C Dale Brittain - Wizard of Yurt 5 - 1996 - Daughter of Magic

DAUGHTER OF MAGIC

PROLOGUE

She was slimy, streaked with blood, squalling, and so small I could hold her

in

my cupped hands. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

The midwife whipped her away from me, washed and dried her tenderly, then

laid

her, wrapped in a blanket, on Theodora's breast.

"Thank you," said Theodora weakly. Her face was

Eale with exhaustion, but she looked, if possible, even appier than I felt.

"You

can take a rest now."

The midwife looked at me distrustingly, as she had for the last two hours,

but

closed the door behind her as she left. I sat down beside Theodora, brushed

the

sweaty hair away from her forehead, and kissed it gently. Our baby found the

nipple, stopped crying, and began to drink.

"We'll call her Theodora," I said, touching the baby's impossibly small

fingers

with one of my own.

Theodora smiled but shook her head. "We'll do no such thing."

"But I thought that was your mother's and grandmother's name before you."

"And further back than that. But if our daughter and I both have the same

name,

either you'll call her Theo or some such foolish nickname, or else you'll

start

calling me Mother. That's what happened to my parents."

I laughed. "I'm unlikely to start thinking of you as my mother. But we'll

name

her whatever you Eke." I handed Theodora a cup of water, and she drank

deeply.

"I thought childbirth was supposed to be easy for witches."

She looked at me in amusement over the rim of the cup. "I'm never going to

persuade you I'm not a witch, am I. But I gather you have never seen any

other

woman give birth?"

"Of course not. And the midwife almost didn't let me be here."

"Fathers aren't usually welcome. But this was an easy birth in comparison to

most. Even with the best magic, neither birth nor death will ever be

painless."

I nodded. "Death I know about." "And now you know about birth." Our baby was

drinking more slowly now, and her eyes were half closed. Theodora stroked her

tiny tuft of hair as if in wonderment. "Her hair's going to be lighter than

mine, almost chestnut colored."

The same color, I thought, that mine would be if it hadn't turned white when

I

was twenty-nine. "I hope her eyes stay blue," added Theodora. I had a vague

sense that babies' eyes, like kittens', changed color in a few weeks, but I

didn't say anything. "We'll name her Antonia," said Theodora. "An excellent

name," I agreed. I would indeed have agreed happily to anything. Such an

obviously perfect child would have given beauty even to an ugly name. I

imagined

for a moment all the wonderful things that Antonia would do while growing up.

"We'll have the bishop baptize her."

Theodora too had almost started to doze, but at this

she opened her eyes and frowned. "I don't think the

bishop will want to baptize an illegitimate child himself."

"The bishop and I have been friends for twenty years,

and he likes you. He'll be happy to."

"And aren't you worried about what the wizards' school will say if one of

their

graduates publicly acknowledges his liaison with a witch?"

Since I had no intention of worrying about what the school did or did not

think

appropriate, I stayed with the topic of the bishop. "It's certainly not

Antonia

s fault that her parents were heedless. And—" I hesitated, not wanting to put

pressure on Theodora while she was weak. But I had to say it. "We can still

be

married."

I needn't have worried about putting pressure on her. She just smiled and

leaned

back against the pillows, closing her eyes. "We've already been through all

this, Daimbert. I can't let you destroy your career as a wizard by marrying

me."

I should have known she would say that. I kissed her on the cheek. "Just

remember I love you," I whispered, but both mother and baby were already

asleep.

Carefully I adjusted the blanket around them. I had no way of anticipating

that

five years later I would decide I had to kill a rival for Theodora's

affections.

PART ONE

Miracle-Worker

| I

The clash of swords shattered the night stillness. For a second I tried to

incorporate the sound into my dream, but then I sat up abrupdy to hear the

clang

of steel on steel with waking ears. My casement windows opened onto the

castle

courtyard, and the sound came from the direction of the gate.

In a second I was out of bed, my heart pounding wildly, fumbling with numb

fingers at the door latch. We never had armed violence here in the kingdom of

Yurt. The night watchman had for years been only a formality, but this

sounded

like real fighting. .

But by the time I was out in the courtyard, the cobblestones cold and hard

underfoot, the clashing had stopped. The night and silence were ominous.

