Marked For Magic (11 page)

Yes, the Mage liked honey
.
Nin smiled wide.

Lady Cassandra poured the honey from the spoon and the liquid into a small black cauldron. Cecile took it to hang over the hearth.

“Tab, go fetch a jug of wine.” Cassandra glanced across the table to her. “Are you hungry, Nin?”

She nodded. Too fearful or too interested to take note of her stomach’s hungry growls since she’d arrived at the castle, she’d dismissed them, but now she longed to eat.

“Tab, please ask the boy to bring us a dish of fruit and a platter of bread and cheese. While the potion brews, we’ll eat and talk.”

Cassandra crossed the room and removed the white apron before she rinsed her hands in a bowl. Cecile joined them at the table when Cassandra returned.

“Can you remember the ingredients, Nin?” Cassandra asked.

“You used hops for sleeping, valerian to make the sleep sweet, and lemon balm to help his muscles relax while he rests.” She laughed with pride, for she’d remembered them all. “And honey, for he has a sweet tooth.”

“Well done, Nin. With training, you will make a fine herbalist.”

Cassandra’s smile gave her a further glow.

Tab arrived with a tray. They sat together to eat slices of bread and tangy cheese, early apples and plums from the castle’s orchards.

While they ate, Cassandra took the small cauldron from its hook on the hearth. The lady brought the pot over to the table, and Cecile and Tab, like Nin, studied the bubbling greenish contents.

“This is what it should look like, Nin. The last step is simply to strain the brew into a cup, then we leave it to cool. Cassandra strained the mixture into a large silver goblet. Steam swirled above the cup. “While you ladies talk, I’ll go and find out when the Mage is likely to need it.”

The lady’s skirt swished as she walked to the door.

Nin half wished she could stay here, like the others, to find out more about all the herbs and their uses, but her place was with Thabit. The mark made her his, and she could not still the ache of hope in her heart that he would accept her.

She sighed and picked up another sweet, purple-skinned plum. Perhaps all this was the “more” Alicia had meant, but if it were, then everything seemed much more complicated than her friend from the village could have guessed.

His discussion with Lord Farel finished, Thabit entered the large chamber prepared for him by Cassandra and her students. He was comfortable in the familiar room, as he had worked here each time he scried. The wooden floor’s well-polished boards glowed. The table held all he would need. Candles sat in place in tall, elaborate, wrought iron holders.

Perfect.

A large tray of incense stood ready, and at his thought, smoldered to life. After he took several deep breaths of the sweet, calming smoke, he traced out the space in which he would work. That done, he set out the stones, the crystals, a small bowl of fiery cones, and the dish of water. Each he laid down, with his reverence, beneath their candle sconces.

The fat beeswax candles added their honeyed sweetness to the room, and with his glance, all flickered to life. He took up his place to meditate and ponder the questions Lord Farel posed.

Where would the next attack on the land come? Would who launch it?

Farel seemed convinced Cassandra’s visions and his own, as he’d described to his lordship, were linked. He had also decided these were signs of an attack on the eastern borders by the aggressive, slaving, military rulers of the Hasenites.

Though Lord Farel was usually an astute commander, on this occasion Thabit doubted the lord’s judgment. It was understandable perhaps that Lord Farel had fallen back on his normal expectations, rather than make use of what little information they had gathered.

The Hasenite realm had suffered repeated bouts of a strange plague in recent years and though the Magean council of his homeland had sent aid at the request of their chief priest, still the Hasenite population suffered. Perhaps to the point their forces were depleted enough to prevent any military action. They had been quiet for near six moons.

The danger did not come from that warlike nation.

More might come from this scrying than Lord Farel believed. Perhaps more than he anticipated himself. Maybe whatever visions he received would help the doubts in his mind and convince his lordship to think again.

The sun moved through noon while his thoughts settled. The distractions of the day left him. As ever, the faint hope he would once again commune with the immortals hovered at the back of his thoughts. He squashed the desire, for vanity alone gave him hope he might be honored on more than one occasion in his life. The gods spoke clear at his dedication, and he should expect no further direct attention. He stood and took his place, now ready to open his mind to messages from other realms.

