Queen of Magic: The Realm of Magic, #3

By Susanne L. Lambdin

Taliesin, the Raven Mistress, has been captured by Prince Sertorius, and she is being taken to the capital, along with Sertorius' army of Garridan soldiers. Sertorius' intentions are unclear—does he go to aid his father, King Frederick, who is besieged by the Wolf Prince and a rebel army, or for some other, darker motive? While the Raven Clan grows, tucked away in Penkill Castle, Taliesin escapes, only to receive a message that King Frederick needs her help. While she wants to help the king, Ragnal, the God of War, has other ideas. Arriving at last at the capital, Taliesin learns the Royal Court of Caladonia is far more corrupt than expected, dabbling in political intrigue, dark magic, and murder. Will Taliesin be able to convince the Magic Realms to help her defeat the Wolf Prince and Ragnal, or will the kingdom fall to the war god and the Wolfen? Unless Taliesin and her magical sword, Ringerike, can defeat her many enemies and forge an alliance with the High Council, the barbarians of Skarda, the darklings, and a dragon named Bonaparte, she may spend the rest of her days on a leash. But she is a sha-tar, a natural-born witch, and it is her destiny to do the impossible, and prove to all that she is—the Queen of Magic

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susanne Lambdin
• Release date: Sep 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393797159

Book preview

QUEEN OF MAGIC

THE REALM OF MAGIC, BOOK 3

Susanne L. Lambdin

Queen of Magic

Copyright © 2018 by Susanne L. Lambdin.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form, or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the email addresses below.

[e-mail]

[e-mail]

Author’s Note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Queen of Magic / Susanne L. Lambdin

ISBN-13: 978-1726441551 

ISBN-10: 1726441555

Book Cover by A. R. Crebs

For Virginia.

Map of Caladonia

FOR A LARGER VERSION, GO TO: WWW.SUSANNELAMBDIN.COM

Chapter One

Tin plates hanging from leather belts clanked against armor, and helmets and shields glistened in the sunlight. The sound of marching echoed along the King’s Road, each footfall repeating twenty thousand times, and announced the arrival of the massive Garridan army. Under the command of Prince Sertorius Draconus, all remained silent when it started to rain, but when the precipitation lifted, mud squelched beneath their boots, and voices raised in song. " Blood in the sand, blood in the surf. We came, we claimed, we the many—we the Garridan strong! "

By the first day of winter, the army already traveled hundreds of miles on warships of the northwestern dukedom. They had disembarked at Dreskull Castle in Thule and paused long enough to behead Prince Konall and capture the Raven Mistress before they moved on. In their sea-green tunics and engraved plate mail, they offered a threat not seen in the south for centuries. No lord in his castle dared interfere, and Thule soldiers watched as the army raided farmhouses, towns, and villages, taking what they wanted. Livestock vanished, horses were seized, and any resistance from civilians ended beneath the soldiers’ swords; Prince Sertorius was going home. His destination was the royal city of Padama, besieged by his older brother, Almaric, and defended by his elderly father, King Frederick.

Sertorius’ prized prisoner, Taliesin, Mistress of the Raven Clan, lay in the back of a gut wagon, hands and ankles bound with silver chains, left to rot beside Konall’s headless body. The silver restrained her wild side, for she was Wolfen, able to turn into a beast at will, and her anger smoldered with each town or field burned by the soldiers. Sertorius was her cousin; her mother, Princess Calista, was the sister of King Frederick, but this her captor ignored. Sertorius’ goal was to subdue the King’s Men, his father’s loyal followers, and he spared none; the few King’s Men who rode out to fight were left dead on the road, creating disease.

As a Wolfen, Taliesin was immune to disease. She was a natural-born witch, a Sha’tar, and her ability to cast spells required only thought, focus, and imagination, not spoken words. Her innate magic kept her from falling sick among the dead, yet her powers remained weak, as if someone had drained or put restraints on her, limiting what she could do. It could have been due to a lack of confidence, for magic of such a magnitude was overpowering, and she remained fearful of the outcome. Try as she might, she could no more vanish from the cart and reappear back home than she could summon help from the new Raven Clan. Her exhaustion, hunger, and thirst also took their toll, as did the smell.

The stench of the dead nobles and knights who shared her cart filled her nostrils as Taliesin hoped a stray arrow would find a home in Sertorius’ eye socket. Konall’s corpse lay stiff to one side, and the late Sir Ricard on the other. As the clouds withdrew, the sun heated the ground and baked the dead; Erindor was in the south, where it never snowed, and temperatures remained warm throughout the year.

Taliesin grimaced as a nasty black fly bit her neck. The earlier rain had offered a small relief to her thirst, and she closed her eyes with a sigh. The wagon hit a rut in the road and bounced the bodies, and a scream lodged in her throat. She refused to cry out for help and instead concentrated on what she knew about Erindor. Camel races, grand temples, exotic gardens, and palatial estates made it one of the most beautiful dukedoms in Caladonia. At least, it was before the Garridan army arrived.

