Damsel In Darkness

[First 8 chapters only]

Zane Joly

Background: Classification of Evil

Summation of Terms Related to Black Magic

By Bedrix Ledigree

Black/Dark Magic:  Unnatural, forbidden, and/or corruptive magic.

-          Demon Magic: A magic relying on runes, invented by the demons, inherently evil and corruptive. A form of dark magic. Unlike arcane magic, there is no pure form of it.

-          Necromancy/Death Magic: Magic involving the manipulation of life-force and the reanimation of corpses. Also, by definition, forbidden magic and inherently impure.

-          Dark Arcane Magic: While arcane is not inherently corrupt like other forms, it can still contain twisted and evil spells.

Fey magic/Wild Magic: Technically not considered dark magic, but still not pure. Only wieldable by those with fey blood, fey or elves. Humans and trolls are capable of wielding it to a minor degree if they drink a potion including the blood of a powerful fey, which allows them  to practice alchemy.

Pure Magic: Magic with no corruptive nature or inherent evil.

-          Primordial Magic: The only truly and completely pure form of magic. Other forms of magic require runes, words, material components, or physical gestures to operate, but primordial magic needs only a thought, and has no limitation beyond the amount of raw magical power available. The paladins are the only living wielders of this magic, and it requires a primordial shard.

-          Pure Arcane Magic: While it does contain corrupt spells, most arcane magic is acceptable to be used. It is far easier to access than primordial magic, though still not easy, so it is the primary mystical tool of humanity. This magic requires practice and dedication, using objects to enhance power and words to dictate the terms of spells, also able to enchant and imbue objects with powers with much longer incantations.

Dark Magician/Dark Mage: A practitioner of any of the arts of black magic.

Dark Wizard: A practitioner of exclusively arcane magic, but including spells that are also black magic.

Warlock: A practitioner of demon magic.  May also practice other types, but usually when the term warlock is used, it means one who focuses primarily or exclusively on demon magic.

Necromancer: A practitioner of death magic. Necromancers are almost always also practiced in arcane magic, which is used together with death magic.

Witch: A more general term. Sometimes used to describe female dark mages, but can also mean a practitioner of both forbidden arcane and demon magic, skilled in both. Also commonly practices alchemy, a form of fey magic, but not synonymous with alchemist. Can also mean a student descendant of Jezibaba, the so-called Mother of Witches.

Chapter 1: Caged

            Inside a darkened sanctum, built into the side of a black-stoned mountain, an iron cage hung on a rusty chain ten feet above the ground, with a young woman trapped inside. She was sitting back, leaning against the bars, and looking around with a bored expression.

“Princess Hadria,” said the dark mage Malkris in his deep, raspy voice as he paced below her. Malkris was a pale, bald man who wore black robes and held a wand of dark twisted wood in one hand. He observed the royalty in her cage like she were a pretty bird he’d caught, “At long last, I-”

            “Duchess,” said Hadria.

            There was a pause as Malkris furrowed his brow. “Pardon?”

            “You called me ‘princess Hadria’,” she explained, “And I’m a duchess. Not princess, duchess. Princess is incorrect, and sounds juvenile.”

            “Really?” Malkris said, sounding very disappointed, “Because all the stories said you were a princess.”

            “I am aware of that peculiar little paradox,” she said, “But a princess is someone whose parent was a king or queen. My mother was the princess, the king was her older brother. The king had no children and he died, but not before his only sibling, my mother did, therefore the crown passed to the king’s nephew, my older half-brother. At no point were either of my parents king or queen. And so, the proper title for me is ‘duchess’, not ‘princess’. Also, I’m a bastard child, though technically of royal blood, so extra illegitimacy. Next time, read a history book before kidnapping royalty.”

            “Sorry?” he said, sounding uncertain.

            “No,” sighed Hadria, “It’s not your fault. It's those idiot bards. They think that ‘princess’ sounds better for the stories and songs. They also always confuse ‘dark wizard’, ‘necromancer’, ‘warlock’, and ‘witch’, so you should probably get ready to be called any or all of those, regardless of whether or not you practice demonic or death magic. So, sorry for that. Also sorry for when your head gets cut off by a knight or something. Though, you did kidnap me and put me in a cage, without even a blanket, so I’m not really that sorry.”

            Malkris gave an evil chuckle. Hadria had heard a lot of evil chuckles from dark mages holding her in cages, and Malkris’s was nothing special. Overall, he was a painfully average kidnapper. About a season ago, she’d been taken by a troll warlock who spoke only through magically controlled demons and who lived in a forgotten temple behind a waterfall, and wanted to use Hadria’s power to turn everyone in the world into clones of himself. That was originality. Not this middle of the road, lukewarm performance.

            Hadria realized that Malkris had been ranting, and she hadn’t been listening. She refocused in time to hear him say, “-will all tremble before my power!”

            “Yes, yes, very scary,” she said, unable to suppress an eye roll.

            “Wait,” said Malkris, a thought clearly just occurring to him, “The stories didn’t also lie about your power, did they?”
            The duchess shrugged. “Depends on the story,” she said, “I’m pretty sure I heard one where a ritual using me went wrong and everything

within a mile radius was disintegrated. That’s not true. But twenty years ago, when I was born, the wizard Daedalus did prophesize the whole, ‘vessel of primordial magic, contains the mystical power of a star, blah blah blah’ thing. Almost everyone who’s ever tried to kidnap me seems to think there’s something weird and magic about me. None of their rituals to harness that power have ever actually worked, though. Mostly they got interrupted by someone murdering them and rescuing me. I should also mention that almost everyone who kidnaps me gets murdered. A few get polymorphed or imprisoned.”

            “Well,” said Malkris, “I intend to discover the enigmatic nature of your magic and harness it. Then-”

Hadria got the feeling he was going to resume his unoriginal rant, so she stopped listening. Instead she did what she always did when imprisoned, she counted the bars of her cage. It helped keep her distracted. The duchess ran her finger across the bars, adding them up.

            She was on eighteen when Malkris broke her focus by sharply asking, “Are you even paying attention?”

            “Damn it,” she said, “You made me lose count.”

            “Count of what?” he asked.

            “None of your business,” she said, “Now could you please get to your point, because if I have to hear you keep talking about how you’re going to reduce the kingdoms of man to ash, I will kill you. Don’t test me.”

            “Very well,” said Malkris, “If you wish to cut to the chase, I shall oblige.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a dagger.

            “So, what was that you said about how you were going to take vengeance on your enemies?” asked Hadria with a nervous smile.

            “Hold out your hand,” the dark mage instructed and, after a moment’s hesitation, Hadria complied. Malkris picked up a vial from a nearby table and muttered an incantation over it and the dagger. Both objects flew up to Hadria, suspended above the ground. The knife made a small cut on the duchess’ hand, and the vial collected the blood. Both objects returned to Malkris. The dark wizard walked back across his laboratory, inspecting the small container. Naturally, he didn’t have the common courtesy to provide a bandage for Hadria’s hand. While he was distracted with the vial of her blood, Hadria whispered over her cut, “Arcana talok koalot nao anacra”. She felt a stinging around the cut as the spell took effect and her skin mended. Malkris didn’t notice. They never did.

            “So what are you going to do with my blood?” Hadria asked. She wore a black dress, it was what she’d been kidnapped in, but over it she wore her favorite coat, which had numerous pockets. Out of one of them, she drew out a notebook and pencil. She flipped to a blank page and prepared herself to take notes. Hopefully Malkris would be capable of actually providing useful information instead of just prattling on about how he was going to take over the world.

            “I’m going to use this,” said the dark mage, gesturing to a metal construct that looked a bit like a gyroscope, about ten feet in diameter. It took up a corner of his laboratory, and had interested Hadria since she’d been brought here.

            “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Hadria commented, “What is it?”

            “This is the only surviving one of its kind,” he said with a smug grin, “It’s called an arcanascope. It is infused with a long series of enchantments that make it capable of discovering the magical properties of nearly any substance. I will use it on your blood to find out how best to channel the power within you.” With that, Malkris placed the vial into a holder in the center of the contraption. He ran his hands over the metal of the device and started to chant. Hadria wrote down all that she could of his spell.

            When he was finished, the arcanascope began to start turning. He stepped back. “It should take a few hours to finish uncovering the secrets of your magic. In the mean-time, I have to reinforce my defenses. I don’t want any would-be heroes coming to interrupt my plan.”

            “What?” asked Hadria, sarcastically, “Magical defenses? No kidnapper has ever thought of that before! By the primordials, your fiendish originality and cunning knows no limits!”

            Malkris just rolled his eyes and left the room. Hadria observed the arcanascope and took notes. Mostly it seemed to turn about, much like the gyroscope it resembled, but after a few minutes she noticed that the air around the blood vial was wavering and that the blood in the vial seemed to be churning about violently. Occasionally, the arcanascope would do something different. At one point, black lightning crackled across its turning rings.

            Hadria took notes on everything it did, but it got boring after a while. She tried again to count the bars on her cage. Thirty-six bars. She wrote it down in her notebook, under all the other entries, and titled the number “Malkris:”. That was slightly fewer bars than average for this kind of cage, which Hadria referred to in her notes as a “birdcage”. Typically suspended from the ceiling, a birdcage wasn’t embedded in any stone and was cylindrical, with bars on all sides. This was a non-magical, suspended birdcage with a keyhole door. She liked categorizing and sub-categorizing things. It was one of her many habits that she used to distract herself from the constant feeling of irritation she got in these situations.

            As unoriginal and dull as Malkris was, the duchess was a little excited by the idea that he might be able to figure out the secret of her magic. She had never really understood it. Whenever she had tried to get specific details from the wizard who had first detected it, Daedalus, he always said something cryptic, vague, and useless.

            Hadria used to be bored out of her mind by these kidnappings. What no captor, hero, or bard ever seemed to realize was how boring it was to be put in a cage with absolutely nothing to do, and very little to look at, for days at a time. Malkris had at least given her a view out the window, but the view was of a bunch of menacing dark mountains, which got old quickly. And when Hadria was stuck somewhere with nothing to do, her brain picked out small details around her she couldn’t control and started obsessing over them. But Hadria had found ways to get around her predicament. For one, she always hid her notebook, a useful distraction, in one of her coat’s pockets. Her captors almost never thought to search her. Why would they?

            She made a sketch of the arcanascope in her notebook. She had a lot of free time, and had gotten pretty good at drawing. But she had other, more interesting ways to entertain herself. Hadria knew she was alone, but she looked around just to check. Not a soul in sight. She also noticed a handful of things slightly disorderly about Malkris’s lab, but forced herself to not pay them any mind.

            Hadria tore a page out of the back of her notebook. As carefully and slowly as she could manage, she began drawing on it, placing lines in exactly the right positions. When she was finished, Hadria looked down at the seemingly bizarre drawing. It didn’t resemble anything, except that maybe if you squinted and tilted your head, you might almost see something like a centipede. She pressed two fingers down on the rune. She felt a tingling at her fingertips. A small pool of blackness opened in the middle of the rune. Hadria lifted up her hand and a thin, shadowy tendril rose up from the pool. She swayed her hand left to right and the tiny magical limb copied her movement.

            She reached forward and tapped her finger against the end of the shadow tendril. It was cold to the touch, and felt almost liquid. The last few times she had tried the spell, the tentacle had melted when she touched it, but it managed to maintain its shape this time. Hadria thought that she had previously drawn a line at the edge of the rune a centimeter off, and that that had weakened the spell. It was difficult to draw a rune from memory, but Hadria had practiced. Magic using runes, demon magic, was technically forbidden black magic, illegal, and an atrocity against the natural order. But everyone needed a hobby.

            About a year ago, a warlock named Velitolaz had kidnapped Hadria. He’d fought the heroes that came with a massive hand of darkness he summoned out of the floor. She had looked in his grimoire afterward. It contained twelve variations of the spell, which was called “shadow limb”. She had memorized the weakest version of the spell and practiced it when she could.

            Hadria plucked up the dark tendril and the paper sheet it rested on. She held it next to the lock on her door, and made the tendril move into the lock. She tried to move it around, to unlock the door, but it wasn’t precise enough. Hadria had long intended to learn how to pick locks, but she was always occupied with other interests. Besides, she was typically placed behind enchanted locks. There were much more fun ways to get out of cages.

