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Post by Deleted on Jun 26, 2013 17:38:00 GMT -5
((This is some of my NaNo entry last year. Enjoy if you like my reading, but I'm not out looking for reviews if you don't care to read it.)) They were dead.
The bodies of the patrol were strewn about the rough, dirt path in haphazard fashions. Blood pooled in the ruts from wagon wheels, staining the ground a ruddy brown under the early morning moonlight. Three of the victims were laying where they were cut down, punctures and lacerations mute testament to how they met their end. The other two members of the patrol were different.
One of them, a woman dressed in leather armor liveried with the dark blue of the Fairland’s Guard, lay on the ground not far from the others. The left side of her body was blackened, armor boiled from extreme amounts of heat. Her face was unrecognizable, but the grimace of immense pain was clear to see in the light of a torch.
Another guardsman was lying against a tree, staring straight ahead with a look of surprise on his face. There was a blue tinge to his skin and a white rime on the iron armor he wore, but otherwise no evident cause of death. My suspicions on what caused it were confirmed when I reached out to touch the armor. The iron felt like it had been dipped in a pond during the dead of winter.
A horse nickered behind me. “As you can see, the signs are the same as the reports said, Sorceress Samantha. Someone has been using magic.”
I stood and turned toward the voice, my gaze stopping at a large figure mounted atop a grey steed. Steel encased the man from the neck down, along with an unassuming brown cloak that did nothing to disguise his regal demeanour. The man’s head was turned to the forest, fair hair falling in straight strands to his shoulders and grey eyes stared out at the world with a brooding intensity.
Two of his men flanked him on either side, one in iron armor looking disgustedly at the scene, while the other’s face was shadowed by a forest-green hood. Both wore their weapons visibly, a sword and shield on the first and a large bow slung along the back of the second.
“A terrible way to go, to be sure,” a gruff voice spoke from my left, “and I cannot doubt that the hand of sorcery was at work here. These other tracks and imprints though... it looks as if your patrol wasn’t totally taken by a surprise. I’d guess your men felled two of them at the least. Have ye any leads on the culprits, Sir Ashcroft?”
Blain Ashcroft grimaced, scratching at his jaw. “None, Warden Danezil. There have been armed bandits in the area, of course, and they have attacked my patrols before, but they were beaten back easily enough. They mostly preyed on the villagers, yet even then they were little more than a nuisance. All I can think of is a new group has entered this territory.”
“With a mage in their service?” I asked doubtfully, glancing down at the guard’s burned corpse. “They had to know an incident involving magic would turn the eye of the Duke on the area.”
The Knight of Fairland Keep sighed and shook his head. “I cannot say what these bandits were thinking. I can only give you what I know.”
I exchanged a look with Daenzil. The dwarf stroked his large, bushy beard and nodded. I turned back to Ashcroft and looked to the two guards on either side of him. “What of you two? Have you anything to say?”
The iron armored man answered first, his face filled with scorn. “I’ve heard nothing of use to you, Sorceress, but I do hope you find whoever did this and leave swiftly with their head on a pike. Magic is nothing but a curse.”
Ashcroft clucked his tongue. “Watch your words, Michael. If you’ve nothing to say that can help, remain silent.” The knight shifted in his saddle to look at the other guardsman. “Have you heard anything, Soren?”
“There have been rumblings of lights in the forest, sir,” a mild voice came from the shadow of the hood. “Some say it is haunted, but it may be the work of this mage.”
I furrowed my brows at that information, tapping my lip thoughtfully. “When did you hear this? Why didn’t you include it in the report of the other deaths?”
The man shrugged, the creak of leather audible. “I was not aware of the report until Sir Ashcroft mentioned it to me this morning. Besides, I thought it little more than a village rumor, the same as one you’d hear throughout Dranen. I hope it helps, regardless.”
“Aye, it does,” Daenzil confirmed, adjusting the scabbard of the longsword that ran the length of his back. “Gives us a place to start our investigation, anywho. Do ye remember who told you of the lights?”
Soren nodded and pointed ahead. “The village up the road. A woman by the name of Margaret first told me of them a week prior while I entertained her with my... marksmanship.”
Daenzil chuckled. “Thank ye, boy. Perhaps your aim shall be true in this case, as well.”
“Would you prefer to stay at the keep until dawn, Sorceress?” Ashcroft asked, staring at me with a twitch of a smile on his lips. It fell away when he looked back to the bodies. “I’m sure you and your Keeper are weary after riding all the way from Highcliff.”
I shook my head and glanced at the sky. “No, but thank you, Sir. It’s best we get started as soon as possible, given the circumstances.”
The knight nodded morosely and dismounted. “Unfortunately, I have to agree. If you need anything from me or my men, just ask. Soren, Michael, let’s get these poor souls on the horses. We’ll bring them to their families.”
“At once, Sir,” the two guardsmen said, both jumping to the ground to help.
I turned to Daenzil and sighed, walking with him to our own mounts, a horse and a small pony. “Would that we could stay to help.”
Daenzil grunted, patting his pony on the neck. “Would that we didn’t have the need. Come, let’s be off. I’d like to poke around the tavern, if they have one, while we wait for dawn. This Margaret woman will most likely not be awake for a few hours.”
I mounted my brown gelding and joked, “Anything to get a drink in, eh Daen’?”
The dwarf smiled sadly. “A toast to the dead is in order, after all. May their souls be at rest in whatever afterlife they believed in.”
*****
We reached the small village just as the heavens began to lighten to a soft pink. Lamps hung from posts and the houses, the flames guttering cheerily against the failing darkness. The village was a small one compared to some I had been in, but it was large enough to have a blacksmith, based on the clinking impacts of hammer and anvil. It was a steady cadence, counterpoint to the rustling of leaves from the forest on the right side of the road.
Whispy clouds whisked above in the same wind, their soft undersides lit by the glow of the sun while stars began to disappear behind the first morning rays. The moon remained full in the sky, as still and brooding as Ashcroft’s grey eyes.
My thoughts turned to the knight as we rode at a canter into the village square. I was twelve when I first met the stoic, young boy. I had been brought into Duke Roland’s castle as a result of my burgeoning talent for magic, one of two others in the Fairlands who had been found with the gift in the last twenty years.
Blain was the son of a knight under Roland’s rule, brought along with his father to meet the newest mage. He had been quiet and reserved even then, politely greeting me with a nod. It wasn’t until the following day when I found him training with a wooden sword that we actually got to know each other.
The future knight was serious even when I had cut through his polite facade, though he had a spirit of delight in him when describing his father. He often trained in the yard throughout the month of his stay while I read tomes and learned under the oldest mage in the Fairlands, Magister Faran. After our studies were over, however, we had free time to play. We would sit at the edge of a river or relax on a hill near the castle and talk. Sometimes we explored the nearby wood.
When he left, he promised he would stay in touch. We exchanged letters throughout the years and he visited the castle with his father on official business quite often. While others would whisper that we were a secret couple, we never listened to them. We were friends, more like brother and sister than anything else.
“Ah, finally, an inn! I was beginning to think that this little village wouldn’t have one!”
My horse slowed, Daenzil’s voice drawing me out of my reverie. I looked up to see the dwarf dismounting in front of a sturdy stone building. A sign above the door testified that it was indeed an inn. I stared curiously through the windows, morning dew clouding the glass, to see a few people buzzing about inside.
Light spilled into the street as the door opened. A man walked out yawning, his clothing suggesting that he was a craftsman of some sort. Soot stained the cloth in patches along the sleeves and upper chest while thick arms stuck out from the plain woven tunic.
“Oi, ‘scuse me,” Daenzil called out.
