Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin)

by Matthew D. Ryan

Chapter Three

  A cold wind whipped Coragan’s dark cloak behind him as he stepped outside. He wrapped the cloak about himself while beside him Galladrin and Borak did the same. Thus prepared, they followed Mathagarr into the winding streets of Drisdak.

  The setting of the sun marked the end of the market day for most people and it would be several hours after sundown before the more sinister element of the city emerged. Until then, the streets would be nearly empty of townsfolk, making the journey from the inn to the guild short and nearly free from incident. There was but one brief interruption.

  Shortly after leaving the inn, a small disheveled child ran up to them and tugged on Galladrin’s blue cloak. Her grimy paw spread its fingers wide and her large bright eyes stared up from a dirty face. She wore a sad frown, but her eyes sparkled with a hint of hopefulness. The rogue stared at the pathetic creature, then cast a sidelong glance toward Coragan.

  Coragan handed the money pouch to Galladrin and the rogue upended it, emptying their few remaining coppers into the young girl’s hand. Glancing furtively around, the girl stuffed the coins inside her ragged garment and scampered away into the shadows. Galladrin followed her with his eyes, but said nothing. The others too, seemed loathe to break the silence and the small party traveled on, each man alone with his thoughts.

  Not long thereafter, the guild house loomed before them, a huge edifice, made of stone. Its massive walls cast ominous shadows in the waning light and its five stony spires stretched like fingers toward an ashen sky. High above the gate, rippling in the wind, a yellow banner spread along the length between two windows. It hung there in the gloom, a testament to the wizards’ power, bearing the symbol of the guild in its center.

  “We are here,” Mathagarr said, then motioned the companions toward two men in armor standing by the gate.

  The guards called out a formal challenge as they approached: “Who wishes entrance into this Guild of Wizards? Identify yourselves.”

  “It is I, Mathagarr, Captain of the Nightwatch. I bring with me Coragan of Esperia and his two worthy friends, all of whom seek an audience with Guild Master Regecon.”

  The guard paused a moment as he studied the men. At last his gaze fell upon Mathagarr and he nodded once in recognition. “Proceed as you wish, sir,” he said, then swung the gate wide.

  In the hallway beyond, several oil lamps shed a brilliant aura of light across the grey stones of the walls and floor. Cut in perfect rectangles with precise edges and glass-smooth surfaces, the well-worked chunks of granite provided a remarkable testimony to the skill of the masons that had carved them so long ago. As they proceeded down the hall, Coragan reached out and gently dragged his fingers across the wall, feeling the polished texture. Extraordinary, he thought. His eyes scanned the ceiling and the walls as his thoughts turned cynical. How many men ... how many men did it take to build these walls? Generation upon generation of broken backs, laboring from dawn to dusk, laboring for the glory of this man Regecon. What did any of those men get for it? No doubt an unmarked grave and the glorious title of ‘commoner.’ Coragan felt his stomach twist inside. Such is the mark of both the mage and the nobleman, to spit on the dirt that built his home.

  Mathagarr led them straight down the corridor, ignoring several side passages. After a time, they came to two large double iron doors in which the hallway terminated. A small wooden door stood to their right, its brass handle glinting in the pale light. Mathagarr opened this smaller door and led them into the corridor beyond. A short distance in, he turned down yet another passage, then another, until, at last, he brought them to a small room which held a stone staircase spiraling up into darkness.

  “This is the staircase of the East Tower,” Mathagarr explained, his voice dropping low as if he wished not to disturb anyone. “Guild Master Regecon’s room lies on the first floor. I’ll announce you to him, then return to fetch you. Please, wait here.” The guardsman grabbed an oil lamp from the wall, and clambered up the stairs.

  Galladrin glanced around. “What do you think, Coragan?”

  “I think you ought to work on your knife game,” Coragan answered, looking back in the direction they’d come. He felt sorely tempted to just leave.

  “Huh? Well, the lady was good,” Galladrin replied. “I can’t win every time.”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Hey,” Galladrin said, turning his head in Coragan’s direction, “if you’re going to be like that, why don’t you throw the knives next time.”

