The Spell Realm (11 page)

This also made sense to Gala. She imagined her own body made of pebbles. If she wanted to put the pebbles that made her body somewhere, she needed to decide which pebbles it would displace. She nodded to show her understanding.

“When all that is done, you use the words that someone had already invented for this task, and just fill in the variables that I explained. This is a simple task, because you’re not inventing a new spell. Someone, long ago, already did that. You’re just tweaking it, so it works the way you want. And then you just need to say the Interpreter spell—”

“What exactly is the Interpreter spell?” Gala interrupted. “I know you’ve mentioned it before . . .”

Blaise smiled. “Well, I can explain to you what it does, but I can only guess at
how
it does it. From what we understand, it takes the logic of the spell and transmits it to the Spell Realm in some form—and then the spell acts upon our Physical Realm.”

“I see,” Gala said thoughtfully. She had more questions, but those could wait for now. “Can you please teach me what to say for the teleportation spell?”

Blaise proceeded to give her a language lesson. It was long, but Gala found every aspect of it fascinating. Blaise kept saying how amazingly quick she was to pick up all of the nuances of the arcana and how she was leapfrogging years of study. Gala accepted his praise with pleasure, even though this way of doing spells didn’t appeal to her as much as doing them directly.

The language itself was very natural to her. It was precise and logical. There were things like conditional statements—if A is true, then B follows—that existed in regular speech. However, with verbal spells, these statements had formal definitions and always had to be spoken in a specific way. There were a lot of words for formulas and quite a bit of formal mathematical constructs with their own version of grammar.

After hours of drilling, Blaise decided she was ready.

Closing her eyes, Gala recited the spell, followed by the Interpreter litany. It was supposed to teleport her a short distance. When she was done speaking, she opened her eyes and saw that Blaise’s face was much closer to her. Before the spell, they were sitting about an arm’s length apart, but now her knee was touching his. Even though she had planned it exactly this way, the sense of wonder was overwhelming.

Filled with joy, Gala looked into Blaise’s eyes. He held her gaze, and she could feel the growing connection between them. The joy immediately transmuted into something else—something that only Blaise could make her feel. Her heartbeat picked up, and she unconsciously moved toward him, her body beginning to ache with a strange longing.

“Gala . . .” There was a soft, deep note in Blaise’s voice. It made her skin prickle with heat, as though she was burning from within. “Are you sure about this?”

Gala stared at him, and then, without saying a word, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “I’m not as naïve as you think,” she murmured before pressing her lips to his. She could hear the catch in Blaise’s breathing, and then he encircled her in his arms, pulling her into his embrace and deepening the kiss. The fire burning inside Gala spread until she couldn’t think, overwhelmed by the sensations. The intensity of her feelings was too much, too sharp, almost as it was when she lost control before . . . and then she suddenly felt unbearable heat—heat that was coming from outside herself.

Gasping, she drew back . . . and saw that the meadow around them was ablaze.

She must’ve accidentally set it on fire.

Chapter 14: Barson 

“I hear you thought I was dead?” Barson said, stepping forward when Augusta just continued staring at him, seemingly frozen in place.

“You’re . . .” Her face was pale, her lips barely moving. “You’re not dead.”

“No, I’m not,” he said gently, pulling her toward him. He could feel her beginning to shake, and fierce satisfaction surged through him. She cared. She genuinely cared about him. Nobody could fake that kind of physical response. He also felt an unwelcome twinge of guilt for putting her through this—a guilt that he immediately suppressed. As he had hoped, the Council had voted to confront the threat of the young sorceress, and he strongly suspected that the Guard being ‘dead’ was a factor in that decision.

“How?” Augusta whispered, reaching up to touch his face with a trembling hand. “I thought I saw you die . . . Is this real? Are you real?”

“Oh, I’m real,” Barson assured her, picking her up and carrying her over to the bed. “Why don’t I show you just how real I am?” he murmured, starting to take off her remaining clothes.

And for the next couple of hours, he proved to her that he was fully alive and well.

* * *

When they were lying spent in each other’s arms, Augusta began crying. Surprised, Barson stroked her glossy hair, not knowing what else to do.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a minute, wiping away the tears. “I think I’m just exhausted and . . . and so relieved that you’re alive. I still can’t believe it. How did it happen?”

Barson hesitated for a moment, then decided that he had nothing to lose by telling her about the battle. As he explained how the young sorceress had healed many of them, he could feel the growing tension in Augusta’s body.

Pulling back from him, she stared at him through tear-wet lashes. “Such power,” she whispered, and there was horror in her voice. “Such inhuman, unnatural power . . .”

“Yes,” Barson said, “I’ve never experienced anything like it before. It was euphoric, amazing . . . and the way she wielded the sword . . .” He couldn’t hide the admiration in his voice, which seemed to upset Augusta. Her expression darkened, her eyes narrowing into golden slits, and he quickly added, “Of course, she’s dangerous and needs to be dealt with.”

“She needs to be wiped out of existence.” Augusta’s voice was low and furious. “This kind of creature cannot be allowed to live.”

“Creature?”

Augusta nodded, and then she told him the most incredible story he’d ever heard. When she was done, he stared at Augusta in disbelief. Only a sorcerer would’ve done something so foolish—creating life without a thought to possible consequences. Their hubris knew no bounds.

“Does everybody know that the Guard has survived?” Augusta asked, interrupting that train of thought.

Barson understood where she was heading immediately. “No,” he said, looking at her. “I rode ahead of my men.” He’d suspected that this might be Augusta’s reaction, and he was glad that she was taking the conversation in this direction.

