This month: Chapters 4 and 5 of the epic novel Weave a Wizardry Web
First Novel Published, Third Novel Written ... and still a fantastic story
- of the wizard Alstera and her aunt Camisse--always disparaged for having little power,
- of the sorcerer Sanglier setting a trap for the wizards in the very heart of the Wizard Enclave,
- of Pearroc Seale, a glamoured Fae sent to the Wizard Enclave to trick the wizards into renewing the alliance with Faeron,
- of deceitful wyres like Arctos intent on spilling as much wizard blood as possible,
- and of Faone, a Naught desperate to matter in a family of powerful wizards.
To read Chapters 1, 2, & 3 as well as find links for some world-building material, visit this link: [or scroll down & down ;) ] * https://remiblack.blogspot.com/2026/05/weave-wizardry-web-opening-chapters-1-2.html
Now, Chapters 4 and 5! The scene continues from the end of chapter 3.
IV
Arctos pretended to have lost the sorcerer’s
previous question. “I went to the Enclave practice ring this morning, my lord
Sanglier. I heard rumors of a return. I wanted to confirm it.”
Sanglier scowled at the change of subject, then
his curious curved smile appeared “I have heard of that return. Share it,
please.”
“The commander of Chanerro Pass has returned. I
saw her at Chappelle’s practice arena. She dueled with a Fae comeis. And afterwards, she met with two
more Fae as well as the Drakon patriarch.”
“The commander of Chanerro? Not possible,” Martel
denied. “I would have heard.”
“Your sources are at fault then,” Sanglier said
smoothly. “Commander Camisse is here. She lives at Clan Letheina. The ArchClan
is her mother.”
“We can use this,” Arctos said. “She is well
practiced in fighting the wyre and sorcerers. We can lay a trap.”
Martel snarled. “And lose another fighter? No. We
should wait.”
“So we will. But I would know the reason that the ArchClan
called her daughter back from her command. Chanerro Pass is more successful
than Iscleft against our Frost Clime. Once I know the reason she is recalled,
we will deal with her. Ah, Runniger, did you hear? Commander Camisse, our
nemesis from the Pass, has arrived in Tres Lucerna.”
Sanglier’s second had re-entered quietly, although
even the least wyre in the room had recognized his scent as soon as he touched
the door latch. Runniger had no scent like other sorcerers. Arctos could not
place it.
He feared the man. He sensed evil. Sanglier might
have the deeper power, but Runniger did not hesitate to work blood magic. He
had seen him, on the trail here, draw blood from Least Hibbissi, a spell worked
for no purpose that Arctos could discern. He had no proof against the man for
any reason. Runniger complied with Sanglier’s orders. He worked Sanglier’s
spells and ran Sanglier’s errands. If he wanted more, he waited for it.
As Arctos waited for his opportunity against
Martel.
“Quartos?” Sanglier asked now.
“Incinerated. The bones reserved.”
“Reserved?” Quintus reared back. “For what
purpose?”
“Not to grind them up for spellwork. They are to
be buried in Kathniss, just as we will do with the first Decimus.”
Arctos’ lip raised in a silent snarl. Like his
master, Runniger did not bother to learn the names of the lesser pack members. For
him, their rank was their only identification. And he did not trust Runniger’s
slick assurance to honor the wyre dead.
He liked neither sorcerer. He missed Iscleft,
where sorcerers threw spells at the wizards and the Fae, and the wyre attacked wizards
and soldiers.
“Why do you hesitate against the commander, Martel?
Are you afraid?”
The Prime wyre drew himself up. His height dwarfed
the sorcerer. With a single blow he could knock him across the room. If his
neck did not break then, he would snap easily in the Prime’s hand. And that was
before he shifted. Arctos kept to his position. If the Prime killed the
sorcerer, Runniger would take over. And Runniger would be less devious with his
plans and more likely to be caught before they accomplished a half of their
goals.
Martel folded his arms across his broad chest. “The
commander is well-versed in our ways. She could see through any glamour.”
“Did she or the other Fae notice you, Secunde,
when you were at the practice ring?”
“I kept my distance, my lord sorcerer.”