The villager turned at the voice, sleepily rubbing an eye. “Aye?”
“If ye time, might you point me in the direction of a Margaret? One of the guardsmen in the keep suggested we talk to her about the lights in the forest,” the dwarf replied, dismounting from his pony. His large boots thumped against the ground and he sighed with relief.
The craftsman’s brows drew down darkly. “Who’re you to ask?”
“Warden Daenzil, on commission from the Duke,” my keeper said dryly.
“M-my apologies, m’lord,” the man stuttered, bending forward in a rough approximation of a bow. “I didn’t realize—me name’s Den. Den Cooper.”
Daenzil waved the man’s concerns away. “Bah, I’m no more a lord than you are, Goodman Cooper. No harm done.”
I fell to the ground and strode up beside my companion, smiling at the man. “Do you know where we might find Margaret? It seems like you know of her.”
The craftsman nodded several times before speaking. “She’s me cousin. She lives in the house near the forest, down the road that way.” He pointed to our right, around the inn, before his face darkened with a realization. “She’s not in trouble, is she? I promise, she’s a good woman. Has no truck with magic of any kind.”
“Nothing of the sort, Goodman,” I replied quickly with a shake of my head. “We simply want to ask what she saw.”
“Oh,” he replied, staring dumbly at me.
I flashed him another easy smile. “Thank you. We’ll be on our way.”
“Ah, you’re welcome,” the man replied, suddenly starting and moving away. He glanced back over his shoulder at us a few times before disappearing around a corner.
“Bit dull, that boy,” Daenzil said after a moment. I gave him a wry look and he clapped his hands against his hips. “Ah, well, time to get inside and order me a drink.”
I followed my companion into the small inn, stepping across creaky floorboards. A woman turned at our approach with a sponge and bucket in both hands, surprise on her features.
“Pardon the mess, Master Dwarf, Miss. Next shift’s not due for another few hours” she explained, putting the bucket and sponge away before wiping her hands on her apron. “What can I do for you?”
Daenzil stepped toward the bar and arranged himself on the stool with a deft hop. His scabbard thudded solidly against his back, but he seemed unaffected by it, pointing with eager eyes at a barrel behind the corner. “Black lager, if you have it. I’ll provide the mug. I dislike to make sweets like you clean up after a slob like me.”
The woman smiled and took the proffered, stone-chiseled mug. “Brings a joy to me heart to hear that, dearie.”
“That certainly never stops you from leaving your dirty socks around back at home,” I muttered to him as I slipped in beside the dwarf.
He shot me a wounded look. “A dwarf’s domain’s a different matter altogether, youngin’. It’s mine.”
“I know dwarves have a reputation for digging in the dirt, but that doesn’t mean you have to emulate it with what you have available,” I replied tapping the wooden bar with a finger and tracing one of its whorls.
“Pah, you and your fancy words,” Daen’ replied, his eyes brightening up considerably when the barmaid appeared from around the corner with his mug. She set the chalice down on the table and turned to me with a questioning glance. I shook my head as Daenzil took a sip and let out an appreciative belch.
“Now that’s more like it,” the dwarf said before slamming back another draft.
“If you need anything more, just let me know,” the barmaid said, walking back to her sponge and bucket.
I sighed, crossing my arms on the table and allowing my head to sink into them. The feeling of my sheep-skin lined blouse was comfortably warm after a night of rushing through cool air and my eyes were grateful for the rest. As much as I had told Ashcroft that I hadn’t been tired, I was exhausted from the ride.
Daenzil and I had gotten the message late the previous afternoon. I had been talking with the Duke regarding some of the findings my fellow magi had dictated to me over the world’s failing health. It wasn’t my area of expertise, even if I was concerned more than most by it, but as the Duke’s official Sorceress, I was required to keep him apprised of it.
The news of the world’s ills had been troubling, to say the least. Reports had flown in on pigeon’s feet and magic winds of crops growing weaker with each passing season. It seemed as if a sickness was taking hold of the land, green grasses shifting to a dull brown and the animals who normally grazed on such vegetation were becoming scarcer. A new desert had formed on the east side of the kingdom where once had been plains of grass as far as the eye could see. Water was drying up, leaving lakes, rivers and streams little more than muddy puddles of stagnant ponds.
No one knew what was causing it. Not even the dwarves were able to figure out the reasoning behind the sudden shift from health to sickliness. Once their initial efforts had failed, the ruling council had declared it the will of the earth to do as it wished and that any attempts to combat it would only make the situation worse.
Even Daenzil had expressed his doubt that the potential catastrophe would become bad enough to threaten the populations. We had become embroiled in another argument over the matter when the message had come in bearing Ashcroft’s seal. The Duke had ordered us to ride immediately, our argument broken off and worldly concerns thrust aside for more immediate ones.
“Sleep awhile if you wish, lass,” Daenzil said, yawning as he thudded his mug against the wood. “There’s little to be done until the town starts to wake.”
I nodded, squeezing my head between my biceps in an effort to stop its pounding. Sleep sounded nice right then. I pulled the stool closer to the bar with my leather-clad legs and set my thigh-high boots on its rungs for support. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but I had dealt with worse.
*****
The sound of the bell above the door tinkling woke me up, my body tense and already on the alert. Adrenaline flowed through my veins as I picked my head up and turned around to see who had entered. The morning sunlight spilling through the door momentarily blinded me, but my eyes quickly adjusted with a muttered spell.
It was a man in the doorway, slim and ragged looking. Bits of detritus from the forest adorned his clothes and a few scrapes on his dark skin spoke of a swift run through the forest. Tired eyes looked at me with dark bags beneath them, widening slightly before falling back to disinterest.
Alarm bells rang in my head at that, but I was still a little fuzzy from my nap. I continued to stare at him as he casually walked to the bar on the other side of Daenzil, who was eyeing the man speculatively. Instead of sitting at a bar, he placed both hands on the bar, startlingly black against the light wood, darker even than his skin. Almost as if he has been burned...
“Annabelle?” the man called out softly, his voice hoarse. He glanced at us out of the corner of his eyes, but otherwise remained unmoved by our presence. The man casually reached up to scratch his neck, showing further pink scarring.
The old barmaid walked out of the doorway behind the bar, washing her hands on what once had been a white rag. “Fiere? What’re you doin’ out here so early? And why are you all dirtied up like you ran with the wolves?”
Fiere glanced at us before walking around Daen and I, circling the bar. He grabbed the barmaid’s arm when he was in reach, pulling her close to whisper in her ear. I furrowed my brows, starting to wonder what this strange man wanted kept quiet.
“Oh,” the barmaid said, glancing at us momentarily as she listened. “Come in, Fiere, behind the bar.”
Daenzil cleared his throat loudly. “Something we can help with?”
“No!” the skinny man said, eyes guilty. “No. There’s... nothing you can do for me.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, further interested by his reactions. “We can protect you if you’re in trouble.”
Fiere looked away, his eyes dark. “It’s nothing but a matter of owing money. Please, don’t inquire further, m’lady. My troubles are below your station.”
With that, he disappeared through the door, the barmaid patting him soothingly on the back as she followed him, glancing back at us once more. The door’s hinges crooned softly and it tapped softly against the wooden threshold.
I drummed my fingers against the bar, sparing a glance at my companion. “Below my station? Do I look like a lady?”
“Well, the long hair and physique’d give it away,” Daenzil replied with a twinkle in his eye, “but I’m not sure that’s what he was referring to. Did ye see the way he looked at you when he came in?”
I nodded, thinking back to that moment. Had I done something to cause the man to think I was someone of high station?