Taliesin had gone to great lengths to find the most powerful magic sword in history, Ringerike, the Raven Sword. She was the heir of King Korax, the Raven King, born one thousand years ago; Ringerike had been his, and now it was hers. Sertorius had taken the sword when she was captured at Dreskull Castle, but it would not serve him; if he tried to use it, she had no doubt he would die as Prince Tarquin had, for Ringerike served only the Sanqualus family, and she was the last of their line. She always suspected Prince Sertorius meant to restore magic to the realm, something they had in common, for it was what she wanted too. Without the Raven Sword in hand, though, she suffered. The sword gave her confidence; it was everything to her, the source of her strength, but here she was, in a gut wagon, surrounded by the putrescent odor of death, unable to imagine a way out of the situation. Her companions were dead noblemen Sertorius had collected like trophies left to spoil in the sun.

I can’t last another day, Taliesin groaned.

At the sound of her voice, a tiny red spider stepped lightly upon its slick silken strands to rework the damage caused by the rain. She liked the spider and its web—they kept the flies away. A drop of water fell onto her nose and slid down her cheek, a small distraction that helped her ignore the horses as they clomped along, the rattle of the wagon, and the muttering of the driver.

She concentrated on the noises outside the cart, the little sounds, barely noticeable over the heavy footfalls. Crickets chirped in the tall grass. Four Knights of Chaos rode beside the wagon, and the grass brushed the legs of their horses, a constant swish-swish which sounded oddly comforting. She also heard the rhythmic croaks of a nearby bullfrog, which meant the army was close to freshwater.

She took a deep breath and concentrated on the four knights. A simple magic trick she knew, a quick probe into their thoughts, might allow her to make one of the knights sympathetic to her plight. She hadn’t tried it before since the knights came and went as needed by their prince, and the driver of the wagon was a dullard. A day ago, she had convinced the driver to turn off the road; he had done so, only to return with more bodies to fill the wagon. The driver lacked intelligence; he was as dead inside as those he delivered to Padama; however, the knights were different; they were men of deep thoughts, and she took hope when she felt a nibble.

Sir Morgrave responded because he was bored. As light as the spider on its web, Taliesin tiptoed through Morgrave’s thoughts and penetrated the layers of hatred, conceit, and prejudice instilled in the Knights of Chaos from the day they took the service oath as young squires. It took an effort to instill doubt and guilt, but she inserted an image into his head. His treatment of a poor, helpless woman, sprinkled with a desire for compassion, earned a fast response.

Sir Barstow, I do not think the Raven Mistress should be trussed up like a chicken, Morgrave said. If she dies, Prince Almaric will punish us all. After all, she is his intended bride. Sertorius brings this army to Almaric, who gave specific orders the Raven Mistress was not to be harmed. We failed to capture Prince Konall alive, and if she dies before we reach Padama, Almaric will attach our heads to spikes. We should release the Raven Mistress while she still lives.

No, Sir Barstow muttered. He presented a wall Taliesin was unable to break. His thoughts were focused on carnage; he lived for the thrill of battle and did not care if she lived or died. Nor did he care what Almaric wanted; he was loyal to Sertorius.

Taliesin moved onto the next knight, Sir Gallus, and squeezed his brain like a piece of soft cheese. He thought about his wife and three young daughters, left behind in Garridan, far on the northeastern coastline. He missed his family and their home by the sea. During his travels, he had contracted a persistent genital rash, and the guilt of his unfaithfulness broke him.

Sertorius has lost all sense of reason, Sir Gallus said in a surly tone. We all know the Raven Mistress refused to wed the prince, which is the only reason Sertorius is treating his former sweetheart like a commoner. I agree with Morgrave, for we are honorable knights and must, therefore, show mercy.

"Since when do any of you care about honor? We are the Knights of Chaos! We have our orders. No means no," Barstow barked.

Taliesin ignored the blustery knight, and worked her way into Sir Duroc’s head, as patient as the little red spider as she created an intricate web of emotions in his mind. Duroc responded the best to shame. His mental resistance collapsed as he gazed at Taliesin’s miserable condition, imagined himself in a similar situation, and sought to delay their progress to convince their leader to change his mind.

A banner has risen up ahead, Duroc said. Do you not see it held aloft by a rider, Sir Barstow? It means we have thirty minutes to rest, and I, for one, have a sore backside. The rest of you must be tired of clanking about in your armor, and I am certain the Raven Mistress needs water, food, and shade.

Sir Barstow swore under his breath. Heggen’s Teeth! That again, he grumbled. You three nag me like nursemaids. Dismount. Water your horses. Get something to eat. Do not mention the prisoner again, or I’ll knock the piss out of you with a punch to your bladder.

Barstow, you are cruel, Duroc said. I am going to tend to her needs.

