Army of Wizards.
A week had passed since our failed invasion, and I’d devoted every waking hour to the smithy, repairing the battered remnants of our weapons.
Fitzroy had promised a fresh batch of recruits before the next push—as though manpower would somehow fell a fire-breathing, acid-spitting dragon.
I knew that more men on the battlefield would only mean more grave digging.
On that dry afternoon, I sat at the anvil, hammering bent swords back into shape. The smithy felt dreadfully empty without Tom’s presence. I kept turning to my right side, expecting to see him, but he was never there. He was gone.
Red marched around the tent, barking orders at his men as he relished the small measure of power he possessed.
“The fate of the soldiers is in our hands,” he whispered to Godwin, his words barely audible above the clang of metal. “Strategy alone won’t win this war—but sharp swords and sturdy shields might.”
I sighed as I pounded a dented blade with my mallet. Though united under the King’s orders, our army had splintered into factions, each fighting for its own vision of Lyonesse, making a harmonious future seem impossible.
“Don’t let the men hear you say that,” Godwin mumbled, casting a wary glance over his shoulder. “In their eyes, the bastard can do no wrong.”
Red scoffed. “I’m more afraid of my own reflection than that son of a whore—or anyone who worships him,” he declared, flexing his muscular arms.
I didn’t want to imagine how brutal Red could be in a fight with another man, especially after I’d witnessed him effortlessly break Margaret’s nose.
“He claims to be the greatest swordsman Lyonesse has ever seen, yet he couldn’t even kill a goblin,” Red continued. “I don’t trust a single word that leaves his mouth.”
A part of me wanted to side with Red, still bitter from my argument with Fitzroy. Yet a stronger part believed I should defend him, though I knew that would be futile. Red loathed his liege, and no one could convince him that the bastard was trying to protect Lyonesse.
“I cannot agree with you there—I think Fitzroy’s a strong leader,” Godwin remarked. “But there are others at Cambas I don’t trust.” He stoked the flames. “That archer with the red branding—he must be a wizard. He’s probably the reason we lost, secretly aiding Regina’s victory.”
“Smith,” Red called, striding over to where I’d been keeping myself out of their conversation. “I’ve seen you sitting with the white-haired men by the fire at supper. Do you suspect that Fletcher’s cunning folk?”
I shook my head. “I think he’s a thief—nothing more crooked than that,” I replied, though doubt lingered in my mind.
I couldn’t ask him outright if he was a wizard. It was an unspoken rule. Still, I suspected he might be.
As if on cue, Godwin murmured, “There’s one way to know for certain. Trial by water.”
Red huffed a laugh. “Don’t tempt me into swimming a wizard.”
Godwin smirked, clearly amused by the idea of determining Fletcher’s magical abilities by binding his limbs, tossing him in water, and seeing if he floated or drowned.
Mother once told me of the ways King James advised his lords to test suspected magical folk.
He suggested they strip and search the accused for cursed marks—moles, warts, anything unsightly—or prick their skin with needles to see if they reacted appropriately to pain.
He even recommended torture until a confession was forced from their lips.
But Mother said the only thing those trials proved was how cruel man becomes when faced with the unknown.
“I do hope you’re speaking in jest,” I said, deeply concerned for my friend.
But before he could confirm, a sudden burst of daylight flooded the dimness of the smithy—the tent flap flinging open to reveal a backlit figure.
“Good morrow,” Fitzroy said, his arrival swiftly ending our conversation.
He didn’t appear in his usual pristine manner, though the ruggedness suited him better. His beard was unkempt, and he wore a simple outfit—a maroon long coat over a plain tunic and breeches, with no rings or necklaces. In that modest attire, I could have mistaken him for a commoner.
The working men stood to their feet, bowing their heads to His Highness. I followed suit, swearing my allegiance, as if I had any other choice.
“Could I borrow Smith?” Fitzroy asked Red.
Red nodded. “He’s all yours.”
I followed Fitzroy through the encampment and into his tent. He picked up a wine bottle, poured himself a glass, and offered me one—but I declined.
“I don’t like to admit it, but you’re right,” Fitzroy said, swirling the wine in his goblet. “We cannot win without magic.”
I nodded, secretly pleased to hear him acknowledge he was wrong.
“I’ve been corresponding with my father,” he continued. “I told him plainly about the devastation of the invasion he ordered—the men’s exhaustion and their hopelessness. His response was one of indifference.”
He pointed toward a piece of parchment on his desk.