Daenzil sighed, steadying the scabbard on his back as he dropped off the stool. “Ye casted a spell, didn’t ye?”
I frowned. “There’s no way he could tell unless...”
“Unless he’s a touch o’ the gift,” Daenzil finished, stretching and walking around to the bar. “Aye, I think we’ve found our mage. Did ye see his hands?”
“They looked like they were burned,” I confirmed, a steely resolve coming over me. “A self-taught mage, then. That’s dangerous. We should be careful about this.”
The dwarf rubbed a sleeve under his nose and snorted. “Got a plan, do ye?”
I set my jaw grimly, nodding. “We wait and follow him when he leaves. If I’m right, he’ll head away from the town now that he knows we’re here. I suspect he might even go to the forest.”
“One thing still bothers me,” Daenzil said as we walked to the front door. “Those scars on his neck. They were new. And why would he look like he ran through the forest? Sorcerers aren’t usually the type to run, especially when they’re unpracticed. No offense.”
“You taught me otherwise, Daen’,” I replied, muttering a spell to quiet the bell as we left. “All the spells in the world don’t matter if you’re surrounded by steel and arrow.”
*****
It was less than an hour before the furtive mage left through the back door. He had changed his clothes into a short brown tunic, though his breeches seemed to be the same. There was a small poniard at his hip, one hand tightened around the hilt as he glanced around like a frightened animal before rushing off into the forest.
Daen and I waited a minute before we followed after him, previously hidden behind one of the houses in the village. We chose to chase him on foot, leaving our animals in the care of a local farmer.
Despite his short stature, Daenzil was able to keep up with my long-legged stride and soon we were on Fiere’s trail. It wasn’t a difficult trail to follow, because even I could see how the mage had trampled through the forest with little regard for his tracks. I gritted my teeth, trying to puzzle out exactly why he was running and, more importantly, who he was running from. It was clear that while we were a threat, something larger was on his mind or he would have left immediately after seeing us. I mentioned as much to Daenzil, whispering to the dwarf as we carefully made our way through the brush.
“Could be he had a disagreement with those bandits,” my companion said quietly, brushing a branch aside. “Greed is always an issue or maybe he just had a change of heart.”
The last possibility was one I rolled around in my head with distaste. Even if the man had a change of heart, it still didn’t absolve him of the deaths of the patrol or the three villagers murdered through magical means. It meant the man was unpredictable, perhaps prone to whimsy.
Mood swings and rapid personality changes were a dangerous part of wielding magic. A strict mental discipline was usually enough to counteract it, though shocking events or traumatic experiences had a habit of breaking through even that. Which was why Wardens were assigned to each mage and why a sorceress without a Warden was a dangerous being, indeed.
Rays from the sun shot down through the foliage in shafts of spearing light, painting the otherwise green conifers and bushy ground in spots of gold. Squirrels chittered at our passing, a rabbit bounding away as we passed in a loping run. Daenzil’s longsword was quiet even with the pace, part of the inscriptions lining the scabbard infused with a spell similar to the one I had casted on the inn’s bell earlier.
The dwarf stopped suddenly, holding up a fist. I halted, crouching and looking around. I saw nothing but trees and a few large boulders embedded in the steadily incline the forest floor took ahead.
“Tracks’ve disappeared,” Daenzil muttered, one hand reaching behind his back to draw the longsword. It gleamed briefly in one of the shafts of sunlight, the blade almost as long as him. The dwarf’s muscles bulged under the weight of the weapon, but I knew from experience he could wield it longer than any human, and most dwarves, I’d met.
I reached for the obsidian dagger at my hip, drawing confidence from its wire-bound hilt. It was an old gift from Magister Faran, one of the possessions he’d left to me after his passing. With it had been a letter, one final lesson. Magic is a powerful weapon, but when your reserves have run dry, it is always preferable to have a blade at your side.
“Did he take to the rocks?” I whispered, eyes dancing from one tree to the next, boulder to depression in the hill.
“Could be,” Daenzil said doubtfully, grabbing his sword in both hands and turning in a circle. “Be ready.”
There was a rustle to our left. We both turned toward the sound, weapons bared at the area. For a moment, nothing happened. It was only when I felt the tip of a sword on the back of my neck that I realized we’d been tricked. My skin tingled around the feel of the steel, its metal cold and sharp. Daenzil was similarly indisposed, a dagger to his throat being held by a woman clothed all in forest green.
A man stepped out of the brush where we had heard the sound, clad in leather guard armor. Where the blue of the Fairlands had been was now a deep scarlet that almost blended with the treated leather. Throwing daggers decorated both sides of his chest in a dual bandoleer, their sharp points cloaked by the black sheaths.
“Huh,” he said, holding his hands behind his back and staring at me with startlingly blue eyes. “Who are you and why are you in my woods?”
I looked back into his eyes unerringly. “We’re chasing a man who owes us money.”
The man smirked, glancing down at Daenzil before returning his gaze to me. “Oh, really? Funny that, since we’re doing the same. Shame we ran into each other, though.”
“I’d let us go, lad,” my companion sighed. “We’ve more important tasks than talking with ye.”
“Oh really?” the bandit leader asked, chuckling. “And how do you propose to convince me to let you go when you talk to me as if I were nothing more than a common peasant? Seems a little rude, don’t you think?”
Before the dwarf could say something suitably insulting, I interrupted him. “Forgive my associate. You know how dwarves are. But we really would enjoy being free to find our man.”
“I don’t believe I caught your name, Lady...”
I gave him a grim smile. “Names are dangerous things to bandy about.”
The man furrowed his brows, as if he wasn’t expecting that answer. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Very well, since you seem so lovely, I’ll let you go. For the price of your weapons, armor and...” he eyed me up and down speculatively “your company. I’ll even help you track down your man.”
“I think you’ll find my company more than its worth,” I replied, already knowing diplomacy had failed.
“Oh, I doubt tha—”
He was cut off by flames engulfing his head with a sickening crackle. The man screamed, thrashing around and beating at the fire. The sword on my neck fell away as my captor drew back in surprise. I took advantage of the opening and dove forward, picking up my dagger and turning around to meet an attack.
Deadly steel was descending to split me in twain, wielded by a large, dark-skinned woman with a snarl on her face. I dodged to the side, hastily casting a spell. An arrow of pure light slashed forward, catching the unprepared bandit in the shoulder and sending her spinning.
The sounds of metal against metal clanged to my left and I allowed myself a look while my adversary was distracted. Daenzil was trading blows with an unlucky bandit not even old enough to grow a full beard. A line of blood oozed from a shallow cut on the dwarf’s neck but he was otherwise unharmed.
Confident in my companion’s capabilities, I turned back to my own problem, trying to ignore the last groaning gasps of the dying man. Even as I did this, my eyes danced across the forest to spot anything out of the ordinary. The spell that had taken the bandit’s leader hadn’t been one of mine.
Unfortunately I didn’t have further opportunity to investigate, since the sword-wielding bandit charged me, holding her bleeding shoulder in one hand and her weapon in the other. She hacked at me in a devastating side-swipe, nearly catching me in the side as I twirled away. My boots gained purchase easily on the forest ground, crunching through the fall-colored leaves and dew-covered grasses.
Before I could attempt to sign a more powerful binding spell, the woman continued her attack. I dodged backward again, cursing as the weapon slashed through my vest to leave a shallow sting across my ribs. I resisted the urge to look at the wound and instead brought my dagger up in readiness, calculations running through my head. I had to time my next move exactly right or I would end up with more than a scratch.
“Die!” the woman roared victoriously, obviously underestimating my admittedly puny dagger. She swung her sword in a diagonal slice, aiming for my neck.