I flew through the courtyard toward the gate, shaping a paralysis spell for

whomever I would find. A lantern burned where the night watchman should be

standing, and by it was a large indistinct lump. A cloaked and hooded man

bent

over it, apparently tying it up with a cord.

"Who are you?" gasped the indistinct lump in the night watchman's voice.

5

6

C. Dale Brittain

Two more seconds and my spell would be ready. But the hooded man spoke first,

as

though in mild surprise, and at his voice the watchman gave an amazed laugh.

"I

am Paul, your king. I thought I was well known to

you."

I dropped to the ground, abandoning my spell, caught between anger, and

relief.

The watchman seemed to feel the same way. "But, sire! Why didn't you tell me

who

you were rather than attacking? I might have killed

you!"

"Yes indeed," said King Paul cheerfully, pushing back his hood. "The king of

Yurt came very near to being killed by his own watchman! And very pleased

with

you I am, too. But you probably don't want to lie there bound

all night."

He saw me then. "Good evening, Wizard," he said, looking up from undoing the

knots he had just finished tying. "I decided not to spend another night at

that

old ruined castle I've been exploring but to come on

home."

I took and let out a deep breath. "I hope you realize, sire," I contented

myself

with saying, "that you came very close to being trapped at best by a

paralysis

spell— or even transmogrified into a frog." The problem with being Royal

Wizard

was that I was supposed to have mature wisdom to offer my king but was not in

a

position to spank him as though he had been twenty years

younger.

"Then I have both a competent wizard and a competent night watchman," Paul

said

cheerfully. "Have you ever been to the ruined castle, Wizard? It's over in

the

next kingdom, but I think you'd find it very interesting. I'll just take care

of

my horse; I left him outside the moat. Good-night." And he disappeared back

out

the gate.

I helped the watchman up. He rubbed his wrists where

Daughter of Macic

7

they had been chafed by the cord and retrieved his sword. "And I helped train

him myself," he said with pleased pride.

This was not my own reaction. Paul had been king only a few years, and if he

thought testing his castle s defenses by putting his own life in danger was

nothing more than a joke, then he needed to find more to do to keep himself

occupied. Either that, the thought struck me with depressing force, or else

the

casde s main source of mature wisdom was going to have to teach him some.

But my first thoughts the next morning were not for Paul. "My, uh, my niece

would like to visit me here at the casde, my lady," I told the queen mother.

"That is, if it's all right with you."

She looked at me, puzzled, her head cocked to one side. "I don't think I knew

you had a niece, Wizard." I willed her to understand though not daring to say

more. The queen knew about Antonia-—or should. "How old is die girl?" she

asked.

"She's five."

The queen blinked, long lashes over emerald eyes. The matronly mother of the

king, she was still the most beautiful woman I had ever met, much more lovely

than Theodora although with none of her intelligence and wit.

"Oh," said the queen in sudden comprehension. "Of course, Wizard. We would be

delighted to have your, uh, your niece visit the casde. The duchess's

daughters

will also be visiting this week, although I myself will be away. Does the

girl

have a nurse of her own or should I ask the constable to engage one for her

stay?"

"Oh, she won't need a nurse," I said. And I hurried up to die pigeon loft to

send Theodora a message that I would be coming in two days to see her and

pick

up our daughter.

g C. Dale Brittain

Theodora lived, as she had since I first met her, in the cathedral city of

Caelrhon, in the next kingdom over from Yurt. She had Antonia all dressed in

a

new blue dress when I set the air cart down in the narrow street outside her

house two mornings later. The air cart was the skin of a long-dead purple

flying

beast, which would still fly if given magical commands. I tethered it to a

ring

by the door and ducked inside.

"I'm all ready," said Antonia gravely. "I packed my bag all by myself."

I hugged her and kissed Theodora, who sat at her sewing. She gave me a

one-armed

embrace but did not get up. Her curly nut-brown hair was even more tousled

than

usual. "We don't have to leave right away," I said.

Theodora used her teeth to rip out some basting thread. "I'm supposed to have

these dresses ready by tomorrow," she said distractedly. "I'm glad you're

taking

Antonia now."