            Hadria flipped through her notebook. She had written the words down somewhere. She found it, and quietly repeated the words to herself several times. An incantation, one capable of turning rope, chain, or cage bars into snakes. It would require a few words of stabilization and empowerment to work, considering she didn’t have an arcane talisman. But then she looked back at the arcanascope. She’d get out of here eventually. Someone always came to rescue her. But it was rare that she was offered an actual chance to find out more about the magic inside her that had dictated her entire life. And if she tried to break out, it would probably fail, and it might ruin her chance to find out what the arcanascope could find out about her blood.

            So Hadria waited. She practiced drawing the shadow tendril rune a few more times. She took more notes whenever the arcanascope did something it hadn’t before. She noticed that in the vial, her blood had changed color. It glowed a light blue now. Interesting.

            Hours later, Malkris returned. “All the defenses have been seen to, and a few would-be rescuers have already fallen to them.” He chuckled. Hadria pursed her lips. She didn’t like hearing about how the heroes that came to rescue her died. Many of them were rude and idiotic, but they mostly weren’t truly bad people. But she had seen many die, and had heard about the deaths of many more. At a certain point, she became mostly numb to it. It still didn’t mean Malkris had to gloat about his traps.

            Hadria carefully scooped up her pages with runes drawn on them and stuffed them in a pocket. Malkris didn’t notice. “Now let’s see what the arcanascope has unearthed,” he said. The dark mage walked over to the contraption and removed the vial of Hadria’s blood, which was still glowing blue. He frowned at it, and tilted it back and forth. He wrapped a hand around it and closed his eyes, concentrating. Those familiar with magic could sense it around them, and Hadria guessed that was what he was doing.

            “This can’t be right,” he said, looking disappointed and confused.

            “What is it?” asked Hadria.

            “There’s undeniably magic here,” said Malkris, “But according to what was foretold, somewhere inside you is hidden enough power that a mage who can control it could take over the continent. I’m certainly not seeing that here. Somehow, that magic is buried so deep that even the arcanascope can’t access it. This certainly explains how no one’s managed to successfully harness the magic before.”

            Hadria sighed. So it seemed she wasn’t going to learn anything about her magic. Just more vague mystery that didn’t tell her anything. Malkris also seemed disappointed. He tossed the blood out a window and set the vial down on a table. Then he stopped and whirled on Hadria. “You’re keeping something from me, aren’t you?” he asked.

            She let out a short laugh. “Listen, I don’t consider you important enough to keep information from.”

            “You know something that I don’t,” he said, getting angrier by the second.

            “I know lots of things that you don’t,” Hadria responded calmly, “Such as how to have some damned style and originality.”

            “Do not toy with me!” He screamed, “I won’t let anyone stand between me and ultimate power, especially not a bratty princess! I know that you’re keeping something from me. You’re hiding your magic from me. Well, I will discover your secrets, even if I have to drag them from you in between your screams. You have-”

            “Okay,” she said, cutting him off, “I’m sorry, but I really can’t focus on you right now. The vial.”

            “What?” asked Malkris.

            Hadria pointed to the vial that had formerly held her blood, lying on a table. “It’s just sitting there,” she said, “It’s still got some blood in it. And the blood will be easier to clean now, before it dries. Also, I can’t help but notice that it is laying on the table, a few feet away from a vial holder, which has one empty spot. I’ll listen to your whole threatening speech and everything, but first, you have to clean out that vial. At the very least put it in a holder.”

            “Are you serious?” Malkris asked, “Do you take me for a joke?”

            “Do I respect you as a threat?” Hadria asked, before answering her own question, “No. But that’s beside the point. I’ve got this thing about small details. I literally can’t focus if I see some sort of thing wrong in the background. It's been an issue with me since I was thirteen.”

            “This is not how any of this was supposed to go,” muttered Malkris, pacing back and forth, “Your magic should be controllable. You should be scared of me. And most significantly, you shouldn’t be so damned annoying and correcting me on everything!”

            Hadria tilted her head and made an exaggerated pitying look before saying, in a voice thick with sarcasm and fake concern, “Aww, you poor thing. Do you want a hug?” Then she shifted into a colder voice without an ounce of pity, “You’re a kidnapper and a murderer, deal with it, for the primordials’ sake. And I don’t want to repeat myself again. Clean. The. Vial.”

            “Do you have the slightest idea-” Malkris began before he was interrupted once again, this time by a man bursting through the window.

Background: The Other Side of The Window

Three Minutes Before

            The carpet flew through the air. On one end of the carpet, a man named Atal stood, sword out, knees readied to jump. On the other end, a man named Aspen had his eyes shut tight as he held onto the sides of the carpet. “Steel yourself,” Atal said, “We shall face the warlock soon enough.”

            “Are we sure he’s a warlock, not just a wizard?” muttered Aspen, with his eyes still screwed shut.

            “What?” asked the other man.

            “Never mind,” Aspen said. He forced himself to let go and stand up. He made the mistake of looking at the dark cliffs flying by them, and had to freeze for about five seconds. When he could move again, he stood all the way up and drew out his weapons, a hatchet in his left hand and a scimitar in his right.

            They were getting closer to a building carved into the stone. It had a line of windows, and as they approached, Aspen could see through the windows a man in robes yelling at a bored looking woman in a cage. “The princess is in danger!” Atal exclaimed.

            “She doesn’t really look-” Aspen began, but before he could finish the statement, his associate jumped through one of the windows. Aspen sighed.

Chapter 2: Rescue

The man stood and brandished a sword. So apparently he wasn’t interested in creativity. He had the standard sword, shining armor, and features that Hadria had been told were supposed to be attractive. “Your reckoning has come, fiend!” the man proclaimed. By the primordials, thought Hadria, even Malkris is more original than this.

            “Where the fuck did he come from?” asked the dark mage, who seemed like he was having a minor breakdown.

            Hadria just rolled her eyes and pointed out the shattered window. A carpet was floating next to it, a few hundred feet above the ground. Another man was on the carpet, stepping through the broken window much more cautiously. He looked backward towards the drop behind him, and his eyes widened as he quickly stumbled away from the window. He wasn’t quite the typical hero, and Hadria thought she recognized him. He had dark olive skin, short curly brown hair, and was clean-shaven. He wore minimal leather armor, and was equipped with a hatchet and scimitar, not just the standard longsword.

            “How did you get past my defenses?” asked Malkris.

            “Magic carpet,” Hadria said, “They flew over. They were pretty noticeable. Maybe look out the window more often.”

            “You saw them?” asked Malkris, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “Let’s explore that thought for a moment,” she said, “Why did I, your unwilling prisoner, not give you the opportunity to prepare for the people coming to rescue me? I think if we put our heads together, we can figure this strange little conundrum out.”

            “You got distracted by a vial, but you held a full conversation while watching them approach in the background?” he asked in disbelief.

            Hadria shrugged. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so rude about the vial, I might have told you.”

            “Excuse me,” said the man who had burst through the window, clearly confused as to why he was not the center of attention, “But I have come to stop you and free this fair maiden.”

            Even Malkris rolled his eyes at that line. Hadria noticed that while everyone was talking, the second of her rescuers was slowly walking around the edge of the room, circling around behind Malkris. From what Hadria could recollect of him, he’d been one of her saviors before, and she remembered thinking that he was smarter than most of them.

            The first man raised his sword dramatically, but before he did anything Malkris began a spell, muttering quickly. “Arcana chantos arcana borneth yod necos brak anacra sotnach anacra.” The man’s sword had almost reached Malkris when he lifted up his wand. A blast of force exploded forth, tossing the hero backwards like he was a rag doll kicked by a horse. He smashed through another window, and was out of sight in less than a second, hurtling to the ground far below.

            Malkris looked around for the other man, but wasn’t quick enough. A hatchet swung out from behind him, and Hadria grimaced as Malkris fell to the floor, his head no longer attached to his spine. The man pulled his hatchet free of the neck. He was breathing heavily, probably more from stress than exertion. He walked over to the window his partner had been pushed out of. He looked down far below. From his expression, Hadria could guess that the man hadn’t found some miraculous way to survive. The songs always told of those who narrowly dodged the jaws of death. But they ignored the majority, those who hadn’t been so lucky or skilled.

            The curly-haired man took a deep breath and turned away from the window, towards Hadria. “Do you know how I can get you out of that cage?” Hadria noted that his voice was soft, unusual considering the loud, performative tone her rescuers typically had.

            “There’s a key over there,” the duchess said, gesturing to one of the tables. The man got it. He looked up at her cage, suspended above the ground. “Just toss it up,” Hadria said.

            The man did so, and the duchess snatched the key out of the air. She put it in the keyhole, turned it, and kicked the cage door open. Hadra jumpedout, and landed on the stone floor below. “Give me just a second,” she said.

She stepped over Malkris’s body and went to the vial lying on the table. She dunked it in a nearby bowl of water to clean the blood out, then carefully placed it in the vial holder. Hadria breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s much better,” she said, before turning back to the man. “You look sort of familiar. Have we met before?”

“We have,” he responded, “Twice. I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me. I’m usually with others, and I imagine you’ve seen a lot of rescuers over the years.”

“You have no idea,” Hadria said. After a pause she said, “I’m sorry about your friend.”

The man nodded. “I didn’t know him all that well,” he said, “And I’m used to it. I always wait a bit, because the first ones who go in trigger the kidnapper’s traps, which helps provide those who come along later, like myself, with a helpful example of what not to do. It means that you get rescued before I can get there a lot of the time, but it also means I stay alive.”

Ah, Hadria realized, a bounty hunter. She didn’t think it with disdain. People came to rescue her for different reasons. Some did it for fame or glory. Some did it as a strange attempt to woo her, and those people were very difficult to deal with. But quite a few, like this man seemingly, did it for material reward. Hadria’s brother, the king, had once indulged these people with treasures, but when he realized how frequent her kidnappings were going to be, he started to ease off on the monetary payment. And so the number of bounty hunters had diminished, while the fame seekers had remained relatively constant, and the wooers had grown in numbers like weeds as Hadria had grown older.

“I’m sure you’ve told me before,” said Hadria, “But what is your name? I’m Duchess Hadria, by the way.”

She couldn’t tell if the man realized she had been making a joke, as anyone who came to rescue her would know who she was. The man just said, “I’m Aspen. Pleasure to meet you. For the third time.”

“I need to collect some of Malkris’s evil artifacts so that they can be safely destroyed back at the castle,” said Hadria. She wasn’t entirely lying. Aspen nodded and cleaned his hatchet blade while Hadria went over to where Malkris had fallen. His gnarled wand was lying about a foot away from him, and she plucked it up. The duchess angled her body so that the wand wasn’t within Aspen’s sight, before running her thumb along the surface of the wood. She found a small crack and dug her fingernail in, widening it. She chipped off a small little piece of wood from the wand. Hadria put the wand in one of the pockets of her coat, and held the little sliver she had taken with both hands. She closed her eyes and concentrated. She could definitely feel a hum emanating from the wood. Good. Even separated from the rest of the wand, it still had magic in it. She tucked the wood sliver into another one of her pockets.

Next, she went to one of the tables, where Malkris’s spellbook lay. She rested her hands on it and closed her eyes once more. There was a hum of magic from the cover of the book, which was unfortunate, but as she flipped through it, she sensed no enchantment on the pages. She found the table of contents. Hadria found it unexpectedly neat and organized. Maybe Malkris hadn’t been a complete monster. Using the table of contents, she found the most valuable pages containing knowledge about spells and diagrams, and an entire section on the arcanascope. She carefully ripped the pages out, folded them up, and hid them in yet another pocket. She didn’t wear her coat just for style.

            Hadria noticed Aspen had been looking at her. “The royal wizard requested I take out some pages so he can study them,” she explained, lying again.

            “Should we go?” he asked, gesturing towards the carpet still floating outside. Hadria nodded, and the two made their way back to the shattered window. Aspen kicked away all the broken pieces of glass that he could, and Hadria saw him grimace and step back slightly when he looked out.

            “Are you afraid of heights?” asked Hadria. She had said it initially as a joke, but realized that it could actually be the case.

            “As a matter of fact, I am,” said Aspen, who had closed his eyes, “And seeing my comrade fall to his death two minutes ago off this exact cliff isn’t helping.”

            “I’ve been on the carpet plenty of times,” Hadria said, “It’s perfectly safe. Much safer than fighting a dark mage, and you did that without any issue.” She stepped past Aspen and over the windowsill, her foot meeting the enchanted silk of the carpet. It was perfectly solid underneath her, and she stepped fully onto it before sitting down. Much more slowly, Aspen followed her a few seconds later. His gaze never stopped staring directly down at the drop below him.

            Aspen settled himself on the carpet. His eyes were closed and his hands were planted flat down on it, like he was trying to convince himself it was solid. Hadria ran her hand along the edge of the carpet and ordered, “Take us back to the castle, not too fast.”