A bell jingled. The Prime signaled for Quintus to
go downstairs. He looked as if he would protest then turned and padded from the
room.”
“The commander does not work spells very well,”
Runniger supplied, his dry voice paper thin, “but the Fae respect her. She is
someone to watch. We should learn the reason for her recall. We should have
inquired more when the twin sons of Magister Raigeis were sent to Chanerro.”
“We are not here as spies,” Sanglier snapped. Then
he tapped his chin. “Yet if we are to see upheaval in Clan Letheina—. Has that
girl said anything of the sort, Martel?”
“That girl is a Naught,” he snarled. “She does not
listen to any talk in her clan that doesn’t affect her. She was not a wise
choice to bring in.”
“She is the wisest choice,” the master sorcerer
claimed. “She is a Naught in a house filled with powerful wizards. A Naught who
has dreamed all her life of having power enough to whip up a storm and never
having enough to cause a breeze that would flicker a candle. She is greedy for
power, that one. We are always greedy for what we have never had. She listens. You
just do not know how to ask the right questions.” His gaze dropped to the women
still hunched over on the floor. He tapped his chin while he considered, then
gave a decisive nod. “We are greedy for what we have never had, and we are
humiliated when our view of our rank is taken away. Runniger, Sextus, take
these two women to the cellars. Strip them. Tie them to the cots. Use them. All
of you, use them repeatedly.”
“My lord,” Quintus whined. “They are the Prime
female and her Secunde.”
“They no longer have rank. They are nothing. Vessels
for your seed. Fill them.”
Both women struggled. Martel still had the Prime
pinned, but her pack sister sprang up. The long minutes on the floor had
stiffened her, or Jhennanni’s lunge at Sanglier would have succeeded. Martel
blocked her with an arm. The sorcerer flung up a hand, and power burst forth,
hitting her in the chest. She flew backward and landed with a thud.
Arctos winced.
She lay winded until Sextus seized her arm and
hauled her up. Runniger took the Prime female. He looked her up and down then
smiled. She spat. He wiped the spittle from his face and smeared it over hers.
Clemayya
reared back. “You dare not touch me. I am Prime. I lead.”
“It is better to live than to die.” Sanglier’s
silky voice gave her the options.
She jerked around to glare. “You would not dare.”
“The Elders gave me ultimate control. Your pack
leaders, all of the Primes, agreed to the terms. They understood the dangers of
what we do, here in the very heart of the Enclave.” Dressed in bronze silk,
dwarfed by the wyres, he did not look like a man facing venomous danger.
“We play at attacking—.”
“You have never undertood what we do here. Your
action, abetted by Terce, caused the death of your own blood and risked the
safety of us all. I dare much. Now you are less than nothing. Take her down,
Runniger. Enjoy her.”
“My lord,” and he hauled her to the door. She
screamed and kicked, but she could not shift.
Arctos saw her flesh try to force the change, but
either Sanglier or Runniger had cast a spell that blocked any transformation. And
Arctos had not seen the spell cast. Cold in the pit of him, he watched as she
and her pack sister were hauled out of the room.
Martel glared at the sorcerer. Sanglier risked the
wyres’ rebellion with this punishment. Nones stood in the shadows, waiting for
a signal.
Runniger would use the women. The greater pack
wyres would not, but the lesser ones, they would obey Sanglier’s order. Terce
would. Quartos might not. Clemayya and Jhennanni fought as well as the lesser
males, certainly better than Nones and Octavus. This edict began the pack’s
disintegration.
He could do very little to stop it, to prevent the
collapse of their entire mission, but he had to try.
“Lord Sanglier.” Arctos did not like to speak. His
Prime would slash him for breaking the tension. If it ramped high enough, the
wyre would kill both sorcerers. Yet the Elders would banish them from their
home packs. Hate Sanglier they would, but they could not break their pact with
the sorcerer. And the human’s spell had not used a tenth of his power. The
destruction from a fully-charged spell would incinerate them. “A strong
punishment is deserved, but to remove the Prime’s rank? She is now less than
nothing.”
“Prime,” the sorcerer said.
