Spells of the Curtain: Garden Mage
Copyright © 2018 Tim Niederriter
http://mentalcellarpublications.com
https://dwellerofthedeep.wordpress.com/
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written consent of the author. Unauthorized duplication in any media is a violation of international copyright laws and will be prosecuted.
Published by Mental Cellar Publications
This is a work of fiction People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to actual people, places, and events is purely coincidental.
Also by Tim Niederriter
Spells of the Curtain Series
Court Mage
Battle Mage
Winter Mage
Garden Mage (September 19th)
Traveler Mage (October 7th)
Fire Mage (October 25th)
Protector Mage (November 12th)
…and more to come!
Tenlyres Series
Ilsa and Blue
The Gray Lector
The Lyre War
The Root Conspiracy Series
Memory Lost
Mind Chase
Image Storm
Cell Cycle
Other Books
Rem’s Dream
Find out more at http://mentalcellarpublications.com
This series is for the friends who made it possible.
And also for Zig Zag Claybourne, a fellow author who encouraged me to dust off this tale.
And now, for the readers whose enthusiasm for this story encourages me to keep writing every day.
Thank you all.
Ursar
Ursar Kiet unwrapped the bindings on the end of his stump arm. He willed his blood to clot before it dripped on the earthen floor of the command tent. As he was a Dawkun, a physical mage of the holy nation of Roshi, it was natural his blood obeyed.
He lifted the bandages over his head with his remaining hand. His eyes fixed on the general he had led all these miles over the border to the Dreamwater and the abandoned village where he had lost his limb as well as his former master. She must see his purpose in this demonstration. Ursar hoped his gaze showed all the will he felt.
For her part, Mutrari Sinnet, sitting on her command throne in the center of the tent, arched an eyebrow. Her hands folded over her chest, languid, downplaying the power she held over life and death on this expedition. Her face, serene and framed by golden hair, belied the true fury of the fox tribe in her bloodline.
He doubted her emotions would be easy to sway.
Ursar scowled deeply, directing the expression at his ruined limb. She would see his fury, the wrong the Zelians had done to him, and Akalok. She must see his mission or he would be left bereft of restitution. The stump of his wrist could have flowed red with rage, but that blood had dried a season ago when the land was still cold. Mutrari nodded to him, but it was not she who spoke, but the woman standing beside her.
“The gardener did this to you?” said Mutrari’s protector, the Lion Tribe warrior called Kagoni. “So what? Such is battle.”
Ursar turned his wrathful eyes on Kagoni, taking in the warrior’s tawny skin, dark hair, and bright green eyes.
“How dare you? Do you not see the slight against our nation. Warriors from Roshi fight and die and the Minister Regent does nothing.”
Kagoni shook her head.
“Kiet, your master chose his vendetta against Jurgat Donroi over reasonable sense. I would think one who has killed so many, both of his own countrymen and of the Zelians could accept the natural outcome of such a blood feud.”
“The feud was my master’s to wage by right.”
“And he paid the price for it.”
“Death is not—”
“Be still,” said Mutrari, speaking for the first time, her voice as calm as her features. She drummed her fingers on the arm of her throne. “Kiet, answer Kagoni’s question. How did you lose your hand?”
“Why did you travel all the way here if you doubt my story?”
“Reiterate your story.” Mutrari nodded to a nearby tempest scribe, standing ready with quill and scroll. “For posterity.”
“It was not Edmath who burned away my hand,” Ursar snarled. “His wife, the squid princess, crippled me.”
“Chelka Benisar.” Mutrari’s voice grew fierce when she said the burning light Saale’s name. “She wields fire like one of us Dawkun.”
“Yes, general. I would seek revenge against her for my maiming.”
Mutrari rose from her throne. She walked across the short rug leading from it toward Akalok. She stepped onto the dirt with careful feet clad in sandals as dark as her eyes were bright. She stopped less than a pace from Ursar. He lowered the bandages and bowed his head.
“Please, grant my request, general.”
“I cannot,” said Mutrari. “Only the high ministers may offer the life of a royal, even of Zel.”
“Are you not a high minister, general?”
She slapped him across the face. His head snapped upward, and he staggered in surprise. She flicked her hand to her side.
“After the battles in Zel last year, I must say I am not.” Her teeth bared in a grimace. “And you are no longer anyone’s champion, Kiet.”
“I would be yours if you could grant me my wish.”
“I would be sad, but I already have a champion. One with both hands.” Mutrari motioned to Kagoni.
Ursar glared at both of them.
“Let this be our last meeting,” he said, then turned and stormed from the tent.
As he let the entrance flap fall, he heard Mutrari say, “For your sake, I hope so.”
Outside, Ursar touched his smarting face where the general had slapped him. Not even respected enough for a closed fist. So this was what it was to suffer defeat. He glared toward the nearby copse of towering trees that had once been the village of Beliu on the Dreamwater. Edmath Benisar and his friends had created this from dead logs and frozen soil when winter was it’s coldest. Every branch was in bloom. Flowers and leaves sprang from what once had been dead wood.