            The carpet began to fly, and Hadria watched the dark mountains around her move by. She thought the wind would make Aspen more tense, but it actually seemed to calm him. The wind whipped at the pair, making Hadria’s long golden blond hair flow behind her. She didn’t really like her hair, but she sort of liked the way it looked and felt when it was flowing in the wind. The problem was, when it did that it got tangled beyond belief. And even worse than the pain of trying to comb tangles out was the fact that until every tangle was gone, they would be all she could think about.

            By the time the wind died down, they were past the black mountains, moving over yellow plains. Aspen seemed to have relaxed slightly, but he kept his eyes closed and still seemed tense. “You know,” Hadria said, “If you need something to distract you, I need help braiding my hair.”

            “What?” he asked, seeming confused.

            “Whenever I return to the castle, I always do my best to have my hair in a specific braid,” she explained, “It’s just a thing of mine.”

            “Alright,” he said, opening his eyes, “I should warn you though, I’m not great with hair.”

            “I can tell,” Hadria remarked. Aspen’s hair wasn’t just curly, it was unruly, and completely covered his ears.

            After a second, Aspen seemed to come to a realization and said, “Oh. That was an insult. Well played.”

            Hadria turned so she was facing away from him and began explaining how to do the specific braid type. Aspen really wasn’t very good with hair, and she had to reach back to demonstrate how parts of it should be done several times. “You know,” he commented, “This whole thing about having a specific braid when you return home is a bit…”

            “Detail obsessed?” Hadria asked, “Yeah, it is. I’m like that about a lot of things. I’ve randomly been taken and held against my will countless times repeatedly, for as long as I can remember. I wonder how I developed control issues.”

            “Fair enough,” Aspen said. A few moments later he added, “Alright, I think your braid is finished.”

            “Not quite,” she said, bringing a dark blue ribbon out of one of her pockets and tying it tightly around the end of her hair, making sure the braid didn’t fall apart. “There,” she said.

            Aspen returned to his former tense position with closed eyes, and Hadria watched the landscape below them fly by. She had made the carpet fly relatively slowly initially for Aspen’s comfort, but once he got used to it, she ordered it to speed up. The carpet was enchanted so that those on top were in no danger of flying off, regardless of how fast it flew.

            Still, it was a few hours before Hadria saw Castle Belindo, named after her family, appear on the horizon and steadily start to grow. They flew over the walls of the city, then of the castle. The carpet landed on the ground, at the base of the dramatic stone steps that led up to the castle’s imposing entrance. Aspen got off the carpet quickly, sighing in relief as he felt the solid stone beneath his feet. Hadria disembarked a bit more slowly.

            “Alright,” she said, “Let’s get this over with.”

Background: The Belindo Castle

Two Hundred and Seventeen Years Ago

            Rasim, the king’s wizard, stepped back to admire his work. A castle, newly finished. It was the greatest of its kind in the world. Perhaps not the largest, but the most finely crafted. Rasim had not only drawn the designs for it, but enchanted it with a variety of secrets. And he had made sure they would endure even after his death.

            “This is the finished result?” asked King Belindo from the wizard’s side. Rasim did not appreciate the critical tone to his king’s voice. He did not appreciate many things about his king. But of course, he could never voice that.

            “Yes, your majesty,” Rasim said.

            The king tilted his head. “A little small, isn’t it?” he asked.

            The wizard suppressed a sigh. “Regardless, it will draw the envy of the other kingdoms.”

            King Belindo nodded. They both knew that was what he really wanted. The king was a warrior, he didn’t intend to spend much time actually in the castle. The battlefield was his home. And because of that, and the fact that he was an idiot, he would never know all that was hidden within the castle. The wizard doubted he would figure out even a single secret. Rasim hoped one of the king’s descendants might have the brains to figure out the many hidden tricks. And if they did, he hoped that they also had the heart not to destroy what had been concealed for a reason.

Chapter 3: Returning To The Roost

“Prin-” began one of the guards before Hadria corrected him.

            “Duchess.”

            “Right,” he said, “Duchess Hadria, we’re glad to see your return. Please wait while we notify everyone of your arrival.”

            “Nope,” she said, walking by him. Aspen trailed behind uncertainly. He’d rescued her twice before, but both times there had been someone else with him to absorb all the attention, while Aspen had just patiently waited in the background.

            Hadria pushed open the imposing double doors and walked into the entrance hall. She saw one of the guards hurry off to tell everyone she had returned, so they could arrange some kind of welcoming back before she got too far. She found those welcomings so tedious.

            “Lady Hadria!” exclaimed a voice. She sighed. A figure strode towards her, wearing his typical bright red jacket over a yellow shirt and white pants. He hurt a bit to look at.

            “Ozan,” she said, in a voice that conveyed a complete lack of emotion or opinion.

            “So good to see you back,” Ozan said with a falsely wide smile. The lute slung over his back was visible over his shoulder. Aspen vaguely remembered this man. He was some kind of writer or performer. The court jester, maybe? “Who is this fine savior of yours?”

            “I’m Aspen,” he said. The man frowned a bit and Aspen watched his mouth silently moving, repeating his name over and over. “What are you doing?” Aspen asked.

            “Trying to find something that rhymes with your name,” Ozan said, “It’s not easy. I can probably make it humorous and make a series of tree puns. What are your weapons?”

            “Hatchet and scimitar,” answered Aspen, still generally confused as to what was happening.

            “That’s better,” the man said, “I can think of rhymes for hatchet. Scimitar’s a bit harder though… please tell me that you fought a minotaur?”

            “No, he didn't,” said Hadria, “Minotaurs aren’t real. I did know a mage who animated a statue of one, but that’s not the same. This time it was a dark mage named Malkris.”

            “Malkris,” Ozan mused, clearly thinking about it, “I can probably think of something for that. I may have to modify a few details.”

            “When has that ever stopped you before?” asked Hadria.

            “True,” he said, “Sometimes it's easier than others. Remember that time that Bori The Strong rescued you from the dark mages Uney and Vad? So many simple, common syllables. The rhymes flowed like fine wine.”

            “I’m sorry that my kidnappings don’t correspond to what helps you make the best verses,” said Hadria.

            Ozan just sighed and said, “Oh, it's alright. The challenge helps me grow as an artist. And the king has… simplistic tastes that do not require lyrical genius.”

            “Who exactly are you?” Aspen asked.

            The brightly dressed man looked at Aspen with the disdain of a professional food critic being offered burnt rat meat. “I am the royal bard,” he said, “I make art based on the many adventures of the princess’ saviors. Primarily songs. Many talentless mongrels have also attempted to make careers writing songs of the same exploits, but next to me they are like flies buzzing beside the soaring eagle. His majesty recognizes my unparalleled skill and I am royally compensated for my services.”

            “You said princess again,” said Hadria, “I warned you that the next time you did that, your head would be entering a long distance relationship with your neck.”

            “And I told you that my head and the fabulous face and brain that come with it will stay attached to my neck, which contains my celestial vocal chords, as long as your brother continues to take nourishment from my art like a mighty lion basking in the sun.”

            Aspen furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out what the bard had just said. “Out of my way,” said Hadria, “Go sing a repetitive and unoriginal tune to my idiot brother.”

            “Very well,” he said, “I’ll get out of your hair. Which, by the way, looks like it was braided by a ten year old girl.”

“That insult was rather minimal and lacking, for you,” said Hadria, “It would have been better had you said that it looked like it had been braided by a blind ten year old girl with arthritis.”

“How many children do you know who are blind and have arthritis?” Ozan asked.

“Just the ones that listened to your songs in the womb,” the duchess cooly responded, “Now I repeat: fuck off.”

Ozan seemed like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of exactly what. Instead he just turned and strode away.

“Huh,” said Aspen, “You know, you’d think that I’d remember that guy better. He seems like the type of person you don’t forget.”

            “He wasn’t always that… much,” said Hadria, “He can actually be sort of charming at times. He still makes me wish that it was still legal for royalty to have people beheaded without a trial.”

            Hadria began advancing again and Aspen continued to trail behind. At the end of the entrance hall there was another large set of double doors, made from a wood that was an unnaturally bright shade of yellow, with streaks of red.

            The duchess pushed open the doors, revealing the throne room. Braziers and gold trim were everywhere, and tapestries hung on all the walls. Sitting on the throne was Hadria’s brother, His Majesty King Cecelio, of the royal Belindo family. Hadria had never thought that she resembled him. They were only half-siblings. She had been blessed with “divine beauty”, although she didn’t know if that was related to the magic that she had also been born with. Cecilio was handsome, but in a vastly different way than she was beautiful. He was more tan than she was and his hair was a darker shade of blond.

            “Hadria!” He said, when he saw her, “I just heard that you returned. Who is your savior this time? I wish to congratulate him!” Hadria knew that his broad grin and joyous tone were dramatically overdone, and she’d seen him do it every single time she was brought back to the castle.

            Aspen bowed low and said, “It’s an honor to meet you, your majesty. I am Aspen Thinoporo. I set out alongside Akin Dalvir, who was killed in battle.”

            “Ah yes,” said one of the two figures beside the throne. He stepped forward. Daedalus The Wise, the royal wizard. He had foreseen Hadria’s magic when she was born. The man was ancient, with a white beard that reached a third of the way down his pale blue robes. He leaned on a tall staff with a bright white gem at the top, held in its wooden grasp. “Didn’t I grant the two of you a magic carpet to assist in your quest?”

            “Yeah, it’s outside,” said Hadria, “Don’t worry, it's not torn or dirty.”

            “The condition of such an object is of course insignificant compared to your safety, lady Hadria,” Daedalus said. Hadria rolled her eyes. Daedalus was so unbearably bland and mind-numbingly boring that she wanted to scream and run away whenever she talked to him for more than five seconds.

            The third figure also stepped forward. “Back again so soon my lady?” Commander Faris asked, “I think this might be a new record.” The commander of the castle guard wore armor and kept his sword by his side at all times. He was pale, with brown hair that hung to his shoulders and gray-green eyes surrounded by laugh lines.

            “That depends,” said Hadria, “on whether you count failed kidnapping attempts. But even if you count ones in which I get all the way back to the kidnapper’s lair, the shortest one was a necromancer named Boleus. As soon as we got back, he was ambushed by a rival necromancer’s servants. The other necromancer didn’t want heroes coming after him, so he just sent me back. I was back in the castle half an hour after the kidnapping started.”

            “I was joking, my lady,” said Faris, “But it is good to know your memory is as sharp as ever. These halls are always so dull without your beauty.” He leaned down and took Hadria’s hand as if he intended to kiss it, but she pulled it away a bit roughly, lightly striking him in the face as she did so. Completely by accident.

            “Focus on your job, commander,”  she said, “You seem to be unaware that every time I get taken, it's also a time that you have failed to do your duty.”

            Cecilio gave her a look, but she honestly didn’t care. Hadria may have had mixed feelings about her half-brother and an aversion to being around Daedelus when he started one of his long, meandering lectures, but she had a variety of problems with Faris. He had always been far too “charming” in her presence, despite the age difference of about two decades. He had rescued Hadria from one of her first kidnappings, when she was eleven years old. As a reward, he had been granted an enchanted blade by Daedelus and a position as commander of the castle guard by Cecilio. She thought he was unqualified for the job, just judging by the fact the guards under his command seemed to only slightly stem the steady flow of kidnappers. But most of all, she just found something about him sort of unsettling. Something about his presence felt slightly unsafe. He had never tried to harm or kidnap her, despite having had ample opportunity over the years. Still, she didn’t like him.

            “My lady,” said Daedelus, frowning, “Are you alright? I sense the stench of dark magic upon you.”

            “Ah of course,” Hadria said, taking the wand out of her pocket, “That is likely from this. I took it from Malkris. Here you go.” She handed him the wand. “Now, if that’s everything, I think I’m going to go take a nap. It's been a tiring day.”

            “Of course,” said King Cecilio, “There will be a feast tonight to celebrate your return, so make sure that you are rested and prepared for it.” Hadria turned and left the throne room.

When she was outside the room, she breathed a sigh of relief. Daedalus hadn’t noticed the splinter of the wand she’d kept or the pages from the spellbook. Despite having a personality like moldy bread, he was like a bloodhound when it came to sensing magic.

            “I believe my duties here are complete, your highness,” said Aspen to the king, “And I do not wish to burden your grace any longer. I just need to collect my reward, then I shall be off. Should the duchess ever be endangered again, I will be happy to help.”