Martel snarled. He had dropped his gaze from
Sanglier. To continue to glare at the human would rile his wolf instincts to
attack. He deliberately looked at Arctos. When his second didn’t flinch, he
looked away.
“Prime,” Sanglier repeated.
He growled. Then he shook himself. “Lord
Sanglier.”
“Better. Do you judge this punishment as too much?
Both Prime and Secunde females stripped of rank and privilege?”
“Do you elevate the Terce female? She is not
worthy of Prime. The Quartos female is the lesser, and the Quintus will not leave
this building. None of them deserve higher rank.”
“That is not what I asked. Do you judge this
punishment as too harsh?”
The Prime’s conflict shook him. He clenched his
fists. “The punishment is yours to determine, Lord Sanglier, by the decree of
our Elders. You are our leader in all things.”
“Wise of you to remember that, Prime. We have had
our difficulties forming this new pack from six different ones. You barely know
each other, only from the in-gathering. Martel, until last night, you have done
well as Prime. I did not agree when the Elders declared you Prime and Arctos as
Secunde with Lupe as Terce. You three are dominant. Today you face two great
struggles: to accept that I can punish one of you and to accept I can remove
your rank. You stood beside me as the Elders listed what we must accomplish. That
woman risked all of us when she refused to listen to Terce, who I put in
charge.”
“A pack cannot run with an appointed leader,” he
snarled. “Leadership is won.”
“You are appointed, are you not?” Sanglier waited,
but Martel did not answer. He refused to lift his gaze from whatever on the
floor held his attention.
The sorcerer slid from the bed. For a brief moment
his scrawny pale legs were visible, then the bronze nightshirt dropped into
place.
“Tell the others of this punishment. Tell them the
reason for it. Tell them it is temporary if you like.”
“Is it temporary?”
“Obedience will win them back into my favor. Tell
them that. How they accept their punishment is a sign of obedience to me. Continued
rebellion is continued disobedience and therefore continued punishment. Go now.
All of you.”
“My lord Sanglier.” Martel bowed as he backed
toward the door.
“Arctos, a moment more.” When the Prime scowled,
the sorcerer added, “I would hear more of this meeting between the commander
and the Fae comeis.”
Martel and the others filed out.
Sanglier picked up the teacup from his breakfast
tray and touched a finger to the cooled liquid. “Shut the door, Secunde.”
When he turned back from obeying, Arctos saw steam
rising from the tea. His nose twitched from the herbs. The sorcerer stood in
the sunlight filtered through the grimy windows and sipped his tea. Arctos jerked
to stillness when Sanglier asked. “How much has the Prime shared of our plan?”
“We are to target Clan Letheina. That has been
difficult. They do not often leave their compound. Their wards are powerful and
are renewed every Dragon Moon.”
“And what do you know of this Naught, the one
Martel spoke of?”
Arctos shrugged. “Her blood is a weak branch in
the clan. She has no power.”
“Perhaps because she is a twin. Ah, you did not
know that. Martel must learn to share more. Her twin appears to have inherited
all the power, much like the Magister’s sons, the one a powerful wizard and the
other so close to a Naught that he enlisted in the king’s militia. I can find
no one who thinks less of their ArchClan for this weak strain or for the lack
of strong power in her own daughter, the commander Camisse. The Magister seems
antagonistic to his younger sister, but—.”
“I do not think we should target the Magister or
his family.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. His twin sons were to be
our next target, only we failed with the last attack. My source tells me that
Ferrant and Allard would have been an interesting fight. Wizard and swordsman
against four wyre. I would like to see such a battle. But after last night’s
debacle, we must re-consider our strategies. We cannot fail, Arctos. We must be
better prepared.”
“Aye, Lord Sanglier. But they are gone now. My
sources tell me the best wizard in Clan Letheina is named Alstera. She is
dangerous. Her power runs quick and deep. Have your sources spoken of her?”
“Alstera? Her name does not come up.” He smiled,
tight and grim. “My source is not the best. He focuses mainly on Raigeis and
his family. I barely know some of the other branches. I think he himself would
know nothing of our little Naught’s branch if I had not made active query. They
do say that this Alstera wields all elements.” He tapped his chin. “We must
invite her to our next party.” He grinned. “Perhaps if you spoke to Faone,
hinted to her—.”