“I don’t know how to put it delicately,” she said slowly, holding his gaze, “but do you think your men could take a well-deserved vacation for the next couple of weeks?”

“Oh?” Barson arched his eyebrows. She was doing exactly what he’d hoped.

“Your survival could . . . change things,” Augusta said quietly. “It could cast the validity of the vote in doubt, since it was based on potentially faulty information.”

“I understand.” Barson hid his satisfaction. “We’ll do as you ask and stay dead for now. Though, of course, this won’t be easy on my men’s families . . .” He added that last touch to give the appearance of reluctance. It wouldn’t do to seem too eager.

“I know.” Augusta frowned a bit. “I don’t want them to suffer, but this is too important to be left to a re-vote. We need the Council to take her out. You understand that, right?”

“I do.” Barson sighed, pretending to be thinking about this. “Perhaps we can have my men dress as peasants for now and visit their families in secret.”

“That’s a great idea,” Augusta said, giving him a quick smile. “Thank you. I really owe you for this.”

“Of course, if Ganir finds out about this . . .” Barson let his voice trail off.

“Don’t worry. I will handle Ganir if it comes to that,” she said, and there was a hard glitter in her eyes.

“In that case, we’ll do as you ask,” Barson promised, leaning down to kiss her again.

This had gone even better than he’d expected. Everything was falling nicely into place.

* * *

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Dara said, greeting Barson with a hug as he stepped inside her house.

“What is it?” Barson asked curiously, following her toward her study.

“Actually, it might be best if you see this for yourself.” She led him toward the desk in the middle of the room and held out a needle. “Here, prick your finger. You’ll want to record this.”

“All right.” Not bothering to question Dara, Barson held the needle to his finger, letting a droplet of blood well up. Then he pressed it to the Life Capture Sphere that sat on the desk.

“Good. Now take this.” She handed him a droplet, and he realized that she wanted to retain the information on this droplet, to have his experience of consuming it recorded. Whatever was on this droplet had to be fairly important.

Putting the droplet in his mouth, Barson felt it overtaking his mind.

* * *

Picking up the droplet, Dara put it under her tongue, curious as to what it contained. She’d found it on the floor of Jandison’s office, lying carelessly under his desk. It helped that Jandison was such a slob. He would never notice its absence, she thought right before she was pulled under.

* * *

Jandison watched the final stages of the voting process with a strange mix of satisfaction and regret. He didn’t like Louie—the boy had always been Ganir’s puppet, treating Jandison without any respect—but Jandison regretted upsetting Louie’s brother. And Blaise would be very upset when he found out the results of this vote.

Of course, that could only benefit Jandison at this point. He needed some way to reduce Ganir’s influence on the Council, and this was the first step in that direction. Ganir and Dasbraw’s sons were close, but they wouldn’t be for much longer. If all went according to plan, Louie would be gone, and Blaise would hate Ganir very shortly.

Jandison would need to speak to Blaise, to apologize for his role in Louie’s sentencing. He would tell Blaise that he’d changed his mind, but it was too late. He would explain how he had been persuaded to vote along with the rest of the Council, how everybody but Blaise voted the same way.

And everybody would end up voting the same way—at least once Jandison was done moving the voting stones into their proper place.

* * *

Regaining her sense of self, Dara stared blankly at the Sphere. She had never been so surprised in her life. Before she could analyze this further, she quickly touched the Sphere with her bloody finger, creating a new droplet.

* * *

“What was that?” Barson asked in shock, staring at his sister. “Did I understand it correctly? Jandison had something to do with fixing a vote?”

She nodded, her eyes shining. “Yes. And I doubt Louie’s trial was the only vote he’d tampered with.”

“But why?” Barson asked, frowning. “Why do something so treasonous?”

“Because I think this is his way of taking what he feels is his rightful due,” Dara said with an undertone of admiration. “Because, by controlling the vote, he—not Ganir—becomes the true leader of the Council . . . and I have long suspected this is something Jandison wants.”

“Of course,” Barson said slowly, “he’s the oldest, but most dismiss him as only a teleportation expert, nothing more. But that’s what the vote is, right? They teleport those stones in there?”

“Yes, exactly.” Dara beamed at him. “He must’ve come up with some way to move the stones from one box to another as it suits his purpose. I don’t think he teleports them, since I read that the boxes are made impenetrable to that kind of magic, but perhaps he created some kind of pathway or a portal between them to bypass this restriction—”

“The particulars of how he does it are not relevant,” Barson said, cutting short her excited lecture. Like all sorcerers, Dara could ramble about spell details for hours on end. “What we need to figure out is how we can use this information.”

“I’ve already thought about it,” Dara said, grinning. “I think it would be quite helpful if Ganir knew about this.”

Barson considered that for a moment. “Yes, I think you’re right. Divide and conquer might be the way to go here. We just need to make sure we don’t cast the validity of the latest vote into question.”

She appeared thoughtful. “Yes, we want to plant the suspicion in Ganir’s mind, but not arm him with damning evidence.”

“How about an anonymous letter?” Barson suggested. “We could have it delivered to Ganir’s quarters. It would make him suspicious, but won’t be enough for him to go public with his accusations.”

“Right.” Dara looked excited. “And if he did, everyone would assume he’s being a sore loser because the last vote didn’t go his way. But the letter would be enough for him to distrust and suspect Jandison—and that could take his attention away from us and cause some additional rifts within the Council.”