You will do no such thing, Barstow snarled. Let the Raven Mistress lie in her own filth. It’s her own fault she’s in a gut wagon and not riding in style with Prince Sertorius and Princess Calista. The girl should not have spurned the prince; he wanted to marry her, but she thinks she’s too good for him.

Taliesin was not surprised Sir Barstow continued to resist; he was Sertorius’s most trusted knight and a close friend. He would have given his life to save the prince, and he wasn’t about to disobey a direct order, not even with her wiggling about in his mind trying to remind him that she, too, had Draconus blood.

The long column of soldiers came to a halt, and the wagon pulled off to the side of the King’s Road. The four knights dismounted, clanking in their armor, and stretched their arms and legs. One of their horses snorted, and a hot rush of urine from Barstow’s horse splashed on his steel-encased feet.

It’s just not my lucky day, the knight muttered.

She again probed Barstow’s mind, thick like a pudding, resistant, and filled with years of hatred toward the Raven Clan. Barstow relieved himself on the side of the road, his thoughts on Prince Almaric and the Wolf Clan, neither of whom he liked, and wondered if Sertorius meant to claim the throne for himself.

Taliesin hated the Wolf Clan more than either the prince or her captors. For centuries they had encroached on the Raven Clan’s rights to collect weapons, armor, and personal items from the dead left behind on battlefields. Chief Lykus was their leader, and he had personally eaten the Raven Master, Osprey, and seen to the destruction of the Raven Clan. He had ordered Captain Wolfgar to pursue Taliesin and turn her into a Wolfen. Wolfgar had been successful, but it was Lykus’ son and heir, Phelon, who forced Taliesin to drink human blood, the only way for the bitten to transform into a beast.

Barstow had seen Wolfmen feed on the flesh of humans and had witnessed dark rituals conducted at the full moon. Almaric was Wolfen. Barstow believed Varguld, the Age of the Wolf, was upon them and feared one would turn him into a Wolfen. As long as Sertorius told him to fight for Almaric, he would, but he did not want Almaric, the Wolf Prince, to sit on the Ebony Throne. Nor did he want every man, woman, and child in Caladonia running on all fours, baying at the moon, and feeding on the weak. He hated Almaric and Chief Lykus more than he disliked Taliesin, but he considered killing her so he could ride ahead and join the rest of his order. She broke contact when he pictured himself strangling her, and took several deep breaths, feeling both thirst and the need to relieve herself, but she wasn’t about to pee in her pants again. Her thoughts mingled with Morgrave’s, and she thought of her sword, Ringerike.

I am worried, Barstow, Sir Morgrave grumbled as he urinated on the grass. "I am the one who carries the Raven Sword, and it burned a hole right through my saddle. I am lucky it didn’t burn the flanks of my horse. The sword whispers to me—it wants to be with the Raven Mistress."

We should give the sword to her, Sir Duroc said. An older man with a gray beard and a crooked nose, he peered over the side of the wagon and met Taliesin’s gaze. I say we release the girl and let her take the sword with her. They say the sword is cursed, that it can kill a man for simply thinking ill of the Raven heir. A hole in Morgrave’s saddle is better than one in our skulls.

Sir Barstow pounded his fist against the side of the wagon. I say we follow orders, so shut your holes, he snarled. You are starting to wear thin on my nerves. The next man who suggests we release this filthy scavenger will feel my boot up his backside!

I see no reason to be rude, Barstow, Sir Gallus replied. He appeared at the back of the wagon, while the driver went about his business. His black hair lay damp on his brow, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. She’s a Draconus princess. This is wrong, and you know it. No lady should be treated this way.

If she dies, Sertorius will have our heads, Duroc added.

Taliesin raised her head as the four knights gathered beside the wagon to look at her. Her stomach rumbled. At Dreskull Castle, four days ago, she had eaten a meager meal. Since then, they had covered more than three hundred miles, and she had not eaten anything else. Barstow nodded, and his friends led their horses to a nearby creek. The slosh of water told Taliesin the driver used a bucket to water his horses, and she licked her dried lips. The knights’ voices carried to her on the breeze, along with the odor of fresh horse manure, ripe and pungent. The smell was pleasant compared to the stench in the wagon.

The girl is not going to live another day without food and water, Barstow, Morgrave argued. I cannot in good conscience allow this brutality to continue.

When did you three heroes start giving a damn about the Raven Mistress? Barstow asked. "Sertorius no longer loves her. I know you may have heard the rumors that she is his cousin, Rosamond Mandrake, and she’s the daughter of the King’s sister, Princess Calista. The old bitch rides in a carriage. Calista doesn’t care about the girl, so why should we? Give me one good reason, and I’ll consider letting her go. Just one."

