The Magekiller

By Sarah Chapman

Nobody likes the Archmage. So Kane shouldn’t have been surprised when his colleagues from the Hall of Magic decide to have him investigated by the Magekillers, a group of women immune to magic whose sole purpose is to hunt and kill magicians. But while the Magekillers investigate the Archmage for using forbidden magic, they come across something even worse. Illegally and secretly teaching women magic, he has begun something that will threaten their very existence. Suddenly, the Hall of Magic and the Magekillers find themselves with a common enemy, while Kane, confident that the two ancient enemies will never work together, continues his work...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Chapman
• Release date: Jul 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301351282

Sarah Chapman

Sarah is currently living in England. Her hobbies include skiing, playing with her dog and writing about herself in the third person.

Book preview

Prologue Part 1

The girl hid. Tucked away in a cramped little hole, she stuffed her precious food into her mouth. She swallowed. Coughed. She had eaten too fast again. The meagre breakfast barely eased the constant ache in her stomach. As she stretched, her blue eyes darting around, calm slowly returned to her. It was quiet and cool out here, and she could hear the rustling of leaves and the sound of water close by. And further, beyond all these sounds, was the sound of the castle. A shiver went through her as she stood, emerging from her hidden cave, though cave was a grand word for such a small hole. Wind-bent trees grew in patches, struggling to survive in the thin soil. Meadows of grass and flowers covered vast stretches of the steep, sun-brightened slopes. In some places, where the trees had more of a hold it even started to look like a forest. This was where she was, this was where the cover was. But she wasn’t supposed to be here. The girl darted, her shoulders hunched, towards the sound of water. When she arrived at the banks of a fast flowing, cold mountain stream she quickly looked around before pouncing in. She furiously washed herself in the freezing water. It did not take long. Bright red from the cold and her vigorous scrubbing, she hopped out, being careful not to dirty herself or her newly cleaned clothes. She made her way towards a bare rock lit by the morning sun. She looked around again before perching upon it. She stayed there for most of the day, until she was dry, before heading back up the mountain towards the castle.

The castle walls loomed from the mountain face. From behind the wall peeked the castle turrets. The main section was of honey coloured stone that glowed warmly under the sun. But the rest bore the mark of less prosperous times and was a hodgepodge of colours and quality. Whatever had been available had been used. The wall was crumbling in places, and ivy and other plants were growing up it. The mountain forest grew close to the walls and no guards could be seen above. The gate was far from here, but the sounds of people going about their business could still be heard. The girl shivered. She made her way to a thick cluster of shrubs that grew right up against the wall. Above hung ivy and the leaves of nearby trees shaded this dark and cool place. The girl disappeared into the bushes. Her head, her body and soon her feet vanished from sight. On the other side of the wall a large stable squatted in decline. Most of the stalls were empty, forgotten in dark unkempt squalor. It was here that the girl reappeared. She came out in a surprisingly clean stack of hay. The girl very quickly slipped from the hay into deeper shadows. Dirt and hay were firmly brushed off as she went. She slipped through the stables with quiet ease. She did not head to the brightly lit entrance where the horses pranced and the stable hands laughed. No, she found a section of rotting wood. She sidled past and soon found herself in another section of the castle. Her heart was hammering. She was in an alley between the stables and the guesthouse for the less esteemed of the castle’s guests. Here the noises were louder. Panic set in, her mind seemed to go slowly. Her skin prickled and froze. From here there was no choice but to enter the main yard. She ventured out into the sunlight. She was painfully aware of the people around her, the coarse laughs and hateful voices. Her heart in her throat, she strode quickly towards the main castle. Two steps. Three, four. Six. And then the voices fell silent. As the absence of noise washed over her she immediately started running. The voices sprang up again, louder than before. She heard the pounding of feet behind her. Ahead of her she was aware of the older men and women. They stood around, watching.

‘Hey, there’s the bastard!’

‘She smells so bad I want to puke!’

‘Let’s throw her in the stream!’

‘Let’s throw her in the horse dung, it would be an improvement!’