"But I could help you pin seams," said the girl. "I'm very good at pinning

seams," she explained to me as though it were a great secret.

Theodora smiled. "I know you are. But go with the wizard. They'll all think

you're beautiful in your blue dress when you reach Yurt. Aren't you looking

forward to living in a castle for a week?"

It was the castle that decided it for Antonia. She had never been to Yurt.

She

marched out toward the air cart, then darted back in to grab her bag and,

somewhat belatedly, kiss her mother good-bye.

Theodora kissed me too. "I'll see you both next week. She really is a good

girl,

Daimbert," she added, "but make sure she gets enough sleep. She'll keep

herself

awake for hours if you let her."

And so, rather abruptly, rather than having a pleasant day with the woman I

loved, I found myself leaving for home with the daughter with whom I had never

Daughter of Magic 9

before spent more than brief periods alone. A moderately skilled wizard, with

access through the Hidden Language to the same forces that had shaped the

earth,

I felt at a loss before this serious-eyed young girl. I wanted this to be a

wonderful week, an opportunity to gain the affection and confidence of

someone

who might not even be certain I was her father.

Boys I thought I knew about, from memories of my own childhood and from

watching

Paul grow up, but girls, I thought with something approaching panic, must be

different. It was all very well for Theodora to say that she needed to get to

bed on time, but what was involved in getting a girl to bed? Nightgowns and

toothbrushes, I was sure, played a role in this, but how about her hair? Did

I

brush it? Was I supposed to rebraid it at night or in the morning? And did I

even have the slightest idea how to braid hair?

I lifted Antonia into the air cart, climbed in myself, and gave the command

to

lift off. Her self-possession cracked for a moment as the cart rotated and

rose

above the twisting streets of Caelrhon. She clutched my leg and looked up at

me—was it supposed to sway like this? When I smiled and the air cart's flight

leveled out, she smiled back, reassured.

She stood on tiptoe to look over the edge as we soared above the construction

for the new cathedral and across the green hills toward Yurt. Our shadow

darted

up and down the slopes below us.

'When I grow up and become a wizard I'm going to be able to fly like this

myself," she said confidently. This had been something else I had been hoping

to

discuss with Theodora today—the question of when and how the daughter of a

wizard and a witch should start learning magic. "Why do you think Mother

always

makes me wear blue?" she added.

"Because it looks so good with your eyes," I suggested.

1Q C. Dale Brittain

Antonia's eyes had in fact never changed color, remaining a brilliant

sapphire

blue.

"I don't think so," she said, thinking it over. "I think it's only because

Mother's own favorite color is blue. My favorite color is yellow. What's

yours?"

"Blue," I said, thinking I would have to buy Antonia something yellow to wear.

I had expected that she would sleep on the couch in the outer room of my

chambers, but Gwennie would not hear of it. "A little girl alone with a

wizard?"

she said. "You'd probably have a nightmare and turn her into a frog by

mistake.

Of course, you'd be very sorry in the morning, but think how she'd feel!"

Antonia, holding my hand, looked up at me and laughed, but" with the

slightest

questioning look, as though wondering if Gwennie was right and she might

unexpectedly find herself an amphibian.

I had the vague feeling that Royal Wizards in other kingdoms were treated

with

more awe and respect than to be accused by the castle staff of doing

transformations by accident. "I wouldn't do anything to harm her, Gwennie," I

tried to argue. This would have been easier if I had dared tell anyone

Antonia

was my daughter, but the queen was the only person in the castle who knew.

"And

you can't very well put a Httle girl like this in a room by herself."

"I sleep in a room by myself at home," Antonia piped up. Gwennie, daughter of

the cook and the castle constable, had been destined for the kitchens by her

mother, but herself had always intended to replace her father. Indeed, since

her

father had been so sick the past winter, she had taken over more and more of

his

duties, supervising the other servants, arranging accommodations for visitors

to

the castle, and keeping the accounts and the ledgers. Senior members of the

Daughter of Macic

11

staff had smiled indulgently, assuming it was only a temporary situation.

Knowing Gwennie and her determination, I knew better.