Less than a second before impact, I darted forward, bringing my dagger up to meet the larger weapon. When they hit, runes lit up across the obsidian in gold and a numbness shot through my arm. I gritted my teeth and shoved the sword aside just enough to deflect it from its course, causing the woman to stumble forward, off balance.
I continued my forward motion, slamming my shoulder into her left shoulder. My legs strained against the woman’s larger size and competing forward force, but it was enough to cause her to further stumble, twisting to the left and tangling her feet. She thudded to the ground, her grip on her weapon failing.
Before she could regain her footing or swing her sword at me in a last-ditch effort, I moved my hands through the signs of a binding spell. My hands deftly flicked through the studiously remembered formula, eldritch words tumbling out of my mouth quickly yet precisely. The dangers of magic were always on my mind, one missaid word would render the spell useless or, even worse, cause it to kill.
A subtle blue light encased the warrior woman’s hands, binding them together in a gel-like substance that would be impossible to break without magical assistance. Her legs were likewise bound together, with yet one more band crossing around her head at mouth level. It was perhaps more than required to stop her, but I was still shaking from the close encounter with death.
Fatigue filled my body when I finished my incantation from both physical and mental exertion. Even so, I looked around, searching for the elusive mage who’d saved us, intentional or not. I narrowed my eyes at the tree trunks and whispering leaves, the creak of branches waving slightly in the wind filling the silence that battle had only recently occupied.
“Ah, but I always enjoy a good fight,” Daenzil said into the quiet. “Were you not a bandit, I’d compliment ye on yer skill, lad.
I turned to look at the dwarf, who was towering over the young man whom he had been fighting. Daenzil’s sword was at the boy’s throat, his opponent’s dagger on the ground nearby, half covered by the leaves. At a nod from the dwarf, I performed the same binding I had on the other bandit, leaving Daenzil to withdraw his sword and peer at the new notches in the steel. When I finished my spell, I looked to the leader’s corpse, which was still smoking in the crisp autumn air.
Daenzil noticed my look and nodded appreciatively. “Nice spell there, lass. Didn’t even hear you mutter the incantation.”
“It wasn’t mine,” I replied, closing my eyes to see if I could hear anything where my sight failed. Only the forest’s song came to my ears. “The mage helped us.”
My companion leveled the sword in front of him, his bushy black brows furrowed. “Do you sense him?”
I shook my head, glancing down at the warrior woman. She glared daggers at me, her mouth twitching behind the mystical gag and blood still leaking from her shoulder. “No. He must have left when we started fighting.”
“Damnation,” the dwarf growled darkly. “Did you at least feel the direction the incantation came from? I can continue to track him, provided he left any clues.”
There was a rustle of leaves behind me, followed by a tremulous voice. “No need, sir dwarf.”
I turned at the voice, dagger up and a spell already at my lips. Daenzil cursed and leveled his own weapon, one hand extended to ward off any magical attacks. Such was the strength of a Warden’s power over their mage.
Fiere stared at the body of the bandit leader, his sleeves of his new tunic singed from his casting. His eyes were haunted and I prepared to counterspell any attempt he made to finish the other two off, but aside from continuous twitching, his hands made no move. After a moment, his eyes met mine, a spark of pain and relief warring in them.
“I... I killed him,” he said, walking woodenly forward. I held my ground, ice in my stomach at the thoughts of what a mage without a Warden could accomplish. “I didn’t mean to, but he was... going to hurt you. Because of me.”
“Hold, lad,” Daenzil said placatingly, steel in in his voice. “No further with you.”
The mage’s eyes flicked to the dwarf, his hands twitching even harder now. I could silence him now. He wouldn’t even know what was going on. Yet something stopped me, curiosity filling my mind. This wasn’t the act of a murderer.
Fiere’s eyes widened when he looked at his hands, bringing them palm up. “My hands...”
“You burned yourself casting the spell, Fiere,” I explained, my voice sharper than I intended. I softened it, continuing, “We can help you. You just need to sit down and explain what’s happened to you.”
“Sam...” Daenzil said warningly.
Fiere looked back to me, pain filling them, winning against the relief. He glanced back at his hands, gasping. “It hurts. She said you could help me, but it hurts!”
“Fiere, look at me,” I pleaded, drawing his gaze again. “I can help you. I just need to know who told you I could. Can you do that, Fiere?”
Daenzil moved ever so slightly to the left while the mage’s attention was on me. I dared not look at him, keeping my eyes locked with Fiere’s. There was a rustle of leaves beside me as the warrior woman began to squirm against her restraints, but I continued to stare into Fiere’s eyes. This was a dangerous moment, one that could tip in any direction. I was determined to make sure it was one favorable to everyone.
“A-a woman,” the mage croaked, swallowing. “She was... bli—”
An arrow sang through the morning air, slamming into the mage’s back. Fiere’s mouth fell open, eyes completely consumed with pain. Another arrow hit him, sending him stumbling forward, the wooden shafts quivering as he started screaming.
I cursed, throwing up a shield just in time to catch the worse of the sonic explosion. It blew past my shield, cracking trees like glass, sending splinters sailing through the air. I dropped to the ground, letting the barrier fall and landing next to the warrior woman. Her eyes were wide open, blood streaming out of her ears, but she was still alive, judging by her squirming movements.
A grimace darkened my face. The last second spell had negated the full brunt of Fiere’s own panicked one on me, but it clearly hadn’t been strong enough to protect the bandit. I glanced to the left, pushing myself up, soft dirt falling from my hands in clumps. Daenzil was already rushing forward, a wooden spike hanging from his scaled armor though no blood dripped from it.
A blast of fire swept toward the dwarf, sent forth in a fit of dying rage, Fiere now in a kneeling position. Daenzil dove to the side, keeping his sword in hand as he rolled. Even if the Warden could stop a spell, fire was still fire and it would damage him to a lesser extent regardless. I had to stop this uncontrolled magic before the mage obliterated the Daenzil, the bandits... the whole area. Gritting my teeth, I walked forward, holding both hands up in the most powerful shield I could summon. The drain from casting the spell caused my stomach to twist in knots, but better that than being incinerated.
An inferno was churning around the mortally wounded mage, fire issuing from his eyes as if possessed by some spawn of hell. A bubble of white hot fire expanded outward, crashing into my barrier with enough force to send me gasping. My mind reeled at the thought of how much power this mage possessed, how much good he could have done were he trained like I was. If only he had been found before this.
I closed my eyes, the first hints of the flame sneaking past my shield to kiss my cheek. I ignored the scent of faintly burning skin, my face pinched and itching from the heat. It was beginning to be difficult to breath, the flames eagerly sucking up all the air around me. When I judged myself close enough, I opened my eyes enough to squint. They instantly began to dry, pain searing into my retinas from both the intensity of the light and the ferocity of the fire.
Fiere’s mouth was open in a silent scream, a jet of flame streaming from the steadily widening maw. All of his exposed skin was crusted over, rendered little more than shell now, but still somehow alive. The stench of his burned skin wafted in waves, my shield little more than a single column around which the flames burned. My armor was beginning to heat up, the protective runes embroidered in the material starting to fail.
“Daen’!” I yelled out my last intake of air just as my shield failed.
The heat evaporated instantaneously. I fell to my knees, my body numb, tumbling to the dirt with no control. My cheek touched what was left of the grass, searing ashes burning my skin. I felt nothing, staring across a sea of blackened foliage that abruptly shifted to green a few meters away. A few fires still burned through the dry leaves, embers hopping from one to the next in dying sparks.
With my energy sapped and body reeling from exhaustion and pain, my vision fell away, too. |
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Post by Deleted on Jun 26, 2013 17:41:45 GMT -5
“You did what?”