“This Alstera is not a good choice for the attacks
we have practiced. She might see through the glamour you have set. And she is
not in great favor with her grandmother. Her brother is often called to the ArchClan’s
presence, but not Alstera.”
“Pish posh. She will not look for a glamour, and
we do not kidnap her for a ransom. She can be a key. Faone has the run of the
compound. She will bring her.”
“My lord—.”
“My most reliable source tells me the ArchClan is
devious. She will never reveal that which she cares deeply about. This Alstera is
caught between the demands of the ArchClan and her great-uncle, and she tries
to please them. Aye, that type of soul is one that I can manipulate. Her
grandmother’s machinations run for years, so her granddaughter will be obedient
to any manipulation. The ArchClan sends her daughter away for fifteen years; without
warning, she brings her back. She ignores this Alstera then lavishes attention
on her. Just the same. Trust me, that is significant.
“We will set our trap with the young ones. They
think to find favor and have a name in the Clan. We will tempt them by hinting
at a method to increase power. Runniger’s plan with the Sharing Circle was wise.
We will draw them to us. It is time to hook a bigger fish, Secunde. Perhaps two
bigger fish. You will talk to Faone. During the meetings she watches you.”
“It is Martel she goes with.”
“She watches you. She is young. She is eager for
attention, any attention. She mistakes sex for love. And her eyes always find
you. You will talk to her. And then we may see a Naught have influence on her
blood relatives. The commander Camisse and the great wizard Alstera will think
they must protect their innocent little Naught. They will come to our house. They
will be caught up in our spells. They will believe we have found the way to
defeat the sorcerers after years upon years.” He chuckled. “And they will not
know until too late that they have fallen into a sorcerer’s web.”
“Will you kill them?”
“Not until it is necessary. Imagine the Naught
thinking she wields power after years of being told she has nothing worth
training. Imagine her excitement when she tells the commander and the wizard
Alstera. Then she discovers that power is a lie, attached to her only through
the spells I work. When she receives power through the wyre shift, imagine her
glee. She will glory in power that is hers alone.”
Arctos considered. Already the little Faone burned
with passion. The shift would give her emotions a direction. “She will be
magnificent.”
“Greater than even Clemayya.”
He lifted an eyebrow and dared. “You enjoyed your
punishment of the Prime female.”
“I care for neither Prime. They are your firsts,
not mine. Arrogant, both of them. They had to be prompted three times to swear
fealty to me. You are my choice for Prime, from our very first meeting.”
“Martel could defeat me.”
“You do not know this because you have never
challenged him. You have more experience, Arctos. You have gained it fighting
Terce. Who has killed more wizards, you or Martel?”
“I have.” He would remember that point and use it
to convince the Lessers.
“But you are not eager to challenge him. Martel
grows complacent. He did not participate in the last two hunts. Is he afraid to
fight the wizards?”
“He hunts beyond the city walls. He goes with
Pannoth or Voldt, not with us. When we are out with Clem and Jhenna, Hibbissi
serves him.”
“Why do you think Clem was so rash last evening? Her
mistake is Martel’s fault, Secunde. She has noticed Prime holds the Least back
when he sends out the rest of you. Have you not marked it as well? More proof
that he is not a worthy Prime. He should go out with the rest of you. He
deliberately offended the first female by sneaking to the Least. If he wants
her, then he should just take her, before all of you if he wishes. As he does
with this Naught.”
“You saw Faone. It excites her.”
“She thinks it makes her belong. She uses herself
as coin.” Sanglier shrugged. “That corruption came long before our arrival here.
She has long been desperate to be more than a Naught. And soon she will be wyre.
When you are with her, you will bite her.”
Arctos had been careful to look at the Prime
sorcerer only from beneath his brow. At this command, the wyre lifted his head
and gave the human a direct look. “When we were set aside for you, our Primes
forbade us to turn any human to wyre.”
“But I order it, and I am your leader.”