  “I couldn’t do any worse,” Coragan said, meeting the rogue’s angry stare.

  Galladrin turned his whole body to look at Coragan squarely. “Look, Coragan ...” he began, then sighed and shook his head. “Oh, never mind.”

  The next few moments passed in silence; Coragan stood with his feet planted squarely, lost in thought, while Galladrin constantly shifted his weight, his eyes restlessly scanning their surroundings. Only Borak seemed unconcerned at the events transpiring, his face a dull mask of disinterest. He yawned, once, and stretched his arms toward the ceiling, his back arching.

  Shortly, the sound of footsteps on the staircase echoed from above and the curving staircase wall glowed with an approaching light. Moments later, Mathagarr appeared. “The guild master will see you now. Follow me.”

  The guardsman turned and led them a short distance up the stairs to a large oak door reinforced with bands of bronze. He knocked twice, then pushed the door open. It groaned loudly.

  He stepped into the well-lit room beyond and the companions followed. “Guild Master Regecon,” Mathagarr began, “may I present to you Coragan of Esperia and his two worthy friends.”

  A man sat at a desk before them, seemingly young for a mage, perhaps in his late thirties. He had dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and robes of a fiery orange-red in color, laced with intricate black designs along the edges. The man sat in a large comfortably cushioned chair with his hands folded together before him. He had obviously been waiting.

  “Thank you, Mathagarr—”

  Galladrin stepped forward. “My name is Galladrin, not ‘worthy friend,’ and this is our companion Borak. He too, prefers to be addressed by his name.”

  Coragan gave a sharp look to Galladrin, but the rogue ignored him. Borak for his part, seemed completely unconcerned.

  Regecon spoke before Mathagarr could say anything on his own behalf. “Please excuse any insult ... Galladrin, for none was intended.”

  Galladrin paused just a moment to meet the mage’s stare. “It shall be forgotten this time,” he said, “but keep in mind that I am my own man with my own achievements and pride, not some lackey content to bask in the shadow of my accomplished friend Coragan here.”

  “Your concern is noted, and I apologize for any insult,” Regecon said, then turned to Mathagarr. “Mathagarr, you have performed your services well. You may go.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the man said, then nodded once to the others as he left.

  “Well, gentlemen, I suppose you are wondering why I invited you here.” Regecon stood to walk around his desk toying with the voluminous black-laced sleeve of his robe.

  “You could say that,” Coragan replied.

  The mage paused to look briefly at Coragan, raising both eyebrows at the bounty hunter's tone. “Indeed. Well, let me satisfy your curiosity. I would like to hire you, all of you—for I fear it may be too daunting a task for you, Coragan, to handle alone. I was not expecting your friends, but this works out well enough.” The man nodded once to himself as if reaffirming the outcome of some silent debate in his head. “Let me explain. Last night, we had a fire which gutted and destroyed most of our main tower. Two men have been found dead, one a guardsman, the other unidentified. A third man is unaccounted for. The cause of this fire remains a mystery to us and we, that is, the guild and I, would like you to investigate this matter. We are willing to pay your group an initial fee of six hundred gold dragons if you accept, and another six hundred if you resolve it to my satisfaction.”<
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  “Twelve hundred gold ...!” Galladrin’s mouth opened in surprise.

  Coragan, however, had been preparing his answer ever since he’d left The Maiden’s Blush. With a bow, he stepped forward, “I’m sorry, wizard, but we will be unable to help you.”

  Astonished, Regecon blinked. “But we have barely begun to discus—”

  “Coragan, are you mad?” Galladrin interrupted. “That’s twelve hundred gold dragons! Do you know how long we could live off of that much money?”

  “I wouldn’t care if it was twelve hundred platinum eagles, I’m still not interested. I promised myself that I would do no nobleman’s dirty business for him ever again. And I will not make an exception for a mage.”

  “It’s a bloody fire, Coragan. What is so heinously evil about looking into a bloody fire?”