Blain looked up at me, his unshaven face and tired eyes filled with exasperation. “I sent Soren after you.”
My mouth fell agape as I processed that. “You don’t trust me?”
The Knight of Fairland Keep sighed and set aside his quill, running a hand through his hair. “No, that’s not why I sent him.”
I glared at him and set my mouth in a thin line, my cheek still itching from the remnants of the burns I’d received. My body still hadn’t recovered enough energy to heal my wounds, so the left side of my face and arms were covered in bandages. The thick padding only served to increase my annoyance.
Ashcroft drummed his fingers on the desk, the light of the lantern behind him casting his face in what would have been full shadow had there not been a candle next to him. “Samantha, I trust you. I do. But the village, my men and the whole area are under my purview. How would it look if I sent not even a scrap of help to the Duke’s sorceress?”
“It would look like you’re confident in the Duke’s choice,” I retorted, resisting the urge to slam my bandaged palm on his desk. “You could have at least asked me, or even Daen’, before sending your little toady along.”
“I would have asked, if I hadn’t already have known what you would say,” Ashcroft replied, waving his hand in my direction. “You’re notoriously stubborn, a fact I would know even if we hadn’t grown up together.”
I turned around, furious. “My stubbornness doesn’t get people killed, Blain.”
There was silence behind me at that. I could hear the lord of the keep’s steady breathing as I closed my eyes. The scent of ink drying on parchment filled the room while crickets chirped outside the stone walls. My heartbeat thudded in my chest, slowly coming back under my control.
Ashcroft was the first to break the silence. “You’re right, Samantha. I shouldn’t have asked Soren to go.”
I tapped my foot, refusing to turn around.
He sighed, the sound of a chair scraping on wood followed by his heavy footsteps. “I shouldn’t have, but I did. A mage is dead because of my decision, yet the men and women who serve me are safe. If you would ask me to choose between one man’s life and many, I would choose the many. It is a soldier’s duty to the people he protects.”
I flinched at the hand he laid on my shoulder as he finished. “Spare me your rhetoric, Blain. That road is more well travelled than any other.”
He turned me toward him, his stormy eyes filled with concern. It took a moment to realize it wasn’t directed at me. Something dark lingered at the edges of those orbs, something that nibbled at his conscience.
“What’s bothering you?” I asked, my eyebrows furrowed as a new puzzle surfaced in front of me. The situation at hand could wait a few moments.
He glanced away for a moment before turning back to me. Ashcroft seemed as if he were about to say something, but his mouth shut abruptly instead and he turned back to his desk. The chair scratched across the wood again and he was seated.
“You should rest. Getting your energy back to heal those burns should be your priority. Don’t want to go back to Roland tomorrow looking like I threw you in the fireplace,” Blain joked with forced levity.
I cocked my head, looking at him confusedly. “What do you mean? My investigation’s not over. Before he died, Fiere mentioned a woman, someone who knew me.”
Ashcroft glanced up at me and tapped a letter on the end of his desk. “This came in while you were unconscious. I was going to give it to you when you came to, but you decided it would be better to yell at me for my decisions.”
“I’m not sorry,” I replied, snatching the letter up. “Fiere would have been a powerful mage and a boon to the world if he had been captured instead of killed.”
“Be that as it may, we must live with the consequences of our actions,” Ashcroft said blandly, returning his eyes to the paper before him. “You can bring the letter with you to your chambers, Samantha.”
Recognizing the dismissal, I narrowed my eyes and turned on my heel. Anger boiled up inside of me like the fire that had coursed through Fiere only just that morning. It cooled when I remembered the dark thoughts that seemed to plague my childhood friend’s expression. I turned at the threshold, looking back at him.
“You can always talk to me, Blain. About anything.”
The knight paused in his actions. After a moment, he nodded, returning to his work. I left the room, more troubled than before.
Daenzil was waiting for me in the hallway, half-leaning and half-sitting against the slanted piece of a pillar. Smoke issued lazily from the pipe in his mouth, the dwarf’s eyes closed and the aroma of the tobacco filling the hallway. I wrinkled my nose at the smell, tapping my companion on the chest with the letter.
“You shouldn’t sleep and smoke, Daen’,” I admonished.
The dwarf opened one eye, the pipe shifting from one corner of his mouth to the other before he took it out. “Who’s sleeping? Not me, with the way you were yelling in there.”
“I wasn’t yelling,” I replied easily, walking down the hall. My leather boots clicked against the stone, Daenzil’s heavy footfalls behind me.
My companion snorted. “Maybe not, but even a stone could tell you wanted to.”
“He said he sent the ranger after us because he didn’t want to look weak,” I said sourly.
“Whatever his reasoning, it was a precaution any lord would make. As much as the Duke’s knights trust in us to protect the land, they are stewards, as well. If anyone is to blame, it is the archer for striking the killing blow,” Daenzil countered amiably. “What would you have done, Sam?”
I looked at him wearily. “The same thing, as you know. It still is a tragedy. We lost a potential mage, Daen’. People like Fiere don’t come along often, least of all with as much power as he possessed.”
The dwarf winced and ran a gloved hand through his beard. “The lad was strong, I’ll give you that. If it weren’t for you and my abilities as a Warden, I would have lost the right to call myself a dwarf.”
“Your beard is the least of our worries, Daen’.” I held up the letter. “Blain told me that the Duke sent this letter, recalling us to the castle.”
Daenzil scratched his cheek and squinted at the scrap of parchment as we turned down the hallway that housed our rooms. “Strange to bring us back so soon. We’ve not even finished our job here.”
“That’s what I told Ashcroft,” I replied with a frown, reaching out my good hand to turn the knob into my room. “The mention of this woman who knows me... who thought I could help Fiere...”
“Aye, tis troubling indeed,” Daenzil muttered, shutting the door behind us.
I walked to the edge of my bed and sat down, unfolding the letter. The wax on it had already been broken from when Ashcroft had first taken a look at its contents. The ink was written in a flowing script I recognized as my father’s, the Duke’s official scribe.
“Warden Daenzil, Sorceress Samantha, I hope this letter finds you well and your investigation closed,” I read aloud. “A new development among the people has occurred that requires your presence. The people are beginning to worry of the shortened crops and the lowering depth of the river as ever, but more trouble is brewing than normal.
There is talk of a man cloaked in black, one whose feet cause the earth to die before him. Flowers wilt, insects die, water turns black and stagnant, so the rumors say. I’m sure you’ve heard some talk of such a man before, yet thought it no more than city gossip.
I must gravely report that while the truth of whether or not this man brings death is still at doubt, his existence is one I believe has the aid of magic. Two of my guardsmen lie dead this morning, their skin as thin as paper, stretched over their bones as if the life was sucked out of them. I know not the spell that can do this, but perhaps you will.
Return at once, whether your investigation is complete or not. This takes precedence.”
Daenzil hummed under his breath. “Troubling news, indeed.”
I got up and paced in the small aisle between the bed and the desk I had been provided with, thoughts whistling through my mind like tiny darts flying past. “A man who destroyed whatever he touches...”
The dwarf leaned against the bedpost, watching me. “Ye’re thinking of the world’s woes, aren’t ye?”
“Why wouldn’t I? This similarities are too much to be coincidence,” I replied, tossing the opened letter on the desk. My boots tapped out a steady rhythm on the wooden flooring. “But why would he show himself? How can one man cause all of these problems?”
Daenzil shrugged, a movement I recognized as reluctant curiosity. “Perhaps there is more than one. A cult of some kind, orchestrating the events.”
