The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) (21 page)

“…would
forcefully take an inheritance that isn’t theirs.”

“That’s
the general thought in those quarters, yes.”

Kora’s
knees began to shake, but she bolstered herself against the wall. She felt
faint, whether from the fumes or from disgust at Arbora’s revelation, she
didn’t know. Either way, she protested, “People don’t say that.”

“Don’t
they? I’ve heard it myself. I hear it all the time, especially from the rural
population up north. Except Fontferry,” Arbora qualified. “Fontferry claims you
as its own, but the rest of Herezoth…. Why are you here? Haven’t you interfered
enough in our affairs? Don’t you realize I could drag you outside, and it would
be the end of you?”

“You
blackmail the king, and say I’ve
interfered
in Herezoth’s politics? Don’t you threaten me. I know your type. You have words
and more words, but when it comes time to act…. Did you act to restore the
king’s children to him? Did you act to free August from the Palace, if you’re
so offended by her staying there?”

“I
entered negotiations with the king on her behalf.”

Kora
laughed. “Negotiations? You know who actually was a captive in that building?
My brother. Zalski held him, a boy not much older than Rexson’s sons are now,
and I didn’t negotiate. I got him out of there. Negotiations, you say. Words….
Tell me, your little group, has it achieved a single objective in all these
years?” Arbora smoldered. Kora could see the blush in her cheeks through the
smoke. “You’ve accomplished nothing, haven’t you? Admit it. You won’t make
public I was here.”

“
I
won’t, you’re right about that, you….”

“What?
What am I?”

Arbora
took a deep breath. “A sorceress. You’re a sorceress, curse you. And your
children, they’ll have powers. They should be raised by someone who can teach
them to use magic, even if that someone’s as misguided as you are.”

“What
is your problem with me?”

“You
had the chance to shape history. To stand in defense of magic, and instead you
spat in its face. You did more than that, you slit its throat.”

Kora
coughed in disbelief. “This is about…?”

“About
Zalski, yes.”

Kora
marched up to Arbora, kicking a statuesque goose over as she went. “You think
you know me? You think that because you do magic, you have a right to judge my
life?” Her fellow sorceress was too stunned to respond; she actually backed up
against the far wall as Kora advanced, nearly tripping on Gratton’s frozen
form. “You’ve heard about me, have you? Got all the gossip? Well, I didn’t put
this in my letter to the papers: did you hear that the first time Zalski’s
guards ran across me after that ruby plastered itself on my face, they tried
their damnedest to kill me, for no cause whatsoever? It was after Zalski
learned I could cast a spell he considered letting me live. Offered to let me
live, in fact. Kind of him, no?”

“I….”

“You
blame me for magic’s collapse, is that it? For that consequence of Zalski’s
demise? Zalski turned magic into the political issue of our time. I never did
that. I never wanted
that. I didn’t
involve myself in politics. Zalski and his soldiers forced me to defend myself,
so I did just that, actively and with no regrets. But I…. What am I saying? I
don’t have to explain myself to you. What about you, Arbora? You were of age.
Where were you while I was fighting for my life? If Zalski’s philosophy was so
dear to you, why weren’t you fighting at his side?”

To
hear her self-condemnations echoed in such a way, by such a traitor, was more
than Arbora could bear. For Kora Porteg to chastise her indolence and
indecision was the same as a physical assault, and Arbora responded in kind.
Forgetting Kora’s children, forgetting everything but her own rage and
humiliation, she shouted “
Espadara
,”
and a jewel-hilted sword appeared from nowhere, slashing seemingly of its own
volition at Kora’s neck. Kora had no time to raise her magic barrier. She flung
herself sideways to the
floor,
avoiding decapitation by inches. Then she did conjure a defense, crossing her
arms before her chest as she and Arbora, at the same instant, yelled “
Desfazair.
” Arbora’s sword clashed
against Kora’s crimson shell with a sound like metal against rock.

The
women had thought alike: Arbora freed Dorane from his stasis, while Kora
unfroze Zacry. The men needed mere seconds to gather what must have happened,
during which Arbora’s magic failed to breach Kora’s encasing and Kora vanished
the sword swinging time and again at her crimson shell. Zacry looked as though
he wanted to transport nearer, but Kora let her shell drop and motioned for him
to stay put. No need to risk one spell taking out them both; she had learned
that the hard way fighting Zalski. Kora was shocked, and horrified, at how
close that blade had come to lopping off her head, but she forced herself to
stare Arbora in the eyes.

