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Authors: Irene Radford

The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus) (48 page)

BOOK: The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus)
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She’d done this all night long after waking screaming from some pain or nightmare. Margit had listened from the observation platform atop the northwest tower where she had attempted to sleep. Never one to remain indoors if the weather were anything but the most hostile, Margit had rejected the tiny cells available. Better to fall asleep under the stars than trapped by four walls.
But sleep had eluded her. When she wasn’t crying over the loss of Marcus, a sense of airless dread had pursued her even to the open air. So she had listened with her magic to all of the inhabitants, looking for the source of her unease.
Everyone within the compound seemed to have awakened screaming, in a cold sweat at one time or another. And yet, even with her senses wide open, Margit couldn’t isolate the cause.
A loud thud within the lesser tower where Margit sat now sounded as if Rejiia had thrown her entire body as well as her magic at the door of her prison. The woman had a fierce temper if she still beat aimlessly at anything and everything that defied her.
Margit withdrew any lingering magic from her mundane sense to avoid touching the witch or being touched by her.
Yet she sympathized with Rejiia. Many times during her three years as Queen Rossemikka’s maid she had railed at the confinement of the palace. The only thing that kept her there for so long was the dream of advancing to journeywoman magician so she could wander the world at Marcus’ side.
But Marcus had had his fill of wandering. He also, it seemed, had had his fill of Margit.
She refused to be bound by his dream of hearth and home and dozens of children and apprentices. She had her own dreams.
She’d accept whatever quest Jaylor chose to give her, alone or in the company of another, as long as she did not have walls confining her or cats fouling the scant air within a building.
The ache in her heart spread to her head. Marcus had never considered her wishes in his plans. He’d never even asked what she wanted out of life. That betrayal hurt as much as the idea of spending the rest of her life indoors, cooking and cleaning for him and his brats. And he loved cats, frequently trying to arouse her sympathy for some stray whenever he visited the capital.
Some subtle variation in the light caught her attention. She sensed more than saw the Rover at the doorway shifting restlessly from foot to foot. He’d been there since before dawn. Margit would be restless and tired by now, too. Something about the changes in light around his ghostly outline made her open her magical senses again, straining to see his posture and possibly an aura.
At the same moment, she became aware of a subtle difference in the way Rejiia and her magic moved. The witch focused her beating against the magical and mundane chains that bound her. The wall at Margit’s back no longer vibrated from her assault. And yet a great deal of magic beat at her senses.
A subtle voice in the back of her mind suggested that the lock was open. She needed to shift it. She needed . . .
“Compulsions are illegal, Rejiia,” Margit chortled as she recognized the nature of the magic drifting around her. “The lock is in place. Shifting it will merely open it for you. Commune magicians are trained to be immune to magical coercion. But that Rover isn’t.”
She stood up, alert to any other changes in the compound. No more time to feel sorry for herself or worry about sleep loss. The best cure for a broken heart was action. She smiled, anticipating a fight. She twirled her staff, seeking the best defensive grip.
But if Rejiia relied on magic, Margit needed help. Marcus had not returned—probably wouldn’t for days. Robb had gone to the village with Vareena. That left Jack and the Rovers. By his own admission, Jack was half Rover, Zolltarn’s grandson. Her prejudices told her not to trust either man. But both had sworn oaths of loyalty to the Commune.
The Rover at the doorway drifted closer. His hands reached behind him. Margit couldn’t tell more because of the blasted haze that made the man nearly invisible. But she knew that no lock could resist a Rover for long.
She placed two fingers against her teeth and blew. A sharp whistle reverberated through the courtyard. Several shadowy outlines lifted their heads to look in her direction. Jack and Katrina among them.
At least Margit could see those two along with Miranda, her Rover lover, and Lanciar, the soldier from SeLenicca. None of them had passed into the gloaming.
With her magical senses extended, Jack and Katrina’s auras became fully visible to her. They complemented each other in shades of purple, silver, and white. Except . . .
Jack’s aura had a strange double layer; a reversed reflection of the purple and silver that could also be bronze and black depending upon how the light hit him. Queen Rossemikka’s aura also had a bizarre reflection that doubled the layers of energy about her. Jack did indeed have a problem.
He only took about three heartbeats to assess the position of the Rover. He turned his head toward the Rover guard. One of the indistinct outlines raised a hand and pointed at the figure outside Rejiia’s prison door.
Instantly the guard jerked as if coming awake from a doze.
Rejiia’s magic recoiled, too, as if she’d been stung by a bee.
That strange mind-to-mind link all Rovers seemed to share at work again. So why wasn’t Miranda’s lover a ghost, too?
And then Margit felt the faintest brush of tingling air against her arm. Instinctively, she swatted at the butterfly-light touch. Her hand encountered a barrier of energy extremely close. One of the ghosts stood next to her. She peered closer, letting her eyes cross, looking for distortions of light, a remnant of an aura, anything that might tell her who stood so close, so quiet she couldn’t even hear him/her breathe.
Jack and the ghost who was probably Zolltarn approached the guard. They stood for several moments talking to him in heated whispers in a language Margit did not understand. The ghost who stood next to her must be someone different. An unwanted eavesdropper.
One of the nobles or their servants? Jack and Lanciar had made certain they had all passed into the gloaming to keep them here until the situation was resolved.
“Why didn’t Rejiia try this earlier, while we slept?” Jack’s words came to Margit quite clearly.
“Time is distorted here,” Zolltarn said. His worried voice sounded as if it traversed a great distance, but was more distinct than his body. “If I have lost my planetary orientation, then so must Rejiia. She might not know what time it is. She might not have been able to control her temper until now.”
“I know what it’s like when the loss of one’s sense of where and when goes askew.” Jack shuddered visibly. “But Rejiia has always been able channel her temper into ruthless cunning. Why not now.”