I bit my lip and shook my head, gesturing at the letter. “I don’t think so. All of the magi assigned to this task have investigated any news of suspicious cults or strange activity with these circumstances associated with them. I believe we would have found more evidence than just rumors.”
“Magi can be fooled, same as any other mortal, Samantha,” Daenzil replied with a sigh, patting his thighs and starting forward. “But for now, you need rest.”
I glanced at him askance. “What do you mean? We should leave now. The Duke said it was urgent.”
The dwarf eyed me, one bushy eyebrow striking upward. “Aye, I’d agree with you in a different situation. But Sam, ye don’t have any energy to cast a spell of lighting, nor are you ready for combat, should it be required. You and I both know that the only way to restore your reserves are rest and meditation.”
A sigh escaped me, my shoulders shrugging in defeat. “You’re the second person to tell me that tonight. I suppose I should submit, this time, to popular opinion.”
Daenzil walked forward to pat me on the elbow. “That’s a nice lass. Sleep. We’ll leave at first light.”
The dwarf left, leaving me alone in my room with a single candle for company. I leaned against the bedrest where Daen’ had been, comforted by the residual smell of smoke and spices. There was the sound of a door closing on the opposite side of the hall and then silence. My eyes stared ahead at the door, several puzzles spinning in my mind.
The strange woman. This man with powers eerily similar to the symptoms of our dying world. Fiere’s death and his certainty that I could help him.
It was only when the candlelight faded and disappeared completely that I returned to the present. I glanced at the desk where the candle lay, smoke rising from what remained of the wick and melted wax. A single ember danced into the air, fleeting red descending to black. An echo of Fiere’s screams whispered into my ears.
*****
The next day was clear and crisp, the onset of winter well on its way into fall’s territory. Trees on either side of the road were bare, grey and brown against the field of dew-frosted grass that blew lazily in the wind. There was a somber mood in the air, birds no longer around to chirp through the trees. Animals were retired to their homes for the coming winter months, leaving the forest dead and quiet.
Our horses clip-clopped along the trail, cantering at a steady pace. The mounts were strong, able to keep the same speed for hours on end. My own gelding was calmly striding forward, ignoring the smaller pony’s antics.
Daenzil’s mount was young even as it was strong, prone to flights of fancy and competition. It would periodically rush forward just enough to be in the lead before falling behind a few moments later. My horse’s ears flicked side to side, the only evidence that it was paying attention to its surroundings.
I patted my mount on the neck, trusting it to warn me if anything out of the ordinary occurred. Even with my senses tuned toward such, Daenzil had drilled into me the importance of listening and trusting the steed I rode. The animals were often able to detect sounds and smells far sooner than the sharpest man.
“I am sorry, you know,” the third member our group spoke, his voice empty of emotion.
“Sorry won’t bring back the life you took,” I replied evenly, glancing back at him. “Perhaps one day you’ll understand that not every problem should be solved at the end of an arrow.”
Soren shrugged under his cloak, the cowl shading his features. “My orders were to protect the Duke’s Sorceress and eliminate a threat. I did that.”
“You really don’t feel anything about it, do you?” I asked, bemused at the man’s callousness.
“From what I hear, you’re the same. Stories have been told of you, Sorceress Samantha. Stories of your willingness to kill if your goal was accomplished by such a death.” The man tapped his heart. “As for me, you are correct. Several of the men the mage killed were my friends. If it were my decision, the bandits would have been hanged rather than kept for interrogation, pleasant as that would be.”
I returned my gaze forward. “All stories have a ring of truth to them, Ranger Soren. I kill, but only when necessary, and never a mage.”
“What of those who have slain or escaped their Wardens?” the man replied, his tone vaguely mocking.
“I would keep my mouth shut, were I ye, boy,” Daenzil rumbled dangerously.
To my surprise, Soren didn’t make a return comment. I turned around to look at him. He was hunched over his saddle, only the slightest hints of a bearded chin visible. I glanced to Daenzil then, the dwarf focusing stonily forward. I could see the slightest hint of misery in his eyes, old wounds long healed, but never forgotten.
We rode the rest of the way in quiet, none of us feeling the need to speak. Daenzil was absorbed in his memories and Soren was as still as a stone in his saddle. I imagined the ranger wasn’t one to talk overmuch, if at all. Regardless, I was fine with the silence. It gave me room to think about what lay ahead.
The hours passed quickly, the sun slowly wending its way through the sky. The road ahead was clear of travelers, save for a merchant’s wagon that was heading the opposite direction. Possibilities and theories danced through my head, what spells I could possibly prepare against the dark magic, if the mage was one who had slipped the bonds of a Warden, he was either powerful or dreadfully intelligent.
Neither boded well, nor did the possibility of the man having both qualities in his possession. Surely he was intelligent to have avoided capture by the magi and soldiers that the Duke sent out periodically, chasing after the rumors of his presence. He had never been sighted by those patrols. There was only reports from villagers or other civilians and even then only far off glances or examples of the man’s passing.
As for his power, the ability to suck the life out of the land and whatever living being he came across was a fearsome one. Such an ability would require enormous amounts of power, especially with the amount of the world that had already succumbed to its spell. That one man could possess that much sheer energy was a staggering thought to consider.
Daenzil’s theory came back to me, presenting itself as the most likely scenario. There had to be more than one perpetrator of this terror. Yet why had not a one been found? I found myself frustrated by the circular logic, my mood worsening with the darkening sky.
The sun was beginning to disappear behind the horizon of trees and plains when we finally overlooked the city from a hill a few leagues out. Hundreds of lights sparkled on a large half mountain, the ocean’s breeze whisking inland and bringing with it the salty scent of its depths. I stared at Highcliff, amazed even now at its enormity and the amount of effort that had gone into creating such a marvel.
Once it had been nothing but a mountain bordering the edge of the ocean, a strange landmark unduplicated throughout Dranen. It boggled the minds of all who studied it, yet while the scholars studied it, the dwarves looked at it as a challenge. The clans had come together to build the magnificent city, supported by the humans in a way that ended up as a collaboration more than an endevour by a single people.
Years had gone into Highcliff, generations of humanity and even a generation or two of the long lived dwarves before the massive undertaking was completed. The eastern face of the mountain had been entirely carved out, the rubble and stone used to create the city’s trademark four-tiered look. The mountain was hollowed almost completely out, the western, northern and southern slopes left alone to cocoon the city against the fierce hurricanes that periodically swept across the plainlands before it.
A massive citadel sat atop the highest tier, still only halfway as tall as the mountain’s peak. It was as grey as the stone it was chiseled from, inlaid with expert carvings of the dwarven kings and queens who had blessed the project. Humanity had offered up sweeping towers and soaring arches, transforming the huge castle’s form into a hybrid of dwarven and human architecture. The result was a building that seemed as if it was pulled from the mountain’s depths, a citadel larger than any other castle mankind had built.
The rest of the tiers held the large amount of the populace, merchants and nobles divided up on the third and second tier respectively while the fourth tier was given over to the businesses that supplied the city’s booming trade. Sections of the fourth tier were in disrepair closer to the mountain’s chiseled slope, taken over by cartels and guilds of all kinds.
It was a fantastic location, rivaling even the dwarven home of Anvildeep. The closer we drew to it across the long stretch of plainland, the larger it grew. Clouds gathered at the top of the citadel’s towers, lending it an even more otherworldly layer. The scent of brine grew stronger as well, the ocean’s waves echoing across the plains for miles.