Ursar Kiet stalked toward the tangled plants, fist clenched. He did not know what he wanted to do, but stripping the limbs from some of these trees would help vent his temper. He stopped in an archway formed by wooden limbs that had been the path between two buildings on the edge of the village. His gaze swept back and forth, but he saw no sign of anyone in the shadowy place beneath the branches. He continued beneath the overhanging growth.
He walked into the center of the former village, picking his way between the roots of massive trees sprung from the hewn logs used in constructing the old buildings, and now growing out of control once more. He stopped before what had been the village hall where the Worm King had waited for the Saales of the empire to strike him down, only for them to spare his life.
Miserable traitor, fool, and coward, that he was, the Worm King had escaped into the west, south of Roshi’s border. Ursar might have kicked one of these roots, but managed to repress the urge as he ground his teeth together.
“Looking for something?” asked a breathy feminine voice from within the shadows of the thicket where the hall had been.
Ursar squinted into the thicket.
“Who’s there?”
A woman stepped from behind one of the massive tree trunks. She wore a skirt and a backless tunic that left her pale shoulders exposed as well. Her shoulder-length hair was a common shade of brown, but that did nothing to diminish the beauty of her face and form. She carried no weapons, not even a dagger or sheat
h for one, but held a pair of crimson silk gloves in one hand.
Ursar advanced on her, brow furrowed.
“Who are you?”
“Call me Hyreki,” she said in the same oddly sensual voice.
“My name is Ursar Kiet. Are you Roshi, or Zelian?”
“A bit of both,” she said. “We who live on the borders have different loyalties, good Dawkun.”
“Is that so? I take it you’re here to scavenge through these strange ruins. Many seem to think this place has value, though a few months ago it was only an isolated village few could name.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t plan to stay here to look around. Ursar Kiet, I’m more than familiar with your name. I’m here for you.”
Ursar inclined his head away from her, keeping his stance wary. He started to direct the magic flowing from within him toward his head-gates. He would be ready if this encounter became violent.
“Don’t ever think about hurting her,” said a man from behind Ursar, close enough to speak into his ear.
Ursar stepped forward in surprise, and half-turned. A hulking man with thick dark hair and carrying two small blades, one longer than the other in sheathes on one hip, smiled at him. Terrifyingly Ursar had not heard him approach so close.
“You—”
“My name is Santh.” He smirked, lips curling beneath a black mustache.
“You’re a mage.” Ursar’s eyes narrowed. “Saale or Dawkun?”
“Not a mage at all,” said Santh. “But I’m practiced at fighting of all kinds, Kiet.”
“No need to show off,” said Hyreki. She kept her eyes on Ursar. “Santh is my servant and highly capable, but as he says, he is no mage.”
“So you came looking for me. Why?”
“You’re a famed warrior across the land, and judging by your face the general won’t be giving you a chance to pursue vengeance.”
“So.” Ursar frowned. “You’ll help me go after Benisar and his wife?”
“Our goals align,” said Hyreki. “We want to destroy their research. You want to take their lives.”
“I want more than that,” said Ursar despite the spreading grin he felt tugging at his face.
Santh tossed a purse of coins at his feet.
“You’ll be compensated in Roshi gold.”
Ursar nodded.
“Where are they?”
“Diar,” said Hyreki. “And the imperial city will be watching for you.”
“I don’t care about Zelian eyes. The cowards haven’t killed me yet,” said Ursar.
Santh sneered.
“A man only dies once.” He motioned to the stump where Ursar’s hand should be. “Will that be a problem?”
“You sure can talk when you’re not sneaking. No. It won’t be a problem.”
“Good,” said Hyreki. “Follow me. We leave at once.”
Ursar nodded to Hyreki, still watching Santh warily with one eye. He wished still had his Mirache, but the order had commanded the massive steed return, and Ursar had been powerless to stop it, as he lacked a royal voice, as a bastard of his tribe. A crossroads stood before him. Santh followed Hyreki along the path through the flowering village. Ursar picked up the coin-purse and followed them.
After a few weeks of planting and gardening by moonlight, Edmath founded he liked working at night. The night garden he tended had been built several miles north of the palace by the edge of Diar, a short distance outside the city walls. It made for a good place to grow young orpus trees.
He never lacked for company, even when dealing with trees that had yet to awaken. Bats, mice, and other nocturnal animals abounded in the garden. The ground-dwelling creatures could have been an issue, going around chewing on roots and stems, but after the first time he caught a cluster of rodents watching him work, he started bringing bowls of raw food for them each night, telling them to only eat from the bowls to ensure strong plant growth.
Mostly they agreed, but the largest of them all did not. She was a massive rat, perhaps the size of a small wolf, with a long and spiny tail, obviously descended from a greater animal of the same species created in a past generation. Edmath called her Surba, a name he had picked up from Hesiatic lore. In its original context, it meant defiance.
