.

  ———

  They woke, washed, ate, and rode to the count’s manor. Dardan cast furtive looks at Amira all morning, blushing and grinning like an idiot. She smiled back, but her head was pounding. No regrets. There’s work to do.

  The manor was a rambling affair perhaps half the size of Tinehall. Amira wondered if Count Barnard had some larger domicile out in the hinterlands, or if Tyndam was just a humbler place down to the very last brick.

  The house major let them in and went to fetch the count. This was a town house, not a country house, and the decor proved it. Though less ornate than even Amira’s manse in Callaston, there was still art on the walls and patterned rugs on the floors, and not a stuffed stag’s head in sight.

  Amira wondered briefly whether the servants at her manse were all right. She missed her home and wondered if she’d ever be able to return to it. Hopefully her trade agent, Mister Hendricks, continued to manage her assets properly. She would hate to lose all that.

  Count Barnard came into the hall, his valo trailing behind. “Count Kirth,” Dardan said, bowing deeply.

  “Lord Dardan,” the count replied evenly. “It is good to see you again. Your… er… companion here was not particularly informative last evening, only saying that there had been some trouble.” He eyed Amira warily, seeming again baffled by her tunic and trousers. She’d left her armor and weapons outside, at the house major’s insistence. She hadn’t needed convincing; she had no skill with a sword, and the mail was hot and heavy.

  Dardan nodded, eyeing Amira as if she were a troublesome pet. That bit of theatrics had been her idea; for this conversation, Dardan needed to appear in control. Amira would keep quiet unless absolutely necessary. “Ah. Yes, I’m afraid it is rather a long story… might we sit?”

  Barnard’s office was spare, a desk and chairs and a wooden cabinet filled to bursting with parchment. A double door led out to a grassy yard. Dardan sat before the desk, but Amira remained standing by his side as Count Barnard lowered himself into his own chair. A little lapdog with curly black fur leapt up onto the count and settled on his knee. The count scratched absently at the dog’s ears.

  Dardan began with small talk, thanking Barnard for his hospitality, and complimenting the previous night’s entertainment. Barnard nodded graciously, but Amira could tell he was itching to know why they were there.

  When Dardan finally explained Amira’s true identity, Barnard glanced at her with an interest quite distinct from the usual sort of gaze men gave her. Dardan otherwise told much the same story as they had at Thornstar, again leaving out Amira’s power but elucidating what he could about Edon’s. And now he included their rebuffing at Thornstar by that foul old seneschal. Amira still chafed at that. At least Brahim could have let them speak to the duchess.

  Count Barnard listened patiently, and when Dardan finished, the count cleared his throat and asked his valo to fetch them all some liquid refreshment. Dardan insisted on water, saying that ale sometimes led to unexpected outcomes. Amira held back a grin.

  “Old Elmer Brahim,” the count mused. “He’s been with House Arkhail for decades. Wise and cunning, he is. I wouldn’t fancy a political contest with the man.” He sipped his wine. “But it seems to me he was too quick to dismiss you, though I can’t claim I’d have done any better in his position. Duke Loram, dead… I will have to travel to Thornstar to reaffirm my fealty to House Arkhail. Gulhin is a good lad. We had him here for a season once.”

  Amira felt it was time to contribute. “What would you have said that Lord Brahim did not, my lord?” she asked, stepping forward. Dardan shot a cautioning glance at her.

  Barnard had been staring out the window, and now he turned to look at her. “I would first and foremost have asked this: Why in the names of all the Aspects would Edon Relindos be so interested in you? I have met many an alluring girl in my time, and no man would deny your beauty. Properly attired, I’m sure even kings and princes would gape at you, and Edon probably did, at the summer ball.” He was right on that point; Edon had gaped at her, but not for her beauty. The silver light burned in her memory. “So the question, my lady, is this: What special power do you have over this man who can tear down castle walls?”

