It wouldn’t be long before Baraccus became a figure left to history. People would no longer come to know him, they would only know bits and pieces about him. She wondered if the stories people in the future learned would bear any resemblance to the reality she had known with Baraccus. History, like memories themselves, tended to become distorted with the passing of time, or worse, corrupted with the agendas of those writing it.

As much as she wished it were otherwise, Magda could do nothing to alter the past or to bring Baraccus back. He was now in the hands of the good spirits. Meanwhile, life went on. He had wanted her to go on.

The great mahogany doors to the council chambers stood open, as they usually did. The doors were three times her height and as thick as her thigh, both sides carved in intricate designs meant to represent spells, although they were not actually spells. As Baraccus had often told her, drawing out real spells was dangerous. The intention was to remind all that it was the gift that guided them in everything.

The open doors were meant to convey a sense of the council’s openness, but Magda knew that it was an illusion of receptivity. Where the council was concerned, nothing was as simple as it seemed.

At the great doors, the guards posted to either side, their pikes standing perfectly upright, saw that she didn’t intend to stop. Their pikes tilted as they hesitantly stepped away from their positions onto the great seal set into the stone before the doors.

One of the guards lifted a hand out, thinking she needed assistance. “Lady Searus, you’re hurt. Let me get someone to help you.”

“Thank you, but the members of the council are the only ones who can help any of us.”

“I’m afraid that they’re in session,” he warned.

“Good,” she said as she pushed his pike up out of her way.

“Lady Searus,” the other guard said, “I’m afraid that the agenda is full for today and they are not taking up any new business.”

“They are now,” she said on her way past.

The guards weren’t sure what they should do. They knew her quite well as the wife of the First Wizard who often spoke to the council. But even though they knew her, they were not accustomed to women with short hair walking in to speak to the council. More importantly, though, she was covered in blood and they didn’t know why. If the Keep was under attack, they clearly needed to know about it, but then, so did the council.