The Spell Realm (7 page)

Augusta would do anything to ensure that the creature paid for Barson’s death.

* * *

Leaving Furak’s chambers, Augusta walked through the Tower halls, a small smile playing on her lips. The young sorcerer had been even easier to persuade than she’d hoped. His infatuation with Augusta was so obvious, she almost felt embarrassed for him. With his pale blond hair and boyish looks, he was attractive enough, she supposed, but he did nothing for her. Not like Barson . . .

A spear of agony shot through her at the thought. For a moment, it hurt so much, she felt like she couldn’t breathe, but then she pulled herself together with effort. Her lover was gone, and there was nothing she could do about it—but she could ensure his death was not in vain.

Pausing in front of Jandison’s chambers, Augusta knocked quietly, hoping that the old sorcerer was there. She should’ve probably sent him a Contact message ahead of time, but she’d gotten caught up in her conversation with Furak, and it was too late now.

After about a minute, she heard shuffling footsteps, and the door swung open. Jandison stood there, his rheumy eyes peering at her questioningly.

“Master Jandison,” Augusta said respectfully. “I wanted to discuss something with you.”

He offered her a surprised smile. “Of course, child. What can I do for you?” And gesturing for her to step inside, he shuffled toward the desk standing in the middle of the room.

Augusta tried to remember how old Jandison was. Older than Ganir, that was for sure. A hundred? A hundred-and-twenty? He had to be quite old—unless he was just inept at revitalizing spells. Augusta herself was in her mid-thirties, but she knew she looked hardly older than twenty.

“I am sorry about your loss,” Jandison said softly, sitting down behind his desk with some effort.

“Thank you,” Augusta said, startled. She had briefly mentioned her relationship with Barson when she was explaining the situation with the creature to the Council, but the last thing she had expected was sympathy from Jandison or the others.

“I am sure Ganir had not meant to cause such a disaster,” Jandison continued, leaning back in his chair. “He couldn’t have foreseen that sending the Guard after this thing would result in their deaths.”

Augusta swallowed, the ache in her chest intensifying and transforming into slow-burning fury. “I’m sorry, Councilor,” she said evenly. “I find it difficult to hold our Council Leader blameless in this.”

Jandison nodded. “Of course, I understand. This is rather tragic, and his judgment could’ve been better.”

“Yes, it could’ve been,” Augusta said. Then, following her intuition, she added, “Had you been the Council Leader, I’m sure this would’ve been handled differently.”

Jandison’s eyes gleamed brighter, though he didn’t say anything, and Augusta knew she was on the right track. She was surprised she hadn’t seen this before. Jandison was, in fact, quite jealous of Ganir. “Never mind,” she said quietly, “please ignore my incautious statement. I’m clearly letting my emotions get the better of me.”

Jandison looked at her, a speculative expression appearing on his wrinkled face. “I think I can guess why you’re here, child,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about the upcoming vote. The creature will be dealt with, I assure you.”

Augusta pondered his assurance, surprised both by his perceptiveness and his confidence. How could he be so certain the vote would go in this direction? If anything, so far the odds were not in Augusta’s favor—which was exactly why she was here. “I hope you’re right,” she said dubiously, frowning a little.

A thin smile curved his lips. “You don’t have to hope, child. I guarantee this.”

Augusta inclined her head respectfully. “Of course, Master Jandison. Thank you for your support.” She didn’t know if the old man had gone senile, or if he read the situation differently, but she didn’t argue further. It sounded like he would vote as she hoped, which meant that she was done here.

Dania was up next.

* * *

Walking into the library archives, Augusta headed for the back, where the old woman was bending over a pile of dusty old books. This was Dania’s domain—the place where all the arcane knowledge from the past two centuries was stored.

Coming up to her, Augusta discreetly cleared her throat. When Dania looked up in surprise, Augusta gave her a warm smile. “Those books look quite interesting,” Augusta remarked, gesturing toward the pile. “They’re from Lenard’s assistants, right?”