"I'll put her in the suite with the duchess's daughters," she announced,

forestalling further argument—besides, the duchess's daughters probably knew

all

about hair brushing. "They've just arrived, and they were very interested to

learn you had a niece. And I've already told you, Wizard," she finished

loftily,

"that in carrying out my duties I prefer the name of Gwendolyn."

The duchess's twin daughters, three years younger than King Paul, were

delighted

when I brought Antonia's little bag to their suite—a doll's smiling face

poked

out of the top of the bag. 'We already said we could take care of the girl,"

the

twins told me. "So you don't need to worry about your niece at all, Wizard.

Oh,

Gwennie, before you go, we're going to need more towels."

"Of course, my ladies," she said with a respect she never showed me.

"We know an old man, set in his ways, doesn't want youthful female

companionship!" they added, going into giggles that I found highly

inappropriate.

Antonia held on to my hand, looking up at them gravely. They had grown into

handsome women in the last few years. Both the twins had inherited their

father's height, being very tall, but physically the resemblance between them

stopped there. Hildegarde was blond like her father, whose principality she

would someday inherit, and Celia was slim and dark-haired like her mother,

after

whom she would one day be duchess of Yurt. They had always shared a unanimity

against outsiders, which when they were little had even taken the form of a

secret language, but I had the feeling that as they grew up their

personalities

had begun to diverge.

12 C. Dale Brittain

"What an adorable little girl," said Hildegarde. "It's hard to believe she's

related to you, Wizard."

"Where did you get those big blue eyes, sweetheart?"

asked Celia.

"I was born with them," said Antonia very seriously, which made both the

twins

start laughing again.

"I'd better warn you, Wizard," said Hildegarde with a grin for her sister,

"that

if you leave the girl with us too long Celia may make her into a nun, of much

too pure a mind to want to associate with some magic-worker."

"And who was it," Celia shot back with an answering grin, "who was saying

just

today how much fun it would be to teach a little girl to use a sword?"

Antonia looked up at me again. "I haven't seen any swords yet," she said in

anticipation. "Will I see a dragon

too?"

"I'll keep the girl with me though dinner," I said and

escaped.

As we walked back across the courtyard, Antonia asked thoughtfully, "Do you

love

other ladies besides my mother?"

"Of course not!" I replied, shocked.

"Those ladies are very pretty," she said in explanation.

I had tried to tidy my chambers for her arrival, but she immediately

clambered

onto my desk and started leafing through papers, telling me she was looking

for

good magic spells. When I lifted her down and threw the papers into a drawer

she

crossed straight to my bookshelves and started to climb, working the toes of

her

small shoes in between the volumes.

"Here, I want to show you something interesting," I said quickly, taking hold

of

her again and planting her in a chair. "And, Antonia, I don't want you on my

shelves."

"But Mother likes to climb," she objected.

Dauchter of Macic 13

"Not on shelves. It's very dangerous. She'll be angry at me if you hurt

yourself."

"What are you going to show me?"

"A unicorn," I said, throwing the spell together as quickly as I could.

II

And so I spent much of the afternoon working a series of magical illusions

that

I hoped would amuse a girl. She watched very seriously without commenting at

all, but she did snuggle up next to me while I told her a few stories from my

experiences in the fabled East and in the borderlands of the wild northern

land

of magic. However, she kept being disappointed at the absence of dragons in

my

stories.

"We've only ever once had a dragon here in Yurt," I said, "years and years

ago,

before the king was even born. It almost killed me." For a number of reasons,

I

did not think the details appropriate for her.

But instead of asking me more, she jumped up, listening with an eager

expression. "I hear a swordfight!"

My heart gave an abrupt thump, but the faint sound of swords during the day,

carried into the castle from outside, was perfecdy normal. "Someone's

practicing," I said. "Do you want to go see?"

Antonia ran ahead, chestnut-colored braids bouncing against the back of her

blue

dress. On the grass outside we found King Paul and Hildegarde, fencing with

swords and light shields.

In a leather tunic and men's leggings, her long blond hair tied back and eyes

flashing, Hildegarde had a magnificent figure. She was as tall as the king,

well

muscled but not the least bit unfeminine. I would have found the sight of her

before me highly distracting, but Paul apparently did not. He concentrated on

his fighting,

14

C. Dale Brittain

moving lightly, landing all his blows on her shield while deftly parrying the

strokes she rained less discriminately on him. For ten minutes they circled

each

other, fighting while more and more of the staff came out of tbe castle to

watch.