            “Don’t be foolish,” said the king, “You will be staying with us for the feast tonight.”

            “I thank your highness very much for the offer,” said Aspen, “But I wouldn’t want to burden you with all the effort of an extra plate and chair and silverware, not to mention the food. So, if I could merely-”

            “Your humility is refreshing,” King Cecilio said, “But I insist.”

            Aspen could tell that he had no way of escaping. And he didn’t object to the concept of the feast itself. Namely, eating as much food as he could. It was just that he was nervous about spending so much time around all these people, and wanted to get his reward sooner rather than later. “You honor me, your grace,” he said, bowing low once more, “And it would be rude of me to refuse.”

            “I’ll have you set up with guest chambers for tonight,” said the king, “Save your appetite.”

            Aspen nodded and left. His fingers nervously tapped at the hilts of his weapons at his side. This might not have been the best idea. When there had been another rescuer, he could fade into the background and be unnoticed. The last two times, he’d been able to just get the money and get out.

            If anyone found out about him, it would be disastrous. This castle, in this kingdom, was probably the worst possible place to be. Malkris had been a threat, but he was nothing compared to some of the people within these walls.

Background: The Duchess and The Apprentice

Six Years Ago

            Zinta was having trouble adjusting to the castle. They’d been there for eighteen months, but they hadn’t exactly settled in in that time. All of the nobles considered them to be just some commoner who had been lucky enough to get an apprenticeship with the royal wizard. Not that Zinta could disagree with that assessment. And if that weren’t enough, they had decided to change their name and pronouns a couple weeks ago. They had wanted to wait until they were more secure, but couldn’t put it off any longer.

            So it was for a variety of reasons that a noble brat was harassing them as they walked through the royal garden. “Hey, Andrew,” Borney asked mockingly, “Where are you headed?” Zinta knew that Borney knew what their new name was, and had resolved not to answer him until he used it.

            “What’s wrong, Andrew?” Borney asked, “Cat got your tongue?”

            Zinta didn’t respond. Borney shoved the wizard’s apprentice. It wasn’t a hard shove, but it was enough to make them trip over the root of a nearby tree and fall to the ground. They scrambled up, hands clenched into fists. “Arcana borneth yod arcana,” they said and shoved their hands forward, intending to cast a minor push spell. But the arcane power wouldn’t leave their hands. Zinta realized they’d said the words of power wrong. They could feel the pressure building without release. They tried to shove the magic away, and there was a burst of force from their hands, but it was pointed in the wrong direction. Zinta’s feet briefly left the ground before they fell back to the dirt.

            Borney of course found this all hilarious, and was cackling like a hyena. “You’re only here because people think you can do magic,” he said, “But you can’t even do that. Andrew.”

            “Your attention please,” said a new voice, fierce and sharp as the crack of a whip. Zinta and Borney both looked over to see a girl in a dark blue dress striding towards them. Borney recognized her instantly, but it took Zinta a second longer. Duchess Hadria.

            The girl had a look in her bright blue eyes that expressed a strong murderous desire, and her hair thrashed behind her in the breeze. Zinta had heard the songs that described Hadria’s hair as bright as a sunflower, but the way it caught the sun seemed more like a wildfire to them. Borney stepped back. Hadria was a thirteen-year-old girl and he was a fourteen-year-old boy, but she was still oddly intimidating. She stopped five feet from them and crossed her arms. Zinta got up from their position on the ground, hissing slightly in pain at all the spots in their back that hurt.

            “That is not their name,” the duchess said, “And while I can’t remember what their name is, I do know that is not it.”

            “This isn’t about you, princess,” said Borney, seeming to collect himself.

            Hadria picked up a nearby stone, about four inches in diameter, and hefted it. “It became about me when you punched me in the face. And I am duchess, not princess.” With that, she brought the stone smacking against her own cheek, hard. Zinta winced as the duchess staggered slightly. The skin just looked red, but they could tell a bruise would form. Hadria dropped the stone.

            “I didn’t do that!” Borney protested.

            “You didn’t?” the duchess asked, “Well, getting clocked in the head made my memory a little fuzzy. I can’t remember if I tripped and fell, or if you hit me and… whatever this person is named.”

            Borney’s eyes widened as he realized what was going on.

“Of course,” Hadria continued, “If it’s the first, then we can all go our separate ways and you can go be awful somewhere else, remembering in the future that you should call people what they want to be called.” She stepped closer. “If it's the second,” she said in a dangerously low voice, “Then you assaulted the king’s sister. You hurt the girl who has the magic of the primordials inside her.”

            “I didn’t do that,” Borney weakly protested.

            “I wonder if your mouth will still be stating its innocence when the head it's attached to is rolling along the floor.” It was an unrealistic threat, but something about the girl’s intensity made it believable. Zinta thought then that the ocean of primordial magic inside the girl was dwarfed by her cold determination.

            “S-sorry,” Borney muttered.

            “I don’t care about your pathetic little apology,” said Hadria, “And I am not who you should be apologizing to. Say it again, but to them and use their real name.”

            Borney turned around and said, in a small voice, “Sorry… Zinta.”

            “Now go away,” said Hadria, pushing him away. Borney started running. “You know,” commented the duchess, glancing at Zinta as she watched him flee, “If you wanted to magically trip him as he ran, I wouldn’t stop you.”

            “I’m not very good at magic,” Zinta said, looking down towards the ground.

            “You were good enough to get chosen,” Hadria answered, “And isn’t the whole point of being an apprentice to get better?”

            “Thanks,” Zinta said, “And also thank you for helping me.”

            “Don’t mention it,” Hadria said, “I deal with jerk idiots pretty regularly. Getting to actually scare one is pretty satisfying. My brother's going to make a whole thing out of the bruise though.” She gestured to her cheek where she had hit herself with the stone. It was indeed bruising.

            “Do you want me to help you with that?” asked Zinta.

            “Sure,” the duchess said.

            Zinta brought their fingers up to Hadria’s cheek and muttered, careful to say the words of power correctly this time, “Arcana talok noa anacra.” The bruise slowly faded away. Hadria rubbed her cheek, then smiled.

            “That’s so cool,” she said, “Magic is awesome. I’ve asked Daedelus about it, but he said I shouldn’t concern myself with such things, or something else boring and useless.”

            “I’m sure he just didn’t want to put you in any kind of danger,” said Zinta, “Magic can be dangerous.”

            “Well, even if I don’t practice it myself,” Hadria said, “I want to know about it. I like learning facts about plants. That doesn’t mean I’m planning to be a plant.”

            Zinta chuckled. “Okay,” they said. They gave Hadria a brief summary of what they were studying about magic, which shifted into them talking about their own life, which shifted into Hadria talking about her life. They talked all through the afternoon. That night, Zinta realized they had made a friend. And it was a friend they had kept since.

Chapter 4: The Real Welcome Home

            Zinta sat on the floor, their legs crossed, and their eyes closed. They breathed in and out steadily. I am calm, they thought to themself, I am calm. I am one with my own breath. Well, not literally. I’m not like, made of air. Though I wish I knew a spell to turn into air. No! Focus! I am my breath. I am calm. I am focused on nothing and everything.

            They did the best they could to keep their mind clear, to simply stare into the void. I am calm, they repeated, I am without thought or worry or emotion. I suppose ‘worry or emotion’ is redundant, because worry is an emotion. Anyway, I am calm. My mind is a void. I am beyond all distraction, and nothing can disrupt my-

            Then they heard a voice behind them ask, “Zinta?” They sprang up in an instant and wheeled around. Duchess Hadria stood at the entrance, leaning against the doorway. Zinta had been distracted trying to meditate and hadn’t heard her open the door. They dashed across the room and nearly bowled Hadria over. The royal was wrapped in a tight bear hug. Zinta towered over Hadria, despite being a year and a half younger, only eighteen.

            Zinta finally released their friend. They looked down at the top of Hadria’s head and frowned. “Oh, I messed up your hair. Sorry.”

            “Trust me, it was probably already this bad,” said Hadria.

            “You came back quick,” said Zinta, “I expected you to be gone at least until tomorrow morning.”

            “Yeah, my rescuers were apparently feeling punctual. How about I tell you everything while you fix my hair? My savior may be reasonably good at cutting off heads, but he is an atrocious hair-dresser.”

            Before long, Hadria was sitting in front of the mirror, with them behind her. It was a familiar position the two had been in many times over the years. Hadria gazed forward at their reflections. She didn’t much like hers. She’d had her “radiant beauty” described a hundred different ways in a thousand different songs, and the concept got old quickly. Pale white skin, slender, curvy physique, symmetrical face, long golden hair, bright blue eyes, red lips. She looked the part of the beautiful captured princess to an annoying degree. Zinta, on the other hand, had caramel skin, frizzy black hair, and a light layer of stubble on their chin.

“Yikes,” said Zinta as they undid the braid, “Yeah, he really did not know what he was doing.”

            “Indeed, but in other ways he’s not as bad as most of them,” said Hadria, “For one, he’s shown no interest in me, which I find refreshing. I get really sick of the ‘I loved you from the moment I saw you’. Like, really? You first saw me chained down to a stone with a madman above me holding a dagger and cackling while I screamed obscenities at him. That was your love-at-first-sight moment?”

            “Okay, I feel like that was really specific,” said Zinta, having finally undone the braid, “But I get your point. Hey, do you want me to cut your hair short again?”

            “I do,” said Hadria, “But it's not a good idea. Last time, Cecilio got into a whole thing about it. Lots of arguing, I may have called him a pig in a crown, and at the end of it all Daedelus just regrew it.”

            “You look awesome regardless of your hairstyle,” said Zinta, as they began brushing her hair. They knew that Hadria didn’t like being complimented on her appearance, because bards and heroes did it so often. But she really did have wonderful hair. And it was so easy to brush, even with the tangles from the wind.

            “I don’t look awesome regardless of hairstyle,” Hadria said, “I am awesome regardless of hairstyle.”

            Zinta chuckled and said, “That you are. Anything else notable about your latest rescuer?”

            “His name is Aspen,” said Hadria, “He’s one of the bounty hunters, interested primarily in the reward money. He’s a bit awkward, which is also refreshing. I mean, a lot of my rescuers lack social skills, but they all seem to think they’re immensely charming. He’s more clever and sneaky than most, and he’s afraid of heights, which is a bit ironic considering he arrived on a flying carpet. I imagine Cecilio will have him stay for the feast tonight.”

            “That’s your brother’s way of buttering heroes up so that he can get away with paying them less, right?” asked Zinta.

            “That it is,” Hadria replied, “But how are you doing? You were sitting on the floor with your eyes closed when I walked in, was I interrupting a nap or something?”

            “Oh, no,” said Zinta, who had begun putting Hadria’s hair in a much better braid, “Daedelus said that a clear, focused mind is necessary for magic, so he told me to do a bunch of meditation exercises. I’m not very good at them though.”

            Zinta gave a short laugh, but Hadria could detect the slightly strained edge to it. Zinta was extremely dedicated to their apprenticeship to Daedelus, and they intended to be a great wizard one day. Hadria knew that despite their efforts, Zinta often struggled with magic. In her opinion, that was really more the fault of Daedelus’s teaching than of Zinta’s ability to learn, but she knew her friend didn’t see it that way.

            “You know, I personally never really got meditation,” said Hadria. A second later, she realized that could have sounded a bit rude and said, “But I don’t know a lot about magic.” That wasn’t entirely true. She’d spent hundreds of hours with nothing to do but watch her captors do magic. But she didn’t want to accidentally hurt Zinta’s feelings. Hadria cared about the opinions of very few people, but Zinta was one of them. The two had been friends for many years. The one thing about Zinta she really didn’t get was how dedicated they were to their teacher. How anybody could look up to Daedelus was a complete mystery to Hadria.

            Zinta seemed unbothered. “Ribbon,” they requested, and Hadria handed it to them. Zinta tied it around the end of the braid and stepped back to admire their handywork. Hadria turned her head around to observe her hair in the mirror. The apprentice said, “Arcana tavidan anacra,” and spread their hands wide in a ta-da! gesture. Sparkles appeared in the air before fizzling away after a few seconds.

            Hadria smiled and made a small clapping gesture. “Bravo, bravo. Truly, you are the greatest artist and the greatest mage within the entire noble kingdom of Anabidos.”

            Zinta gave an exaggerated bow. “I live to serve her royal highness,” they said.

            “I wish more people addressed me like that,” said Hadria, “I’m getting really sick of ‘my lady’. Especially from Faris.”

            “Yeah, he’s kind of…” Zinta began, searching for a word that didn’t sound too harsh.

