To Target the Heart

by Aldrea Alien

  He twisted the ring, sliding it up and down the finger. Should he remove that, too? Seemed a bit late for it. The band was snug enough to hold no fear over casually losing it. Hamish shook his head. If anything was likely to go missing, it was the ring. The safest place for it would be on his person.

  Fastening the lock and grabbing his pack of personal belongings, Hamish vacated his room. The sun had yet to crest the horizon and warm the skies, which meant the hallways were dark save for a few lanterns spaced out far enough for the servants to see without wasting fuel.

  His breath misted in the early morning air as he strode into the stables and fell into the familiar routine of gearing his mare. Around him, the guards and his brother did the same to the other horses. Although the travelling preparations were adequately lit by storm lanterns, their heat was nonexistent.

  A cursory glance at the men revealed them to be the same three Gordon favoured for the journey; Sean, Zurron and Quinn. Good. Sean wouldn’t bat an eye if Darshan chose to be less than discreet about his affections. Quinn might make a few course jokes but, being the youngest of them all, he’d be even less of a bother. And Zurron—

  Hamish frowned. The pale-skinned man might be a bit of a prickly one given the company. He often forgot about Zurron’s elven heritage. The man’s parents were one of the few families who had chosen to settle this far north. Most elves came to Tirglas only after fleeing Udynea and seemed content to move on, likely pressing for the elven land of Heimat, rather than remain amongst largely-human settlements. We’ll make do. It wasn’t as if the man was likely to start trouble with Darshan.

  He rubbed his arms, his thoughts idly turning to the bed he had abandoned what seemed like a lifetime before. He could easily leave the stables to slip beneath the blankets, content and warm. No one would stop him if he chose to stay.

  On the other hand, returning to bed wouldn’t grant him a fortnight of reprieve from looking over his shoulder every time he dared to be that little bit too friendly with Darshan.

  Providing the spellster actually showed his face.

  Hamish glanced up from tightening his mare’s girth to eye the stable doors. Still no sign of his lover. Gordon confessed to waking the spellster, so it couldn’t be a case of Darshan not knowing when they were leaving.

  Had he chosen to stay? Hamish wouldn’t blame the man, not after his mother’s prying on where the aquamarine ring had come from. Thank the Goddess that Gordon had the brains to lay claim to the purchase or they’d never be allowed in the same building as each other.

  “Staring at the door willnae make him appear.”

  His gaze slid to his brother, heat pricking his cheeks and amplifying the chill air. “Can we nae wait a wee bit longer?” Given that his niece’s pony, Warrior, was geared and ready, it wouldn’t take much out of their time to lash a few of Darshan’s effects to the rest of their belongings and be on their way.

  Gordon’s mouth skewed to one side, his lips thinning. “If he’s nae coming—”

  “Maybe he got held up,” Hamish blurted. He wrung his hands and toyed with the ring, twisting it one way, then another. “Or overslept.” After last night’s exertion, he wouldn’t be surprised. They might not be able to wait for hours, but a moment longer was doable.

  Gordon scoffed. “Or maybe he’s a soft lout who’d prefer to sleep the morning away than set out on a fortnight long journey.”

  “Well now,” purred a familiar voice. “I do believe my ears are burning.”

  Hamish ducked beneath his mare’s neck to find Darshan leaning in the doorway with a small, leather pack slung over his shoulder. “I take it that you’re joining us, then?”

  “Indeed.” He sauntered into the stables, his gaze casually taking in the mounts and people with equal interest. He zeroed in on Warrior and lashed his pack beside the other supplies already attached to the gelding’s saddle. “Do forgive my tardiness. One of the servants had to track down a spare pack for my things.”

  “Did you nae already have one?” Hamish couldn’t imagine travelling anywhere without a place to store his belongings. But now he gave it some attention, the bag seemed a little worn. Possibly one that had been stored in a corner somewhere for a long time.