“
Espadara
?” she said. “I’ve known that
spell since my teens. You’ll need to do better than that.”

Dorane
demanded of them, “What are you doing here? Either one of you? You’ve forsworn
Herezoth.”

“Herezoth
forswore me,” Kora corrected.
                                                                               

“All
the more reason to let it run to its own destruction, if that’s what you judge
is happening.”

Zacry
shot, “And let those children be destroyed with it?”
                                                      

Dorane
insisted, “Let it run to its destruction or take control. Those are your viable
options. Work with us to put magic in its place.”

“And
what place is that?” said Zacry. “What station do magicians deserve? You were
born with magic, Dorane. You were born a sorcerer like the humblest shepherd or
fisherman was not, and frankly, a fisherman who breaks his back in a boat for
hours each day to support his family is more worthy to have his voice heard
than a leech like you, who lets a group like the Enchanted Fist care for his
every need.”

Dorane
retorted, “I’m curious, Porteg. What exactly do you offer society from
Traigland, besides your ridiculous writings?”

“You
oaf…. I forswore Herezoth, but that doesn’t make a difference if I come back to
support your faction, is that it? Only if I oppose you. Well, I do oppose you.
I oppose reparations and entitlements for the magicked. What they’re entitled
to, like everyone else, is not to be kidnapped and held captive for weeks on
end.”

“Ursa
and I did that for the greater good. Our standoff with the king would have
ended by now, if you hadn’t interfered. Now I’m forced to reveal his powers and
your sister’s return.”

“You’ll
do no such thing,” said Kora.

“Won’t
I?”

Zacry
pleaded, “Think! Won’t you think? You can think just enough to confuse
yourself, can’t you? You can’t reveal both, Dorane. The results would
contradict themselves. Reveal the king’s telekinetic, and he’s forced to take
his place among the magicked. Forced to support them. Reveal Kora came back,
and he’ll have bend to the clamor for her life, in favor of those who hate
sorcerers.”

“The
council,” said Dorane. “It’s all for the council.”

“Then
keep Kora’s presence secret,” Arbora recommended. “The king’s fond of her for
some ungodly reason. He’ll give us the council in exchange for her safety, for
our silence.”

“Won’t
work,” said Kora. “No one else knows I came back. No one saw me. The public
won’t just take your word….”

“You’ll
gamble your life on that?” said Arbora.

“Rexson
won’t,” Zacry warned his sister.

The
Fist’s foundress told Kora, “He should be a party to this little chat, the
king. Dorane sounds an alarm about his exilee’s return, and even without proof,
the bigots would raise a cry for your neck, a cry to reach Traigland, no doubt
about that. Your king over there would have an interesting dilemma concerning
whether to turn you over. Funny, how you put your royals in spots time and
again.”

Kora
rolled her eyes. “What’s your point?”

“Rexson
understands the pressure that man would face better than anyone. Knows that
eventually, Traigland’s king would have no choice but to arrest you if he can
and extradite you here. Yes, Rexson will be granting our council. You put him
on the throne. He won’t be murdering you, and he won’t risk straining relations
with Traigland.”

“Perhaps
we should involve him in this,” Dorane conceded. He glared at Zacry. “At least
this kingdom concerns him. What gives you twits the right to interfere? You
self-righteous….”

“Dorane,”
Arbora began, half-protesting, half-warning him. He didn’t let her finish, for
his instincts took over. He shouted “
Hielkor
,”
and an energy ball barely visible, with a shadow’s lack of corporality, sped
toward Zacry. Kora and her brother both moved to deflect its path with
Mudar
, and the ball rushed to the wall
instead, where one of Crale’s porcelain bowls reflected it back across the
kitchen. Before anyone could react, Dorane’s spell
collided with the stony
figure
that was
Arbora’s mentor; the
shadowball struck him in the chest.

Arbora
let out a shriek as Crale’s gray skin took on a bluer shade and fissures spread
throughout his body. The four sorcerers could only watch as the old man
crumbled like a brittle piece of sandstone. There was no blood, no shout of
pain from the spell’s unintended victim, only a pile of dust and pebble-like
fragments where seconds before Crale had been locked in place by Arbora’s
Estatua
-type magic. Everyone cognizant
gazed on, transfixed.