            “Self centered and creepy?” Hadria offered, lacking her friend’s delicacy.

            “I wouldn’t phrase it like that, but more or less, yes,” said Zinta, “He keeps on referring to me with male pronouns and with things like, ‘young man’. I’ve corrected him on it like a thousand times, but he just keeps on ignoring me.”

            “That wolf-headed mucus golem,” said Hadria, “I’ve tried to convince Cecilio to get rid of Faris again and again, but he never listens. If he misgenders you without apology again, let me know. His head will roll down the palace steps.”

            “Your brother hasn’t done any beheadings so far, I doubt that would be the reason he’d start,” said Zinta.

            “Who said anything about my brother?” Hadria asked, “I’ll cut his head off myself.”

            Zinta snickered a little bit. “I’m sure you would.”

            “You’re going to be at my return feast tonight, right?” Hadria asked.

            “Oh, I most certainly am,” Zinta said, “That’s the only time they get out the really good salad dressings.” Hadria had never known anyone who had as strong opinions on salad dressings as Zinta.

            “Well, I’ll see you then,” said the duchess, “For now, I have to go take a nap.”

            She left her friend’s quarters and headed towards her own, ignoring the little flicker of guilt she felt. She didn’t actually have to take a nap. Hadria didn’t like napping, personally. She always took at least half an hour to fall asleep and there were so many things she could be doing in the meantime. But it would be awkward to say, “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m going to go practice dark magic in my room!” Zinta was her best friend, but they were also the apprentice to Daedelus, and had received all of their magical education from him. And Daedelus followed very traditional ideas of magic. No demon magic, no necromancy, and no spells or enchantments that were either logically or, in Hadria’s opinion, arbitrarily considered evil. Hadria failed to understand why it was okay to animate a suit of armor, but not a skeleton. The dead didn’t care what you did with their body, but suits of armor were expensive. Hadria had met demons, and they were all bastards. But she failed to see anything inherently wrong with using their rune-based magic.

            Hadria found the door to her room, which had two guards standing outside of it, like it always did. “Welcome back, duchess,” one of them said.

“Thank you, Renwick,” said Hadria, “Sorry I couldn’t give you more time off from your duties.” She touched her right index finger against the door knob for three seconds, waiting until she heard the click of the door magically unlocking. It was enchanted to only unlock for a few people, one of the many defenses designed to dissuade her potential kidnappers. She closed the door behind her and took a deep breath, comforted by the familiar safety of her room. Well, not entirely safe.

“I know you’re there,” Hadria announced. Nothing. No movement, no sound. “Yes, I’m talking to you,” she said. Still nothing. Hadria said that every time she entered her room, regardless of whether or not she actually could tell if someone was there. If there was someone hiding or watching her, they would think she knew about them and would reveal themself. If there was no one there, then she was just talking to the air, and better to be safe than sorry. It was a pretty simple safety precaution, but it had caught hiding foes three times before. Once, two different wizards dropped their invisibility spells, then looked at each other with confused expressions, each unaware that the other one had also been hiding in her room.

Hadria’s room was large, with a big bed dominating a significant portion of it, and a glass door leading out onto a balcony. The door was enchanted to never open though, not even for her, and had an illusion on it so that to anyone on the outside, the balcony and door just looked like the ordinary stone of the castle walls. Hadria had been taken from that balcony by some villain swooping down from above enough times that she was no longer allowed to go out onto it.

The duchess kicked off her shoes and removed her coat before falling down onto the bed. She lay there for a couple minutes before rising again and returning to her coat. She dug around in its pockets and took out the splinter of Malkris’s wand she had secretly taken, and the pages from his spellbook.

She tucked them under one arm as she walked over to a specific spot on one of her walls. Three stones were slightly out of place, jutting out of the wall just a bit. She tapped the highest stone, then the middle one, then the lowest one, then repeated the process in reverse, tapping the lowest, then the middle, then the highest. The stones began to shift around, but never made any sound. It was a little eerie. The wall bentand shifted, creating an opening roughly the size and shape of a doorway. As Hadria stepped through, the wall closed behind her.

Background: The Hidden Sanctum

Seven years ago

            Hadria had been raised hearing about the ancient and mysterious history of this castle, one of the first bastions of human power. The architect had supposedly been a powerful and enigmatic wizard, who had hidden secrets all around the castle. Only a few had been found.

            Hadria had been pacing around her room one day, bored out of her mind, and annoyed at those three stones that jutted out from the wall. She was thirteen years old at the time, and hadn’t yet recognised her obsession with small details. To her it just seemed like the stones were mocking her with how they were just slightly different from everything around them. She idly ran her hands along them, tapping them, from top to bottom. Then she had felt a little irritated that the top one had gotten the first tap and the bottom one had gotten the last tap, so she had done the process in reverse, to equalize it. And then the wall had opened up, and she had beheld something beyond her wildest dreams.

            A square stone chamber, about seventeen feet across on each side, lined with seemingly ancient dusty shelves. The young duchess had stepped forward hesitantly, and the wall had shut behind her. She screamed and turned back towards the wall, pounding on it. Her fists found the same three stones out of place in the wall this time, except they were slightly deeper in than the other stones, instead of jutting slightly out. Quickly, she tapped them in the same order she had before. Nothing. She tapped them in the reverse order, starting at the bottom stone and working her way up, then back down again. The wall had opened, revealing her room. She had rushed out of the strange chamber, and the wall had closed behind her once more.

            Hadria had sat on her bed, staring at that spot on the wall for about five minutes. Eventually, she had reasoned she was being foolish. After all, it was only a magic wall and a weird creepy chamber on the other side. And she had within her a wellspring of primordial magic capable of changing the world. She shouldn’t be scared of anything.

            So the girl went back to the wall and tapped out the pattern. It opened. She waited. The wall remained open. She stepped back. It closed. She repeated the pattern and stepped halfway through. The wall didn’t close on her. She stepped through, and it closed behind her, but she wasn’t scared anymore.

            She realized that even though the sunlight coming in through the windows of her room was blocked and there were no torches or candles anywhere in this room, she could still see clearly. Hadria looked up and gasped in surprise.

            The ceiling had a circular skylight ten feet across, and beyond the glass was an illusion of a strange, mystical night sky. Three moons: one full, one waxing crescent, and one waning crescent, hung in the illusory sky, with glowing violet and aquamarine mists floating around them, and a sea of stars glowed behind it all. It didn’t give off a bright light, but as her eyes adjusted she found she could see well enough.

            Dust covered shelves were set all around the room, and an equally dusty long table was in one corner. Hadria listened closely. She couldn’t hear any of the sounds of the castle. It was completely silent, like she was in another world. Which, it occurred to her, she might be. Even at the ripe age of thirteen, she had already once been imprisoned inside a pocket dimension. Pocket dimensions were areas enchanted to fit within spaces that didn’t quite make sense, logically speaking.

            Hadria realized that in all likelihood, no one knew this place existed. It was hers and hers alone. That idea sent a shiver of excitement through her. Her entire life, even when she wasn’t being kidnapped, she was controlled.

            Hadria decided to test something. She yelled as loud as she could, screamed until her throat was hoarse. When she was finished, she realized she had probably needed that scream more than she’d realized. She listened carefully. She couldn’t hear anybody in the rest of the castle hurrying to her door, as they ordinarily would have if they had heard her yell.

            The young duchess couldn’t stop herself from giggling with relief and joy. She decided then that she would never let anyone know about this room. It would be a place for her and no one else. Her safe place. Her hidden sanctum.

Chapter 5: An Unusual Nest

            Duchess Hadria returned to her sanctum with a wand sliver in her hand and several spellbook pages tucked under one arm.

Hadria had measured her sanctum, and there was no way that the seventeen by seventeen foot chamber fit into the space between her room and the next one. The entrance wasn’t a portal, Hadria was almost certain she wasn’t teleported. But there were certainly still some magical dimension-bending shenanigans going on.

            The room was lined with carefully organized bookshelves, and had a wide worktable in one corner. In here, Hadria could organize minute details to her heart’s content. She removed the pages from her arm and smoothed them out as best she could before taking a piece of string off of her worktable and tying it around the page bundle.  She then set it next to several other bundles of pages ripped out from the spellbooks of those who had kidnapped the duchess.

            On one of the shelves rested a small, wooden chest without a lock, the kind a child would have. She opened the chest, and a soft glow emanated from it. It was filled with tiny little splinters of wood, shards of glass or crystal, and small talons and fangs. Tiny remnants from over a dozen different arcane talismans, from over a dozen different former captors. Each one still conserving at least a sliver of magic. She put the splinter she had taken from Malkris’s wand in, and closed the lid.

            In one corner of Hadria’s desk was a rat skeleton. She had tried again and again to practice some basic necromancy on it, but so far had only achieved making its tail twitch. She was relatively talented at arcane and demonic magic, so she was curious as to why death magic didn’t come to her as easily. Initially, she had thought it was a branch of arcane magic, but upon further research had found it was a human adaptation of a much more ancient magic that had been practiced by the reptilian inhabitants of the Forest of Scales, the scaleren. Necromancy seemed to require the user spend a long time in the presence of death magic so it could seep into their being. If she had primordial magic inside her, theoretically she should be capable of necromancy, but Hadria’s magic rarely felt like doing anything useful.

            The duchess had tried a few times to focus on one avenue of magic, but she had difficulty staying on a singular project for long. So she had picked up some arcane magic that was considered acceptable, some arcane spells that were classified as dark but that she failed to see an issue with, and a few demon runes.

            After having the pages in order, Hadria patrolled the room and made sure that everything was perfectly in place. It was one of the many rituals that she felt the need to perform on a regular basis.

            When that was out of the way, Hadria went to the shelf and retrieved the pages from Malkris’s spellbook. She removed the string and took a closer look at the first page. On it was written, “This tome is in the possession of Malkris, dark mage, student of Zenimos.” Hadria took a red journal off of another shelf. She had many pages from the spellbooks of her kidnappers, but also kept a few personal journals.

            Hadria’s red journal was filled with notes on the various wielders of black magic who had kidnapped her over the years, and contained a few comprehensive charts of, as she referred to them, “the dark dynasties”.

            Black magic users had a tradition of keeping track of who was an apprentice to whom, like family trees. If your teacher’s teacher’s teacher’s teacher was one of the greatest dark mages in history, that seemed to be a mark of status. The two oldest and most powerful dynasties traced back to the first two mortals to master demonic magic, Waer Loka and Jezibaba, The Father of Warlocks and the Mother of Witches. Hadria’s charts were incomplete, with many missing spaces, but she judged Malkris to be part of one of the lesser dynasties of black magic, only about a century and a half old.

 She removed the journal she kept in her pocket, full of messy field notes, and copied her notes on Malkris down into the red journal, cleaning them up a bit and more neatly categorizing them. Hadria then repeated the process with her notes on the arcanascope, copying them down into a blue journal, which she filled with information on magical artifacts and history. She liked to keep things organized.

When that was done, she began looking at the other pages she’d ripped from Malkris’s book. They were filled with spells, some more forbidden than others. When she was finished reading all of it, she would go back through and isolate spells that interested her. She would practice those spells if she could, and copy them down into her own spellbook. This entire process was one she had gone through many times before. Most people would lose count, but she did not. She counted a lot. Since she had started doing this at the age of thirteen, she had taken spell pages from the books of twelve different kidnappers, counting Malkris. There had unfortunately been seven kidnappers from whom she’d gotten nothing. Being kidnapped nineteen times in seven years wasn’t fun, but she made the most of it.

A couple hours later, she stood up and went around the room, ensuring everything was in precisely the right position, before returning to her bedroom. She looked out the window at the sky, and saw the sun was a fair distance across it. Someone would be coming to get her prepared for the feast soon.

Sure enough, there was a knock on the door a few minutes later. The duchess opened the door. Her newest lady-in-waiting, a short, red-haired woman named Ikona, was waiting patiently outside, holding several objects. Hadria went through ladies in waiting relatively quickly, as they often turned out to be working for someone planning to take her, or turned out to be kidnappers in disguise themselves. Hadria didn’t dislike Ikona, but didn’t like her much either. Cecilio had learned that Hadria required quite stubborn ladies-in-waiting, as the duchess did everything she could to avoid dressing up for anything.

“I have been sent here to prepare you for the feast, my lady,” Ikona said.

“Alright,” said Hadria, “Come in. Let’s get this over with.”

The woman laid out all the things she was carrying on the bed. A fine green dress that looked uncomfortable, cosmetics, a pair of heels that Hadria found sickeningly high, and several brushes and combs. “That’s going to be a no from me on all of this,” she said.

