I think I may be sick. I’m just grateful that the werewolf did not revert back into human form after death, because I would not want to have to look at the woman I just tore to shreds. It’s bad enough looking at the beast I did that to. And this creature has very few similarities to the human it once was.
What is left of the beast anyway. Gaping holes cover it with blood matting the fur. Skin shredded and torn away from the body… Oh, I am definitely going to be sick. I turn around, covering my mouth. I wonder if there could have been some way to use the mirrors to trap the beast. I doubt it, mirrors don’t make for very good cages. Maybe I could have torn off a portion of the wall and wrapped it around her but… no, that’s probably more than even my sorcery is capable of.
Besides, death is maybe a kinder fate than allowing that werewolf to become Popov’s prisoner.
Still, I wish I had run away when I had the chance. That would mean Magnar probably died, but currently events don’t look so good for him. Or for my face. Especially when he pushes to his feet and turns slowly. Horror and anger warring for the dominant expression. “You’re a sorceress.”
I grimace. Yes, that probably became extremely clear. If I were a magicker I would have to throw some sort of spell at the mirrors to break them apart. Not simply command them to shatter. And while magic can wrap around items and make them float to the magicker’s command, there were too many shards for a single magicker to control.
And perhaps my biggest blunder, I hadn’t muttered a spell. I would have had to mutter a fake spell, a danger in itself because what if I end up saying a real spell and essentially dooming myself to the fate of one who unfaithfully wields both magic and sorcery. Besides, a magicker such as Magnar would probably know a fake spell if he heard it because he would know what the real spell was. No, I exposed myself. And the ironic part is all I was trying to do was save his life, and now he is mad at me.
“Look, I can explain,” I start.
Magnar stumbles back, adjusting his cloak. His spell book bumps his leg, reminding me of everything I’m not. “I don’t think I want your explanation.”
“I came here to save your life, Magnar.”
“Why would a sorceress want to save my life?”
“I’m not bad.”
“No, but you are evil. All those that delve into the dark arts are.”
I wave my arm. “I serve the Lady of Dawn, she has granted me prophetic visions to save the world. How is that evil?”
“You’re a sorceress,” he states firmly as if that’s all that matters. Like good and evil relies solely on whether you are magickers or sorcerers. Like there can’t be evil magickers. Or good sorcerers.
I pace away, rubbing at my temple, glass crunching under the sole of my boot. I turn back to him. “I had a vision about you. You were attacked by werewolves, and I came here to save you from that fate.”
“Why should I believe you? You have been lying to me this whole time.”
“Because this time it’s the truth!”
Magnar shakes his head. “That’s not good enough.” He runs a hand through his hair and shoots me an aggravated look. “The worst part is I knew it. I knew you weren’t a magicker. You bore the name of a demigod, you didn’t carry a spell book, you are a Higher Elf—but I chose to believe you despite what I knew was the truth. I had no reason to trust you and yet I did. What kind of fool does that make me?”
“The only thing that would make you a fool, Magnar, is if you don’t heed my warning. You need to leave behind Lord Popov, he will get you killed. His war with the werewolves will be your undoing. I came all this way just to tell you this.”
Magnar lowers his hand and stares at me, his gaze cold and hard, like the ice he tried to impale the werewolf with. “Then why didn’t you tell me that when you met me? Instead of carrying on this ruse and making me…” he cuts himself off. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”
“Because you wouldn’t have believed a sorceress.”
“Well, you were right about one thing.” Magnar glances back at the werewolf. “Get out of here, Azern. Put some distance between yourself and this place. That’s all I can give you and then I must tell Popov.”
“Magnar, please…”
“I’m being extremely generous at this moment. Please don’t make me regret that. Now leave, before I call the guards.”
Odds are the guards are already coming. Doubtless they heard the commotion of the shattering glass. I take one last look at Magnar’s form, but he refuses to look at me. It’s well enough, I suppose, as he won’t have to see the broken expression on my face. Broken like the glass scattered underfoot. I whirl on my heel and take off running away from Magnar and my goal to save his life.
They say that sorcery is illegal. What they don’t say is the price you pay for it that has nothing to do with the law.