The mages were, as it turned out, literally hiding right beneath the palace. Not that Rhys got to actually see the nation’s seat of power, even from a distance. Instead, their secret base was a rather expansive hidden library, constructed centuries prior and then mostly forgotten about from what he had gathered. Better yet, they could actually get there through the same tunnel network which had led them into the inner city.
Tom had apparently approached from a different angle to watch out for a possible trap, but the rest of their journey took place underground. After ten more minutes of travel, they passed one other mage silently on the lookout before running into a section where a new passage had been somewhat crudely excavated to connect the secret library’s outer edge with the tunnels. Though it was called that, the place had clearly been pretty expansive and moreover renovated by the mages in hiding. There was a central hall of sorts as well as eight door leading from, either into other sections or into more private booths. Everyone as far as Rhys could see was a mage, and it was clear there was a kind of nervous anticipation going through the crowd.
“Beatrice, I have been losing hope,” a man on the farther end of middle-aged came forward to greet them, taking the newt into a hug. He wore almost ceremonial robes, and the thick Change surrounding him swirled with tangible impatience. A clear leader as well as one of the more powerful mages Rhys had met in a long while.
“And everyone else, apparently,” the girl softly jabbed but returned the embrace.
“Markus, I presume?” Rhys guessed. The man certainly matched the description he had heard earlier in the journey.
“Yes, I suppose my name has been mentioned.”
“No,” Beatrice stared at the necromancer. “This is Rhys, without whom I wouldn’t have made it back. But I am quite sure I have never mentioned you by anything other than ‘teacher’.”
“Court mages accused of regicide tend to have their descriptions widely known,” Rhys shrugged. “Which is an event I am actually rather interested in.”
“Do you want to rest first?” Markus looked at his disciple. “The journey must have been long.”
“I can sleep later,” Beatrice decided after looking at the two men. “For now, I want to know what happened.”
“Then follow me, I have claimed one of the private rooms,” Markus nodded, bringing the two of them along. Though Rhys caught some kind of nonverbal communication happening between the other two, all slight gesture and eye movement, but he didn’t know either well enough to interpret any of it. Either way, the three of them were eventually in private and seated around an oaken table.
“So, tell me,” Beatrice stared at her teacher, fists clenched as she braced for the truth.
“It was Dalbert,” Markus did not seem to believe in any easing into things. “I even know the renegade responsible for the act itself, since I had helped to capture them. But the mongrel abused his post, instead using the rogue mage for his heinous deed rather than swiftly executing them as he was duty-bound to.”
“Dalbert?” Rhys repeated the unfamiliar name.
“My distant cousin,” Beatrice grimaced. “And Lord Commander of all knights within the kingdom as well as the Royal Army. But that doesn’t make sense, what does he gain?”
“There was more than one assassination carried out in short order,” the court mage began.
“I am personally very aware,” Beatrice nodded grimly, interrupting him.
“We had thought one got you as well,” Markus did not mind as he nodded and then continued. “Because it was widespread and infuriatingly successful. Besides your uncle, almost everyone else with any claim to the crown had perished in a short few days.”
“And that would put Dalbert very near the top in the line of succession, the bastard,” she cursed. “But he had not actually crowned himself yet.”
“Just declaring emergency powers, but without the pull to make himself king,” Markus nodded. “Your uncle has also rallied every noble house he could wrest, to reclaim Florencia and the throne. Neither side is exactly steady though, since the Archduke had technically surrendered his claim during your late father’s crowning ceremony. That means a lot of factions are trying to stay neutral, waiting for which way the scales swing.”
“Opportunistic as always,” Beatrice frowned. “Are we in a civil war already then? It didn’t look like it, but towns hadn’t been exactly safe to visit.”
“If things hadn’t gone down just before winter, we would have already seen fighting. Professional troops have been gathered and supplies stockpiled for now, though very few have called upon levies already. I was preparing the mages here for sabotage to do our part. But you being alive changes everything.”
“He cannot very well keep casting blame over my father’s murder on you if I refute him publicly enough,” Beatrice nodded. “But will I even be able to? He has control of the knights and any soldier near the capital.”
“The knights are already facing an internal schism,” the court mage shook his head. “They had trained to hunt dangerous renegades, not ordained and documented mages plying their craft. Already, his control is slipping. With the real heir to the throne in opposition, all but his inner circle will desert him. And the soldiers are royal to the crown first and foremost. All we need is an opening - something that can be arranged with so many mages gathered here.”
“What about the foreign army?” Rhys finally spoke up after just attentively listening for a while.
“Army?” Markus immediately frowned in confusion.
“We had encountered a few hundred men in the heraldry of our western neighbor, likely even looking for me.”
Stolen novel; please report.
“That is worrying,” Markus frowned, but then his visage relaxed. “If they had been invited by the traitor, it would make some sense. That will hopefully make them leave once whatever they bargained for in exchange has been foiled. But if they mean to launch an ambush, well, most of the nobility has been preparing for a civil war. With the realm united, they will find us more than prepared for them instead.”
“All that is left is just actually uniting our home,” Beatrice said, hesitating. “If I can.”
“Have no fear, I can have a rough plan ready today, and we will hammer out the details quickly. That bastard will never see this coming, so we should act before he finds out,” Markus grinned, then turned towards Rhys. “And you, my friend, should we expect you to join us?”
“I will be leaving in about 20 minutes, I expect,” the necromancer replied.
“Surely there is something more you would want as a savior of our Queen-to-be,” the man was startled briefly but quickly searched for a different angle. “As a mage, you can surely understand the need for resources. And what better place than here, with many brilliant minds and a mountain of gratitude to build upon.”