"Very good," the king said as Hildegarde got an unexpected advantage for a

moment and forced him to retreat a few steps. "But don't drop your defense,"

he

continued, his sword moving constantly as he spoke. "Because if you do—" and

with a sudden twist he jerked the blade from her hand.

Antonia was watching openmouthed. I doubted a seamstress's house in town

offered

anything like this much excitement. Hildegarde dipped her head and lowered

her

shield. "That stung," she said, flexing the fingers of her sword hand. "I

think

you got in a lucky blow."

"In part, of course, I did," said Paul, pushing back sweaty hair and ignoring

his audience. "I've had a lot more experience. But in part I'm just stronger

than you are. Your footwork is fine, your stamina is fine, and your reach is

longer than a lot of men, but you just don't have the upper-body strength

you'd

need."

"Father keeps telling me the same thing," she said glumly, retrieving her

sword.

Paul smiled and put an arm casually across her shoulders, as though she had

been

a youth in knighthood training rather than a stunningly well constructed

young

woman. "I think it's time we got cleaned up for dinner. I'll try to drink of

some exercises for you to build your muscles."

At dinner my daughter demonstrated excellent manners, sitting beside me with

a

copy of Thaumaturgy A to Z bringing her up to table level. Afterwards I took

her

to the twins' suite—Hildegarde had been transformed back into a modestly

attired

aristocratic lady for dinner—

Daughter of Macic 15

and told them to make sure Antonia got to bed soon.

King Paul was waiting at the door of my chambers when I returned. "I'd like

to

talk to you, Wizard," he said, frowning.

Good. This was my opportunity to impart some wisdom—if I could only think how

to

tell my liege lord diplomatically that he had been behaving like a fool.

Acting

in front of the staff as if he did not notice that Hildegarde was not a boy

was

perhaps insufficient cause for comment by itself, but I hadn't forgotten him

allowing the watchman to attack him in good earnest. I pressed my palm

against

the magic door lock and let him in, leaving the door open since it was such a

pleasant June evening.

Paul flopped down on my couch and stretched long legs out before him. "You

know,

Wizard," he said, "sometimes it seems that you're almost the only person in

the

castle not trying to get me married."

"Married?" This was certainly a different topic.

"My Aunt Maria and half the ladies in court seem to bring the topic up every

day. Mother's tlie worst, of course." Even his frown could not obscure the

fact

that Paul was extremely handsome, golden-haired, superbly muscled, with his

mother's emerald eyes and ready smile and his own grace and confidence in

everything he did. "For the longest time she was trying to marry me to the

daughter of King Lucas of Caelrhon. Not that Mother—unlike Aunt Maria!—ever

said

anything explicidy. But have you noticed how many times in the last year the

litue princess has been invited to the castle? And there were always hints,

suggestions that now that I was king it was time to start giving some thought

to

the heir who would one day be king after me."

"And you don't like fhe princess?" I asked.

"There's nothing to like! I'm sure she'll be fine when she grows up, but it's

quite a stretch calling her a woman

16

C. Dale Brittain

rather than a child. How could I possibly be interested in someone like that?"

"It would certainly make sense to your mother," I suggested, "forging anew a

dynastic tie between the twin kingdoms of Yurt and Caelrhon. After all, her

own

husband is the younger brother of King Lucas."

Paul pulled a jeweled-handled knife from his belt and flipped it into the

air,

caught it, flipped it up and caught it again. I had never been quite sure how

much he approved of his mothers second marriage, but that was not what was

bothering him now. "I thought a king was supposed to be able to do whatever

he

wanted," he said gloomily. But then he abruptiy smiled for the first time

since

entering my chambers. "But I can keep on with my horses. I've got a dozen

foals

sired by Bonfire now, and I'm going to backbreed some of the fillies to him.

The

stables of Yurt will one day be famous."

"And you've been able to do a lot for educating the children of Yurt." I knew

that Paul had, from his own resources, laid out a great deal in addition to

the

amount the royal treasury had always expended on books and teachers' salaries

in

the schools scattered across the kingdom.