“Gods of the waters, gods of the stones, gods of the skies, and gods of the flame, hear my plea. Use me for your will. Take my strength and use it for your will. Hear my call and allow my mind to hear yours.”

He picked up the vial he had prepared and lifted it in salutation to each of the candle sconces. Bitter on his tongue, the earthy taste of the mushroom brew soured his stomach.

The brew is strong
.

The effect near instant, he staggered. The empty vial slipped from his grasp as he sank down to the floor. He let the intensity of sensations sweep over him as he waited for the images gifted from the gods to fill his mind.

The first sprang strong and mouthwatering sweet. Golden hair shimmered before him. His fingers itched to unravel the long thick plait so he could stroke through the rippling, silken strands.

A flash of red caused a surge of desire. He would take her slow and gentle, revel in each sweet sigh she made. The weight of warm, plump, soft flesh filled his palm. He squeezed a nipple between his fingers until it became rigid and hot. The pounding heat in his groin grew painful, and tearing himself from the experience, he pushed his thoughts on, away from the temptation of Nin. He waited while the intense mirage of colors shivered and moved.

Riders suddenly leaped sharp into focus. The horse’s manes splayed out with a golden sheen like Nin’s hair. Armed riders in blue and scarlet uniforms charged forward. Horses pounded over autumn leaves that scattered in the wind. Lord Farel’s starry standard flashed proud before the troops as they rode toward the mountains, the western frontier, and the lowland marshes, bound for all the borders of the land.

Is it from here attacks will come?

He saw no sign of an enemy, merely the season’s changes to ready the land for winter’s grip.

Smoke filled his mind. Sweet incense and bitter wood fires. Each aroma took him deeper into the visions.

The nagging doubts of the last few days returned, his apprehension and confusion intensified by the brew. He sought control, and turned his mind again to the pictures wheeling above him in living, breathing colors.

Smoke and flame.

Death and the reek of the unburied.

Screams of pain he could do little to aid rang out from the people. The lifted voices of hundreds called, and he could not even give them water for their parched throats. Hands clawed at him. Fevered eyes stared blind. The open mouths of the dead still seemed to cry their terror.

All of it streamed through him.

He closed his eyes, but could not shut out the images of corpse after corpse, all disfigured by black bruises and swollen, purple skin.

A breathy yell strangled in his throat. Piles of dead multiplied until a yellow, sulphurous flame consumed them. A small, mottled purple hand, extended from a red sleeve within the blaze.

“Gods, no!”

Echoes of his cry reverberated around the chamber until they diminished to a whisper. The vision continued, unrelenting. He could not tear free. His body shook, muscles tense with the effort as he tried to close out the pitiful sights. The images pinpointed into blackness.

Darkness came as a relief, but only lasted for seconds before the harsh wheeze of breath, the scent of smoke and ash filled him. He caught the shadows of rasped words, but they were too hushed to be clear. The slow sweep of a brush rustled over them, and the murmurs vanished.

Grotesque sights piled in fast, one after another. Grain rotted in the fields as men fought on horseback at the forest edge. At the base of the mountains, they fought hand to hand, armed with staves and clubs, and in what had been the fertile, orchard-filled plains, women stood to ward off any who would challenge their children, who scrabbled, busy in piles of waste and among the dead.

The land shriveled and died before him. All became desolate. The trees of the forests fell. Yellowed grasses bent, blasted by harsh winds. Spasms racked through his body as fires broke free to consume the land he had known as one of frequent plenty.

Tears filled his eyes, but he could not weep, only lie still as the misery rolled through his mind.

“Please, there must be a way! Gods, there must be something to be done.” His plea tore into the silence. He begged for the people, for the land, and himself.

“The weapon is yours, if you will use it.” The sheer might of the voice reverberated through his chest, rolled and thrummed through him as if he were a harp string, the power so great his body hovered above the polished wood floor.

He tried to grasp the deep voice, create a shield from all he saw, but the power slipped from him, lost in gloom. His head thudded with pain, and with all his control lost, he crashed to the floor. He twisted onto his side. The voice of the gods had been clear. They had not deserted the realm as his visions made him believe, but still cared, had spoken to give hope and guidance.

