The Mage Wars

by Mercedes Lackey

  Her stare at Amberdrake said, as clearly as words, And if you don’t like that, you don’t have to go.

  He stared right back at her. Try and keep me from going and you’ll have a fight.

  She waited for him to say something, staring into his gaze with challenge in her stance, but it was she who finally dropped her eyes. “This is an in-and-out mission, the faster the better. As of this moment, consider yourself facing a real enemy, a powerful one, if he can drain all the mage-energy out of a place. I don’t know what’s caused magic to leach out of that area, but I have to assume it’s a hostile, and it isn’t going to like having twenty-four people traipsing all over its territory. As soon as the mage gets to the Gate-point, we’ll be bringing it up, and I don’t want it up for longer than it takes to pitch all of you through it. Is that understood?”

  Once again, she stared at him as if her words were meant for him alone. Her tone of voice implied that, given the opportunity, she would “pitch” Amberdrake through the Gate. He simply nodded, as did everyone else.

  “Good. From now until you leave, you are all sleeping, eating, and everything else right here.” She smiled thinly at their surprise. “That’ll be quicker than trying to gather all of you up once the mage gets into place. I don’t intend to waste a single minute on any dallying. I’ll have sleeping arrangements brought in; the mage I sent out is being carried by Darzie, so I expect to hear that they’ve made their landing within the next full day.”

  Amberdrake was impressed, as much by the identity of the gryphon as by the speed with which the duo expected to reach their destination. He wondered what Judeth had promised to get Darzie to fly a carry-basket at all, much less try to do so breaking a record and in bad weather. Darzie was not a Silver; he was one of a new class of gryphons who were primarily athletes. Whether as aerobats, fast couriers, or actual racers, these gryphons earned a very fine, even luxurious, living by serving the Haighlei appetite for speed and spectacle. Darzie was the best of the fast couriers and one of the fastest racers—he was a more consistent flyer than gryphons who actually clocked the occasional faster time. It was hard to imagine what hold Judeth could have over him to induce him to risk injury and strain in this way.

  But maybe he was being uncharitable; maybe Darzie had actually volunteered…

  Not without blackmail…

  It didn’t matter, so long as Judeth had gotten him, whether it was through bribery or blackmail, or a combination of both.

  Maybe she’s following my example. The gods know she has enough power of her own to leverage just about anyone in this city into doing her bidding at least once.

  “Any questions?” Judeth asked, and looked around the room. “No? Right. Fall out, and for those of you who haven’t slept, I’m calling Tamsin in to make you sleep.” There was no doubt who she was targeting with the daggers of her gaze, and both Amberdrake and Skan flinched; but she wasn’t finished. “That includes me; we won’t be any good to anyone if we aren’t rested when the call comes. Right, Drake?”

  Her question came as a surprise, and he was doubly surprised to sense the compassion and sympathy—and worry of her own—behind the words. It penetrated even his defensiveness.

  “Ah, right,” he admitted sheepishly, relaxing just a trifle. So she does understand, and she’s forgiven us… He had not hoped for it so soon, but he welcomed it as a tiny bright spot of hope in the midst of too much grief.

  “Good. Glad you agree, because you’re going to be one of the first to go to sleep.” A commotion at the door proved to be bedding, food, and Tamsin all arriving simultaneously. “Now, stand down, all of you, and get yourselves taken care of. I’ll be watching to see that you do.”

  And she did; standing over them all like a slavemaster, to see that every member of the three search parties ate, drank, and submitted to Tamsin’s touch. As Judeth had warned, Amberdrake was one of the first, and after one look at Judeth’s expression, he knew better than to protest.

  So he crammed down a few mouthfuls of food as dry and tasteless as paper, drank what was given him, and laid himself down on a standard, military-style sleeping roll. He closed his eyes as Tamsin leaned over him, and that was the last thing he knew until the rally-call awakened him.