The plains were nothing more than a sea of its own, golden grass glistening in the last of the evening sunlight. It waved to and fro in the blustery wind coming in from the water, rich and tendable. Farmer’s cottages dotted the landscape, fields bordering the road lined with fences in orderly lines. Roads veered off toward other parts of the land, traveler’s becoming more and more common. Convoys carrying goods both from the outlying farms and from all over Dranen flooded the causeway, forcing us aside. Yet even the press of hundreds of travelers was unremarkable in what traversed the sky.
Zepplins and balloons of all sorts soared through the sky, powered by magic, steam or machinery, sometimes a combination of two or all three. They came in all shapes and sizes, from the smaller one man balloons that were becoming common among even the merchant class, to the heavier zepplins that carried supplies from the other side of Dranen’s borders.
The buzz of mechanized turbines and propellers were a constant noise despite the relative heights. Towers specially built for the massive carriers and smaller balloons alike jutted up from the ground in from of the city’s walls like wooden guardians, platforms of goods tied down and dropped from the docks that lined the top of the towers.
Yet more of the same towers shot up from the inside of the city, four on each tier. The larger zepplins made their way there, offloading troops, personnel and the supplies that kept them fed and quartered. It was a sight I had marveled at and enjoyed while living in the city itself.
“A bit busy for my tastes,” Soren put in, the subtle motions of his cloak betraying the direction of his attention. “Loud, too.”
Daenzil waved in dismissal. “Once we get inside the walls, it’ll get quieter. There’s a spell around the whole place to lessen the noise of the zepplins and mechanized balloons. It was a human idea, but one of the few I actually agree with.”
“You don’t agree with humans often, despite living among them for so long, master dwarf?” the ranger replied with just the barest hints of mockery.
“I’ve no time for yer games, guardsman,” the dwarf replied simply, spurring his pony forward. The animal complied, putting on a burst of speed that sent it into a swifter canter.
“Touchy, isn’t he?”
I glanced back at him with a roll of my eyes. “Of course he is. He’s been without a drink all day. You get used to it.”
The man nodded vibrantly, the first true sign of emotion I had seen that day. “A stout ale does sound wonderful. I take it we’ll have such in the citadel waiting of us?”
Now I grinned wickedly at him. “You, guardsmen, will be bedding down in the barracks or, if you wish it, in one of the inns in the city. Just because Blain sent you with us doesn’t mean you get to have a roll in the mud, so to speak.”
Soren shrugged. “I’ve rolled around in plenty of mud in my lifetime, Sorceress. A bit of low-class women and high-class drink sounds perfectly fine to me.”
“You’re no fun.” I wrinkled my nose at him.
“Such is my curse,” the ranger replied blandly, tapping his horse’s sides. “I’ll send word where I’ll be staying then, Sorceress. If you need me, call on me. I am yours to command this time, truly. There will be no repeat of my previous error.”
There was a ring of veracity in his statement. “Very well, Ranger. You’re forgiven.”
“I wasn’t asking for forgiveness, m’lady. I was simply following orders,” he said with a grin plain in his tone. “Good day.”
The man rode forward, quickly passing Daenzil and making his way to the large marble archway that stood as a bastion before the city’s walls. Great iron slabs so large that it took seven men just to open them were open, city guardsmen milling about among the merchants and travelers seeking entry. Even more guards stood on the battlements, bows slung across their shoulders or tending to the large bastila that could fling projectiles larger than a man’s height and width across the open plains.
It was one of the few truly impregnable cities in the realm. Even the air was guarded by a series of magi and guardsmen working in tandem on floating fortresses tethered to the towers that served as military drop off points. Hanging under the balloons on a disc-shaped basket were even more machines of war; ballistas, catapults and even a few cannons lining the railing.
“What an annoying man,” I muttered to myself, catching up with Daenzil.
The dwarf glanced up at me. “The lad have to use the privy?”
“He won’t be joining us in the citadel,” I said blandly. “He’s going to roll around in the mud.”
Daenzil squinted and raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Something tells me there’s more to that story than you’re letting on.”
“Maybe,” I answered, irritated. “Let’s just get to the Duke so we can work on finding this death mage.”
*****
“Sorceress Samantha and Warden Daenzil are here to see you, my Duke,” a servant said from the doorway of the massive entrance hall.
Duke Roland stood from his throne, walking down the empty room with his well-shined boots clicking against the marble. The man’s face was a thundercloud behind the carefully manicured brown beard, the crown on his head tilted at an angle. An ermine coat hung from his shoulders, weaving to and fro as he walked toward us.
I walked forward to meet the man, Daenzil on my heels, kneeling to the floor once I reached him. “Sorceress Samantha reporting as your letter commanded, my lord.”
“Up, up, there’s no time for ceremony,” the young Duke said, placing a hand on my shoulder and gesturing to a doorway inlaid in the side wall. “Daenzil.”
“My lord,” the dwarf replied with a smart bow. He wasn’t technically required to kneel, since he wasn’t technically under the Duke’s service, but the two had built a mutual respect toward one another over the years.
As soon as we reached the doorway, leaving behind the hapless attendant, I spoke freely. “My lord, why did you call us back to deal with this mage? Aren’t the other magi available to help you?”
Roland sighed, holding his hands behind his back as we strode down the hallway’s red carpet. “I needed your help specifically, Samantha. You’re the only mage I can trust with this.”
I furrowed my brow. “But—”
The Duke held up a finger to his lips. “We’ll talk in my chambers.”
Daenzil shot me a look, one I returned with a seriousness I rather wish I hadn’t the need to feel. This was obviously something that was going to be outside the purview of the Duke’s official reach, especially if he was asking me above the more powerful or experienced magi.
Large windows and pillars ran the length of the hallway, giving a spell-binding glimpse of the city outside the citadel. I was once again reminded of why I was a mage under the Duke’s service. I wanted to keep this place safe, even if that meant getting my hands dirty from time to time.
It didn’t take long to reach the Duke’s quarters. Two guards stood on either side of the chamber doors, both snapping to attention when we rounded the corner. They wore ceremonially decorated armor, but I knew that it would serve equally well in combat. The Duke, while one who valued looks, also was careful to keep his safety paramount. There were quite a few who coveted the power he wielded over the land, ones neither strong enough or just enough to rule over the portion of Dranen under human control.
The doors swung open soundlessly as we approached, pulled by the two soldiers. We passed through, both of them visibly relaxing when they noticed my presence. I stared at them, looking past the armor and into their faces. They were ones I recognized, James and a man named Sam, who had often teased me for having the same name.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered to them as we passed, noticing the relief intensify in their eyes.
“What was that?” Duke Roland asked distractedly, moving directly to the large windows on the other side of the room. The sun was well and truly gone now, leaving nothing but the lights of the city’s lanterns shining off of the undersides of the many zepplins. It seemed as if a cloud of cloth hung above the city.
Daenzil strode forward, plopping himself unceremoniously on a nearby cushion. “Why’re we here, Roland? Our investigation was becoming more serious than we originally thought.”
“I thought you captured the bandits and disposed of the culprit?” Roland asked, turning back to us with his eyes staring unfocused. “I read the report.”
“Then you’ll also know that there’s evidence that the sorcerer knew someone that told him he could seek help from Samantha,” the dwarf hiked a thumb at me. “Her reputation is certainly widespread, but I believe we should look into this, especially with the company the man kept.”
The Duke waved a jeweled hand, shaking his head. “This is more important than a normal mage.”
I felt a tingle of dread. “Why do you need me, my lord? What can I do that the others can’t?”
Roland scowled. “Like I said, you are someone I can trust, Samantha. Both of you are.”
Daenzil crossed his arms. “Spit it out, Roland. I’ve known you since ye were a lad and I’ve never seen you this... up in arms.”