Surba watched him weed around each tree by night, her tail lashing back and forth, little eyes gleaming yellow from the moon. She rarely spoke to him, but like the others had figured out he could understand her language easily, and respond to their questions in ways they could understand.
Despite being able to converse with any animal, Edmath often found individually they did not have much to say. Until the end of the first month of spring when clouds coalesced over Diar and obscured the waning moon, he thought Surba was one of that kind. However, as he set up his umbrella for when the rain inevitably came, she sniffed the air, then scampered to his side.
“Wizard,” she said, using the archaic word for mage that could indicate equally a Saale or Dawkun, “why do you work at night while the other humans sleep?”
Edmath stifled a yawn and then looked down at the rat in surprise.
“My good rat,” he said, “are you hungry?”
“Not yet,” said Surba. “Don’t try to trick me.”
“Why would I try to trick you, little one?”
Her lips drew back from thick front teeth.
“Little one? I’m the largest of any beast here.”
“Except for me,” said Edmath with a smirk that elicited an annoyed snap of Surba’s front teeth in the air. “But very well. Surba. I work by night because my magic requires it for this manner of growing.”
Edmath finished planting the umbrella’s stand on the ground beside the garden path. He knelt to start weeding at the roots of one of the four large orpus trees in the small garden. Tended by night their ghost roots shimmered silvery, already fully enchanted, but not yet driven by awakened minds.
Surba circled in front of him, tail swishing over plants. She sat in the dirt just out of reach as he pulled up weeds then carefully sealed the energy of what remained of them in the earth to keep them from growing again in the same place. Life required regulation to keep the experiment in order. And for this experiment, perfect order was necessary, which was on reason to tend by night while guards watched the house by day.
“Why does your magic need darkness?”
He looked from the weeds he dumped into the basket beside him to the rat with the luminous cat-like eyes and spiny tail.
“You ask a better question this time, Surba. You see, if I impart this magic by day it’s potency radiates away quickly. I discovered the darkness allows my wife’s light energy to remain dormant within a living thing more easily.”
Surba shook her head.
“You are mated? What a poor female.”
“Watch your tongue, rat,” said Edmath with a small smile. “Though there is little doubt she could have made a wiser choice, I personally doubt Chelka would prefer another.”
“Your mate is also a wizard.”
“A Saale, yes.”
“She sounds strange.”
“You could say she is.”
“So are you.” The rat’s teeth gleamed.
“Strange?”
“Yes.” She swished her tail at the trees.
“You call me strange, but I’ve never seen another like you.”
“I’ve never seen another human so interested in plants.”
“But they exist. At least one other lives in this city,” Edmath said.
“Perhaps another rat like me exists as well?”
Edmath chuckled at that. He dusted his hands from the dirt of another set of weeds. Looking at Surba, he smiled.
“Are you lonely for others like you? A male perhaps.”
She clashed her teeth in obvious annoyance, then crept a little closer.
“I have had many mates. Many children.”
“B
ut none that look like you,” Edmath said.
“A lucky guess, wizard.”
“I wouldn’t call it that. After all, I’m sure I’d notice another tail like yours if I saw one around here.”
Surba sat back on her hind legs, tail raised over her shoulder.
“It is sad you males are all so weak,” she said. “You think everything is about you. My mates are the same.”
Edmath raised an eyebrow.
“I can guess your mates are no match for you.”
“Now that is no guess. You see me, the largest rat in this city.”
“Indeed,” said Edmath. “Quite impressive.”
She slunk a little closer as he pulled up another clump of weeds.
“How long before you are done working at night?” she asked.
“Another month. Maybe two.”
“Oh.” Surba looked at his face, eyes beginning to glow with inner light. “That soon.”
Edmath nodded.
“Now, Surba, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were going to miss me.”
She scurried away to the trunk of the orpus tree where Edmath was working. Looking back, she bared her teeth in another vermiform grin. There could be no doubt as to the yellowish inner light of her bright eyes.
“Night is more fun with competition.” She held her position for a moment, then vanished into the cover of lesser plants around the tree trunk. Her tail lashed behind her before disappearing completely into the foliage.
Edmath shook his head. Some attitudes could truly not be assumed. He went on weeding around the bigger trees for some time, before finishing there and turning his attention to the inner garden of the small house whose walls extended to enclose the outer garden. He smiled as he carried his basket of weeds into the house-turned-lab. He set it by the door to the street, then turned to the darkest spot in the entire building.
Movable roof tiles kept the inner garden in shadow all day. The first thing Edmath did each night, was remove them to allow in the glow of the moon and stars. Within, only a single small tree grew, in soil otherwise bare of life. No weeding was needed here. And here he did not allow any of the garden animals to enter. He smiled at the sapling, now growing at its natural pace after a week of acceleration just after planting.
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