He closed his eyes briefly. He felt the Shift
course through him, eager for blood, eager for another, eager for a Prime
greater than Clemayya—who was weak, selfish. She clawed for herself, not for
the Pack. “You ask it of me.” He opened his eyes. “I will obey.”
Sanglier smiled. The curve of his lips held no
joy, only satisfaction that his plan would bear fruit. “Good, good. Your wyre
shift will work in her until the next Lady Moon. She will always be answerable
to you, as her master.”
The word ‘master’ brought a growl into his throat.
“We are not wraiths, bound in blood allegiance to the Shifter who turned us.”
“A bitten wyre does express loyalty to the wyre
who caused the Shift. Thus, Faone will always be yours, and she will be your
first female once she shifts. Prime female and your mate.”
“If Martel and Clemayya are no longer Primes.”
“Clemayya is no longer. Did I not see to it? Now,
go to Runniger. He should have worked his edge off by now. Ask him to prepare
to lead tonight’s Circle. I am obligated to attend a reception. The invitation
came from the ArchClan herself.”
Arctos left as ordered, but he contemplated the
risk that Sanglier took by going to the reception hosted by the Prime of all
the wizards. Sanglier the sorcerer would be surrounded by wizards, as dangerous
as if he woke in a vipers’ nest. The human depended too much on his glamour to
shield what he truly was.
V
When the ArchClan Letheina stood up from the great
seat, the Reception Room hushed. Her magister and eldest son Raigeis offered
his arm, and they descended the seven steps with stately slowness that hid
Letheina’s unsteadiness. The Enclave guards walked ahead, and the crowd parted,
moving off the grey marbled slabs that formed the straight path to the double
doors, painted in the clan’s blue and silver. Some people bowed or curtsied as
the ArchClan and the Magister passed.
Alstera frowned at the obeisance. She had
complained to her uncle on numerous occasions, but Raigeis continued to allow
it. “Courtesy,” he said, “and no more.” She had laughed then, knowing the
courtesy fed his ego—and her grandmother’s.
Her great-uncle Rombrey agreed with her. How many
times had she heard him say that the best leaders never forgot that they served
the Enclave? While the worst ones tried to rule like kings.
She edged along the wall, making her own way to
the twelve-foot carved doors. She had learned nothing new during this audience.
Her grandmother had requested her attendance; she dutifully obeyed. Great-Uncle
Rombrey claimed that his sister wanted to train someone besides Raigeis in
court protocol, yet Alstera had discovered nothing of that. Her greater lesson
was that fashionable heels were not the best choice when standing for hours. Rombrey
had also suggested that she station herself to listen to Letheina and Raigeis
review what the official audience had covered—and not covered.
“They need not know you are there,” he suggested,
a twinkle in his eyes that belied his stern warning.
She goggled at her tutor.
“Come now, Alstera. I know you break the rules. I
know you overstep the tenets.”
“If we are to fight Frost Clime and the Dragon
Rising—.”
“Yes, yes, I have heard all your justifications. I
am not the doddering blind fool you think I am. If I did not agree with the
need to increase every practitioner’s power, I would have stopped you. I worry
only that you will ignore the safeguards I have taught you.”
“I am careful.”
“I know. I keep watch. But I know my students, and
you, Alstera, do not believe that you can make mistakes.” He had sighed and
leaned back in his chair. The sunlight had gleamed on his silver hair. “A flaw
of youth.”
She snorted. “I am five and twenty. Hardly young
and naïve.”
Rombrey merely smiled. “And still without the
mistakes that most have made and learned from. While I remember all the
repercussions from my mistakes, and those cause me to hesitate too much.” He
folded his hands on his chest and studied her before giving a decisive nod. “I
will tell you of a place, a place my father showed to me when it became obvious
that Letheina would be our next clan leader.”
“I thought great-grandpapa supported her. He
appointed her to be his magister.”
“He did, but he was clearer-sighted than most. He
saw her ambition long before it drove her along paths to become the next ArchClan.
He saw her liaisons and double-dealings, the lines she crossed to reach her
goals—well, I vowed to keep those secret and I do not break vows. This place I
will tell you of: if my sister ever knew of it, she has forgotten. Certainly
Raigeis never learned of it.”