The Duke sighed, visibly forcing himself to calm down. “You’re correct, Daenzil. This is... more unpleasant than I forsaw when I sent the message. We’ve found out more of this... death mage that concerns me greatly. It’s a dwarf.”
Daenzil stood to his feet, shocked. “No. Dwarves don’t use magic.”
“This one does,” Roland replied grimly. “It was a dwarf, alright. One of my spies found the mage and noticed the height. He even saw a few of her features under the cowl.”
“Could he have been a stunted human?” I asked doubtfully, not entirely sure I believed the Duke. But if this scout was correct, that would explain the reluctance with Roland to contact the other magi. Dealing with dwarves was a dwarven matter, one the local consulate would handle rather than our own.
The Duke shook his head, pacing back and forth. “No, we dismissed that as a notion. The scout was sure it was a dwarf. Your people have a definite bulk to your bodies that no human can imitate.”
Daenzil nodded slowly, frowning beneath his beard. “Okay, so it’s a dwarf. How did he learn magic?”
“She,” Roland corrected, stopping and looking up at our surprised faces. “Sorry, I should have mentioned that first. I’m just distracted.”
“So it’s not just a mage, but a dwarven woman,” I repeated, shaking my head in wonder. “But that still doesn’t explain how she learned to wield magic. Dwarves don’t have that ability.”
Roland stiffened at that, glancing to Daenzil. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“Tell me what?” I asked, following the Duke’s gaze to a visibly discomforted dwarf.
“Dwarves don’t use magic, tis true, aside from what the Wardens are given through the pact made with their wards,” Daenzil started, his fists clenching. “But there’s a reason other than our current inability. Long before your people arrived, dwarves did use magic. We used it to shape the stone, give it life. But we began to lose it. Less magi were born every generation. It’s not something we share, even to the majority of humanity. Only high ranking members of the Council and the Duke of Dranen know at the moment.”
I blinked at that, absorbing the information. “For something so secret, you told me easily enough.”
“That should speak to the seriousness of this situation,” Roland said, resuming his pacing. “Dwarves can’t use magic these days, so that has to mean that this mage, whoever she is, is either one who has lived far longer than any dwarf has...”
“Or she’s the first dwarf in millennia to be born with magic in her veins,” Daenzil finished through gritted teeth. “Nothing good can come from that.”
I furrowed my brows. “What do you mean? Surely dwarven sorcerers are a good thing, excepting this one. The amount of knowledge they could gain in a lifetime can only be beneficial to your people and mine...”
“The problem is dwarves with magic abuse the power, down to the last dwarven mage who lived,” Roland said, reaching up to massage his temples. “There’s something inherently corruptible in the dwarven race that they cannot overcome, no matter their intentions. Obviously this new one is no different.”
Daenzil moved toward the door. “Then we should find her immediately and take care of her.”
“Wait.” The Duke’s voice was like a cracking whip. “I know you’re upset by this news, my friend, because I am, too. But running out to confront this mage, even if you knew where she was, is suicide even for a Warden.”
The dwarf’s fists clenched again, but he turned around. “Tell me where she is, Roland. We can’t let this stand.”
“Before I allow you to go, know that this is against the direct wishes of the Council, Daenzil,” Roland replied, his eyes haunted. “I tried to convince the dwarves that we should strike fast and swift, but not only did they not believe me, but they accused me of coming up with excuses to meddle with ‘the earth’s natural cycle’.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I argued. “Surely the Council is not so stubborn as to completely ignore your word. Why don’t they investigate themselves?”
Daenzil snorted. “Because the Council no longer wants to involve itself in the matters of the world. They see this curse on the land as something to be allowed to take place, something that mortals shouldn’t interfere with, whatever the cause.”
“There’s also the fact that this blight only affects human domains,” Roland muttered.
The dwarf turned and squinted at the king. “Aye, there is that.”
“So where is she? Where can we start looking?” I asked, crossing my arms and tapping my foot impatiently. There was already enough at stake just from the mage being the possible cause of the blight, but if what the Duke and Daenzil said was true... well, I was going to be sorely needed.
The Duke nodded, moving toward a large, oaken desk situated underneath a massive, stained-glass window. On it were dozens of papers and quills, inkpots like small paint buckets sitting idly by. He rummaged through it for a few moments before producing a parchment in an already opened letter.
“This is the report I was given,” he said gravely, holding it out for Daenzil to take. As the Warden did so, he continued, “The scout seems to have seen the dwarf on the far side of the plains, near the Myrian Mountains.”
“That’s a little too close to dwarven territory for my liking,” my companion replied, his eyes scanning across the page in his large, gloved hands. “Young, auburn hair, pale skin.” He tapped the paper with his hand and looked up at the Duke. “How was the scout able to pick out these details when we’ve only heard the barest rumors of this mysterious mage?”
Roland eyed the diminutive Warden. “I don’t know.”
Daenzil scowled and was about to reply when the Duke continued.
“The scout was able to see this individual because she had her cloak down when she was casting her foul magic. I don’t know why she decided to do so this time.”
A sinking feeling appeared in my stomach. “She wants to be found.”
“Such was my thought, as well,” Roland replied with a sigh, scratching his head and removing the crown. “These mages and their ways are mysterious. It is more than even a Duke can bear, sometimes.”
My companion grunted. “You’re still human, Roland, despite your position. But even I have to agree. None of this adds up to anything good for us. If she’s confident enough to let her guard down with her appearance, that means she’s confident enough that she can stop any retaliation against her.”
“Being the first dwarf to cast magic in living memory, this mage is dangerous and we must stop her from continuing her plans regardless of her ability,” Roland said evenly, staring into my eye. “Samantha, tell me honestly, how do you believe you will fare?”
I spread my hands in front of me and shook my head. “To be honest, sire, Daen’ and I alone were barely enough to stop a newfound mage just yesterday. If the condition of the land is any indication of this dwarf’s power, I fear our chances are slim, especially if she is prepared for us.”
“If we had more Wardens and magi, perhaps we could manage better odds, Roland,” Daenzil agreed. “Is there no others that you trust to help?”
The Duke’s jaw worked for a few moments, a far off look appearing in his honey-brown eyes. “There is one who’s services can be bought, one who has never betrayed me in the past... but she is expensive.”
“If we don’t stop this dwarf, my lord, all your riches will mean little,” I said, urging Roland on.
But there seemed to be more than just expense that held the man’s tongue. Roland turned, hands clenched behind his back as he stared up at the stained glass. On it was a woman kneeling over a single rose, her face nurturing and kind. The Duke’s late wife. And the rose...
“She is my niece,” the Duke said softly. “A bastard child born of my wife’s sister, long before I took the throne from my cousin. She was trained under the Order of Assassin’s from a young age and climbed the ranks quickly.”
I shared a look with Daenzil. “Does she have a name?”
Roland shook his head and turned back to us, the candlelight reflecting in his eyes. “None that you would know, Sorceress. She forsook it when left the Order.”
A frown split my face. “Leaving the Order? How is that possible?”
“Because I made it so,” the Duke replied abruptly. “She is my relation, whatever the circumstances of her birth. My wife loved her very much, visiting the young woman in her sister’s stead. That is all that you need to know.”
“So how do we find your niece, Roland?” Daenzil asked, his voice neutral.
A footfall from behind us was the only sound before the answer. “You don’t.”
I turned around, dropping into a fighting stance with my hand on my dagger and spells already springing to mind. Daenzil cursed, drawing his sword with swiftness that belied his short, stubby frame. All we saw was shadow before a woman stepped out, dressed in an indistinct grey from head to toe. Only her eyes and the bridge of her nose were bare, glinting like a cat’s in the dim light.
“I find you.” |
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