“That
shouldn’t happen,” Kora stammered. “That’s impossible.”

“
Desfazair
,” the women muttered in
unison, eyes locked on Crale’s remains, trying to reverse Dorane’s spell.
Unsurprisingly, no change occurred.

“Zac….”
Kora pleaded, and this time all four sorcerers tried as one to save the aged
painter. They had no more success than the women had found alone.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Of Magic Bound

A
long cease-fire followed the sorcerers’ attempts to save Crale. The entire room
could well have fallen under the dominion of Arbora’s magic, which still held Ursa,
Rexson, Gratton, and the geese inert. Then Arbora began to shake. She marched
up to Dorane. “What have you done?” she cried. “What have you…?”

She
could not quite repeat her question. Dorane muttered, “It’s a spell to freeze
the heart,” and Zacry and his sister locked eyes as he spoke, both inspired by
the same idea, unwilling to lose their window of opportunity.

Together
the siblings shouted, “
Tod-quita Sorcerum
,”
and Dorane turned weak, weak enough that he lost the strength to stand; he fell
to his knees, Arbora clutching at him to hold him up. Kora and Zacry repeated
their incantation, and Arbora dropped as well, one hand against the floor.
After that, without missing a breath, the siblings bound their rivals with
magical cords a subdued shade of lavender, cords that tightened the more Dorane
struggled. Horrified by what he had done to Crale, he lacked the heart to cast
a spell to free himself. Arbora, though, tried to vanish her bonds to no avail.

“What’s
happened?” she cried. “Why can’t I…?”

“We
bound your powers,” said Zacry.

That
brought back Dorane’s voice. “What?”

“Be
glad we didn’t slice your heads off.”

Dorane
said, “You didn’t
bind our powers.
There’s no such spell. No sorcerer would write….”

Kora
said, “Hansrelto wrote it. Hansrelto, the ancient champion of magic rights
himself. It’s in the
Librette Oscure.
Arbora’s
precious Zalski got his hands on that book, did you know that? In his heyday.
And he cast that very spell on his sister.”

Arbora’s
gray skin turned white. “There’s no way that Zalski….”

Kora
shot, “I was there
,
Arbora. Unlike
you, I was there the day his reign collapsed.”

“You
monster! You monster, you’ve no right....”

“No
right? You should be thanking me. Would you rather solitary confinement, for
God only knows how long? In a tower of the Palace, in a room that’s secured
against magic? That’s your other option.”

“I
prefer death.”

“Good
to know,” Kora quipped. “We’ll need to set a guard on suicide watch, Zac. Don’t
let the king forget that.”

Zacry
restored Ursa’s consciousness. He and Kora stripped her magic, adjusting the
incantation to account for her lack of sorcery, and Kora bound her like her
companions. Then Zacry cast
Aberigwa
Podair
on all three captives, just to be certain their powers had in fact
disappeared. Though Ursa was silent in her confusion, disoriented by the quick
succession of the weakness and chills caused by Zacry’s spells, Arbora groaned
in protest and Dorane demanded, “Why? Why her too?”

The
absurdity of the question made Kora’s eyes widen. “You saw what she did with
those geese. You think there won’t be vermin in the prison?”

“Wait,”
said Ursa, “I ain’t goin’ to no prison. What’s that spell you cast? Did you
just strip my powers?”

“Don’t
complain about prison,” Arbora advised. “At this point, I’d just hope the king
decides not to break your neck.”

Dorane
caught Kora’s eye, and she jumped back. His face was twisted, distorted with
hatred and pure determination. “You’ll regret this,” he warned.

“Regret
what?”

“Coming
back, binding our magic: all of it. I have nothing to lose now. You think I
won’t shout from the rooftops you were here? That’ll I go down without dragging
you with me?”

“Let
her be,” pleaded Ursa. “It’s over. Just let her be. She’s got kids, ain’t she?
Maybe we can bargain keepin’ quiet for a lighter sentence.”

