Void's Tale by Christopher Nuttall (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

ducking and dodging, rather than catching them on his wards or launching them back at me.  It suggested a certain lack of practice ... I wondered, idly, why he’d never asked any of his servant magicians to help him develop his skills.  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had people he could ask.  Could it be ...?

The prince drew a sword from his belt and lunged at me, moving with surprising speed despite his bulk.  I sensed dark magic crackling around the blade.  My wards screamed as it cut into them, coming far too close to my bare skin for peace of mind.  I darted back and ran up the walls, staring down at him from the ceiling.  The prince’s eyes bugged out of his head as he cut at me, trying to jump up and slash my head.  My snicker probably didn’t help.  I reached down with my magic, picking up the table and hurling it at him.  The maps fell to the ground.  I shoved them to the far corner.  I’d need them later, as evidence of what the prince had tried to do.  The White Council would stand in judgement and condemn him for dealing in the blackest arts.  And ...

“Get down and fight like a man,” the prince snapped.  I almost laughed.  I might have respected him, just a little, if he’d challenged his father or his kingdom’s tormentors openly.  Instead, he’d had his own people kidnapped and murdered, just to boost his powers and build an unstoppable army.  “You filthy coward.”

I shrugged.  “Alright.”

His eyes widened, a second before I flew down and crashed my magic into his.  He tried to jab his sword at me, too late.  I sharpened one of my wards and sliced through his wrist, sending the sword and severed hand flying towards the walls.  I could have reattached the hand, but ... it didn’t matter.  No one was going to speak in the prince’s defence.  He’d kidnapped nearly a hundred people, both magical and mundane, and rendered them down for raw materials.  That alone would be enough to get him executed.  The aristocracy wouldn’t speak for him.  He’d plotted to overthrow his father and invade the neighbouring kingdoms.

And, worst of all, he lost, I thought.  No one likes a loser.

I shoved my magic into his aura.  It was surprisingly strong, but ... it wasn’t his.  He’d taken the concept of enhancement potions much further than anyone else, I realised dully.  The prince had never been very powerful, but he’d had enough magic to start the process of drawing on the enhancement potions and using them to fuel his magic.  It should have killed him, and it probably would’ve, given enough time, yet ... he’d actually woven healing spells into his personal matrix.  It was oddly impressive, if horrible.  He could actually boost his powers far past the norm.

Good thing he isn’t used to handling it, I thought, as I tore through his magic.  Memories brushed against my awareness, memories that belonged to the murdered magicians ... I thought.  I knew I wasn’t touching the prince’s mind.  He didn’t seem to have the discipline to focus his power, let alone properly direct it.  He’d be a real threat if he could channel the power without strain.

My mind raced as the prince tried to fight back.  There had to be a point of diminishing returns.  Necromancers rarely lasted longer than a couple of decades because they simply couldn’t capture enough people to fuel their magic.  The prince should have the same problem.  And yet ... he seemed surprisingly intact.  I cursed under my breath as I pushed on, pinning the prince to the floor.  He wouldn’t regenerate, not like a normal magician, but ...

The wards twisted around me, throwing me away from the prince.  I caught myself and hovered in the air, mockingly.  The prince stumbled to his feet, blood pouring from his severed wrist.  There were a hundred charms he could have used to staunch the bleeding, but he didn’t know any of them.  He might not even understand the danger of accidentally letting himself bleed to death.  I didn’t think he’d spent any time on the jousting field.  He didn’t move like a seasoned fighter.

“Die,” the prince snarled.  “I ...”

I slid my mind into the fort’s wards and took control.  The prince’s eyes opened wide in shock as I struck at him, tearing away the stolen magic.  He stumbled and fell to his knees.  I didn’t give him a chance to recover.  I drew on the wards and cast a powerful freeze spell, locking him in a moment of time.  He couldn’t resist before it was too late.  My awareness rushed through the fort, freezing the rest of his super-soldiers before they could flee into the surrounding forest or carry out the plot to attack the town.  I didn’t think they’d been allowed to keep much in the way of intelligence, but it didn’t matter.  They could do a great deal of damage, far more than the prince had intended, if they weren’t kept under control.  I glanced through the single window as I finished locking down the fort.  The sun was just starting to rise.  Gabby and Juliana probably wouldn’t wonder where I’d gone.  The charms I’d used to ingratiate myself to them would see to that.  In time, they’d forget I’d been there at all.

“They’ll forget you, too,” I said, to the frozen prince.  “But I never will.”

I smiled as I collected the maps.  The White Council couldn’t refuse to act, not now.  They’d send a small force of magicians to secure the fort before the spells wore off, then cart the prince back to the White City for trial and execution.  There would be justice, for Layla and all the others who’d vanished in the last few months.  And the world would know that evil magicians and twisted power-hungry aristocrats would be held to account.