A last wavering vision spilled through his thoughts. A gentle, sweet image of brilliance shone in the familiar, night-darkened land. A white pony stepped through the forest. The fresh smell of the grasses rose from its tread. The sturdy, smooth-coated beast bore a fair girl who rode alone. Light spilled from her, illuminating the branches until she journeyed out of his view.

Exhaustion took him into deep blackness, where this time, he found peace.

While Nin chatted with Tab and Cecile, Lady Cassandra returned to collect the cooled brew.

“Shall I come with you, my lady?”

“No, Nin, rest your feet. I think it will be after moonrise before the Mage is ready to go back to the tower. Perhaps you would like to go into the grounds with the girls?”

She shook her head, comfortable here. Her feet no longer burned hot. Cecile and Tab were becoming her friends. Lady Cassandra smiled at the three of them and took the goblet away.

“So, Nin, tell us, what’s he like? Is the Mage kind?” Cecile asked.

“Yes, he’s kind, but sometimes he’s cross and grumpy. Today, he made me walk a lot farther than I would like.”

Both the girls laughed, and she joined in.

“Do you really love him?” Tab asked, as their laughter subsided.

“I think so.” How could she explain it to them?
“When I am with him, I am happy to be there. He makes me cross sometimes, but it doesn’t matter because I am with him. When he smiles at me, my insides turn to jelly.”

Cecile wore an understanding smile. Tab’s brown eyes glowed with inquisitive mischief. “Have you kissed him?”

Nin closed her eyes. A long time seemed to have passed since she enjoyed sharing secrets, but she wasn’t sure she wanted them to know, or if she could explain how beautiful it had been for his warm mouth to be on hers. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes.

Both girls grinned.

“As Lady Cassandra would say, your silence tells all. Was it so good, Nin?” Tab asked.

Heat burned her cheeks, but she nodded.

Tab’s hushed voice dropped even lower. “Will you share his bed?”

“I’m his.”

The door opened and the cobbler approached with a bow. He handed her the two pairs of shoes Lady Cassandra had ordered, then gave another low bow before he left.

Cecile looked down to Nin’s bandaged feet, and her full lips narrowed. “You can’t wear the shoes without stockings. Even the summer ones will rub your feet. Do you have any stockings at home?”

She shook her head. “I’ve no stockings at all.” The gray suede of the summer shoes were an expensive gift, but with her feet still sore, she was uncertain she’d be able to wear them today.

“I thought not. Tab, we’ll go get a few things for Nin to take back with her to the tower.” Cecile dropped a light kiss on her cheek before she and Tab walked to the door.

“We won’t be long,” Tab called as they left.

The star caught Nin’s attention, and even though she didn’t sit on the cushions near it, she focused on the glow. Twice she had to clear her thoughts of the dark cloud seeping into her.

She must ask Thabit if it was right to see so much darkness.

“Hello, little blossom.”

The male voice broke into her musings, and she swiveled on the chair. Behind her stood the youth who had ridden out to the tower.

“I’m looking for Cecile. Have you seen her?”

Pieces of the puzzle dropped into place. He was why Cecile understood.

“Yes, she will be back shortly. I’m Nin.”

“I heard. The news is all around the castle. Your name is on every guard’s lips. Nin, who is most fair to look upon and the new apprentice to the Mage, is here. There is much interest in the pages quarters, too. I think you will have many admirers.” His smile enchanted as he joined her at the table. “I am Rollo, esquire, messenger, general dogsbody to my uncle, Lord Farel.”

“I’m pleased to meet you off horseback.”

He laughed. “Speaking of horses, I’ve been ordered to find you a pony. Of course, as it’s for you, it has to be a white one. When Cecile gets back, we could go to the stables to see him.”

A thrill ran over her. She nodded, unable to say anything in her excitement.

Cecile came in with a large satchel in her hands. She gave a little cry as Rollo turned toward the door. “Rollo.” She dashed across the room, dropped the satchel on the table, and threw her arms around him.