“I’m afraid that his majesty insisted, and the king’s rank supersedes yours, your majesty,” said Ikona.

“I’ll take the blame, if you want,” said Hadria, “What’s he going to do? Throw me in the dungeon? Oh no, not being forced into a cage in uncomfortable conditions for long periods of time, we all know that I am absolutely incapable of enduring that…”

The duchess thought Ikona gave a small smile, but still the lady-in-waiting said, “It is a feast, my lady, you must look your best.”

“How am I supposed to look my ‘best’ for every single gathering we throw?” Hadria asked, “That violates the definition of ‘best’. But fine, I guess I can look my ‘pretty good’.”

“Thank you, my lady,” said Ikona.

“But I’ll throw myself off the castle walls before I put these on,” said Hadria, gesturing to the shoes, “And I just got my hair done, so there’s no need to do it again.”

            “Very well my lady,” the other woman said, “But the rest is mandatory. And his majesty specifically said you were not permitted to wear, in his words, ‘that fashion atrocity of a coat’.”

            “Fine,” Hadria said, “But my brother is a tasteless idiot who thinks wearing a pointy piece of metal on his head makes him seem powerful and intimidating.”

            “I don’t believe your brother invented crowns as a bold fashion statement,” Ikona said as she helped Hadria out of her dress, and into the much newer green one.

            Hadria found the green dress less than comfortable, but she had dealt with far worse many times before. Then she had to sit down as her lady-in-waiting powdered her face and added blush, as well as makeup around Hadria’s eyes. “Thank you, Ikona,” Hadria said as she stood up, “My apologies that you couldn’t have been lady-in-waiting to someone easier.”

            Ikona just shrugged. “I’ve had worse,” she said.

            Hadria left the room and the guards outside her door followed her as she made her way down to the feasting chamber. Time for some awkward smalltalk and a long series of comments about her return she’d heard a thousand times before. Yay.

Background: The True and Only Slightly Biased History of The Royal Belindo Family

            About a year before that feast, Ozan had written a poem that detailed the recent history of the Belindo family, who had ruled the kingdom of Anabidos since it had been founded centuries ago. Hadria found the poem highly inaccurate. After getting into an argument with Ozan about how even a sickly, illiterate badger could write a better poem, Hadria resolved to do it herself. She never showed the poem to anyone, and it was kept in a private corner of her sanctum.

            The poem was written primarily from her perspective, and was written in the berekazi style, one native to Anabidos. A berekazi poem is structured in six units of six lines, each line with six syllables in it, and each unit being about a specific topic, but all part of the same overarching topic. And while Hadria was a more talented poet than Ozan, that was a very low bar.

            The poem read as follows:

First of my family

My mother, Madrona

An actual princess

Had just Cecilio

His father passed away

Twenty years later, me

My mother had a fling

I was born by mistake

The songs never mention

That I’m a bastard child

And I am a duchess

I am not the princess!

Cecilio was kinged

And he married his queen

Her name is Cressida

My half-sister-in-law

That’s a mouthful to say

Wed sixteen years ago

I don’t know the queen well

She quite likes wearing gold

I do not dislike her

We barely ever talk

She might be scared of me

Which I suppose is fair

Eldest heir: Prince Breok

I don’t really like him

He’s too close to his dad

And most of my “saviors”

I hope he won’t be king

Only one other heir

The Princess Amirah

Younger, but much smarter

I like her ambition

She is the younger heir

But I know she will rule

She was made for the crown

Chapter 6: The Feast

A massive table dominated the room, far longer than it was wide. Hadria’s brother sat at the head, with his wife Queen Cressida sitting at his right, and Prince Breok sitting next to her. On his left was Amirah and next to her was a seat clearly saved for Hadria. Next to that seat, looking a bit nervous, was Aspen. Instead of wearing leather armor, he wore a peach tunic, provided for him by the castle staff. To the left of Aspen was Zinta. Across from the pair sat Commander Faris and Daedelus. Further down the table was the bard Ozan, wearing a different outfit that was still painfully bright red. There were also a few nobles and advisors, and Hadria knew more would trickle in.

            When Hadria entered, an announcer spotted her and took in a deep breath and she could tell from the way his lips were shaped he was going to call her ‘princess’. She’d done this dance many times.

            He managed to get through, “Prin-” before she shut him down.

            “Nope!” she yelled, striding past the announcer. She took her place at the table. Zinta was doing her best to hold in a laugh and Cecilio looked a bit exasperated at first but he regained his usual jolly composure quickly.

            “Little sister,” he said, “So glad you could make it.”

            “Big half-brother,” she said, giving a thin smile, “I’d really hate to reach my bull-crap limit at the beginning of this affair, so let’s dial it back a bit. We both know I didn’t have a choice.”

            Zinta coughed to cover a short barking laugh. They didn’t disguise it very well. Hadria could tell from the slight twitch in Cecilio’s neck he was suppressing a sigh. But he made no further comment and went back to his quiet conversation with his wife.

            “Hello Aunt Hadria,” said Amirah from her seat at Hadria’s right. The princess was only fourteen, but she always held herself with an unusual amount of dignity and grace for her age.

            “How rude of me,” the duchess said, “I haven’t even said hello to my favorite niece before almost getting into a fight with her father.”

            “I’m your only niece,” said Amirah.

            “True,” admitted Hadria, “But if I had other nieces, I’m fairly certain that I’d prefer you to them.”

            “Your rescuer has barely said a word since he sat down,” the princess commented, “Which is nice. They’re usually very loud and braggy.”

            “Your brother got into an arm-wrestling contest with the last one, didn’t he?” asked Hadria.

            The girl grimaced. “Please don’t remind me,” she said. Prince Breok himself was laughing over something with Faris. Hadria was sure she was going to overhear some conversations between those two she’d either find mind-numbingly boring, infuriating, or possibly both.

            Hadria heard Zinta start a conversation with Aspen to her left. Her friend was as outgoing as they always were, while Aspen seemed a bit uncomfortable and offered short responses. Hadria had noticed before that Aspen was reserved and maybe a bit out of place, but he seemed anxious now, almost scared. He kept fidgeting with his hair and glancing over at Daedelus and Faris. That was odd.

            “I hope that you didn’t give your newest lady-in-waiting a hard time, Hadria,” said Cecilio, pulling her attention away.

            Aspen listened as Zinta, the wizard’s apprentice, was explaining the mechanics of arcane magic with considerable fervor. “Alright, so the spell has to begin and end with words of power, the ending words corresponding to the beginning ones. If you want a spell to do anything besides a really minor trick, then you need a word of power. The most basic one is ‘arcana’, and the corresponding end word is ‘anacra’.”

            Aspen gave the most convincing smile he could and nodded. It wasn’t that he minded the conversation. It was more that he had difficulty holding a conversation while the royal archmage of Anabidos was sitting four feet away from him. And the commander of the guard, who had for some reason brought his sword to the feast, was sitting right across from him. He had no idea how he was going to get through an entire feast. Calm down, he told himself, If they haven’t figured it out before now, then as long as you act normal, they won’t.

            “Is this your first royal feast?” Zinta asked, apparently noticing his discomfort.

            “It is,” he said, “I’ve done this rescuing thing twice before, but I was kind of… secondary to the other rescuer. They were much more, you know, typical hero types. And I don’t remember the king doing this whole feast thing those times.”

            “Yeah,” said Zinta, “He’s increased them over the years. They save him money.”

            “How does throwing a feast save money?” asked Aspen, “Seems like it would be the opposite.”

            “Sure, all the food’s a bit of an expense,” the wizard’s apprentice replied, “But a hero full of food, and often alcohol, is a hero that costs less to reward.”

            Aspen sighed. The only reason he was sitting through this was so he could get paid, but it turned out the feast was basically a means of paying him less. He really had to find a different line of work. “The duchess gets kidnapped a lot,” said Zinta, “And it's not like the king can give each of them wealth beyond measure. He learned that lesson t pretty quickly. Especially with that guy.” Zinta gestured to the commander of the guard, who seemed to be animatedly telling a story to Daedelus, who showed no reaction.

            “Was he especially overpaid?” asked Aspen.

            “Yeah,” said Zinta, “Faris. He wasn’t given gold, but he got an enchanted sword. And not just any enchanted sword, a really nice one. And if that wasn’t enough, he was given his position in the castle guard, despite the fact he’s-” Zinta glanced over at their master and Faris. The apprentice spoke much quieter so that Aspen had to lean in to hear them, “To be perfectly honest, he’s a jerk. Hadria’s been trying to get him fired for a long time. And, in her words, she’d prefer that his severance package be an executioner’s ax. She was joking. I think.”

            “She’s royalty,” said Aspen, “And magical royalty, too. Why can’t she just order him to be gone? In fact,” Aspen furrowed his brow as he thought, “Considering she’s the king’s sister and she has primordial magic inside her, and he doesn’t, why isn’t she the qu-”

            “Hey, here’s an idea,” Hadria said from Aspen’s right, cutting him off, “How about we don’t suggest how the royal hierarchy be restructured in front of literally everyone who’s a part of that hierarchy?”

            He realized his mistake and nodded. The last thing he needed was to say something that could be construed as treason. Zinta leaned in close to whisper, “Hadria may be royalty, but in this  castle that means jack squat. She could do a lot if given permission from the king, but he never gives her permission. She can issue orders to commoners, and that’s about it.”

            Deadalus then drew their attention away with a question, and it was Hadria’s turn to lean in and speak quietly. “My magic would only help my claim to the throne if I could actually use it. In Anabidos, it's not unheard of for the younger heir to take the throne.” She gestured her head towards the girl next to her, who Aspen gathered was the princess. “But my mother died when I was two and my uncle, the former king, went shortly after, dying of the same disease. Cecilio had the throne for sixteen years before I was even fit to rule. My being a bastard child only delegitimizes me further. Besides, what good queen gets kidnapped every few months?”

            Aspen nodded. His head hurt slightly. There was a reason he didn’t follow politics. The way these people ran their kingdoms made no sense. Not that his own kin had been much better in the end, he supposed.

            It also seemed to the warrior that for a feast, the food took an awfully long time to actually be served. Every time someone entered the room, they were dramatically announced, and the long table began slowly filling up. Finally, when everyone was seated, servants started to bring out the food.

            Aspen might be in danger by even being in the presence of some of these people, and wasn’t a social butterfly even at the best of times, but he could appreciate the food. It was far better than what he usually ate. He devoured a rack of ribs and shoveled baked delicacies into his mouth. He remembered what Zinta had said about the king getting heroes drunk so they’d be easier to haggle with, so he refrained from touching the wine or mead.

            Had Aspen been more used to these types of affairs, he would have noticed the critical looks that several of the nobles gave him when they saw his eating habits.

            When the meal was mostly concluded, Cecilio stood up and raised his glass. “I would like to toast my sister’s savior!” He announced, “The brave warrior Aspen! Tell us, how did you defeat the foul wizard?”

            Aspen saw the bard, Ozan, draw out a piece of paper and pencil, prepared to take notes. Aspen breathed in to calm himself and closed his eyes, a reflex he had when stressed. He might not know how these things went, but Cecilio seemed to be asking for a battle report. He knew how to do those. “I came with my partner, Atal Brexis,” he said, opening his eyes and looking upwards so he could focus, “Who jumped in through the window. I came in more slowly and quietly. My partner distracted the wizard, probably accidentally, while I crept around the edge of the room. The fight began and the wizard used a spell to push Atal out the window, killing him. That’s when  I attacked with my hatchet. I severed his spinal cord at the neck. It's a quick way to kill someone. I won, but the casualties were less than ideal. In the future for that kind of situation I should attempt to move faster, or possibly…” He trailed off when he realized that everyone was staring at him. He had probably said too much.

            He looked to his left and saw Zinta’s lips clenched tight to stop nervous laughter. Further down the table, Ozan sighed and put his note-page and pencil away. Hadria looked amused and her half-brother had a strained smile on his face.

            “Well,” said Cecilio, “A toast to Aspen!” The nobles reluctantly lifted up their glasses and a few gave half-hearted hurrahs.

            “Usually,” commented Hadria, “They just say, ‘I battled the dark mage, dodged his spells, and ran him through with my sword’. Not, ‘a good man died and I severed someone’s spine because he didn’t see me coming’.”

            “Oh,” said Aspen. After a few seconds, his eyes widened more and he said, “OH. I was… I was not answering that the right way at all.”

            “No you weren’t,” the duchess commented.