Rombrey described a narrow room, a gap between the
walls, accessed from the passage used by servants, and looking upon the ArchClan’s
study. Concealed cunningly in the wall were three spyholes. Magical protections
as old as the clan house shielded it.
Her great-uncle swore her to secrecy and swore her
as well not to abuse the spyholes.
“Have you used this place?”
“Not for years. I will expect you to report what
you hear. And bring me news of Camisse. She will likely not come to visit her
aging uncle.”
Joy blossomed, for Alstera remembered her aunt
with great fondness. After her parents had died, Camisse had tried to care for
Alstera and her brother. Little more than child herself, she had joined in
their games. Playing with them, however, tended to undermine her attempts to
mother them by monitoring their studies and bedtimes and activities. “I did not
know she had returned.”
“You have had your head in the old scrolls,
haven’t you? She returned two days ago, three actually, for she rode in after
dark.”
“Is she returned for good?”
“That is something none of us know. Only Letheina
will know. Perhaps you will hear it. Now, go on with you. You need something
more appropriate to wear for the Audience. A shabby gown stained with ink
and—is that mud on the hem?”
“I walked in the garden this morning. With Gage.”
“Definitely something better than stained cuffs
and a muddy hem and faded cloth. And wear jewels. Off with you.”
Alstera had changed into a blue gown with a
lace-and-ribbons bodice and moon-white stones in filigreed silver. Thus, the
mistake of the heeled shoes with their silvery ribbons.
When she let herself into the spyhole, she
realized cobwebs and dirt had accumulated and pale blue silk would not hide
those stains. She quickly swept a minor spell to protect the cloth then hurried
on, eager to get into place while the servant clattered the tea things.
Her grandmother and her uncle talked of the
mundane while the servant remained in the room. Then they discussed the
merchants’ requests and an offer from a southern kingdom to ally with Mont
Nouris and the Enclave.
“Why now?” Raigeis asked, reaching for another
creamed pastry. “Fortinchamps is far from the Frost Clime’s incursions.”
“You think that kings only need to worry when the
evil rises in their lands? You are not that naïve, Raigeis.”
“Not, I am not, but the more wizards we send out
to such requests, the fewer we have for our own defenses. Chanerro Pass
succeeds in its sorties, but Iscleft’s last message admitted that another tower
is lost.”
“Perhaps we should send Camisse to Iscleft. She
can work her mysterious magic among the wizards and the Fae and the military
there.”
“She has no mysterious magic.”
“She must, for Chanerro succeeds while the same
mixture at Iscleft fails. The commander must make the difference. The Haven
near Chanerro trusts her. We have not had a Rhogieri alliance in years. I trust
your sons know their orders are temporary. I would not have them unravel her
work.”
Alstera grinned to hear this praise of her aunt. Camisse
had heard little praise before she left for Chanerro.
She flexed her cramping toes in her heeled shoes
and leaned closer, for her uncle Raigeis was muttering, his habit when he was
displeased.
“My sons follow my orders. You need not worry.”
Letheina snorted. “Your sons, Raigeis, believe
what we have told the Enclave: that the sorcerers and their pet wyre are not to
be feared and that Dragon Rising is an ugly rumor spread by disaffected wizards.
What will your sons do when a dragon rises over Chanerro Pass? Shat their pants?
If that border falls, I hold you responsible. My magister you may be, but your
sons’ posting to the border is temporary, remember?”
Her heart beat faster. The Dragon Rising an ugly
rumor? Then, all her arguments , all her proofs, had had an effect? Or had her
grandmother known all along and refused to admit the truth? Alstera’s fists
clenched. She had learned more, much more than was spoken in the Audience Room,
just as Rombrey predicted.
Raigeis had scowled fiercely when his mother
threatened his sons’ positions. The last pastry bite remained suspended inches
from his open mouth. He set the confection down and wiped his hands on a napkin.
“We have no reports that a dragon has left the Desolation.”
Letheina smiled, the smile that always left
Alstera chilled. She imagined Uncle Raigeis felt a similar freeze. Her grandmother
could laugh in one breath and frighten in another. Her power seemed effortless;
her puissance, deep and surging. A flick of her finger could kill. Alstera had
never seen it, but she had heard of it. Letheina kept tight reins on her power.