Almaric wants to marry her; it is not uncommon for first cousins to wed, Morgrave said, persistent in his crusade to free her. You have heard the rumors. The king sent Calista to live with the nuns at Talbot Abbey when he learned she was pregnant. That girl is Calista’s child, and her father was John Mandrake, the famous swordsmith. For years, Taliesin lived in secrecy with the Raven Clan. They say she’s a witch. Now, her mother returns to the royal court, and the daughter is left to rot in a wagon. Have you noticed the carnal way the old hag looks at us? It makes me uncomfortable, and I am not a man who readily turns down what a woman has to offer.

Because you have no standards, Barstow replied. Mind what you say, for you are speaking about Princess Calista.

Oh, yes, I do, Morgrave said. You wanted one good reason, and I gave you one. If the girl dies, Prince Almaric will kill us. I don’t care what you say, Barstow. I feel sorry for the girl, though Sertorius and her mother do not. You’ll be sorry after Almaric throws us to the wolves, but by then, it will be too late to do anything about it.

So we let her go before we’re eaten, Gallus said. Get out of our way, you old boar. We’re letting the Raven Mistress go.

Taliesin’s mood brightened at the sound of the scuffle. Sir Duroc returned to the wagon, climbed into the back, and knelt beside her. Taliesin reached out to him, chains clanking, silently begging for water. He untied a flask from his belt and held it over her face. Duroc brushed away the spider web, his manner gentle, as he lifted her head with one hand and poured water into her mouth. The water was warm, yet sweet, and she swallowed with eagerness.

You poor girl, Duroc crooned. You can’t stay in this wagon a moment longer. Morgrave and Gallus agree; if they can’t force Barstow to see things our way, then I’ll gut the old boar myself. She kept her mind locked with Duroc’s as he removed the silver chains. I will show you mercy—I am a knight, not a brute.

Taliesin licked her lips. More, please, sir.

The knight helped her sit and let her hold the canteen. Duroc removed his black cloak to spread over the bodies and sat beside her. "Your mother is Princess Calista, and your father was John Mandrake, the swordsmith. I am told you have more royal blood than the Draconus princes combined. Some say you are the last Sha’tar in the realm. John Mandrake, they say, was descended from Korax Sanqualus, the Raven King, and that is why Ringerike wants to be with you."

That’s right, Taliesin said.

Gallus joined them. We must get her out of the wagon and give her a horse, Duroc, he said and helped Taliesin out of the wagon.

We must give her the Raven Sword, Duroc added.

Taliesin smiled. You both are kind. I will not forget this.

I will give you my horse. I should have done so days ago, Gallus said. He took her arm, Duroc beside them, and led her to a grove of trees. Taliesin was surrounded by soldiers seated in the grass, eating their meager rations. The four horses drank at the creek, bordered with tall reeds. A raven perched on a stalk, its black eyes watching. Taliesin had a sneaking suspicion it was her friend, Zarnoc, a skilled wizard. She was to be rescued! She looked away from the raven and sat on the grass.

I told you not to release her, Barstow grumbled, as he munched on a chunk of moldy cheese. "Sertorius said Almaric paid General Akyres Folando of the Hellirins to fight for him. Darklings and Wolfen. It is a disgrace to our kind, to be sure. I will not have it said by anyone I was unkind to the Raven Mistress. Perhaps we should let her go."

Chivalry before dishonor, gentlemen, Taliesin said. She had won over all four; they were going to let her go. They would give her the Raven Sword and a horse and keep her escape secret for as long as possible.

Rest a bit before you leave, Sir Morgrave said. He stood beside Taliesin and pushed a lock of black hair from his eyes. He had not shaved in days, and his beard grew thick. The army will be on the move soon.

Tend to her needs, Barstow snarled. Use your cloak to shield her eyes from the sun, Gallus. Morgrave, fetch the Raven Sword. Let her hold it, for it will give her strength and comfort. Duroc, find her something to eat. Now!

Gallus spread his cloak on tree limbs to form a makeshift pavilion. He knelt beside her, used his flask to wet a rag, and with tender strokes, washed the dirt from her face. Morgrave brought the Raven Sword, wrapped in a cloak, to Taliesin and placed it on the ground at her side. The sword let out a soft whine. Duroc led Gallus’ horse, a brown Morgenstern stallion, to the trees and tied the reins to a limb. He removed food wrapped in cloth from the saddlebag and placed it within Taliesin’s reach. Gallus took her hands and wiped them clean as best he could, his smile wide as she opened the cloth. She sunk her teeth into a piece of dried beef. It was tough, and she took her time chewing and swallowing each mouthful.

I feel terrible about what we have done, Barstow said. Sertorius should be ashamed for treating his cousin this way. No woman should have to ride in a gut wagon. Rub her ankles, Gallus, and get the blood flowing.

A little more water? Morgrave asked as he held out his flask, which she took and kept for her journey. Please, forgive us, Raven Mistress. How can we make it up to you? Tell us, and we will do whatever you ask.

Make sure I have provisions in the saddlebags. Fill your canteens with water, for I want all of them, Taliesin said. The Garridan men are mariners, you know, not mainlanders, like us. They do not share our traditions. Nor do they have our good manners.