  * * *

  Rain. Why did it have to be rain! Even snakes would be better. Skandranon tried to keep his thoughts on his purely physical discomfort, but try as he might, he couldn’t. His skin crawled, and the rain had nothing to do with it. If Skan’s feathers hadn’t been plastered flat to his body, they’d have been standing up in instinctive alarm.

  He did not like this place, and his dislike was not connected in any way whatsoever with the miserable weather!

  It could have been that this bizarre, claustrophobic forest had swallowed Blade and Tad without a trace, but that wasn’t the reason his soggy hackles were trying to rise either. The other mage of the party felt the same, and if there had been any choice in the matter, he’d have gone back to the base camp because it just plain felt wrong here.

  The two of them, after some discussion last night before the human took the first sleep shift, had decided that the problem was that lack of mage-energy in this place. Presumably an Apprentice-level mage or Journeyman would not be affected in this way; they were not used to sensing and using energies outside themselves, unless those energies were fed to them by a mage of greater ability. But a Master (as Skan and the human Silver, Filix, were) was as accustomed to the all-pervasive currents of mage-energy as a gryphon was to the currents of the air. Skan could not remember a time in his adult life that he had not been aware of those currents. Even when the mage-storms had caused such disruptions in magic, the energy had never vanished, it just hadn’t worked or felt quite the same. But having no mage-energy about—it felt wrong, very wrong. It had him disoriented and off-balance, constantly looking for something that simply wasn’t there.

  It feels as if I’ve suddenly lost a sense; something subtle, like smell.

  Nevertheless, a quick trial had proved to his satisfaction that magic still worked here, and furthermore, those magical items that they had brought in with them were still empowered. Further checks proved that, at the moment at least, there was no ongoing drain of mage-energy. The power that built up in any area naturally was slowly rising back up. So whatever was wrong in this forest, whatever had caused this anomaly, it had not completely negated magic, just removed it. Whether that drainage had been gradual or all at once was anyone’s guess. And there must be something coming along to drain mage-energy again as it built up, or there would be some areas that had at least a little power available.

  As for what that could be, he had no idea. He did not care to think about what must have happened if the basket had also had all of its empowering mage-energy drained—all at once.

  Skandranon mentally worked on a few new phrases to use when he finally complained about it all to someone whom he could corral into listening sympathetically. He had a reputation for—colorful—language to maintain after all. He would much rather concentrate on that, than how miserable his soggy feathers felt, how cold he was, how sore his muscles were after two days of walking. That was something he simply hadn’t considered, and it was galling to realize that Drake was in better physical shape than he was! Drake had been climbing the stairs and ladders of White Gryphon for almost twenty years; he had only been flying. He could not think of more than a handful of times that he had actually climbed up rather than down, and none of those times had been in the last three years. At least Keeth had been working out on the obstacle course lately, and Winterhart had made certain that all muscles were exercised. Poor Zhaneel must be as miserable as he.

  But she has the best trondi’irn in the city to tend her. Keeth is a trondi’irn. I only have Drake, who does his best, but still… he’s preoccupied.

  Rain dripped into his nares and he sneezed to clear them, shaking his head fiercely. He and Drake were at the rear of the party; with his keener sense of hearing than t
he humans possessed, it seemed a good idea to have him at the back where he might be able to detect something following them. Now he wished he had thought to ask Judeth for a couple of kyree scouts for each party; they would have been much more effective than any of the humans.

  Rain poured down out of the sky, as it had since the fog lifted that morning. This was a truly lovely climate; fog from before dawn to just after, followed by rain until well past darkness, followed by damp chill until the fog came again in the morning. Judeth had been absolutely right in grounding them, and he would have grounded himself once he saw the weather; there was no way for a gryphon to fly safely in this muck, even if he could get his wings dry long enough to take off. Darzie had managed to bring his mage in safely only because he was insanely self-confident and lucky enough for four gryphons, and because the weather changed abruptly to something more like a “normal” rainy season outside of the “no-magic” area.