The girl’s skinny legs pumped as fast as they could. The legs of those chasing her were longer. Better fed. A hand grabbed the back of her tunic. She jerked to a painful halt. She spun around, her teeth clamping down on the hand. There was an angry scream, she tasted blood. The hand loosened. She was off, narrowly avoiding a blow to the head. The castle steps were closer, closer. Yet no hope blossomed in her heart. She reached the steps, raced up, two at a time. The boys and girls chasing her stopped, angry taunts and insults rose from them. Rocks were thrown. Some missed. Some hit. She ignored the familiar sting and throb. The adults around just watched. The girl pushed the door open, slammed it shut. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest. Her wild eyes flitted around. A few people looked up at her, most ignored her. Her stomach gnawed at her. She did not move for a moment. She was paralysed by the choices before her, for none were safe. But she was terribly hungry again. She could not remember a time when she was not hungry. And so she slid into the shadows. Sneaking through forgotten passages and unguarded entrances, she crept into the pantry. With a stolen knife she had carefully hacked out an opening in the back of the pantry, in a forgotten room. No one had noticed it yet. It was dark and smelled strongly of spices. A thin door of wood separated her from the kitchen and the cooks within. Carefully, so as not to make a sound, the girl crept further into the pantry. She knew where things were stored. She would take what she needed and flee. A few moments in the pantry and her treasures were in her arms. She knelt down to escape just as the door was flung open. A meaty hand clamped around a skinny ankle and yanked. The girl could not resist. Her prizes toppled from her arms. She was suddenly in a bright, boiling kitchen. A prodigious hand slapped the girl’s head. Dazed, blinking, she went limp for a moment. When she regained her senses it was to a torrent of rage spewing from the head chef’s mouth.

‘You little brat! How dare you steal from me!’ he roared and slapped her again as she twisted and fought, but he was too strong.

‘You greedy, ungrateful-‘ another slap to her face. ‘Wait for suppertime, you pig! Or do you think you are better than us? You fatherless scum!’

‘You never feed me!’ she screamed in a violent rage that made all his fat posturing pale in comparison. She wriggled and screamed, ‘you never feed me! I have no suppertime! I won’t starve! I won’t starve I won’t starve!’

Her piercing cries went on, she could not be silenced. All sense seemed to have fled from her, no amount of fists or words would quiet the screaming child. Unbeknownst to her, guards had been summoned. As they grabbed her arms her senses suddenly returned. Her blue eyes glittered like icy daggers. ‘When is my suppertime?’ she insisted. ‘When is my suppertime? Tell me and I won’t steal!’

She was grabbed by mailed fists and dragged from the kitchen, out into the glaring sun of the hateful yard. A familiar post swayed before her eyes. The guards were cursing her for stealing. Men who towered over her attached her with chains to the post. People were gathering. The children were taunting. When they questioned her cleanliness she screamed back, ‘I’m not dirty! I’m not a smelly idiot! I’m not!’ She was cuffed about the head. She tasted blood in her mouth- this time her own. But again, sanity had departed her and no amount of taunting and beating would quiet her. The older men and women watched silently. They did not stop their children, they did not speak in her defence. Her wild scowl, directed at them, let them know she hated them as much as their monstrous children and the giant guards and the stupid cooks. But not as much as the man now approaching from the castle. She turned her baleful glare onto this short and stocky man. He stood out from the crowd. Where they were fair haired and blue eyed his hair was dark as a ravens. Big black beetling brows lay waiting above eyes as dark as a moonless sky. His skin was brown and weathered, only in that was he like the people around him.

‘What now?’ the man demanded brusquely.

‘The bastard has stolen from the kitchen again, your lordship.’ The captain of the guard said and spat.

A smile curled ‘his lordship’s’ mouth.

‘I bet she’s been outside too!’ one of the children yelled.

‘Yeah,’ other’s joined in, ‘we haven’t seen her all morning!’

‘His lordship’ waited til the cries died down before saying to the captain, ‘the regular amount of lashings won’t do, Captain. The beast never learns.’

‘It’s too stupid to learn!’ the children suddenly cried and took up that theme for quite some time, while others screamed for more lashings.

‘Yes, your lordship.’ The captain agreed above the yelling.

A number was agreed upon between the two men. The girl was stripped before the castle. A whip was prepared. Rage had scoured the girl of all fear or thought. When the fully grown men began whipping her back she screamed. That could only be expected. She screamed and screamed, a horrible, childlike wail. She would not let any who heard deceive themselves about her feelings on this matter.

Suddenly a voice called out above the din: ‘Father, please stop!’

His lordship’s face an ugly purple colour, the flogging was stopped, the crowd dispersed and the girl tended to.

And when the girl could stand again, everything would repeat itself. Again and again.