No, they are not like us, Sir Barstow said. We’re Maldavian men.

I am sure we would find royal blood if we looked into your family trees, Taliesin said while Gallus rubbed her legs. All four of you are chivalrous. And we know how many children King Magnus had, before and after the Magic Wars; I would not be surprised to learn we are related to one another. She wrapped the rest of the food in the cloth and gave it to Duroc, who placed it in a saddlebag. Her fingers were eager to touch Ringerike, and a rush of energy filled her.

I do sense a type of kinship, Sir Barstow said. But we must wash your feet before you depart. The pot-bellied knight with the thick red beard removed her boots and set them aside. As he washed her toes, he sang a country song, "This little birdie went to market. This little birdie stayed home."

Taliesin tolerated their attention, while the other soldiers stood, collected their spears, and set out on the road. Not one to carry a grudge, she felt compelled to repay the knights for their kindness. She didn’t care if they responded this way because of her magic; instead, she felt sorry for them. A nasty scar along Morgrave’s left cheek made his eyelid droop at half-mast. She lifted her hand, touched the scar, and watched as the flesh healed.

What are you doing? Morgrave asked.

Healing you, sir. It is payment for your help.

Your scar, Morgrave! Gallus pointed at his friend’s face. The fair lady has healed you, as though it was never there. This is a miracle.

Morgrave raised his hands to his face and started to weep while the other three knights shed their tunics and armor. Barstow shouted at the driver, ordered him on, and the gut wagon rolled forward. Not one soldier or officer questioned the four knights as they removed their gear. Taliesin tended to each man and healed their battle scars. She encouraged them to show her everything. When they had not a stitch on, she laughed and said, Lay on the grass, gentlemen, and go to sleep. You have earned it, and I must be on my way.

While the naked knights slumbered, Taliesin dressed in Gallus’ clothes—he was close enough to her size that his garments and boots fit. Eager to touch Ringerike, she removed the cloak from the sword, heard its soft whimper, and hugged the weapon against her chest. The sword remained in its red scabbard, attached to a harness she quickly slid into and fastened around her waist. Ringerike was more than five feet in length and hung vertically across her back, quivering ever so slightly; it was happy to return to her. She climbed onto Gallus’ horse, and as she rode into the trees, she sang, "This little birdie went tweet, tweet, tweet! All the way home."

Thousands of soldiers on the King’s Road started to sing the same song, "All the way home, yes, all the way home. Taliesin laughed, and with a nudge of her heels to the horse’s flanks, she galloped into the trees, leaving the army behind. Ahead, she noticed a raven seated on a low branch, singing in a man’s voice. Tweet, tweet, tweet, said the little bird."

Zarnoc!

The bird peered down at her with amber eyes. What an abominable song, he muttered. Why would you teach it to soldiers? You make them sound like fools.

It’s about time you showed up, Taliesin said as she rode under the limb, able to see the raven’s underside. She admired his long, glossy tail feathers, caught him lifting one clawed foot, and at the last second, leaned to the side to avoid a splatter of white goo. Be of use, wizard! Make certain no one follows me. After all, you owe me a favor.

Do I? Do I? Zarnoc squawked. With a flap of his wings, he flew into the air.

Yes, you most certainly do. I rescued you from Eagle’s Cliff. I can’t say you did the same for me, so you definitely owe me one!

Ducking under a branch, Taliesin pressed her heels against the horse’s flanks. He trotted forward, free from the weight of his former heavy rider and the glare of the sun, just as eager as she to get away from the army. She listened for shouts of alarm but heard only the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker. A good sign, she thought, for birds fell silent when they sensed danger. As Ringerike thumped her back, excited to be with her once more, the familiar form of the black raven appeared. He glided past her and let out another loud squawk.

Unsure what Zarnoc meant, she took it as a sign someone followed, and with hell on her heels, she kicked the horse into a gallop and raced through the trees.

* * * * *

Chapter Two

Taliesin followed a ridge where the pine trees became sparse and the ground had hardened from lack of moisture. In front of her stretched miles of rugged terrain with rolling sand dunes, a wide variety of cactus, and the occasional palm tree. Zarnoc had vanished somewhere along the path. The horse descended the escarpment, kicking up stones and a cloud of dust in his wake, and reached the bottom where a blast of heat greeted them. The sun had baked the landscape until large cracks appeared in the ground. Erindor was an inhospitable place, though the red lizards perched on a nearby rock seemed to enjoy their sunbath.

Taliesin drank sparingly from the stolen flask and was tempted to create an oasis with a pool of water for her horse but feared any use of magic might be noticed. Although she saw no caravans or Erindor soldiers across the broad horizon, she suspected bandits watched from adjacent dunes; however, Taliesin rode for miles without seeing another person and finally spotted a small town in the distance. She wondered what it was called, for the Erindorians had beautiful names for their towns and cities. Khimesset, Nador, and Ourzazate were three of her favorites. The capital, Shaemone, lay far to the southeast on the coast, and as far as she knew, it remained untouched by Prince Sertorius’ army.