“Don’t
hold your breath,” Kora suggested. Something about the moment felt familiar to
her, though far from comfortable. The tightness in her chest, the adrenaline, the
edginess, and what most surprised her, the intuition she had known in her days
with the Crimson League had returned in full force. She turned invisible and
spun to look outside, where just a second later, a pair of teenage boys entered
her range of vision. They crept toward the open window, through which most of
the smoke in the room had now cleared. The fumes, the noise, Ursa’s
conscription of the geese: one would have been sufficient to draw attention to
Crale’s house, let alone all three together. If the battle had kept curious
eyes at bay before then, the relative quiet of the past few minutes had
provoked public gumption. Kora knew she should transport back to Bennie’s room,
but she did not, not just then. Instead, she vanished the paint on her arm and
restored the king and Gratton to consciousness.

The
guard rolled over, nursing his sliced and gushing cheek. While the king
adjusted to the changed scene, Zac skillfully, but discreetly, healed the
soldier. The man’s wounds closed, but his face and fingers were covered with
blood, and he made a fearsome figure as he used the windowsill to pull himself
up. Catching sight of the adolescents outside, he didn’t even have to speak;
they caught one sight of his expression, recognized his uniform, and fled.

“Who
was that woman?” he demanded of Zacry. “Where’d she go? Was she…?”

“Quiet!”
Zacry demanded.

“Don’t
you hush me. I know who that was, and she has no business….”

“Do
you want to get me killed?” Kora hissed in Gratton’s ear. He jumped a foot
before he grabbed his aching head and turned a nauseated gray. “We’re on the
same side. Be quiet! Who knows who’s listening?”

Kora
could only hope they were, in fact, both supporters of the king, but even if
Gratton were not, he wouldn’t dare expose her here, in Rexson’s presence. The
guardsman changed subjects. “Where’s the old man?”

“That
one killed him,” said Zacry, indicating a bound and livid Dorane. “Spell went
awry.”

“What?”
cried the guardsman. “Spell went awry, did it? That’s all, just went awry. That
spell could have hit any one of us.”

Zacry
retorted, “An ingenious observation,” and the combination of the previous
night’s drinking with the existential shock of a brush with death was too much
for Gratton. He vomited over the goose that had attacked him. Ignoring the
guardsman, Zacry addressed the king.

“We
bound their powers,” he specified. “They can go to the public jail, unless you
want to keep their arrests hidden. I wouldn’t recommend that, though. Ursa’s a
public figure down south, from what I understand. They’ll notice she’s gone.
Clandestine revenge invites bad karma.”

Arbora
said, “I’m amazed you’re not worried about your own karma. Sorcerers stripping
others’ magic, that upsets the natural order.”

“And
kidnapping doesn’t?” Zacry snapped.

Arbora
insisted, “Who wrote that spell again?”

“Hansrelto.”

“The
ancient sorcerer. The famous villain with his dark spellbook and his plans to
unseat the king. Did his revolt succeed?” It had not. “Who’s used that spell,
besides you?”

“Zalski,”
answered Zacry without a flinch.

“And
where is he? What happened to him?”

The
king said, “Everyone dies, Arbora. And if you think that spell was Zalski’s
worst crime, let me set you straight.”

“Don’t
bother,” said Dorane.

“Shut
up!” Ursa shot. “Just shut up! You tryin’ to get us killed?”

Arbora
paid her no mind. “Don’t worry,” she told the king. “All your little secrets,
including your guest here, they’re safe with us. I don’t need to call attention
to her to cause her destruction. She’s done that herself. She’s unsettled the
balance of magic. That balance will right itself, and in the process see she
pays.”

Ursa
added, “In exchange for lettin’ the cosmos fix its own affairs, we’d appreciate
some consideration, though.”

Rexson
stared her down. “You won’t hang without a trial, if that’s what you fear.
That’s where my administration differs from your ever-admired Zalski’s.”

“He
ain’t my admired anything. I was barely ten years old.”

Dorane
prompted, “So a judge will hang us, not you. That’s your grand concession?”

“If
the judge has any sense, he will,” said Gratton. By that point, he had run his
sleeve across his mouth and thrown out the goose responsible for the blood he
had merely succeeded in smearing across his face. The fowl were all still
frozen.

Dorane
told the king, “You act so high and mighty, don’t you? So full of
self-restraint. You’re just delegating your revenge. Be a man, why don’t you?
Kill me yourself.”

