Assault in the Wizard Degree Read online

  Assault in the Wizard Degree

  Book Six of ‘Fantasy & Forensics’

  By Michael Angel

  Copyright 2016

  Michael Angel

  Includes a sneak preview of

  the seventh book in the

  ‘Fantasy & Forensics’ series,

  Trafficking in Demons,

  also by Michael Angel.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

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  COLOR AND B&W MAPS OF ANDELUVIA

  Assault in the Wizard Degree

  Book Six of ‘Fantasy & Forensics’

  By Michael Angel

  Chapter One

  Ever since moving to Southern California, I followed one ironclad rule: if the temperature outside was lower than my age, I refused to get out of bed.

  That rule lasted until plain-old Dayna Chrissie became “Dame” Chrissie.

  I stood amidst clusters of bare, thorn-clad stems jutting like grasping finger bones from the frozen ground. In warmer times, this had been part of the Royal Rose Garden. While this world’s snows had pretty much come and gone, the tail end of winter still held things in an icy grip. I gave the earth an idle kick with one boot. The soil was as firm and unyielding as a slab of stone. Nothing living was going to be growing from that for a while.

  A small boy dressed in a robin’s-egg blue uniform poked his blond head out of one of the palace’s doors. Once he spotted me, he headed my way at a pace just under a run. I sighed and waited for him to arrive in his usual breathless fashion.

  “Dame Chrissie…” Percival gasped, between gulps of air. “His…his Majesty requests…all on the court…to come to the throne room. Early.”

  “Early?” I asked, surprised. “That’s unusual. I wonder what’s going on?”

  Percival cleared his throat and started speaking again. This time he didn’t have to pause every few words. “I’m not sure, Dame Chrissie. The King said he wanted to show off a ‘grand surprise’ in the throne room. So, we have to go back inside. I’m sorry I had to interrupt your mediation.”

  “Well, I wasn’t actually meditating. More like wool-gathering.” I pulled my cloak around me more securely. “Besides, my favorite winter activity is ‘going inside’.”

  Percival led me back to the palace, parting ways only when we reached the throne room’s antechamber. While the kid had dubbed himself my ‘personal’ page, there really wasn’t any official change in his position. He still took chores on an ad hoc basis along with the rest of the pages. So far as I could tell, he simply did his best to be in the vicinity of the Dame’s Tower so that he could be the first to answer any summons of mine.

  I didn’t mind one bit. He didn’t get teased and called ‘Percy’ anymore, for starters, and I’d gotten a special gift from his carpenter father in return. I was grateful, both for his help, and for the fact that it kept me in a substantially better mood when at court. And from the sound of things, a better mood might come in handy today. As I pushed my way through the doors into the throne room proper I heard the rumble of curses and oaths from those already in attendance.

  I stopped and stared as soon as I entered.

  The cavernous chamber had been turned into an enormous space to display the largest, or at least the longest piece of artwork I’d ever seen. There was a strip of cloth suspended by hooks all along the wall at roughly head level. The eight-foot high expanse of cloth was impressive enough on its own. But it was the length of the thing that put it into a completely different league. In fact, it stretched almost completely around the entire length of the throne room.

  The fabric strip started off to the left of the entrance, draping across the openings of the side alcoves and support pillars. It threaded its way behind the royal court’s tables and the King’s throne, flowed around the far corner, and ended only a scant yard from the hearth fires that kept the place warm.

  Fascinated, I stepped over to the nearest section. The cloth itself was a thick linen the color of fresh cream. Figures and lettering were sewn in four shades of woolen yarn. Before I could make out more than general shapes, my attention was pulled away by a voice from behind me.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” breathed a familiar voice. I turned to find Herald, the Lord of the Pursuivant, at my side. The man wore his usual clashing mess of green hose, plaid doublet, and purple headwear that even a male peacock would’ve found garish.

  “It’s certainly…well, it’s something, all right,” I said cautiously. “How in the world did someone manage to stitch together this huge tapestry?”

  Herald tapped his fingers together excitedly. “To be precise, it’s not a tapestry, it’s an embroidery. It depicts the stunning battle that took place here in the throne room only a few months ago!”

  I made a wry face. “Uh-huh. Yes, I dimly remember that event.”

  “Oh, of course you would, you were there!” he exclaimed. “Your role, as well as that of the other members of the court, are forever preserved in this amazing work.”

  “It’s certainly getting a spirited reception.”

  A group of knight and lords gathered around the area near the throne. Judging by their angry curses and outraged expressions, they appeared to be getting ready to burn the thing.

  I coughed into my hand. “Um, did the King commission this?”

  “Oh, no. This was done by the ‘Brotherhood of the Broderie’. The Embroiderer’s Guild.”

  “Wait, there’s actually a guild…for embroidery?” Since coming to Andeluvia, I’d heard of or met members of the local guilds for weavers, cobblers, armorers, butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers. But this was a new one to me.

  “Yes, they sought to substitute this instead of paying their annual guild tax. Their play upon the king’s ego has been amazingly effective.”