“Rumor says otherwise. Rumor will soon be fact.”
“Are you listening to your comeis again? The Fae have prophesied that dragons will rise for a
decade. They haven’t. They won’t. They cannot leave the Wastes. They are too
few.”
Alstera wanted to burst into the room with the
reports she had gathered: the burning of Isthull Hold in the northern province
of Givyrn, the decimation of the flocks in Bois Verte last month, and the
mysterious sightings at night in the Bois Argent of a dark object obscuring the
stars. A steady trek northward to Mont Nouris. Her uncle was short-sighted,
deliberately so.
“And the deaths?” her grandmother questioned. “Within
the Enclave walls. Last week and the week before. Two wizards killed—.”
Alstera forgot her aching feet. She had heard
nothing of deaths.
“An adept and a wizard who should never have
passed the Trials.”
Raigeis sounded dismissive. Two killed inside the
Enclave. Any unusual death should be investigated, not ignored.
Letheina tapped her long fingernails on the wooden
arm of her upholstered chair. “With the stench of wyre on them.”
“By whose report? Retief, duCian’s brother? You
know he blows things out of proportion. They had no claw marks. Their throats
were undamaged. Their bodies were not fouled. Three signs of a wyre kill. We do
not have a wyre pack inside the walls, no matter what Reteif claims and no
matter what Comeis Ruidri Talenn
declares.”
“You were conveniently absent when Pater duCian
and Perrault’s Magister Cosmée came to alert me to these deaths.”
“I was viewing the bodies for myself. The guards
told me. They claimed wyre as well. Someone needed to make a rational
determination of the causes of death. I went even though I knew the clan
leaders would come whining about wyre, spurred on by their comeis. The guards should have been looking for cut-throats who
climbed over the walls from Lucerna.”
“Wyre could be hiding their attacks.”
“Wyre don’t have sense enough. No,” he held up his
hand, “I have better proof. If wyre are here, then another attack would have
happened last night. They follow the moons’ cycles, and the Horn Moon shone
last night. But we had no attack. So, the attacks do not match what we know of
wyre attacks. And we have the culprit for the first murder gaoled.”
A sneeze tickled Alstera’s nose. She tapped a
finger on the tip.
“He will confess soon enough,” Raigeis continued,
complacent still. “His powers will be stripped away, and the king’s justice
will end him.” He popped the last bite of pastry into his mouth.
“You did not inform me of this.”
“I intended to wait until he confessed. He is
proving stubborn.”
“You have proof of his involvement?”
“We have proof he dabbled in sorcery. We have a
witness who says he stole the adept’s power. The witness heard her demand that
this man release her from his spell. When he refused, she threatened to expose
him. He killed her before she could report him to the Enclave guards.”
“Who is this? Who?”
He waved his hand. “A Naught. He doesn’t matter. The
wizard who matters is the late Pater Gerrault’s nephew. He has used the Nexus.”
Both Alstera and her grandmother inhaled sharply. “The
Nexus is forbidden.”
“He claims a good reason, but he tried to enthrall
an adept. Nevil is a real danger, not a suspected one.”
Alstera barely caught back her shocked cry. Nevil!
She knew him. She had worked spells with him. He tracked the same information
as she did, looking for ways to increase a wizard’s power, all to be ready for
the Dragon Rising. It couldn’t be Nevil.
“Nevil?” Her grandmother sounded just as shocked.
“Do you not remember him?”
“I remember him,” she snapped. “I tested him. He
is one of our great wizards. He’s not just Pater Gerrault’s nephew. He’s cousin
to Mater Charanaise. A direct descendant of Pherginda. Why would he need to
steal power from a mere adept? Who is this witness?”
“Runniger, an unallied wizard only recently come
to Tres Lucerna. Yes, unallied and not yet approved by the Council of Five. All
the more reason to believe him. He has nothing to gain in accusing the favored
child in Clan Charanaise.”
“How does Nevil answer this accusation?”
“He claims not to know the man. This Runniger,
though, he knew things about Cyrene and her residence that a stranger would not
know unless he had visited her and knew her habits.”