“I cannot read,” I reminded him, feeling embarrassed.
Fitzroy tutted, setting down his goblet and raising his palms. “In godsped tou crafa thee’ll hedan, taechen pis wifmann sche oe radan.” In good speed my demand you will heed, teach this woman how to read.
Lowering his hands, he tapped on the parchment. “Try now.”
I stared at what had always been meaningless swirls of ink—only now did I see letters forming words that I understood. For the first time, I was reading the language of men.
“How?” I whispered, quaking and confused. “How’s that possible?”
Fitzroy mimed locking his mouth with a key.
“Shut it and read,” he instructed.
Obediently, I picked up the letter and read:
Dear Fitzroy,
I understand your concerns regarding Regina and her forces, but I cannot condone the use of magic.
My kingship is reliant on the devotion of my subjects, and I have gained their trust through our unified enemy: all things magical.
I am disappointed to learn that the invasion was unsuccessful.
But find solace in the knowledge that the fallen men did not die in vain.
The news of their sacrifice has caused outrage across the realm, strengthening our unity through our hatred for Regina.
It may feel like a defeat right now, yet in time these losses will make us victorious.
I have asked the lords in my Order to send more soldiers, weapons, and provisions to Cambas. These reinforcements should bolster morale while I write a treaty astute enough to pacify Regina, until I find the right moment to take her head.
In the meantime, prevent the war from spreading inland, and remain steadfast on the path I have laid toward defeating our common enemy.
May the gods bless you.
Regards,
King James Belfour
The exhilaration of my newfound literacy quickly gave way to dread.
“His resentment for his sister will be the death of us all,” I murmured, setting down the parchment.
“I’ve a plan,” Fitzroy announced. “One I’ve not shared with my advisers or the esquire, for I fear they’d report my deviation to my father.”
“What’s your plan, my liege?” I asked, deliberately using his title to affirm my loyalties.
“Do you know if any of the men have magical abilities?” he asked.
I nodded cautiously. “I know of one other.”
“Who?”
I hesitated. Only Bash could decide whether to trust someone with such a dangerous secret.
Fitzroy nodded, as if understanding my reticence. “Magic’s stronger in groups. Incantations, divinations—when performed by multiple sorcerers—are often unbreakable,” he explained. “I’m tasking you, Smith, with assembling an army of wizards—a group of men whose abilities can fortify our forces.”
“How would that work?”
“They could enchant weapons and shield our soldiers, casting incantations covertly during battle. Who knows, there might be a sorcerer among us stronger than Regina—someone capable of ending this war.”
“Hm,” I murmured as I recalled Red and Godwin’s dark conversation about trialing suspected wizards in water. Though I doubted either of them possessed abilities, I didn’t know how to conduct my own witch trials.
“How am I supposed to identify the wizards among the men?” I asked, hoping Fitzroy had already devised that part of the plan.
“Your expertise is in concealing your true self. If anyone can spot someone hiding who they really are, it’ll be you,” he said confidently.
I scoffed, disliking that he was right. “And how am I going to convince them to expose themselves?” I pressed, knowing no man willingly admitted he was a wizard.
“It will remain a secret,” Fitzroy reassured me. “Only those within the wizard army will know of one another’s abilities. I’ll secure a private place for meetings, far from prying eyes.”
I sighed heavily, wrestling with whether I wanted to be involved.
“I’m not asking if you’re willing,” Fitzroy said, as if reading my thoughts. “I’m telling you that you are—this is an order from your commander.”
Rolling my eyes, I offered him a patronizing salute, mocking his bidding. I despised the way he asserted his authority over me.
“Good girl,” he teased, though I was too preoccupied to retort, already mentally sorting the soldiers into two categories: definitely nonmagical and possibly wizards.
“I’ll inform Red that I require your assistance for the next few days,” Fitzroy added.
I nodded.
Then he grasped my shoulders and pulled me close. “I know I can trust you with this,” he said, his tone as much an affirmation to himself as to me.
He patted me firmly before returning to his desk.
For a moment, I watched him filter through the parchment as the flickering candlelight highlighted the strong contours of his handsome face. Stripped of his usual grandeur, he looked all the more charming.
“My liege,” I called.
He glanced up from his papers.
“I like your less regal look,” I admitted, almost blushing—though I couldn’t understand why stating a simple fact had stirred such a reaction within me.
Fitzroy narrowed his eyes in skepticism. “Are you speaking in jest?”