  With that kind of buildup, I had to look at this thing more closely. Moving nearer, I noted that many of the figures were repeated over and over again. It took me a couple seconds to realize that the embroidery was divided into panels showing the advancement of a single scene.

  Each scene was separated from the next by a small gap of white space, the action moving sequentially from left to right. I blinked in astonishment. This artwork may have been completed in cloth instead of paper, but it was, for all intents and purposes, a giant comic strip!

  As I took it all in, the images began to fall into place in my head. Here at the start, King Fitzwilliam sat upon his throne, looking as regal as all get-out over a passive and attentive court. The phrase All is Peace and Wisdom floated above the King’s head in curlicue black letters.

  I made my appearance in panel number two. I burst into the throne room from the left, startling the court. I was accompanied by an owl, a centaur wizard, and a quartet of knights. And that was about where the facts ended and the make-believe began.

  Whoever had done the work knew what a centaur’s equine part looked like, at least. But from the waist up, Galen had been depicted as a furry, pointy-toothed wild man holding a gnarled tree branch for his wizard’s staff. Albess Thea perched on my arm as if I were a
falconer sending her up to hunt rabbits.

  As for me?

  Someone had decided to dress me in the ‘traditional’ noblewoman’s garb of flowing gown and cone-shaped hat. That was inaccurate yes, but I could have lived with it. However, the artists had given me breasts larger than my head, along with a ‘cleavage window’ in my dress the size of Montana.

  At least no one had stitched the phrase All is Good in Hooterville over my picture.

  The story flowed along in the next panels, and curiosity led me to walk to the right, reading as I went. Raisah and a score of other owls appeared in the rafters. The Noctua executed their brethren in a rain of iron-red body parts under the words Here Fell Parliament. Next, the dragon showed up by smashing through one of the side windows in a four-colored rainbow of glass shards.

  The battle scenes commenced in earnest up by where the embroidery went behind the long tables flanking the King’s throne. I had to stand on tip-toe to see over the heads of the milling crowd of muttering lords and knights.

  Now the story got interesting.

  Galen grabbed Thea about the neck like someone preparing to butcher a chicken and bolted from the room. King Fitzwilliam, who had apparently stripped to the waist to fight the dragon while showing off his chiseled six-pack, strode forward to meet the dragon mano-a-mano. Everyone else came off as a good deal more lily-livered.

  Somehow, my long dress got torn off to miniskirt length in the scrum. I disappeared from the story for a while, only to materialize several panels later at the center of the scene. I was in a half-prone position that helped show off the curves of my butt. My expression of desperation helped sell the words The Demoiselle in Distress.

  The story ended with Fitzwilliam standing proudly astride the deceased dragon’s body. The overhead text said it all.

  The Dragon Vanquished and the King Triumphant.

  Raisah, the rest of the owls, and a whole bunch of knights lay on the floor in dramatic death poses. The remaining men were cringing behind furniture or trying to staunch bloody wounds.

  In the final panel, I ended up clutching the King’s leg and looking lovingly up into his face.

  No mention of my part in the battle. No mention of the fact that I’d brought a weapon that had taken out many of the Noctua and done real damage to the dragon. No mention of my final fight with Raisah.

  No mention of Dame Chrissie, in other words. Just another demoiselle in distress.

  I found myself exerting some real effort to keep my temper at a simmer.

  Some gratitude, I thought.

  The other lords’ tempers turned out to be a bit more frayed at the edges than mine.

  “This is an outrage!” Lord Behnaz’s face moved past flushed to beet-red. His jowls positively shook as he fumed, “Why am I shown cowering under a table in this…this mockery!”

  “Indeed, it’s a travesty,” his wife, Lady Behnaz, agreed. As usual, the woman wore a black outfit, this time topped by a headdress made up of ebony plumes and mounted bird wings. To my eyes, it looked like she’d glued a freshly road-killed crow to her head.

  “I can’t say I’m flattered by my depiction either,” Lord Ivor said, his dank-white complexion only a shade less florid.

  “Where are you in this piece, then?” Lord Behnaz demanded. “Behind the pillar on the right?”

  “No, that’s my son, Sir Ivor. I believe that I’m the one getting trampled by the dragon’s left forefoot.”

  “Disgraceful! This piece of cloth deserves to be torn into rags!”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think anyone save for His Majesty comes off well here.”

  A chorus of disgruntled mutters came from the rest of the assembled lords and knights. I carefully stepped around the scrum and made my way over to my chair. Commander Yervan of the Palace Guard stood, gleaming like a gold-plated statue, in his usual space by the throne.

  “Interesting piece of art that the King’s chosen to display,” I said quietly. “What do you think of it, Commander?”

  Yervan replied in a deadpan voice. “The artist has taken more than a few liberties. For example, his Majesty is indeed an excellent warrior. However, I can’t ever recall him going into battle with a six-foot long broadsword in each hand.”

  Just then, the doors boomed open to admit King Fitzwilliam. As usual, His Majesty arrived accompanied by his gaggle of pages. At his side walked a less-than-completely-furry-and-fanged centaur wizard dressed in a natty burgundy jacket. The open grumbling at the room-sized embroidery simmered down to a couple of hushed grumbles as everyone took their seat.