“I want to see Nevil.”
As did Alstera. She scowled at the back of
Raigeis’ head.
And he twisted, as if he felt her gaze. “Ma mère,
it’s too dangerous.”
“Did you not bind his powers for your
interrogation? Is he imprisoned in the spell-bane cells of Moot Hall?”
“He is not the man you think he is, ma mère, and I
would have you safe. Be assured: I will have my proof and his confession before
we take him before the Moot Court.”
Letheina settled back. Alstera did not accept her
uncle’s word. She would find her own way to see Nevil. She would investigate
for herself. A wizard stealing an adept’s power? Nevil attacking an adept? She
did not believe it. She would not, not until she saw the proof herself.
But Grandmère did not question Raigeis. And
Alstera heard again her great-uncle’s words days and days before: that Letheina’s
mind and body failed, more rapidly every day, as if the Fae bond no longer
controlled her aging.
“This must be kept quiet, Raigeis. We do not need
this uproar, not at this time.”
“The clan leaders will know what happened, but no
others, not until the Aged Sages hand down their ruling. Trust me, ma mère. I
am not only your son but also your magister, magister to a clan mater and the ArchClan.
I know my duties and my obligations, and I will fulfill them.”
A knock sounded on the door. Alstera thought it
time she crept out. She backed away from the eyehole. Careful of her skirts,
she turned to the exit, but a name stopped her. She pressed back to the
eyehole.
Yes, there was her dear aunt Camisse, the only one
who had tried to comfort the newly orphaned Alstera and Romert. “Nursemaid,”
Letheina had scoffed. “An appropriate job for someone who’ll never be more than
an adept.” Camisse had shocked everyone by passing her Wizard Trials. And
Letheina had sent her away. One day she was dancing through the foxfire motes
that Alstera had been practicing; the next she rode away, sent to a military
post when she had no military experience. Fumbling of power and reticent of
command, she was again expected to fail. Uncle Raigeis predicted it. But
Camisse had excelled.
Through the spy-wink, Alstera drank in her beloved
aunt. In the past fifteen years she’d seen her less than a handful of times.
Raigeis had stood to greet his sister. They shook
hands awkwardly. When Camisse stepped back, the difference between them was
stark. He had his mother’s pale hair and eyes; she had inherited the darkness
of their grandmother. He was the complacent bureaucrat, fed a little too well; she
was a slender yet sharp blade.
Grandmother lifted her hands. “Youngest daughter,
come greet me as a child of mine should.”
“I am sweaty from the practice ring, ma mère.”
“I sent you a message this morning. You arrive two
days ago, yet still we haven’t spoken.”
“Yesterday I was closeted at the palace. This
morning I left early. Your message was handed to me upon my return.”
“With whom did you practice?” Raigeis asked. He
had resumed his seat. Now he sipped cooled tea. He acted as if the world’s time
waited upon him.
“Ruidri Talenn. I also saw Vatar Regnant de
Chardyss, comeis to Pater duCian.”
His cup smacked onto the saucer. “A Fae? You
practiced with a Fae?”
“None better to cross swords with,” Camisse said
calmly. Her thumbs hooked on her swordbelt. “Sparring with a Fae will keep my
skills sharp.”
Bravo,
Alstera cheered silently. That assurance had not been remarkable before. Today’s
serenity surprised her older brother.
Camisse turned back to her mother. “I wish to
bathe before we have the talk you requested. This evening—.”
“We have a reception this evening. We will talk
now. Come, kiss your mother.”
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
Next month continues with chapters 6 and 7, posted on the first of the month.
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074HJG1P7
Books2Read https://books2read.com/u/mVx7a6
Who is the Fae Mark’d Wizard? https://writersinkbooks.com/weave-wizardry-web/
Meet Alstera https://remiblack.blogspot.com/2021/05/meet-alstera-fae-markd-wizard.html
Opening to novel https://writersinkbooks.com/free-glimpse-weaveweb-ch1/
A Bit on the Danger https://writersinkbooks.com/twisted-magic/
Trailer https://youtu.be/jePz27U2Y6U
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