Prologue Part 2

The girl froze. Her mouth full of precious food, her back pressed tightly against the rock wall. The familiar pain in her back was better than being seen; though it was too late to worry about that.

‘You’re a good hunter.’

She swallowed. Her hands trembled on her barely cooked meat. The woman was too close. She could not escape past her.

The woman smiled. It was a wide smile and revealed gleaming white teeth. ‘I’ve been travelling far. Do you have any food to share?’

She peered at this woman. Her fear was starting to subside, but that meant very little. She thought about scratching the woman’s eyes out and escaping.

‘I lost all mine days ago. I’ve very hungry.’ And the woman made a sad face.

The woman could not tell what went through the girl’s mind, though she tried. Eventually, her mouth twisted, the girl handed her the meat she had been about to devour.

The woman smiled. ‘Thank you.’

The woman leant back, giving the girl more space, though not much. She ate the girl’s precious food, watching her all the while. When she was done she swallowed and sighed contentedly. ‘Do you know the way to the castle?’ the woman asked.

The girl froze again.

‘Vel De Montagne Castle?’

The girl nodded stiffly. Mumbling, she gave quick directions. ‘You can see it.’ She finally said. ‘The wall is big.’

‘Really? I have been travelling far and seemed to have missed it. Can you show me?’

The girl looked at her for a moment before shaking her head. ‘No.’ She finally said. ‘I’m not allowed outside. Guards on the gate will see me.’

‘Oh.’ And the woman frowned. ‘Well, how do you get in?’

Again, that wide eyed stare.

The woman smiled. ‘You must have a way.’

‘Why?’ the girl asked. This was the longest conversation she had had in a very long time. But she did not think about that. She did not think about her life.

‘If you take me there, I’ll see the castle, won’t I? Perhaps I can make my way from there.’ She frowned again. ‘But maybe not, are there dangerous animals out here?’

‘There are bears and wolves.’ The girl replied. She shrugged, itching to escape.

The woman looked concerned for a moment.

The girl sighed. ‘I’ll show you. But you musn’t say you saw me.’

‘Of course not.’ The woman smiled. ‘It’ll be our little secret.’

* * *

Sometime later the woman entered the castle by the main gate. After having a brief conversation with a guard she stayed to watch as the girl was dragged screaming from between some houses.

The flogging was a spectacle to see. She was beaten viciously, so much so that a grown man might have succumbed. And yet the girl, who was far from healthy, survived. The scars on her back would have sickened any person with a conscience. It was impossible the girl could be alive.

The woman, observing all this, just smiled to herself.

Later that night she was invited to a banquet. She sat at the high table with the Lord of Vel de Montagne and his two daughters. Their mother’s absence was not remarked upon. The girls were small and dainty and dark, as were all lowlanders. They were in stark contrast to the fair haired highlanders of the mountains. While the woman’s hair shared the colouring of the girls’, it was coarse in texture where theirs was satiny smooth. Unlike their father, their skin was pale and perfect. They had not often been outside. They ate little, their eyes downcast.

‘Have you had them taught?’ the woman asked the Lord somewhat sharply, moving away from some trivial discussion not worth remembering.

‘Hm?’ he glowered at her.

‘They have magic.’ The woman replied, and again she smiled that wide smile. ‘It is not as strong as their sister’s-‘

‘They have no other sisters.’ He growled in a low voice. ‘And the bastard urchin has no magic.’

The woman smiled. ‘Indeed. A useful lie, my lord. Does she believe it?’

That twitch of the mouth, so quick it was easy to miss. It bespoke an awareness of what he did. Yes, it said, she does not know she has magic.

The woman smiled her own secret and satisfied smile and went on, ‘Your daughters’ magic is frail and delicate. It requires a gentle hand.’ She could see them now, these delicate girls possessed of feeling. They withered and died under the heavy hand of their angry and sour father. She smiled. ‘I could teach them.’

‘Could you?’ he seemed surprised.

Before he could say anymore the woman interrupted, ‘think it over. They are of the variety who will not accidentally kill anyone with their magic. It will just fail to bloom.’ And she smiled again. ‘For them, to be forgotten is as suitable as teaching them.’

His lordship glowered at her.

The woman let the silence stretch out. And then into it she said, ‘I heard some interesting stories on my journey here.’