  Amira had feared this. The longer Amira kept her power secret, the safer she was, but unless they became hermits, the secret would eventually come out. Only Dardan and Katin knew, besides Edon, and who knew whom Edon might have told? Well, if the count was going to help them, he had a right to know what he was getting into. She would not make the same mistake she’d made with the Tarians.

  She wished the valo could be dismissed, but Count Kirth wouldn’t likely agree to it. Steeling herself, she stuck her hand out, palm up, and demonstrated a new form of her power, something she’d been practicing the last few nights.

  The bead of silver light appeared over her hand, and at firs
t only she could see it. She pushed energy evenly into it, and after a moment it turned white and she felt heat on her face. The bead grew brighter, and Count Barnard peered at it, his eyebrows crawling up toward his scalp. His valo gaped as the bead lifted up into the air. The little black lapdog growled and then barked at it.

  “Do not touch it,” she said, “but feel how it gives heat.” She moved the bead slowly toward the count, stopping it far enough away that he had to reach his hand out.

  “By the black spirits…” he muttered. After a moment longer, Amira released her ember, and the speck winked out.

  “Lord Dardan omitted another aspect of our journey. We were ambushed by bandits in the woods. I was forced to use this power to kill three of them.” The blood sang out in her memory again. Corpses littered the forest floor. That had been the first time she’d intentionally used her power against someone, and she’d suffered days of silent grief afterward. Dardan had not needed to see that.

  “This is the same power that King Edon wields?” Barnard asked.

  “They are similar, but his strength is much greater.” She explained about the silver light she and Edon had seen in each other. It scared her to reveal this to someone she’d just met. She prayed that the count would react favorably, or at least not try to have her killed.

  He tapped his chin, considering. “Have you seen this ‘silver light’ from anyone else?”

  “No. So far only Edon. I suppose it is some indication of this ability, but I have no idea why Edon would be so much stronger. I can start fires, and sustain a light like that for many minutes at a time without fatigue. I’ve no idea of his limits. At Foxhill Keep was the only time I’ve seen him use his power.”

  Barnard Kirth stroked his beard. “Elmer Brahim was right on one point,” he said finally. “Whatever this power is, one cannot fight it. Not directly. And consider that even if Edon did murder his father, who will bring him to justice? All justice flows from the king, and with his father dead, he is now the king. A sticky situation, that. Perhaps he will bring himself to justice.” He chuckled. “I apologize. I believe that if I were assaulted by my king, I would as well feel obligated to defend myself, no matter what authority he might have.”

  Dardan leaned forward. “M’lord, any assistance you can provide, no matter how… indirect… would be appreciated to the greatest degree imaginable.”

  Count Barnard met his eyes. “Elmer Brahim is wise to keep his head down and watch the winds.” He paused, and glanced up at Amira. “But love is a funny thing. Your father and I have known each other even longer than we’ve known our wives. We were as brothers in the war, and for years before that. I could not forgive myself if I were to turn you away out of fear for my own safety.” He stood up, and Dardan leapt to his feet. “Thus I will insist that you remain as guests in my house for a few days at least. Surely you need rest after your time on the road. And then I shall see what else I can do for you.”

  Dardan bowed. “My lord, I cannot thank you enough. It is good to know that there are still men of character in this realm.”

  “Think nothing of it, my boy,” the count said, coming around the desk and putting a hand on Dardan’s shoulder. “It is the least I could do.”

  Amira could not feel so grateful. Stay here, when Edon might be on their heels? She was still marshalling her words when Dardan spoke again. “My lord, there is one other boon I might request. Nothing material, I assure you.” He reached down and took Amira’s hands in his. Oh, no. No no no, don’t ask, I told you to wait…

  “If you might arrange that… that my lady and I be married this very day…”

  Count Kirth laughed and embraced them both. “Of course! I only wish that your father were here to share in this joy, but he will be glad when he hears of it, I do not doubt.”

  Words failed Amira entirely. I just had to bed him, didn’t I?

  CHAPTER 22

  LIAM