  That, and Darzie is young enough to think he’s immortal, and good enough to fly as if he were. Like another stupid, stupid gryphon I used to know. In spite of the fact that the rainy season was normal back at the base-camp, “normal” still meant a raging thunderstorm every afternoon. Darzie had flown and landed in one of those thunderstorms, blithely asserting that it was all a matter of timing and watching where the bolts hit. His passenger had been white-lipped, but remarkably reticent about discussing the flight.

  Drake had found out what had tempted Darzie into making the trip; a challenge. Judeth had asked the young gryphon if he knew of anyone who might be persuaded, and had hinted broadly that she didn’t think he could do it. That had been enough for Darzie, who had insisted that he and only he could manage the trip. And he had, in record-breaking time, and without damaging himself or his passenger. For sheer speed, audacity, and insane courage, that flight had surpassed even some of the Black Gryphon’s legendary accomplishments.

  Some, but not all. Darzie will just have to take his own time to become a legend, and if he is wise, he will do it in his own way, and not try to emulate me. I think that my life must have used up the luck of twenty gryphons.

  Skan, the base-camp crew, and the other twenty-three rescuers had piled through the Gate in a record-setting time of their own. Although no people had been “pitched” through, all the supplies had been; hurled in a mass by a small army of Judeth’s support crew. Not even during a resupply had Skan ever seen a Gate go up and down again so quickly.

  Darzie flew home to receive his justly-earned accolades and the admiration of every unattached female in the city; the results of that would likely be more exhausting for him than the great deed itself. The Gate-mage and his helpers and guards remained to set up a base camp; the rest of them had shouldered packs and moved out under the beginnings of a rainstorm. No one had told them, however, that they were going to have to climb down a cliff to get into the forest where the children were lost. The three gryphons had shaken themselves dry and flown themselves down, but the humans had been forced to get to the bottom the hard way. That experience, in a worsening thunderstorm, had been exciting enough to age even the most hardened veteran in the lot. Absolutely everything they touched was slippery, either with mud, water, or substances they were probably better off not knowing about.

  Once at the bottom, the three parties had formed up and gone their separate ways—and Skan had been amazed at how quickly the forest had swallowed the other two search parties. In an amazingly short period of time, he couldn’t even hear the faintest sound of the others; only the steady drumming of the rain, and the whistles, chirps, and calls of creatures up in the tops of the trees.

  Each day had been much like the one before it; only the navigator knew for certain that they were going in the right direction and not in circles. The only time that Skan was ever dry was just before he slept; the moment he poked his beak out of the tent he shared with Drake and the other mage, he was wet. Either fog condensed on his feathers and soaked into them, or he got soaked directly by the usual downpour.

  Just at the moment, the downpour had him wet to the skin.

  And he was depressed, though he would have been depressed without the rain.

  How can we ever hope to find any sign of them! he asked himself, staring up at the endless sea of dripping leaves, and around at the dizzying procession of tree trunks on all sides, tangled with vines or shrouded with brush. There wasn’t a sign of a game trail, and as for game itself—well, he’d had to feed himself by surprising some of the climbing creatures in the mornings, while he could still fly. They could be within shouting distance of us, and we would never know it! This forest was not only claustrophobic, it was uncannily enveloping. One of the fighters swore that he could actually see the plants growing, and Skan could find it in his heart to believe him.

  How long would it take until vines and bushes covered anything left after a crash! A few days! A week! It had been a week since the children went missing, maybe more than a week; he lost track of time in here.

  And they could have been down for three or four days before that. Gloomy thoughts; as gloomy as their surroundings. And yet he could not give up; as long as there was any chance, however minuscule, that they would find the children, he would search on. No matter what, he had to know what had happened to them. The uncertainty of not knowing was the worst part.

