2. Haldric #2
The woman snorted a laugh as she returned to her spot at the table. The wooden chair creaked beneath her armored bulk. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not here to arrest you—we’re here to rescue you.” He fingers brushed the handle of one of her axes. “Though, I can’t say the same about your companion.”
“Benjin?” He struggled to piece together what had happened that morning with everything this woman and Fendrel had told him so far. “But…why would I need saving from Benjin of all people? And why does everyone seem so convinced that I’m some long-lost noble?”
The woman glanced to the left, though so far as he could tell, there was nothing there except empty air. Perhaps she was simply avoiding his gaze.
After a span of heartbeats, she turned back to him, her mouth firming into a determined line. Her fingers left the handle of her ax as she steepled them together on the table, her demeanor shifting in an instant to that of a diplomat about to convey delicate information.
“I’m afraid there’s much you don’t know, Haldric. At least, not anymore.”
His stomach roiled. “What do you mean?”
“There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’ll just spit it out. Your memories have been magically altered. The life you think you have here is a lie.”
A lie.
The words bounced around in his head, and though he knew what they meant, they felt like gibberish to his ears.
“That’s not possible,” he said, his voice faint.
She grimaced. “While I’ve got no magic myself, the Grand Magus assures me you’re the victim of an insidious curse.
It whisked you away from the capital, stripped you of your proper memories, and hid you here in this backwater village.
It’s taken us months to track you down, but now that we have, you can finally go home. ”
“Home?” Slowly, he retreated from her until his trembling back pressed against the door. He could hear muffled voices and footsteps outside—guards watching for any attempt to escape, no doubt. “My home is here with Benjin.”
“Your home is in the palace at Revesole,” the woman said with a hint of impatience.
“And who are you to tell me all this?”
A sad smile flickered over her lips. “My name is Janelle Demeroux. I am the Duchess of Catia, sister to King Roland Demeroux…and your aunt.”
Haldric reeled as if struck. His chest and throat felt too tight. Mutely, he shook his head as though to will the impossible declaration away. Janelle ignored him, speaking in the same tone one might use when explaining something to a child.
“Whether you remember it or not, Haldric, you are the prince of Ilthabard—King Roland’s only son and the rightful heir to the throne.”
“Impossible,” Haldric whispered hoarsely. “None of this makes any sense! Am I just supposed to take your word that everything I believe is wrong?”
“You don’t need to. Search your own memories and see for yourself.
” He hesitated, unsure what she meant, and she sighed, leaning forward to stare at him intently.
“Tell me, Haldric, what do you remember from before your time here in Gerald’s Spring?
Where did you grow up? How did you and Benjin meet? Who were your parents?”
It was absurd, being questioned on the legitimacy of his own life by a woman he’d never even met. He opened his mouth to humor her, eager to prove her wrong…and froze.
No matter how desperately he scoured his memories, there was nothing there. No concrete answers to her questions. He vividly recalled his time here in Gerald’s Spring, the past few months with Benjin crystal clear. Before that, however, everything blurred into a murky haze.
Janelle gave him a pitying look that set his teeth on edge. “You can’t answer, can you? The Grand Magus assured me as much. It’s part of the curse—it subtly nudges you away from thinking too hard about your past or the gaps in your memory so that you don’t question them.”
“But…but how? Who…?”
With sudden grim certainty, he knew what Janelle’s answer would be. Even still, his gut twisted when she said, “Benjin. That traitor mage is the one who did this to you. He kidnapped you, using the curse to keep you compliant and docile. To make you believe that this was what you wanted.”
“You’re wrong!” The stone walls closed in around him, the spacious quarters suddenly stifling and oppressive. “Benjin would never do that! By the Goddess, we’re in love! He cares about me.”
Her dismissive shrug made him want to scream. “Perhaps he does. From what we know of the magic, the curse corrupted his own memories as well. He likely doesn’t remember what he did any better than you do. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re living in an illusion. Your love isn’t real.”
Haldric spun away from her, burying his face against the door. “You’re the one lying, not Benjin. I refuse to believe that what we have isn’t real just because you say so. Whatever twisted game you’re playing, leave us out of it!”
Wood and metal creaked behind him as Janelle rose. He resisted the urge to look, refusing to give her even that small victory.
Several seconds passed in silence before she sighed. When she spoke, frustration laced her tone. “This is a waste of time. So long as the curse remains in place, he won’t believe a word I say.”
What?
Haldric glanced back to see Janelle once again staring at the empty air across the room. Her last comment hadn’t sounded like it was directed at him. Was she talking to herself now?
He jumped when another voice replied from out of thin air. “On the contrary, my dear duchess. Though he’d never admit it, the boy already begins to believe. Cursed or not, Haldric was always one of my cleverest pupils. Please, allow me to try.”
Janelle made a curt gesture. Haldric gasped when a man materialized in the middle of the chamber.
Handsome and well-muscled, the almost obscene amount of finery he wore stood in stark contrast to Janelle’s more austere outfit.
Despite the man’s youthful face, his hair was stark white, trimmed neatly along with his beard and mustache.
His eyes were a deep, enigmatic purple—likely the effect of some manner of enchantment.
Like Janelle and Fendrel, the man’s face seemed familiar, though frustration simmered when he couldn’t place from where.
“Who in the Goddess’ name are you?” Haldric demanded.
“Grand Magus Dexil Hashture, at your service,” the man replied with a sweeping bow. “Forgive me my subterfuge, but I thought it might make things easier on you if you heard the truth from your aunt first.”
“Then you thought incorrectly. This is absurd no matter who I hear it from.”
Dexil shook his head, his ageless face grave.
“I’m afraid everything she told you is the truth, my boy.
You are under the effects of a powerful curse—one I believe I can break given the proper preparations and access to my equipment in Revesole.
That is why we must return you and Benjin there as swiftly as possible. ”
Haldric glanced at Janelle, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you told me Benjin was the one who cursed me. If that’s true, why do you need him there?”