  “I don’t know, and I certainly don’t want to find out.”

  “Well,” Regecon said, “I am uncertain how a bounty hunter who refuses to work for nobles or for mages, intends to make a living in his trade. However, if that is your final decision I can look elsewhere for help. Here is the remainder of the money I owe you. You may go.” The mage tossed a small pouch of coins on the desk. It clanked loudly as it landed.

  Galladrin picked up the pouch. “Hold on.” The rogue tied the pouch to his side, then turned back to the mage. “He may be out, but I’m in. If you’re willing, sir, I’ll be more than happy to look into this little fire of yours for you. Just give me a few more details and I’ll be right on it.”

  “I was really more interested in hiring the renowned Coragan of Esperia—”

  “He’s a bounty hunter. What does he know about setting fires and murder that I don’t? I worked for the Thieves Guild in Pallernia for four years, I think I might be able to help you.”

  Regecon lifted one hand to interrupt. “Who said anything about murder?”

  “Well, you have a couple of dead bodies and a fire. The possibility of murder and a cover up is there. If not, give me some more details and I’ll get to work on it and see what I can find out.”

  “I still think you are making a rather large leap of logic by assuming murder is involved. In all likelihood, the fire was accidental.”

  “If you really believed that, I don’t think we’d be here right now. Even so, if it was truly an accident, an investigation will settle the question ... for good.”

  Regecon studied the rogue a moment, gently scratching his beard. “I’m not sure I like the idea of hiring an admitted thief.”

  “Former thief, sir. Former thief. My work with the guild is ancient history. Although I can draw on what I know from my experience, I am quite reformed from my ways.” Coragan snorted in the corner, stifling a chuckle.

  “Former thieves have a notoriously bad habit of turning up dead overnight. May I ask why you think you are immune to such an ‘affliction?’”

  “You may, but I’ll say no more than I’m a little more creative than both my predecessors and the illness that stalked them. Now, please tell me a bit more about this fire.”

  “There is not much more to say. The fire gutted our main tower. Two men are dead, a third is missing. If you would like to sift through any of the wreckage that can be arranged; we have not disposed of it yet.”

  “Yes, I think I would like to do that a bit later. However, in the mean time it might help if you told me more about the dead men and the man who is missing.” Galladrin stood in the center of the room, scratching his chin, almost in mockery of the Regecon of moments before. Coragan had to look away, nearly shaking with laughter at the rogue’s newly assumed role of fire constable.

  “One of the dead men was named Havarin. He was a guard who had been with us for some three years now. A decent man as far as I can recall. I can think of nothing especially noteworthy about him, although Mathagarr might be able to help you more in that regard.”

  “Hmmm. Perhaps I shall talk to him as well. And the other dead man? What of him? And the man who is missing?”

  “This is where it gets a trifle more difficult. We are uncertain exactly who the other dead man is, his body was charred beyond recognition—we only identified Havarin by his armor which survived the blaze. From what we do know, we have surmised that the dead man could be one of two men, both mages. The first is the philosopher Aristoceles, the other the guild master Arcalian. Both men were last known to be in Arcalian’s chamber on the evening of the fire. Arcalian had a habit of working late into the night and Aristoceles often helped him. Both men are now missing. We would like to identify the body for certain and find out where the other is.”

  “Hmmm ... a difficult dilemma.”

  “Might I ask a question?” Coragan interjected from the corner. Both Galladrin and Regecon turned to face him. “How is it that you mages have so little information? Isn’t this a guild of sorcery? Couldn’t someone just cast a spell and find out? I have had some little experience dealing with mages before and if my memory serves me right, I believe there was a field of study called divination which dealt primarily with instances of this nature. One of you must surely have a crystal ball or other such device he could use.”

  “Your memory serves you well, Coragan of Esperia,” Regecon said, a smile on his face. Coragan had the nagging suspicion that, like it or not, he had just passed some sort of test. He was going to be dragged into this against his will, and there was nothing he could do about it. He resisted the temptation to head for the door as the mage continued to speak. “There is a field of study called divination, or seercraft, which under normal circumstances would be ideal for investigating this matter. In fact, our best diviner made such an attempt just today but failed to gain any useful information. He hit a pocket of black time in his search, rendering his and any future divination futile.”