  Drake looked like Skan felt; the kestra’chern was a grim-faced, taciturn, sodden, muddy mess most of the time. He spoke only when spoken to; tended to the minor injuries of the party without being asked, but offered nothing other than physical aid, which was utterly unlike him. He hiked with the rest, of them, or dealt with camp chores, but it was obvious that his mind was not on what he was doing. It was out there, somewhere, and Skan wondered if Drake was trying to use his limited empathic ability as a different kind of north-needle, searching for the pole star of pain and distress hidden among the trunks and vines. With the blood tie between himself and his daughter, he should be especially sensitive to her. If she were alive, he might be able to find her where conventional methods were failing.

  More power to him, he’s never tried using it that way, but that doesn’t mean it won’t work. Skan only wished he had a similar ability he could exercise. As it was, he was mostly a beast of burden, and otherwise not much help. He couldn’t track, he couldn’t use much magic without depleting himself, and as for anything else—well, his other talents all involved flying. And he could only fly for a short time in the mornings.

  Regin, the leader in their party, held up a hand, halting them, as he had done several times already that day. There didn’t seem to be any reason for this behavior, and Skan was getting tired of it. Why stop and stand in the rain for no cause? The more ground they covered, the better chance they had of finding something. He nudged past Filix, and splashed his way up to the weather-beaten Silver Judeth had placed in charge.

  “Regin, just what, exactly, are we waiting for?” he asked, none too politely.

  Fortunately, the man ignored the sarcastic tone of his voice, and answered the question by pointing upward. Skan looked, just in time to see their scout Bern sliding down the trunk of a tree ahead of them with a speed that made Skan wince. “Bern’s been looking for breaks in the trees ahead,” Regin said, as Bern made a hand signal and strode off into the trees. “We figure, if the basket came down it had to make a hole; that hole’ll still be there. He gets up into a tall tree and looks for holes all around, especially if he can see they’re fresh. You might not believe it with all these clouds around, but if there’s a break in the trees more light gets in, and you can see it from high enough in the canopy. That’s what we’re waiting on.”

  Bern reappeared a moment later, and rejoined the party, shaking his head. Skan didn’t have to know the Silver’s signals to read that one; no holes. He and Regin had a quick conference with the navigator, and the scout headed back off into the forest on a new bearing. The rest of the party followed in Bern’s wake.

  So far, there had been no sign
of anything following or watching them, much less any attacks. Skan was beginning to think that Judeth’s insistence on assuming there was a hostile entity in here was overreaction on her part. There hadn’t been any signs that anything lived in here but wild animals; surely whatever had drained off all the mage-energy here must be a freak phenomenon. Maybe that was what had caught the two children…

  Skan dropped back to his former place beside Amberdrake, but with a feeling of a little more hope, brought on by the knowledge that at least they weren’t totally without a guide or a plan.

  Drake still seemed sunk into himself, but he revived a bit when Skan returned and explained what the lead members were up to. “I’ve heard worse ideas,” he said thoughtfully, wiping strands of sodden hair out of his eyes, and blinking away the rain. “It’s not a gryphon eye view, but it’s better than nothing.”

  Once again, the leader signaled a stop. Skan peered out and up through the curtains of rain, but he couldn’t see anything. Wherever the scout was this time, not even Skan’s excellent eyes could pick him out. “I have no idea how Bern is managing to climb in this weather, much less how he’s doing it so quickly.” Skan moved up a few feet and ducked around a tangle of vines, but the view was no better from the new vantage. “He must be as limber as one of those little furry climbers that Shalaman keeps at his Palace as pets. For all we know, this sort of place is where those come from.”

  Drake shrugged dismissively, as if the subject held no interest for him. “I—”

  “Hoy!”

  Skan looked up again, startled, and just caught sight of the tiny figure above, waving frantically. He seemed to be balanced on a thick tree limb, and clung to the trunk with only one hand. The other hand waved wildly, and then pointed.