The man harrumphed, uninterested now and no longer wishing to pretend he was. The woman held his gaze, that smile curving her lips. ‘I heard a story about a highlander woman, the last daughter of an ancient line. She was betrothed to a lowlander.’ The woman’s mouth twitched in a smile as the Lord bristled at what was merely a name, and yet also an insult. ‘The highlander lady scorned her betrothed and fled with a highlander man. They hid in the mountains and were married. The lady bore a child, as fair haired as they themselves.’ She laughed a tinkly, unexpected laugh, for the look on the man’s face demanded it. ‘The woman’s betrothed, the lowlander, descended upon the couple with a veritable army. The lady’s husband was slaughtered before her. The lady, brutalized by her betrothed and his men, lost her mind and her magic.’

His lordship scowled darkly at her.

The woman smiled. ‘I always like to listen to the local tales when I travel. Tell me, has the child met her mother?’

The man’s mouth, twisted up into that telling half smile, ‘indeed, the bastard has.’ And his good mood returned.

The woman merely smiled. ‘And why is she here?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘Why is the bastard here? She would not be the first bastard to disappear.’ And she laughed.

The man glowered darkly at her. ‘Bastard or no, she is the Lady’s daughter.’ He spat.

The woman considered this. And when the pieces fit themselves together she smiled. The story played out in her mind, little puppets dancing across the stage of her imagination. A lowlander Lord, ruling by force and having in his possession the Lady of Vel de Montagne. The land promised to him to rule legitimately, but snatched away by the lady’s caprice. To have the girl murdered, to have her disappear- why at that time surely it would have been too risky. But if she had left of her own free will? Perhaps he had not even considered that. Perhaps he simply had not been able to keep his festering hatred and poisonous lack of confidence from bursting forth. And so the girl had been tormented. And as she survived what she ought not to have survived the torment would slowly have escalated. Puppets were not known for their thought. She stifled a laugh at the thought of these creatures doing things to this child, who could not be more than ten, that ought to have amounted to murder, but did not. And they didn’t even wonder why.

* * *

Later the woman found the girl again, out in the wilds around the castle. The woman smiled at the wide eyed shock on the girls face.

‘Hello again. I didn’t think I’d see you so soon.’

The girl said nothing, just watched.

‘Tell me, why do you stay here?’

‘What?’ the girl finally asked.

‘Why do you stay near the castle?’

‘The monster has my sisters.’ The girl said darkly, her brows lowering.

‘And your mother.’ The woman replied.

‘I have no mother. I have no father.’ The girl responded, her voice thick with anger. ‘I am a bastard.’

The woman merely smiled, pictured it in her mind. For so long, the girl had been cruelly treated by her stepfather. She must have known of her mother’s presence in the castle, perhaps constructed a fantasy whereby her mother would save her, if only she could reach her. And then one day for some reason the girl was escorted to her mother’s quarters. The mother who had perhaps insisted for years that she meet her daughter, yet still quite mad and bereft of all her vaunted magic. The girl’s hopes blossomed, and then slowly crumbled. The mother was not aware of her treatment. She was aware but didn’t understand. Whatever it was, the girl too young (or not?) to understand madness, would have met a woman who was meant to save her, but was capable of nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

The woman’s eyes travelled over the girl’s tiny frame. She could see the glimmering threads of magic.

‘Here.’ The woman said and handed the girl a basket piled high with white bread, gleaming red apples, chicken and ham and a variety of other delights. ‘I brought it for you.’

The girl’s eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. The woman laughed. ‘Do you think I have poisoned it? Here, let us eat this together.’

And so, seeing she had been correct, the woman sat down next to the girl. Eventually, the girl ate. And the woman worked. Those threads of powerful magic were slowly torn apart. No one in the castle had put it together. They had thought perhaps the Lady had lost her magic with her mind. Perhaps they didn’t realize how violent they were to the starving child. But the woman did. And she slowly tore apart the powerful magic that had kept the child alive for so long. She was careful though. She didn’t want the girl to keel over and die once the magic was gone.

No, she didn’t want that at all.

As the girl ate the woman said to her, ‘I need your help.’

The girl’s hand froze, halfway to her mouth.

‘Yes, think of this as payment for your help.’ The woman allowed her voice to tremble. ‘I need a way into the castle.’

‘Why?’ the girl demanded. ‘You know where the gate is!’

‘His Lordship is a monster. He stole something of mine and sent me away with this food in its place. But I cannot leave without it.