  “You see, Wizard?” Fitzwilliam said cheerily, as he sat back in his throne. “The Brotherhood of the Broderie has chosen to grace us with an unparalleled work of art from their craftsmen.”

  “I do indeed,” Galen replied, as he turned to scan the progressive panels. “The craftsmanship is quite stunning. I am less sure about the accuracy of some of the depictions, no matter how lovingly they are executed.”

  “True, true. There has been some ‘artistic license’ at play.” A couple of angry snorts came from the men around him, but Fitzwilliam apparently didn’t notice. “But you know, there’s just a certain…something about it that I rather like.”

  “Of course, your Majesty.”

  “My thanks go to you, Lord of the Pursuivant,” the King announced, “for your efforts in bringing me this tribute from the Embroiderer’s Guild.”

  A collective growl from the tables sent Herald scurrying from the room.

  “Well then,” Fitzwilliam added, “we need to get down to business. By my count there are three items on the agenda. And that last one…involves the doom and destruction of our entire world.”

  Chapter Two

  To my mind, a medieval royal court was supposed to be a stern, orderly place. A council of sober-minded lords, ladies and knights who conducted themselves with austere dignity. Maybe a cross between a friendly town hall and King Arthur’s Camelot.

  In reality, it resembled a class of catty high school girls with a dash of boy’s locker room antics. Spiced up, of course, with a dash of brawling, backstabbing, and the odd dragon attack.

  Now that I thought about it, the fact that anything got done at all was nothing short of miraculous.

  “I realize that some of those present may not be happy with this gift from Embroiderer’s Guild,” King Fitzwilliam acknowledged. “However, their contribution in this manner is worthwhile compared to the paltry sum they could have paid into the royal coffers.”

  Some more muttering came from around the tables, which Fitzwilliam ignored. In truth, the kingdom’s budget was in slightly better shape now than at the start of winter. ‘Slightly better shape’ meaning the difference between a patient on life support and one who was stone-cold dead.

  For example, I had one of the better seats at the court now, since my previously rickety chair had been refurbished by Percival’s father. While he wasn’t able to smooth out the worst damage to the carving or inlays, he’d leveled out the uneven legs, scraped off the tacky varnish and replaced the seat cushion. His careful work had been done as a personal favor for helping his son stand out amidst the royal pages. The throne room’s furniture was still dinged and scraped, but at least the window overhead had been covered with a patchwork of boards. Fitzwilliam’s limits were all too apparent in the makeshift repair work, which were what my dad would have called ‘Too poor to paint, too proud to whitewash’.

  “The first issue of the day is Lord Behnaz’s request for an extra company of knights,” Fitzwilliam began with a sigh. “Must we go through this rigmarole yet again?”

  “Your Majesty,” Behnaz said, puffing his chest out like a strutting rooster, “I must ask – no, I must demand that you take action on my request! Order is breaking down in the farthest parts of the Western Reaches. An entire company of brigands and ne’er-do-wells has been attacking travelers and traders coming through! I must ask for the return of the knights I sent to serve h
ere in the Capitol.”

  The King gave Behnaz a frosty look. “Did you, or did you not, pledge to serve the crown?”

  Lord Behnaz, to his credit, realized that he was starting to push his luck. He bowed his head and spoke in a humbler tone. “I meant no offense, your Majesty. Of course I serve the crown. I only wished to alert you to my troubles.”

  “They are certainly of the never-ending variety.” Fitzwilliam threw a sharp glance towards Lord Ivor, who gazed back impassively. “Both Reaches seem more concerned with their own affairs than those of the kingdom as a whole.”

  Ivor wasn’t as blustery as Behnaz, but he made up for it with a certain oily chill. “If Lord Behnaz and I seem out of turn, your Majesty, it’s because your numbers of knights and men-at-arms are back up to full strength. And that strength is not being used.”

  “The event that is so meticulously recorded on the embroidery happened three months ago,” Behnaz pointed out. “These so-called ‘Creatures of the Dark’ haven’t materialized in any shape or form since then. It could be that, after their attack on the throne room, these mischief-makers have run their course.”

  That got my blood boiling. I got to my feet and added my two cents.

  “So-called ‘Creatures of the Dark’?” I said, incredulously. “Mischief makers? Lord Behnaz, the only reason that this Kingdom hasn’t already come under siege is because of the work done by me and my friends! Sirrahon was turned back. The griffins and owls were kept from joining the Dark. And most recently, I made sure that the enemy couldn’t use the phoenix to burn this palace to the ground!”

  “That would be a remarkable feat,” Ivor remarked, “considering that stone does not burn.”

  Behnaz scoffed. “All we have is your word. And that is something I hesitate to take.”

  A clack echoed in the room as Galen shifted his hooves to face Behnaz directly. The centaur’s face had taken on a menacing look. “Should you decline to accept Dame Chrissie’s word, perhaps you would accept the word of the Court Wizard?”