He waved this away as barely worth mentioning. "I guess I just don't want to

feel that everyone considers me a stallion myself, interesting only if I'm

fathering the heir to the throne."

The topic of fatherhood always made me feel as though my ears were burning.

Traditionally wizards neither marry nor have children, being considered

wedded

to institutionalized magic. Although I had managed to carry on as Royal

Wizard

of Yurt in the five years since Antonia was born without either Paul or the

wizards' school learning she was my daughter, this was a charade I could not

continue indefinitely. Part of my decision to bring Antonia to Yurt was a

vague

Daughter of Magic 17

feeling that once she was here I might find a way to resolve the issue.

The king did not seem to notice my confusion. "I think I finally made Mother

understand that I'm not about to marry a tbirteen-year-old girl, but rather

than

giving me a little peace she invited the duchess's daughters to come visit!

I'm

sure she thought she was very subtle, being away with her husband at the

royal

court of Caelrhon while the twins were here, so as not to appear to be

putting

any pressure on me, but it's still obvious why she invited them. I thought

the

three of us, the twins and I, had made it clear years ago that none of us

wanted

to marry each other, but apparently we're going to have to do it all over

again."

"Are you quite so sure they wouldn't want to marry you?" I asked.

Paul crossed his booted legs and smiled. "Of course not. We've known each

other

all our lives. Neither one of them wants to marry anyone. Celia just wants to

study her Bible, and Hildegarde intends to become a knight."

This was news to me, though maybe it shouldn't have been. "But women can't be

knights!" Or, for that matter, wizards, I added to myseE But Antonia had said

she was going to be a wizard.

Paul laughed. "Try telling that to Hildegarde. I've never had any luck

changing

her mind."

So far I hadn't been able to work in any discussion of the fact that a king

without an heir should not imperil himself for a joke. But fathers, I told

myself, had to act responsibly even if no one else did. "Aren't there any

adult

princesses who would consider marrying you, even if the twins won't?" I

asked.

"After all—"

He didn't give me a chance to finish. "Of course there are, Wizard," he said,

looking at me levelly "Last winter, when I spent several months in the great

City by the sea with those relatives of Mother's, there were

18

C. Dale Brittain

ladies enough who would have been more than willing to marry me or, for that

matter, do anything else I wanted." He shook his head in disapproval—or a

good

imitation. "Incomprehensible, of course," which I thought showed a remarkable

lack of insight. "Not a few of them even had royal blood! I expect wizards

don't

get proposals like that, so you won't know how startling it can be."

I prudendy kept silent.

"So of course there are women of appropriate rank who will have me—the

problem

is that I wouldn't be willing to marry any oithem. If I ever do decide to get

married, it's going to be to someone who excites me to the very core of my

being, someone who feels as though she and I were two halves of the same

whole,

waiting from before our births to be reunited: not just someone who would be

politically appropriate. So what do you think, Wizard?"

His green eyes sought mine. I wondered briefly if he might be someone who

would

never find women romantically attractive, which would of course make the

succession much more problematic. Without any good answer, I looked out

toward

the twilight courtyard and stammered, "Well, a king of course, that is— I

mean,

minds have been known to change—"

But whatever Paul was hoping I would say, it was not what he had been hearing

from the queen and the Lady Maria. "I really don't know what you should do,

sire," I said, meeting his look. "You certainly shouldn't force yourself to

marry someone you find less appealing than your horses. And you can't look at

every woman you meet with both of you wondering if this is the one. Perhaps

after a period of time—"

Paul rose before I had to carry this inadequate ad\ace any further. "Well, at

least I know I have one more ally in the castle," he said, settling his belt.

"Maybe I'll

Daughter of Magic 19

go see Gwennie." He ducked his head to go out through my door. "Gwennie?" I

said, startled. "But she—" "She should be done with her evening chores by

now.

She's always been a good person to talk to—almost as good as you, Wizard," he

added generously. "She was the one who helped me decide how to break it to

Mother the other year that I wasn't going to marry either of the twins."

And he was gone, leaving me looking thoughtfully after him. That Gwennie was

the

C Dale Brittain - Wizard of Yurt 5 - 1996 - Daughter of Magic

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