  “Black time?” This time it was Coragan’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “What do you mean? Could you explain that?”

  “Of course.” The mage turned and seated himself on the top of his desk. “You might understand better if you had a clearer conception of how divination works. Allow me to provide that for you. Any event or series of events, our conversation for example, leaves an impression in time as it unfolds. You as you sit here in this room, are surrounded by a vast myriad of fluctuating energies. Your action in the world determines how these energies coalesce and create events. Any event that occurs causes a definitive rhythm in these energies which binds the event and makes it real—”

  Coragan lifted his finger to interrupt the man. “I said I had a little knowledge of magic. You are completely losing me.”

  “Let me see.” The mage paused, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Let me try to explain by analogy. Suppose the universe, or rather the future, is made of mud. As you experience time, you as a living entity move through this mud. As you do so your presence and your actions change the mud to stone, thus determining how reality unfolds. What divination does is allow us to look at the stone after the fact. Try to imagine the mud being laced with thousands upon thousands of strings which shiver and stretch as the mud hardens, thereby recording the event in the context of the whole universe, that is, the mud pit. Divination uses a complex process to locate these strings and trace them back to the original event or impression in the stone, rather. This allows us to view past happenings. Understand?”

  “It’s still a little shaky, but it will have to do,” Coragan said. “Now what of this black time?”

  “Black time is a phenomenon which renders divination useless. Imagine the strings being cut, or perhaps intricately twisted. The more twisted the string is, the harder it is to send energy along to gain access to the event. If the string is twisted and looped around enough, it becomes virtually impossible to control and retrieve any energy sent along its path. This severs the event from possible divination, creating a pocket of inaccessible time. We call this black time.”

  “And this black time was somehow involved in your fire last night?”

  “Exactly. As fa
r as we can tell, the fire began at some point during which Arcalian’s chamber was engulfed in black time. Morcallenon was able to observe Arcalian at his desk perhaps an hour or so before midnight. He appeared to be involved in some research. The time following this, however, is obscured by black time. It does not clear until the fire is already burning and well on its way to consuming the floor.”

  “What causes such a thing?” Galladrin asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Oh, it can have numerous causes. It may in fact have been a natural phenomenon caused by the normal shifting of energies, the eddies in the mud if you will. Alternatively, it could have been caused by some powerful magic. No one in this guild would be capable of such a feat, but it is said that Zarina the Black was a sorceress of sufficient power when she lived. There are, of course, other possibilities—some creatures generate auras of black time around them as they move, such as demons, some dragons, some of the more powerful undead, as well as pixies and winged unicorns. Also, the activities of a deity or its minions might be responsible. It is difficult to be certain—our diviner Morcallenon is still working on the problem, but it will be at least several days before he can learn anything more… if he can learn anything more.”

  “So we got our choices,” Galladrin began. “A god, a demon, a dragon, an undead king, an archmage, or a cosmic bubble ... I vote for the cosmic bubble theory—sounds a little safer to me.”

  Coragan nodded in agreement. So much for the innocuous fire. “Then you’ll agree with me that mages should be left to their own problems?” The bounty hunter’s hand drifted toward the doorframe.

  “I don’t know ... Twelve hundred gold dragons is a lot of money. I might dance with a demon or two for that much money. However, the first sign of a god, and I’m out of here,” Galladrin said, once again scratching his chin.

  “Then you’ll do it?” Regecon asked.

  “Sure, why not? I need a little excitement. What do you say, Borak? You in?” The huge warrior nodded his head once in agreement. “How about you, Coragan. Think you can handle it?”

  Coragan stood there a moment with three pairs of eyes staring at him. Oh, how he hated mages. He didn't want anything to do with them. The bounty hunter shook his head. He might not like mages but his friends had decided to accept this task, and they would need his help. He snorted once to himself. “Sure, I’m in.”