The horse slowed its pace as they neared the town, though she sensed the Raven Sword persuading her to ride on, wanting her to be cautious of other humans. Taliesin, though, felt compelled to approach and gazed at the blue-domed mosque, admiring its unique design. Square-shaped buildings painted white with orange tiled roofs were bunched together along the narrow streets. Balconies framed by slender pillars looked over lush gardens, which meant the town had an abundant water source, allowing them to irrigate. There was a low wall around the city, and she was able to see the market, bustling with people trading. In the past, she accompanied the Raven Clan to swap weapons in small villages for spices and fruit like the curious zutan—a type of peach with bright red skin and a green interior filled with chewy seeds. Through a large archway, she was able to see brightly-colored material blowing in the breeze and the glitter of scaled armor and curved swords; the town was defended by Red Cobras, and she pulled back on the reins, no longer as anxious to approach the town’s central well.

An old man in a dark purple cloak appeared on the path. He held a white staff in his hand, which he leaned upon as he watched her approach. On his shoulder perched a scrawny raven, its beady eyes boring into her.

Good day, mistress, the old man said.

Taliesin stiffened at the sound of his melodious voice. She sensed the stranger had strong magic. Ringerike quivered in warning, and a friendly greeting caught in her throat as the breeze carried his pungent odor, reminding her of a rotting corpse. For some reason, she felt she knew him, though she didn’t know where they could have met. Ignoring him, she rode on. A shiver slid down her spine as his pet raven let out an angry hiss, and on impulse, she glanced over her shoulder. The old man and his ugly bird had vanished without a trace.

That’s not good, Taliesin whispered. "Ringerike, I fear that was a sorcerer. I thought I killed everyone in the Eagle’s Magic Guild. Who was that? Do you know? The answer came to her in an image; a younger version of the same man, dressed in dark purple, staff in hand, stood on the steps to a white marble palace. The ugly raven was perched on his shoulder, and the man stared at her with strange silver eyes. She gasped as she recognized Heggen, the god of the underworld, and his pet raven, Vendel. What are they doing here? Are they following me?"

But she already knew the answer before Ringerike confirmed it. The gods of Mt. Helos were not her friends; her clan had prayed to Heggen, but he had not helped when the Wolf Clan attacked. If Heggen had come to look for her, she had no doubt he had been sent by Ragnal, the god of war. The Wolf Clan prayed to Ragnal, who had two pet wolves, Cano—a werewolf—and its son, Varg—the first man to be bitten and turned into a Wolfen. She swallowed hard, heart thumping fast, and again glanced over her shoulder. f

Two boys on a camel rode past, shouting for her to move aside. Her fears faded as she thought of the annual camel race in Shaemone, which brought thousands to the capital by the sea. Osprey had told Taliesin about the sport when she was a child, but the former Raven Master was dead. He would never tell her another story, and his death was Ragnal’s fault as much as it was the Wolf Clan’s. If the gods meant to waylay her, she would be ready for them.

Taliesin stopped at the well and dismounted. Locals gathered there to fill large clay pots, and they didn’t bother to talk to her as she walked the horse to a trough. As the horse drank, she filled her flasks and thought about her friend, Rook, the Captain of the Black Wing guards who protected the Raven Clan. Rook, the eldest son of Duke Dhul Fakar of Erindor, had told her the people of Erindor were humble and kind.

A small girl with her mother paused to smile at Taliesin. The mother took one look at Taliesin and tucked her child behind her skirts. It would have been nice to have Rook as a companion on the journey since he knew the native tongue and might have been able to converse with the people. But the captain was at Penkill Castle in Maldavia, to the north, with the rest of the Raven Clan.

I would rather fly home than ride, Taliesin muttered as she climbed into the saddle, rode away from the well, and left the town behind. "I want to see my clan, Ringerike. I miss Rook, Wren, and Hawk. And I miss Roland. The sword responded with a soft whine. You miss him too? I’m glad."

The Raven Sword eagerly showed her an image of Sir Roland Brisbane of the Knights of the White Stags of Fregia. She had not seen her lover in a long time, and as she studied his rugged face, she wondered if he thought about her as well. She’d met Roland at Raven’s Nest, the former home of the Raven Clan. Master Osprey had sworn the large, muscular man into the clan and given him the name Grudge to match his personality. He was assigned to watch Taliesin while the clan scavenged the battlefields, and she had fallen for the gruff, rude man. Grudge soon rose to the rank of captain in the Black Wings.