“Because Ackerly has invaded all of our dreams and made us react without thinking,” Zolltarn replied.
“Who needs to think?” the invisible one next to Margit said on a breath. “Don’t think. Just turn your backs for one long moment.”
Margit almost didn’t hear her, but as soon as the words penetrated her consciousness she recognized the petulant tones of Ariiell, the pregnant one who thought the world owed her adulation.
Ariiell almost floated between the Rover guard and the door. She must have cloaked herself in some kind of invisibility spell for Jack and Zolltarn not to notice her. But the spell probably kept her from noticing anyone not in the gloaming.
Ariiell hunched over the lock and proceeded to fiddle with it.
“Oh, no, you don’t, you conniving bitch.” Margit launched herself at Ariiell in a full body tackle. She bounced against the barrier to the gloaming. Her entire front burned. But Ariiell stumbled away from the lock. A tiny bit of the mist that surrounded her faded along with her invisibility spell.
“Get away from me, you filthy peasant!” Ariiell screeched. She arched her fingers as if to claw at anyone who stood in her way.
“You won’t get that door open, Lady.” Zolltarn hauled her to her feet without regard to her delicate condition or sensibilities.
“Do not touch me, Rover.” Ariiell spat at Zolltarn’s feet. “And I am more than a lady. I carry the heir to the throne of Coronnan. I’ll have your head when I am regent.”
“You’ll have to wait for King Darville to die first. And now that we’ve been warned, we’ll protect him.” Margit inserted herself between the door and the guard, making sure Ariiell could get no closer.
“But . . . but you can’t. I have the coven backing me,” Ariiell spluttered. Her haughty demeanor drained out of her, leaving a greatly diminished and confused young woman.
“Oh, shut up, you ignorant twit!” Rejiia’s harsh voice came from behind the sealed door.
Just then Robb pushed his way through the crowd. “If you want your child to inherit the crown, then you have to stop using magic now, Ariiell.” He leaned close to her, speaking each word distinctly. “Do you know what happens when a child’s magic is awakened prematurely because the mother thoughtlessly throws spells—if the child survives the ordeal of birth? Usually a premature birth.” Anger suffused his face with bright color.
Margit had never seen him display such passion. Usually he fell into a long pedantic lecture. Interest pricked, she noted that Vareena hung back from the confrontation. The air of possessiveness she’d displayed when they left this morning seemed to have blown away.
“Well, I’ll tell you what happens—what happened to Brevelan’s first child,” Robb continued with barely a pause for breath. “The child never speaks. He doesn’t need to because he has direct mind-to-mind communication with anyone who has a bit of magical talent. But he is totally incapable of communicating with mundanes. How can a king rule if he can’t communicate with his Council or the vast majority of his subjects. Those of us with magical talent grow up surrounded by other magicians, we seek out others of our kind when we are away from our comrades. So we expect everyone to be able to do what we do. But only one in one thousand is born with any magical talent at all. Only one in one thousand of those have enough talent to qualify for admission into the University. Only one in one hundred of those will ever reach master status.”
“Mundanes mean nothing.” Ariiell dismissed his tirade with a disdainful wave of her delicate hand.
“You’ve been working magic your entire pregnancy. I can smell it on you.” Rob did not let up. His eyes almost glowed with intensity.
Margit gritted her teeth. She knew there was a reason she shouldn’t settle down with Marcus to produce baby after baby—as Brevelan had. She wasn’t ready to give up her magic yet. She had too much more to learn. Too many more places to go and sights to see.
“Any one of the Rover midwives will be able to tell you the child’s awareness is awakened very early in the womb. It grows eager to be out in the world, to see what all of the magic is about.” Robb finally breathed. He stood straight again and relaxed his shoulders. But Margit suspected his words were intended to reach more ears than just Ariiell’s. “The child will come early, before you are ready. He’ll tear up your insides in his eagerness to be out in the world before he is ready to breathe air and eat food. If you survive, you’ll never bear another child.”
“Is that the fate of my son? Will he ever learn to speak? Will he be able to lead a normal life?” Lanciar, the soldier from SeLenicca asked. His slender cheeks took on new hollows and shadows. “Stargods, Rejiia ate the Tambootie while pregnant. What did that do to her?”
“Your son is too young to know the extent of Rejiia’s folly while carrying him,” Zolltarn said. He reached out a hand as if to pat the man’s shoulder in reassurance. But of course he couldn’t bridge the energy barrier that separated him from the real world where Lanciar remained. “Rejiia has always been indiscriminate with her spells and her concerns for others. That is why her Rover wet nurse spirited him away from the witch. With our special links, we hope to give him a home and family that will protect him from the violent prejudice of the outside world.”
“I knew I had decided to join you for a good reason.” A half smile lighted the soldier’s face.
“King Darville has already been alerted that the child you carry is no longer qualified to succeed him,” Marcus said, strolling into the group.
Margit’s heart skipped a beat in joy at sight of him, but then slowed to its normal dull thud. She would always love this man, but her destiny lay elsewhere. A deep sigh heaved its way up through her chest. When it was gone, she felt lighter, more confident. She was in charge of her destiny for the first time in a very long time.
“When did you get back?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral and polite.
“Just now. I heard most of what Robb said so eloquently.” He looked at her longingly, then shook himself free of any lingering ties.
“No! You can’t do this to me.” Ariiell’s eyes went wide. Her pupils contracted to mere dots. Her mouth pinched. White showed around her nostrils. “I am to be queen. The coven promised. I will have all of your heads.”
No one answered her.
“You will obey me this instant. I am to be queen. My son will be king. Darville will be put to death. The coven promised.” Her voice grew louder, more shrill.
BOOK: The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus)
10.21Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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