“Yes,” Dania said, straightening to look at Augusta. “They are. Anything from the Enlightenment Period is priceless, as you should know.” There was a hard note in her voice, and Augusta realized that the woman had been deeply disturbed by her account of burning Lenard the Great’s scrolls in Blaise’s library—the very scrolls that were in Augusta’s pocket right now.

“Oh, yes,” Augusta said nonchalantly, pretending that she didn’t understand the cause of Dania’s anger. “The knowledge they contain is invaluable.”

Dania’s brows snapped together. “Why are you here?” she asked bluntly, her usual diplomatic veneer absent. “What do you want?”

“I’d like to talk to you about the vote,” Augusta said, watching the old woman carefully. “The upcoming vote about Blaise’s abomination.”

Dania’s mouth tightened. “What about it? I know what you’re hoping to achieve, but I believe Ganir is right. This is not the way to go about it.”

“Why not?” Augusta countered. “It’s dangerous. You saw that—”

Dania held up her hand, stopping Augusta mid-sentence. “Don’t practice your demagoguery on me, child,” she said. “It may work on those impressionable fools, but I won’t fall for your tricks.”

“All right, then,” Augusta said, refusing to take offense. This was going about as well as she’d expected. “You can’t be swayed by reason, I understand that. Perhaps I can persuade you some other way. Perhaps I can give you something that would be so invaluable, it would be worth your vote of support . . .”

Dania’s eyebrows climbed up on her forehead. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the scrolls of Lenard the Great himself,” Augusta said softly. “It’s possible that they weren’t completely destroyed.”

Dania drew in a sharp breath. “You have them?”

Augusta’s lips stretched in a cat-like smile. “Perhaps.” She was enjoying this quite a bit. “How much would it be worth to you to find out?” And before Dania could say anything, Augusta added, “Keep in mind that I put a little spell on these scrolls. Should they leave my possession without my consent—or if I’m feeling like they might—then they will disintegrate without a trace.” Augusta was mostly bluffing, but Dania didn’t need to know that. Augusta did indeed have such a spell on the notes, but she would never activate it. She agreed with Dania that some knowledge was too precious to be destroyed.

Dania’s eyes narrowed. “I see. You took those scrolls from Blaise’s office, and now you’d like me to vote your way.”

Augusta simply shrugged in response, giving Dania a coolly amused look. “Perhaps,” she said casually. “Who is to say what happened in Blaise’s house? Certainly there were no witnesses either way.”

Dania stared at her, a calculating look appearing on her face. “So if I vote your way, you’ll give them to me? Those scrolls?”

“Yes.” Augusta smiled. “In fact, I will give them to you now. All I require in exchange is your vow to keep your promise about the vote . . . and your help with locating a couple of books in this library.” Taking the scrolls out of her pocket, she handed them to Dania, who accepted them with a reverent look on her face.

The old woman’s hands shook with eagerness as she unrolled the scrolls and quickly glanced over them. Augusta knew she could see traces of her incinerating spell on them, so she had no fear of Dania double-crossing her. For the next minute, Dania seemed so absorbed in the scrolls that Augusta had to clear her throat again to remind Dania of her presence.

When Dania looked up, Augusta gave her an even look. “Well?” she prompted. “Do we have an agreement?”

Dania hesitated, looking torn, and Augusta knew that this was difficult for her. She wanted those scrolls, but she was also loyal to Ganir. “Keep in mind,” Augusta said softly, “that these scrolls contain dangerous knowledge—knowledge that was used to create this thing that we need to destroy. If you don’t take them and hide them in the depths of this library, I may have no choice but to incinerate them. I can’t leave them lying about unattended. They could easily fall into the wrong hands, you see?”

“No.” The word sounded like it was torn from Dania’s throat. “No, you can’t destroy these. I’ll take them, and I’ll give you that vote.”