Osprey had sent her away when the Wolf Clan, aware she was a natural-born witch, had sent soldiers to fetch her for Prince Almaric. With Grudge, Hawk, Rook, and Wren, they’d traveled to the Salayan Desert to retrieve Ringerike, the ancestral sword of their clan, and the most powerful magic sword in the realm. They had been joined by the Ghajaran gypsies, Tamal, his sister Jaelle, and the four Nova brothers, as well as Zarnoc, and it had proven to be a perilous quest. Pursued by the Wolf Clan, Prince Sertorius, and the Knights of Chaos, her group had learned to depend on each other to survive.

During the journey, Grudge had revealed his identity as Sir Roland and his true purpose in joining the Raven Clan—King Frederick Draconus had sent Sir Roland to locate her and the Raven Sword and bring both to Padama. They had parted on bad terms when the Eagle Clan found them in the desert. She had left Roland and the Eagle legionnaires to fight with the Wolf Pack, and she had blamed him for being a loyal King’s Man. Roland’s Grandmaster, Banik Dzobian, was the cousin of Duke Fakar of Erindor. She knew Roland and Banik, and most likely the duke, were at Padama defending Tantalon Castle from Almaric’s army. If she ever had the chance, she meant to apologize, for she now realized he was loyal to his king, a rare quality these days, and had followed orders. Roland had not meant to hurt her, but her temper had gotten in the way, and she regretted their quarrel.

Please think kindly about me, Roland, she said in a soft voice. If any birds are nearby and can hear me, tell Roland I love him. Let him know I am sorry and will make it up to him.

A lone yellow heron glided past overhead, as if eager to deliver her message, and Taliesin followed it with her eyes until she spotted dark smoke on the horizon. Ringerike whined, letting her know someone was in trouble, and she urged the horse into a gallop. She rode for several miles, compelled to find the source of the smoke, and noticed an oasis to her left. At a whinny from the horse, she approached the water hole and slid out of the saddle. The horse trotted to the water, dipped his nose, and started to drink. Clutching the reins, she turned to study the smoke, carried toward her on a capricious breeze, and wondered if the Knights of Chaos were in the vicinity. She had no doubt Sir Barstow and the other knights would be searching every village and town in the nearby area. At the flutter of wings, she reached for her sword and spotted Zarnoc, still in raven form, as he drifted down to land on her shoulder.

‘Dahkla’ is the name of the town, Zarnoc said. It’s easy enough to read your thoughts, and yes, the Knights of Chaos were there looking for you. Sir Barstow is keen on recapturing you, Taliesin; you embarrassed him, and he is no more forgiving than the prince he serves. Unfortunately, the people of Dahkla were in his path. Your horse has drunk its fill. I suggest we search for any survivors.

Zarnoc, a while ago, I thought I saw Heggen on the road.

What? What did he look like?

An old man in a purple robe who held a staff. A scrawny raven sat on his shoulder. Is it possible Heggen is a spy for Ragnal?

Not only possible but most probable, the wizard said. The Raven Sword hides you from your mortal enemies, Taliesin, and this is why Sertorius’ knights cannot find you. As for the gods of Mt. Helos, they are not so easily fooled. When you use magic, the gods can easily find you, and you used magic to befuddle Sir Barstow and his men. If you saw Heggen, then my fears are confirmed, and he has sided with Ragnal against you. We must proceed with caution, for no doubt, they will set a trap for you.

Then take me to Penkill Castle, Zarnoc. I want to see my friends.

Don’t you want to see what happened in the town?

No, she said. The Knights of Chaos don’t leave survivors behind. I’ve seen enough bloodshed in my lifetime. I just want to go home.

I could take you to the Raven Clan, he said. But I think you need to learn a few things before you go home. You lack discipline, confidence, and patience, to name a few. If you rely on me every time you’re in trouble, you will become dependent on me, and I will not always be around. For now, with Heggen and his raven sniffing about, we will refrain from using magic. The gods use magic against us, Taliesin. They use it to negate your powers and that of your sword, which is, possibly, why you have been so slow to reach your full potential. It could also be you simply lack concentration, which is something you must learn to fix if you are going to help Sir Roland defend his beloved king.

I prayed to Navenna for so long, it’s hard to think of her as an enemy. However, Mira has helped me since I left Raven’s Nest. I do not think she has sided with Ragnal, or she wouldn’t have helped me.

They are not gods or goddesses, Zarnoc snapped. The Maeceni are a race as old as the Lorian and Hellirin. Be thankful you do not have Maeceni blood in your veins, or you would have already sided with Ragnal. Perhaps Mira has turned against him—I really can’t say—nor do I care to make a guess as to what is going on at Mt. Helos. Those who still dwell on that cursed mountain are evil. Truly evil. Ragnal wants you dead. The war god is the strongest of the Maeceni, and the others do his bidding, even Stroud, the All-Father. Navenna, Mira’s twin, is also Ragnal’s lover. Ah, I see this surprises you. Well, Ragnal can be charming, I suppose, when he wants to be, and the Maeceni never mate with outsiders. This is why so few remain and why they are no longer able to breed. Broa, Stroud’s wife and mother to the twins, is as evil as your own mother.