            Hadria looked over at Aspen. She noticed something odd about his widened eyes. They looked a different shade of brown than before, almost yellow. He looked away hurriedly. Also odd.

            The feast concluded and people stood up to leave. The king went to attend to his kingly duties, and Aspen followed behind, not willing to let his pay be delayed any longer. Hadria waited until her escort of four guards was ready and headed back to her own room.

            Far above, in the rafters, a horned creature, small enough to fit in someone’s hand, with gray and white fur, watched the duchess leave. The creature idly tapped her sharp claws. She turned to another creature next to her, identical except that its coloration was black with splotches of orange. “She’s on the move,” the first one said.

            “No shit,” the other responded, “I have eyes you know.”

            The first creature gave the other a critical look. The second creature sighed and said, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go.”

            The lighter-colored creature returned her attention to the feast table, watching to see if anything changed. The darker creature turned and scampered off.

Background: Imps

            A few of the many pages Hadria had collected in her room came from the grimoire of a warlock named Talzitos. One section of the pages reads:

Imps: The Miscellaneous Species

            Basics: The imps are strange creatures. Technically, they count as one of the mortal races, but few lists include them. Most are unaware of their existence except for a few stories assumed to be false or actually about demons.

Origins: Imps have existed for roughly 550 years. They were artificially created as experiments by the Warlock Empire, somewhere between the year 928 and 956. Tragically few records survive from the Warlock Empire’s experiments. The imps were made in the same series of experiments that brought about their much more successful cousins, the demon hybrids, who are now extinct. Imps are a mix of mortal and immortal material, much like the demon hybrids or elves. What exactly they are is unclear, but they have components of demon, humanoid, and beast within them. It is even believed they contain trace amounts of fey blood.

Physiology: Imps come in a variety of shapes. Some appear as mammals, some appear reptilian, or avian, or amphibious, or some combination of those. Demon-like claws, horns, wings, and tails are common, but occasionally their wings appear closer to those of the fey, resembling insects. Imps are tiny creatures, and almost all of them can be held in one hand, though they may be heavier than they appear. Imps are typically not dangerous, but it is best to not underestimate them, especially in swarms. Imp queens are another issue entirely. Imp queens are always humanoid, roughly human in size, and resemble demons, but from the pre-banishment era of demonic history, which still leaves a wide variety of shapes available. For a hive of imps, there is only ever one imp queen. They and the lesser imps around them behave similarly to ant or bee queens and their hives, respectively. Imp queens rarely fight, and the hive will do anything to protect them. But imp queens are potentially quite dangerous, depending on what features they might have, such as claws or stingers.

Magic: Despite being related to demons and possibly fairies, they seem to have minimal magic ability. Their blood has both demonic and possibly fey magic components, and can be used as a component for certain feats of alchemy or as an ink for drawing runes. Imps might possess a sense for magic, but even imp queens are not able to bring their magic to bear in a useful manner. It should be noted there are tales of imps being able to perform small mystical feats, in a manner that seems similar to fey magic, judging by the lack of runes, words of power, or objects of power. It is unclear how much truth there is to these stories.

            Advice: Imps are generally not worth the trouble. They are fiercely loyal to their hives, hard to force into service, and even then they can do very little for you. The smaller ones have loyalty to nothing but their queens, and queens are entirely focused on the survival of their hive. They make passable familiars, but are often unwilling to help. In my opinion, extermination seems the best solution. If one is a sufficiently powerful magic-wielder and prepares well, exterminating a hive isn’t all that difficult. If you can, be sure to harvest their blood, as it could potentially be useful. And if you are so disposed, then dissection might prove interesting. One of the few ways in which I agree with the paladins and light mages, at least those that know of the imps, is that the world would probably be a better, and most certainly a simpler, place without imps.

Chapter 7: Rats in Corners

            Hadria walked along the halls. Two guards marched in front of her and two behind her, their armor making a repetitive and slightly annoying clanking sound as they moved. Hadria and her escort turned left, heading towards her room. Another group of guards was patrolling, heading towards them. There were eight guards in this group, larger than most patrols. Hadria noticed they seemed nervous. Over the years, the duchess had developed a sense for trouble, particularly when that trouble concerned someone trying to kidnap her. And she could tell something was wrong. She very slightly slowed her pace so she drifted towards the back of her escort group.

            One of the guards in front of her also seemed cautious of the situation. “I thought only three were patrolling this hall,” she said.

            “Oh,” said a guard at the head of the other group, “There must have been an error.”

            The guards in front of Hadria stopped, and the other party did as well. Hadria noted how the other guards looked anxious, almost guilty. And how their eyes kept on glancing towards her. Hadria recognized a group of traitors when she saw them.

She turned and bolted, dashing away as quickly as she could. She heard yelling behind her, and then the clash of steel. So it had been an ambush. Hadria knew in all likelihood they were still going to capture her, but she was damned if she was going to patiently wait for whoever this new idiot kidnapper was to take her.

Hadria’s lungs burned. This was always the stage where she regretted not exercising more. In her defense, she spent most of her time in her room or in a cage, neither ideal spaces for going for a jog. The guards trying to capture her would be delayed by her escort and their heavy armor, but she wasn’t dressed any better for running herself, her dress seeming a thousand times tighter. Hadria was too far from the banquet hall to call for help, and was in a panic trying to recall the layout of the castle’s labyrinthian corridors.

The duchess skidded to a halt and stared at a spot on the wall. Three stones were out of place, in exactly the same way they were in her room. She’d noticed that arrangement of three stones throughout the castle, but had never tested any other than the one in her room, as she was always under guard. Hopefully, this one used the same combination. She tapped the stones in order of top, middle, bottom, bottom, middle, top. Sure enough, the wall opened up exactly like it did in her room. On the other side, stone stairs led down into the darkness. The guards were around a corner and couldn’t see her, but they would catch up soon. She took a few steps down the stairs, and the wall closed behind her.

For a moment, Hadria was in total darkness, but a second later there was the sound of a fire being lit. A ball of blue flame floated above a nearby empty torch sconce. She looked up. This stairway had a plain stone ceiling instead of the enchanted sky-light that was in her sanctum. Another difference was that she could hear the guards approaching on the other side of the wall. In fact, the sound seemed magnified slightly, which was a bit frightening when the sound was the pounding of iron boots on stone. It occurred to her that this might have been intended so whoever was in this hidden chamber could spy on others.

Hadria waited until she couldn’t hear the guards anymore. She raised her hand to the wall to tap out the code and leave, but hesitated. She looked back down at the darkness the stairs led into. If she left she would either escape and be safe until the next kidnapping, or they’d catch her. Either way, she wouldn’t get an opportunity to return to this chamber. If she descended, she might find more secrets of this castle. It would at least be something different, and something no one else had given her. Something no one else knew about.

            The duchess walked down the steps. As she went, the sconces lit up with the same blue flame. They extinguished behind her when she was far enough away. The magic sconces lit her path, but the stairway curved around and around on itself, keeping whatever lay around the corner concealed.

            As she descended, Hadria noticed something and stopped. If she leaned to the right so as to best see around the corner, she could see a light reflecting off the walls. A light that was not coming from her direction and the blue flames around her, but it had the same color as the torches. Like there was someone else down the staircase. “Hello?” she called out as she descended, trying to see if there truly was someone else on the steps.

            She saw a flash of movement, but that was all she saw before whatever the source of movement had dashed away out of her sight. She heard the arcane fires rapidly ignite and extinguish, as if something was moving by them very quickly.

            Hadria descended at a faster pace, nearly tripping a few times. She heard faint voices echoing off the walls, and she began to run down the stairs as fast as she could, dragging her hands along the wall to keep her balance.

            She reached the bottom of the stairs, and saw for a moment the light of more torches ahead and… something. But there was that same instantaneous blur of movement and the only impression she got was that there were multiple things moving, and they were very small, and then the torches extinguished. She ran forward and the flames reignited.

            Hadria was in a circular room, with three corridors leading into darkness and six blue flames above torch sconces around the room. It was completely empty. She wondered what those little creatures had been. Rats, maybe? But that didn’t explain the voices. Though they could be enchanted talking rats. She’d seen weirder things. She saw a short, deep gouge in the floor near her, too perfect to be just a crack. Then she noticed the markings. Tiny little scratches on the floor and walls, though none as deep as the gouge she had initially noticed. She didn’t think rats had the kind of claws that could do that. Inspecting some of the scratches more closely, she saw that while many were just random indentations from things moving over them, a lot of the scratches were longer and more deliberate. She realized with a start they were drawings. They depicted all manner of things. Some were of people, some of animals, some of what looked like demons. A few of the drawings were abstract, but still distinct from the surrounding random scratches. Some looked suspiciously like demon runes.

            Hadria was so fascinated by the claw marks on the wall that she didn’t see the small figure creep in from one of the dark corridors. The tiny creature had black fur with small splotches of orange. Her claws were retracted so she could more easily sneak across the ground on all fours. When she was close enough to Hadria’s ankles, she flexed her hand and sharp claws emerged. She slashed through the skin of one of the human’s ankles. Hadria briefly yelled out in pain before collapsing, unconscious.

Dora winced when she saw the human’s head hit the ground. She sheathed her claws and whispered, “Sorry.” Then she turned and yelled out, “So, what the fuck are we going to do now?”

Background: The Foretelling

Twenty Years Ago

            Princess Madrona screamed, before falling back onto her bed, breathing heavily. The chamber was soon filled with new screaming however, this time from the tiny lungs of a baby. A nurse held the baby and cleaned her off. “Congratulations, your majesty,” she said, “It’s a girl.”

            The nurse handed the baby to Madrona, who held her gently. Her son Duke Cecilio watched from the corner, a little unsure of what to do. By his side, the wizard Daedelus observed, calm as ever. Two other nurses stood by in case of emergency. The baby did not stop wailing. She had brilliant bright blue eyes and a small amount of bright blonde hair on her head.

            “Hello, my little one,” Madrona, said to her baby daughter “I see you have already formed a strong opinion on the world. I will name you Hadria. It's a strong name, just like you. Duchess Hadria has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it, Daedelus?”

            “Indeed my lady,” said the wizard, “If you would hand me the new royal I will perform the customary blessing.”

            After holding onto the fierce little one for a few more seconds, the princess handed her to Daedelus. The wizard held the child gently with one arm, and in his other hand held his staff.  He lightly pressed the crystal on the end against the baby’s forehead.

            “Duchess Hadria Morrigan Belindo,” he began, “May the primordials bestow upon you-” before he could finish the blessing, there was a burst of light. The baby’s skin radiated like the sun and shifting rainbow light poured out of her eyes and mouth.

            “What’s going on?” yelled the suddenly distraught mother, struggling to sit up. Hadria’s older brother looked around in a panic, as if searching for a bucket of water to throw on a fire.

            “This child needs no blessings from the primordials,” said Daedelus in a voice that had a supernatural quality to it that was not his own, “For she is a blessing from the primordials. She contains a portion of their power deep within her, a magic beyond all others. She shall be a living beacon of primordial magic, with enough of their brilliant fire within her to rival a primordial shard. Should a wielder of dark magic ever seize her, they could reshape the continent as they willed and rule over all others. But such a destiny is not sealed, and freedom from the darkness is possible. The child’s fate, one split in two, has been proclaimed.”

            Then the light faded away, and the baby resumed her crying. The wizard sagged and laid Hadria down on the bed before collapsing into a nearby chair. Madrona picked her child back up and cradled her, tears running down her face as she did so. Cecilio and the nurses all just stared in wordless shock.

            “I am so sorry,” Madrona whispered to her daughter, who had finally stopped crying and just stared up at her mother, “I am sorry for the life you will have to live because of this. But I gave you a strong name because even before you were born, I knew you were strong. I knew from the way you kicked within me. Never forget your strength. You will find a way through this. I know it.”

Chapter 8: Yet Another Dire Situation

            The first thing Hadria became aware of was that she was laying down on something hard and uncomfortable. She was fairly used to that. “Congratulations,” she said, groaning and sitting up, “I think you’ve hit a new record for the fastest kidnapping after I’d just returned. Really. Bravo.”

            She blinked and waited until her vision refocused. She was surrounded by people, in a dim windowless chamber, illuminated by the same type of enchanted blue flames that had been in the hidden staircase. She was sitting on some kind of stone slab. She wasn’t chained, and there were no rune circles or prison bars around her that she could see, which was unusual. Looking around, she recognized some of the stonework around her. Between the people, she saw more strange stone blocks. With a start, she realized they were sarcophagi. They were in the royal crypts. This wasn’t a bad hiding spot, as access was forbidden, so no one would know she was here, and it was directly underneath the castle, making transporting her here easy.