“Good.” Augusta smiled again. “I knew we’d see eye to eye on this. Now I also need a book on locator, paralysis, and energy drainage spells, as well as a few texts for the physics project I’ve been working on.”

And with that, her mission was complete. Now all Augusta had to do was wait for the vote and hope that she had not misjudged Gina after all.

Chapter 10: Barson 

Stealthily making his way through the Tower halls, Barson fixed his hood, making sure it covered his face. So far, no one had paid him any attention, making his plan of staying hidden remarkably easy to implement.

Approaching the now-empty Guard barracks, he took a look around to confirm that no one saw him, and entered the familiar quarters, lowering his hood on the way. As expected, his allies were already there, gathered in the room that typically served as the training area for the soldiers. Barson had asked Dara to send a Contact message to all of them, and it appeared they received his invitation.

There were five sorcerers standing there—three men and two women. At his entrance, the youngest, Kira, stepped forward and gave Barson a smile. “Hello, Captain,” she said warmly. “We’re glad to see you alive.”

“Indeed,” Vashel chimed in, his hands nervously playing with the hem of his tunic. “We’d heard some very disturbing rumors recently . . .” A short, thin man of indeterminate age, he had been among the last to join Barson’s cause, and he still seemed anxious about his decision.

“You should know better than to trust rumors. I’m not an easy man to kill,” Barson said, barely managing to veil his contempt. He hated weakness and indecisiveness in all its forms. Vashel hadn’t been among the five sorcerers Barson had originally approached, and if it weren’t for the fact that Ganir managed to get rid of two of his potential allies, Barson would’ve never considered working with the man. As it was, however, he had to hope that Vashel’s ambition would outweigh his cowardice.

“I think we all know that,” Noriella said calmly, looking at Barson. A talented sorceress, she, like Dara, was tired of being denied opportunities for advancement. She had been the first outsider to join his cause, and Barson admired her for her determination to take matters into her own hands. “That’s what we’re counting on, in fact.”

The other two people in the room—Pavel and Mittel—remained silent. The two middle-aged sorcerers were cousins, though they looked similar enough to be twins, both possessing bright red hair and freckled complexions. From what Dara told Barson, they were as close as brothers too, having worked together on some bit of arcane research for decades. It was the Council’s peremptory shutting down of that research that prompted them to ally themselves with Barson. Apparently a sorcerer denied his research was a dangerous thing—a fact that Barson noted for future reference.

In general, all five of his allies were frustrated with the current regime. Their specific reasons were different, but it all boiled down to their unhappiness with the Council and the hierarchy within the Tower. Peasants weren’t the only ones who felt neglected and oppressed by the ruling body of the land; many lower-ranking sorcerers were just as upset, their feelings aggravated by the sense of entitlement all members of their class possessed. To Barson, this was yet another failure of the Sorcery Revolution. In the old days, when rightful kings ruled, everybody knew their place, and there was a certain comfort in that. In the modern era, however, the illusion of upward mobility bred discontent among lower and upper classes alike, fostering unnecessary unrest in the Koldun society.

It was a situation Barson planned to remedy when he was king.

“So,” he said quietly, looking around the room at the people who were going to help him achieve that goal, “it appears that we might be able to implement our plan earlier than expected, thanks to some recent developments. Where does each of you stand on the assignments Dara asked you to complete?”

And for the next twenty minutes, he listened as they filled him in on spells that they had prepared, each one of them eager to impress him with their knowledge and skill. Barson nodded and praised them, giving them the approval they so clearly craved, and all the while his mind was going over strategies for the upcoming battle. It would not be easy, but he was confident that they would succeed. They had to succeed.

As the meeting was wrapping up, Barson instructed his allies to keep a close eye on Ganir and the general happenings in the Tower. “If the old man so much as sneezes, I want to know about it,” he told them, and they promised to keep him informed.

Satisfied, Barson left the Guard barracks, pulling the hood up around his head again. As soon as the Council had a chance to complete their vote, he would go talk to Augusta.