Everything had fallen
apart. Dorane had lost his family and his freedom, and was sure his life would
be next to go, and with that, there would be no council, not ever. The thought
of that much sacrifice with nothing to gain was unbearable, but if Dorane could
convince the king to kill him here, the man might later feel remorse. He might
decide to form a council or reach out to the magicked in some way. Dorane could
get his heart’s desire after all….

“Shut
up!” Ursa hissed at her accomplice. “You shut your mouth!”

It
was too late; Rexson was marching up to Dorane as she spoke. Bound as the
younger man was, the king jerked him to his feet without resistance. “Don’t
tempt me,” he growled, and made clear, “This is for my boys, you son of a
bitch,” before he crushed Dorane’s instep, making him wince. “Valkin,” he
specified. Then, kneeing Dorane in the groin, he said, “Neslan.” The powerless
sorcerer doubled over, but the king forced him upright again without mercy.
“Hune,” continued Rexson, and broke Dorane’s nose with a spine-tingling crack
that brought Kora to let out an audible gasp and Ursa to whimper like a wounded
wolf pup. Gratton was no longer the only man present with a bloody face.

Ursa
looked to Zacry. “Stop him!” she pleaded. There were tears in her eyes. “Won’t
you stop him?”

The
king punched Dorane in the stomach with enough force to bring him to all fours,
had the man not been bound. Rexson gave no sign of relenting were someone not
to intervene. Zacry took pity, more for Ursa’s sake than Dorane’s—the
woman was truly distressed—and pulled Rexson away. Dorane tumbled to the
floor, panting.

“I’m
not finished,” said the king, struggling to break free. Zacry held him firm.

“He
got the message.”

Only
when Dorane vomited, blood mixed with his stomach acid, did the king cease
struggling, seemingly satisfied. When Ursa shouted the sorcerer would die,
Rexson replied, “He should be so lucky.” He then instructed Kora to
go—“You should never have come in the first place”—and told Gratton
to commandeer the first troop of soldiers he should run across, to escort the
kidnappers to the city prison. At that, Zacry had to speak up. He did not trust
Gratton in the slightest.

“I’ll
go,” Zacry offered.

“I
want a sorcerer here,” the king insisted. “How do you know you fully stripped
their powers?”

“I’ll
be here,” came Kora’s voice from nowhere. “Zac checked already that the spell
worked, but I’ll be here.”

“I
told you to go,” Rexson said.

“Which
is ridiculous.” After listening to Bennie and spending some time around
Gratton, Kora shared her brother’s misgivings about the guardsman. “Let Zac get
the soldiers. He can transport, so he’ll be faster,” she added, to avoid
raising Gratton’s suspicions.

“Fine,”
agreed the king, and Zacry vanished.

“I’m
still here, don’t forget it,” Kora warned the Enchanted Fist.

Dorane
seemed out of immediate danger from his injuries, so Ursa’s attentions had
returned to herself.

“Can
I see my sister?” she begged. “Before any trial?”

“If
she’ll see you,” said Rexson. “You’ve traumatized the girl enough. August’s
within her rights to want nothing to do with you. If that turns out to be the
case, I’m not forcing her.”

“But
you’ll tell her I asked for her? You’ll let her know?”

The
proposition was not to Rexson’s liking. He spoke through gritted teeth, but he
assented.

Arbora
said nothing; she felt nothing where the topic of a trial was concerned, felt
only a general grief. Her rashness, her lack of foresight, her inability to
guide the younger generation, all that had killed Crale. She had killed him, a
man more like a father to her than her real father had ever been. With no hope
left for herself, the only question was: should she ruin Kora Porteg with her?
At least attempt to? All respect for sorcery and its masters aside, she
abhorred the woman so much she dared not give herself the satisfaction of
destroying her.

I don’t deserve that victory. Not after what I did to Crale.

The
absurdity of Arbora’s failure, its avoidable nature along with its
completeness, overwhelmed her. Ursa and Dorane would likely hang. She herself
was finished, and Crale with her. She was wrapped in the agony of what it meant
to lose a role model, a mentor, a parent. Try as she might, she could not
forget that Kora Porteg was now Kora Cason, and Kora Cason was the mother of
five small sorcerers.