            “So what is this?” she asked as she looked around at the crowd of a couple dozen people, “Is this a cult situation? I’ve done that a few times before. Fair warning: the cults I’ve seen almost always either go through a schism or a betrayal, so watch out for that.”

            “This isn’t a cult,” said a man. Hadria looked at him. The first thing she noticed about him was that his skin was light blue. The irises of his eyes were pure black, like large pupils. His ears were pointed and his hair was short and spiky and looked a bit like it was frozen in place. A frost elf. He wore high quality clothes, tailored with a blue fabric that matched his skin. She looked around at the other people. She didn’t see any other frost elves. They seemed to be mostly humans. She spotted a few trolls. One figure she couldn’t tell the species of was in the back, wearing heavy concealing robes.

            “Before you begin the questioning process,” said Hadria, “I don’t know jack squat about my magic and I’ve never seen anyone successfully harness it. There, I saved you some time.”

            “We’re aware,” the frost elf said, “And we’re not here to try and use your magic.”

            “Is this just a ransom situation then?” the duchess asked.

            She thought she saw a flicker of color at the edge of the black in the frost elf’s eye. Frost elf eye color changed depending on their mood, but they could also consciously affect the color. She knew that black meant calm, or pretending to be calm, and that violet meant anger, but didn’t know much besides that.

            “Are you going to stop asking annoying questions long enough for me to explain what’s going on to you?” the frost elf asked.

            “Okay, calm down,” said Hadria as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. She realized her hair was in its return braid. She always kept her hair in the return braid for the day of her return and that night, then got rid of it. She supposed she should take it out since it was a new kidnapping now. She’d never been kidnapped on the day of her return. It was interesting. Hadria untied the ribbon at the end of her braid and ran her fingers through her hair to remove the braid.

 “Why do you kidnappers always get annoyed when I’m rude?” she asked, “Just because you think you’re important doesn’t mean I care.”

            “You’d do well to watch your tongue,” the frost elf said. Hadria suddenly felt a deep cold run along her skin and saw her breath turn into mist. Hadria looked up and met his gaze, staring into the twin voids in his eyes.

            “You’d do well to go fuck yourself,” she said. She gave a small smile of satisfaction when she saw a streak of magenta form in his eyes before being swallowed back up by the black.

            “We don’t have time for this,” said a new voice. The frost elf looked up at the hooded figure Hadria hadn’t been able to identify and stepped back as they approached.

            Hadria turned to face the cloaked stranger. They lifted up a hand and Hadria noticed it had only four fingers and the skin was a dark orange. When the hand tilted a certain way, the duchess noticed with a start that there was an eye in its palm. An actual, living eye. The stranger pulled back their hood and revealed a face covered in eyes. Some looked humanoid, others reptilian or feline. A few had horizontal, rectangular pupils like a goat. Whatever they were, this was most certainly a being of magic.

            “What are you?” Hadria asked.

            The figure answered, “I am a fey. My name is Ouragas. There is no need to be scared, my associates and I do not mean you any harm for the moment.”

            Hadria had met fey twice before, but none so alien looking as this one. Hadria’s indignation at her kidnapping was overcome by her curiosity. “How did you knock me unconscious?” She asked, “I didn’t hear any words of power.”

            “Our smaller allies are to thank for that,” said Ouragos, gesturing to the ceiling. Hadria looked up to see two tiny winged things flying above them. One was a yellowish beige and the other was a deep purple. They were humanoid except for their long tails and the wings protruding from their back.

 “We are not allies!” yelled the beige-yellow one, “We are over-achieving blackmail victims!”  The purple one just rolled its eyes.

“You’re… imps right?” said Hadria, “I read about you things.”

            “She identified what we are! She is aware of imps!” said the beige one to the other, excitedly.

            “Yeah,” said the purple one, “That’s probably not a good thing. Please ignore us, human lady! We’re just some… weird enchanted bats. Nothing for you to worry about.”

            “Those guys knocked me out?” asked Hadria, finding it hard to believe. According to what she’d read, imps couldn’t do much unless they attacked in swarms. Knocking someone unconscious before they could figure out what was going on didn’t seem to be in their skillset.

            The frost elf snorted with amusement and for a second, there was a flicker of green in his eyes. “No,” he said, “Not those two. A different imp. She’s got a nasty knockout poison in her claws.”

            “The Imps of the Belindo Castle are curious creatures,” Ouragos said, “They are… friends of a friend. They were just supposed to tell us when you left the feast so we would know when to strike. Imagine all our surprise when you stumbled into the sanctum of the imps. It would seem that the cosmos had bestowed upon them proverbial citrus fruits.”

            “What?” asked Hadria.

            “They mean that life gave us lemons, specifically your accidentally finding our home,” chimed in the beige imp.

            “Bukthi!” exclaimed the purple imp, “Stop talking!”

            The beige-yellow one, who was apparently named Bukthi, gave an apologetic expression that seemed oddly human despite his small size and demonic features.

            “But this is between you and us, Hadria,” said Ouragos, drawing the duchess’ attention back to them. “As I said before, we have no intention of hurting you. We don’t want to use your magic, and we aren’t going to ransom you.”

            “So why did you kidnap me then?” Hadria asked, “And why are there so many of you? And why-”

            “While I admire the inquisitive nature,” said the fey, interrupting Hadria, “I must answer your questions one at a time. We kidnapped you because you are incredibly dangerous, whether or not you intend to be so. According to the wizard Daedelus, the power within you can rival that of the primordial shards, and is enough for a black magic wielder who posseses it to reshape the continent. Despite these stakes, you have fallen into the hands of those same magic wielders countless times.”

            “Not countless times,” said Hadria, “I’ve counted. Twenty-five times. No wait, twenty-six, counting just now. And yes, that’s a lot. But none of them have ever successfully harnessed my magic. Apparently it felt quite vocal just after I was born, but it's been quiet as a mouse ever since. I’m just as frustrated by it as you are.”

            “Indeed,” said Ouragos, “No one knows why your magic is so hard to access. Primordial magic has always been beyond the understanding of even immortal beings like myself. Even the avatars could not truly comprehend its power. Nevertheless, if one of those magicians happens to stumble upon the means to unlock that power, the consequences could be catastrophic. Which is what we are here to prevent. This group you see before you is made up of a variety of parties concerned about such a catastrophe. It includes a few old friends of mine, some apprentices of magicians who kidnapped you, and a handful of others. Baku’As there was sent by-”

            “Classified information,” interrupted the frost elf, who Hadria assumed was Baku’As, “She gets the point.”

            “So what are you going to do?” said Hadria, “I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but it seems like the only way to prevent my power’s misuse is by killing me. Which, I must stress, is not only morally questionable but highly risky. I might explode when I die. I don’t know, and you really don’t.”

            “We had already considered that,” said the fey, “If we have to kill you, we’ll do it a long distance out at sea, to prevent innocents from getting hurt by potential fallout.”

            “How comforting,” said the duchess. She did her best to appear calm as she always did in these situations, but she felt her hands trembling a little bit. It didn’t matter how many times she was kidnapped, she always found them a little bit distressing. They were mostly fairly predictable, but when someone else held her life in their hands “mostly” didn’t offer as much comfort as she would like. And this was a different situation than normal.

            Ouragos’s many eyes seemed to note the way Hadria’s hands twitched, how she shifted slightly in her seat, and how her breath hitched a little bit in her throat. “Please, do not be distraught,” they said, “You are not in immediate danger. We have a different plan to attempt first. The mage Malkris recently tried to discern the nature of your magic using a contraption called an arcanascope, yes?”

            “Yes,” answered Hadria, “But all he found was that I definitely had magic in me, but nothing else useful.”

            “I helped to create the arcanascopes, a century ago,” Ouragos said, “They were the life’s work of a dear friend of mine. I suspect that the dark mage Malkris did not know how to properly operate the contraption. It really is quite complicated. This could explain his inconclusive results.”

            “Do you know how to correctly operate one?” asked Hadria.

            “In a sense,” said the fey, sounding hesitant, “But I am unable to. Firstly, I do not have access to one, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to operate it. It requires a wielder of arcane magic, and I am a being of fey magic. But the reason I was asked to help create them is my unique talent. All fey have different specializations and skills, and mine was always divining. I am capable of unearthing the truths of reality, under the right conditions. I would be able to observe the properties of your magic. And understanding something is the first step to controlling it. I might be able to find a way to make sure your magic is never used by those who would cause harm with it.”

            “You could actually tell me something about my magic?” Hadria asked, her caution momentarily outweighed by her interest.

            “I could,” said Ouragas, “But the process requires the recipient to agree to it. Well, technically I could do it against your will, but if you resisted the process, it would rip your mind apart.”

            “You really need to work on that bedside manner.” commented Hadria, “But if it will help me understand the thing that’s shaped my entire life, and if it might save people’s lives… then yes. I agree. Do whatever it is you have to.”

            “Are you sure?” asked the fey.

            Some part of Hadria knew this might be a very bad idea, but she didn’t have a lot of options. “Not really,” she said, “But I’m already here and kidnapped, so I might as well.”

            Several of Ouragas’s eyes crinkled up in a way that suggested amusement. “You are interesting, Duchess Hadria,” they said, stepping forward, “And braver than I anticipated.”

            “Not really,” she said, “I’m just really done with all the bullshit in my life, and this seems like the best chance I have of clearing away some of it.”

            “Very well then,” said Ouragas, “Let’s begin.” They gently laid their four-fingered hands on the sides of Hadria’s face, and all of the fey’s eyes closed. Hadria tried to calm down and steady her breathing.

            At first it was just a prickling sensation, like being lightly tapped. Then, the feeling spread across her entire body and intensified, until it felt more like water rushing around her. She could feel heat emanating from where Ouragas’s orange skin touched hers. The tingling sensation continued to intensify. She could tell that the fey was holding back so as not to upset her.

            Then Hadria was overcome with a strong feeling of vulnerability. Like standing in front of a crowd, supposed to deliver a speech she didn’t know she’d had to prepare. She could feel the fey slowly spreading their awareness through her body. Looking through her soul, her mind, her very being. Ouragas looked deeper and deeper, searching for the magic she held. Finally, it seemed they had found something. “What is-” they began before both were snapped back to their bodies by someone yelling.

            Ouragas’s hands jerked away from Hadria’s face and she let out a yell at the sudden mental whiplash of no longer having the fey’s magic coursing through her. Her vision was blurry and she rubbed her eyes. She opened them to see two more imps on the ground by the wide archway that served as entrance to the crypt chamber, both looking worried. These ones had no wings, and crouched in place like cats. They both had fur, one a mix of grayish brown and white, and the other was black with spots of orange.

            “Faris is coming!” yelled the gray one, “With a boatload of guards in tow, and the wizard! Scram!” The two imps flying above dashed away down another corridor with surprising speed, followed by the two who had delivered the warning message. They were out of sight in seconds.

            “That traitorous rat of a human,” growled the frost elf, Baku’As, whose eyes were a rapidly swirling mess of violet, brown, and white, “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him.”

            “We have no time for regret or futile rage,” said Ouragas. Several of their eyes turned towards one of the walls and squinted. “He’s almost here,” said the fey, “We need to set up a defense.”

            Baku’As lifted up his hands and ice rose up to fill the archway that the imps had come through. Several of the figures around Ouragas took out talismans and started to chant, and a shimmering shield formed over the ice, further reinforcing it.

            “That won’t hold them for long,” Ouragas said, “We need to flee.” Those gathered turned and began to run through an archway at the other side of the chamber, which the imps had already fled through. Ouragas grabbed Hadria’s hand and dragged her along. She was unsure whether she should go with them in hopes of finding something out about her magic, or turn and run back towards the guards where she would be safe.

            The duchess’ thought process was interrupted when she heard an explosion behind her. Hadria turned to see the wall that had been blocking the archway shattered into pieces. The royal mage Daedelus stood on the other side, the crystal at the end of his staff smoking. Guards flooded into the room, led by none other than Commander Faris himself. He was in full armor, and his enchanted sword was drawn, emanating fiery yellow light. Trailing just behind him, Hadria saw Aspen, who was still in the formal attire he had worn at the dinner, but had his scimitar and hatchet ready. He looked much more comfortable charging forward in battle than he did making polite conversation.

            “Slay the demon cult!” yelled Faris, “Save the princess!” Hadria was too stunned to correct him on either her title, or the nature of her captors. She was disturbed by the look in Faris’s eyes as he said, “Take no prisoners.”