Sertorius turned my mother against me, but I do not believe Calista is evil.

Trust me. All those years locked away in Talbot Abbey has turned her heart, Zarnoc replied. Get on your horse—he’s a fine Morgenstern and will get you to where you want to go.

Zarnoc flew off her shoulder and circled overhead as Taliesin turned toward the horse and climbed into the saddle. She rode from the oasis, and the raven settled onto the head of her horse. The animal snorted but allowed the bird to remain.

Sertorius has gone out of his way to anger Duke Fakar and his people, Taliesin said. The King’s Road adds miles to his march to Padama. The royal city is under siege by Almaric. Why does Sertorius take his sweet time getting there? What is going on, Zarnoc? Is Roland all right?

Your thoughts travel a mile a minute, child. You worry about the gods. You worry about the princes. And you worry about Roland. What shall I answer first?

I worry about everyone and everything, old man.

I have already told you what the Maeceni are doing, he said. The Knights of the White Stag defend Padama, and Roland is hopeful you will arrive to offer aid. I think it is obvious what is on Sertorius’ mind.

Fine. Anything else I can find out when I get to Tantalon Castle. I’ve tried several times to give my horse wings, but I’m not able to for some reason—I figure you’re blocking my magic. Do it for me, and let’s go.

Do this, do that. You need to see first-hand what is happening in this realm. I am not the reason your magic is acting oddly. Blame Ragnal, not me. I will not simply whisk you away to Padama. You need to be able to tell Sir Roland what Prince Sertorius is doing; Sertorius will act like he’s coming to aid his father, but once inside the capital, he means to kill him.

Taliesin frowned. All the more reason we should go now to Padama, she said. I could go as a bird. We can set the horse free.

"Yes, you could, but a bird can’t carry a sword as large as Ringerike. And an enormous bird will be noticed. Come. We are needed in the town." A change in the wind brought the odor of smoke from Dahkla. Tiny black dots that, on closer inspection, turned out to be buzzards hovered over the town. A stray camel, trailing its reins, appeared, followed by two more riderless camels. They slowed and turned to follow Taliesin’s horse. Zarnoc made another sweep across the path and vanished. Hearing a snort, Taliesin turned and found Zarnoc seated on a camel, one leg crossed over the other, smoking his pipe. He had added a black turban to his attire, and his long flowing robe was Erindorian. His white staff lay across his lap, and a thoughtful look hung on his wrinkled face. The steady rhythm of her horse changed. The sudden shift in motion thrust her forward, and she gasped aloud; Zarnoc had turned her horse into a camel.

I prefer a horse, Taliesin said.

Ride a camel instead, so you can blend in with the locals.

Taliesin wasn’t going to argue about whether a horse or a camel was more suitable, not when the town was in flames and the dead lay on the ground. She had spent the last twenty years of her life as a scavenger. After a lifetime of collecting weapons for the Raven Clan, knee-deep in guts and gore, she’d vowed never to revisit a battlefield. The smell, something neither soap nor perfume could cleanse, was firmly engrained in her senses, and the images had corrupted her dreams; not only soldiers died in a battle; the innocent were seldom spared too. She didn’t want to see what Zarnoc seemed insistent upon, and she raised a complaint.

I doubt anyone is left alive, Zarnoc. You can see those buzzards. I’m sorry, but I already know what we’ll find. If you want to help, warn the next village. If you want to be of service, take me to Padama this instant.

Consider this part of your education. Now stop complaining and making demands. Heggen will come to collect the souls of the dead; we must be quick about it. Now ride, girl. Ride!

Taliesin and Zarnoc approached the town at a hard gallop. Flames lapped at rooftops, and black smoke clotted the sky for miles. A dozen or more buzzards circled and appeared as dark shadows in the air, attracted to the smell of death. From a mile away, Taliesin spotted the red cloaks of Erindorian soldiers left dead in the sand. Her mount slowed as she approached the bodies. She imagined the brave soldiers stationed at the small garrison, alerted by the arrival of the Knights of Chaos, had ridden out to meet them. No quarter had been given, and not one man had been spared; each had been cut to ribbons by the Garridans’ heavy axes and swords. Beside the dead soldiers lay their camels, peppered with arrows, their throats slit by broadswords. She looked away as Zarnoc dismounted onto the blood-drenched ground.

Thirty men defended Dahkla, and thirty brave men died, Zarnoc said. The emotion in the wizard’s voice tugged at her heart as he waved her on. Go see if anyone is alive. I will follow soon enough.

Taliesin rode to a brick archway. It had a pattern similar to one she’d seen at other Erindorian towns, opening to a wide street that led to the center of town. She dismounted and drew Ringerike as she entered the city, and the camel walked behind her, its reins dragging in the sand. Palm trees, now burned to a crisp, bordered the street, and houses smoldered on either side. A few bodies, peppered with arrows with sea-green fletchings, lay beside a well, but as she approached