“I don’t think so, no,” Rhys shrugged.
“At least stay another day then,” Markus immediately retorted, a calculating frown upon his brow. “We will have to host a feast to celebrate Beatrice’s return so enjoy that at the very least. And as you can imagine, I am also reluctant to let anyone leave this place if I am not personally sure of them. If there is an opening, we could strike as early as tomorrow evening, so I would have no qualms with letting you leave afterward or even as we move out.”
“I trust he would not expose us,” the newt defended Rhys. “But I am also hoping you would not leave yet.”
“It would put us greatly at ease, actually. Mistakes can happen across unfamiliar streets,” the court mage softly insisted.
“Hmm,” Rhys looked between them, considering. He had to admit to a mild curiosity over how the whole thing would go. A day wasn’t too long to sate it. “Fine but I want access to whatever books there are to be found in this library while I wait.”
“The least we can provide for what you have done for us,” Markus nodded.
Afterward, the court mage decided to gather a council of his best fellow spell casters in order to scheme the downfall of their enemies. Rhys rejected the invitation on the account that he would prefer just seeing how it would all actually play out, instead retreating into the library. He even found two books he hadn’t read before which passed the evening quite nicely.
Well, except for the number of sycophants very unsubtly trying to sway him with snacks and compliments in hopes it would make him reconsider his departure. The necromancer took advantage of the food and ignored them otherwise.
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The feast started a few hours before lunch would usually be served. The fare was not exactly royal, but all the gathered mages could not care even a little bit - optimism serving as the best appetizer. Rhys counted 42 of them present, all positively giddy with Beatrice’s return. Not that he didn’t understand it. Besides just an end to oppression, monarchs practiced with the Change tended to treat mages rather well, so all their futures looked bright.
Though, he was not particularly thrilled with the seating. There were benches across the room where most of the mages sat, though one central table had been pulled to a small elevated alcove. It was obviously for the seats of honor. Beatrice as the fulcrum of all their hopes and dreams naturally sat in the center of the arrangement. To her right was Markus as her teacher and the man actually organizing everything, even if technically not truly in charge anymore. Unfortunately, Rhys ended up to her left. That meant a lot of annoying stares constantly watching him.
A lot of speeches followed, none of which ended up being particularly inspired. Certainly not enough to remember, so Rhys just chose to forget them. A plethora of happy voice and people indulged in supplies they had expected to need to stretch for far longer, celebrating. No alcohol though - whatever plan they had come up with would be happening later that very day. It was about two hours after the start that Beatrice finally was free enough to chat.
“You once told me Florencia had been the capital for about 300 years.”
“Yes, there was something alongside those lines,” Rhys acknowledged.
“So I checked with a historian among the mages,” Beatrice nodded, eyes narrowed. “It has been well over 400.”
“Has it now?” Rhys shrugged dismissively, not a crack on his deadpan expression. “My memory is not perfect.”
“But it should be, from what you have told me about souls,” she narrowed her eyes. “You would remember even things like that perfectly. So it struck me, if your issue was not recollection, it has to be the perception of time drifting off. But how old would someone have to be for a whole century of to slip their mind?”
“Trying to dig into my secrets again?” Rhys frowned.
“If you insist on leaving later today, I have to do my best learning what I still can,” she retorted.
“So, unlike your teacher, you are not still trying to recruit me to your cause?”
“I have glimpsed something of what you are,” she shook her head. “What could we even offer you? Not that I won’t try if I figure that out.”
“You still overestimate me,” Rhys refuted.
“Then explain to me where the limits are,” she nodded. “For example, how do you do that thing where the Change around you always feels exactly the same? I only noticed it now with other mages around, but what Change surrounds us will fluctuate when we actually use it up for magic - except for you. It has to be to hide just how much actually clings to you, right?”
“You know, if you keep this up, I might just walk out in the middle of the feast.”
“But then everyone around would get very annoying and confrontational about it,” she shot him a winning smile. “Way more bothersome than just a little newt with a few questions you don’t even have to answer.”
“Someone is certainly pushing their…” Rhys began to speak, then paused. He felt his heart skip a beat and a waterfall of ice wake him up from any carefree enjoyment he might have been indulging. A seventh sense at the back of his head was tingling. Whispering to him like it hadn’t for so blissfully long. Giving him a warning he always hoped to receive for the last time
“Is something wrong?” the newt asked, but Rhys ignored her because he knew exactly what he was feeling meant. He needed to be ready. There might not be time to hesitate.
What would the chances be? One in a thousand, perhaps. Or one in a million. Intellectually, Rhys understood probably and how unlikely something like that was. An easy bet to make, really. But there was only so many times one could roll a dice before the incomprehensibly unlikely happened. Across all of eternity, one day the practically impossible was almost certain to come into being, and it was not the kind of bet anyone could afford to lose.
Rhys was already standing by the time the knights burst into the room. They had slammed open the library’s original front door rather than the new, even more secret entrance. The necromancer did not care about how they did that or even found the place. He barely noted that there were 14 of them, all in heavy armor. The central figure in clearly half-ceremonial decorated mail did not fully register.
All he could see before him was the blade that man was holding. A beautiful black great sword. It did not reflect light as metal would, and air almost visibly contorted around the blade, for its edge was sharp in countless ways beyond just the physical. Three stars had been lain into the cross guard, almost looking like gems as they fed their nigh bottomless power into the complex mesh of patterns hidden beneath the weapon’s surface. Yes, the necromancer knew exactly what he was looking it.
So Rhys pointed at the sword, ignoring the raising shouts as people screamed over one another. He gave voice to what his very soul was certain of:
“That weapon can kill me.”