Page 34 of The Wand of Lore

“They allow you access to that?”

“Only for special occasions, and only under close watch. One wrong move and we understand the consequences.” She nodded to the guard behind her, who looked straight ahead, refusing to meet her gaze.

“We thought the wand was hidden in the catacombs. We didn’t know it was in use, or I never would have suggested coming here in the first place. Foolish. She was destined to get caught, no matter what.”

The witch shrugged.

“It’s time to get on with it,” the guard announced abruptly. “This is taking far too long, and I don’t like talking.” He pressed the stones together, then raised his sword, aiming it at the frail witch.

“How do they keep you obedient and prevent you from turning the wand against us when you can access magic?” asked Vaylor.

“She will be obedient or she will die. She knows because she has witnessed the death of her sisters who have been foolish. Magic is extraordinary for a moment, makes them all-powerful and strong, but the next moment, they’re weak and vulnerable. The Devil must be paid,” sneered the guard. “Enough of this talk. My Prince, she is waiting for you to show your curse. Any further delay and she risks punishment.”

“Please, My Prince, let us get on with it,” said the witch, her voice wobbly as the guard gripped her by her thin, gray hair.

Vaylor nodded and removed his tunic at her behest, displaying the curse that had now crept up to his chest. What happened next was such a blur that Vaylor felt removed from his body, watching the scene from a distance. The witch held the wand steady. A click sounded as the guard pressed his stones together, and she exhaled as she was able to access the magic. In one fluid motion, Vaylor drew his sword and pointed it at the guard’s neck while taking the wand from her hands. The guard brought his hand to the hilt of his sword still in its scabbard, and Vaylor swung his sword, parting the guard from his hand. The guard let out a gruesome scream, the witch screamed too, and Vaylor took off running, pausing only long enough to remove the guard’s keys from the detached hand. He didn’t look back, but he heard the witch cackling with excitement.

Vaylor darted through the halls he knew so well, letting his feet take him through the corridors, into the basement, and toward the dungeon. The route was surprisingly clear. Perhapsthe guards had not yet been made aware, but the few people he passed only bowed in his direction as he ran madly past them. The halls grew narrower and darker, until he was there, in the dungeon, ready to free Gwenneth and take her with him to his home on the estate. She could bring her sister and live under his protection for the rest of time.

“Halt, son,” came a voice from the shadows. Vaylor froze, feeling his blackened bare chest heave as he breathed heavily.

“Father, she must be freed. She doesn’t belong here. She has a home and a family, and she will be missed. Let her go for the good of the kingdom,” he panted.

“You never learn, do you?”

“Please, King Egar, just let her go.” He bowed his head toward the shadow.

“You have always coveted what isn’t yours. You have always tried to take my people from me. It’s treason, son. I banished you for your crime of treason, but I invited you into my home with the hope that you had reformed in the years we’ve been distant.”

“You didn’t banish me, I ran away. She isn’t like the others, Father. Please, just let her go, and I’ll take her to the estate. We’ll be out of your castle, and we will keep the peace. Maybe she’ll even choose to work for you at my side.”

“Not like the others?” At this, the king let out a cold, booming laugh. “Not that old nonsense again. Of course she is. What kind of self-absorbed fool are you to assume that none of these other witches had lives before they were brought here? You think none of them are missed? Or that they enjoy living in the dark and damp that is their entire lives? The women behind these cages all had families and a future before everything they were was stolen for the use of the kingdom. What kind of hero are you supposed to be if you don’t even understand the basichumanity in everyone? Even when you oppose me, you are a disappointment.”

The king’s words hit Vaylor like a blow to his chest. Of course he was right. All of these women were plucked from their homes, from their children, siblings, parents, or anyone who loved them. They were tossed in a dungeon and forgotten like a pile of dirty rags; eventually, the king or his men dragged them out and used them up until they shriveled from the lack of sunlight and hope. It was miserable for Gwenneth, and it was miserable for them all.

“King Egar, this can’t continue. These women deserve freedom.”

“What did you anticipate? That I would watch you waltz down here, steal your lady, and ride away unscathed to your new castle? You should know that I have summoned all of the knights in Gorenth Castle to my aid, and they approach even now. Son, listen to me closely because you’re getting only one chance to do this right. Drop your weapon. Drop the wand. I will overlook your . . . accident with the guard upstairs. Be a good boy and do as I tell you. Truthfully, I have never given you enough credit for just how good you are at following my directions. Take your place as my son, claim your inheritance, and go home.”

“Home,” said Vaylor, “is where you can be yourself.” He took his sword, dashed toward the king, and clubbed him over the head with the hilt. The king grunted, and his massive body fell to the floor with a thump.

“Marvin? Are you mad?” came Gwenneth’s voice, and her wan face appeared in the darkness from behind the bars of a cage. Her long red hair had been cropped up to her ears, and though it had been only a couple of weeks, she looked several years older. Lines were etched in places that had been smooth and serene: her forehead, her eyes, around her mouth. Her hands stretched through the bars, and he reached out and heldthem, admiring how strong they still felt, even in the darkness and cold. Wordlessly, he slipped the key and the wand from his sleeve into her hand.

“I was going mad without you,” he said, gazing at her purple eyes, barely visible in the poorly lit dungeon. But it was too late. Steel rang out all around him, and his eyes could just make out the glint of swords circling him, dozens of them pointing at his chest. He dropped to his knees and put his hands in the air.

“You could have had it all, you fool,” the king growled as he lumbered to his feet to face his son, “if you could have only let me love you.”

Vaylor spoke in a voice low and calm, resigned to a fate that had always been his. He should have died long ago, if not by his father’s hand, then in the womb of his mother, that she might have lived.

“You offer nothing but hate to me and all of Innsbrook. I choose love,” he declared, and the swords inched closer.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” came a familiar sneer in the darkness. Steffan appeared out of the shadows and stood next to his father. “Father, I told you he should not be allowed to live. He is a traitor, first to you, then to his lady witch. If you can’t trust a man to protect the woman he loves, when can you trust him?” At that, Steffan drew his sword and added it to the circle.

“You!” Vaylor said, understanding washing over him. “It was you who had me cursed using the king’s witches. You have always wanted me dead.”

Steffan laughed. King Egar looked at Vaylor, jaw slightly open.

“You’re a damn fool. How dare you accuse my firstborn son of such treachery? It’s not true, is it, Steffan?”

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