  Darshan shook his head. “I did not exactly expect to travel during my time here. Not on a fortnight-long excursion to a cloister, at any rate. Could have insisted we bring my travel chest along for the journey, but I anticipated we would not be taking a cart with us.” Again, he took in the stable’s interior, seemingly vindicating his choice. “And I am not that much of a prick to suggest otherwise.”

  “Just a wee bit of one, then?” Gordon shot back, grinning.

  The spellster smiled up at him. It was the smile of winter wolves surrounding prey. “That depends entirely on my motivation. Those who cause me too much bother quickly find out just how much of a nuisance I can be.”

  “Nae doubt,” Gordon murmured before clearing his throat. He lifted his head and in a far louder voice said, “Right lads, mount up. Let’s see if we cannae get some distance under us before the sun’s fully up. I’d like to reach Old Willie’s by tomorrow morning.”

  Hamish climbed into his saddle, waiting for Darshan to do the same before they exited the stables.

  “What is at Old Willie’s?” Darshan asked, leaning over in the saddle to practically whisper in Hamish’s ear.

  “It’s a small farming community,” he replied before the combined racket of their horses on the cobbles blanked out any chance of talking further. “Gordon prefers to supplement our provisions whenever we can. He typically purchases whatever they can spare from their stock.”

  “And they will have enough?”

  Hamish shrugged. “Always seem to.” They had made the journey to the cloister often enough that he wouldn’t be at all surprised to hear the folks at Old Willie’s Farm deliberately kept a certain amount of provisions back expressly for their party to purchase. The people probably got more for it at home than selling at market, too. His brother tended to err on the generous side when it came to payment.

  They approached the gates with Gordon at the head and the three guards bringing up the rear. The guards manning the gates saluted as they passed.

  Free of the castle confines, they settled into an easy trot down the road leading to the city, their way lit by the last vestiges of lanterns staggered along the winding path. Their pace would slow once they reached the forest road and the surface became less predictable, but for now, he was content to let his mare have her say as to the speed in which they travelled.

  They had left the city far behind by the time the sun had fully crested the horizon. Hamish tipped his head back, letting his mare plod with the group whilst he basked in the quiet. Few people shared the road, enabling them to spread out along its breadth for a short while. Warbling coos picked up with the light; male grouse calling for a mate.

  The lofty trees flanking the road were a mix of those that lost their leaves and ones which kept them. It left the forest with the effect of looking like a moulting chicken. A pity they weren’t travelling in the summer when the foliage was thick and their height provided shade for a traveller. They tended to pose as a risk during the winter what with branches falling only to be noticed after the snow had melted.

  Given the number of carts that had used the road for the Spring Festival, they could be certain of the main passage being clear. The road to the cloister would be another matter. Few went there unless they absolutely had no choice, even the priests overseeing the spellsters seemed to dislike being reminded where they were.

  “Why do some of these trees have wispy leaves?” Darshan asked. His gaze hadn’t left the trees since entering it. Hamish had mistaken the intensity of the man’s look for apprehension. “Are they sickly?”

  “They’re nae sickly,” Gordon replied, his brow furrowing. “It’s what they always look like in the spring. They shed their leaves every autumn and start growing new ones after the snow melts. Is it na
e like that in Udynea?”

  “There are very few trees in Minamist, but we’ve an estate just near the border of Stamekia. Spent a few winters there in my youth. The trees near our house were lush and green all through the winter. Except for some of the nearby orchards. Are these fruit trees, perchance?”

  Shrugging, Gordon glanced Hamish’s way. His brother could march a company of soldiers through the densest of forests, but he was terrible at remembering much about the different trees beyond their uses. “It’s just your usual forest,” Gordon mumbled.

  “Do none of the trees in Udynea lose their leaves, beyond the fruit trees?” Hamish asked. It seemed a bit farfetched, but the kingdom of Obuzan lay just across the strait south of them that the locals called Freedom’s Leap and he had heard plenty of tales about their lands being nothing but untameable jungle in places.

  “Some do, of course,” Darshan confessed, shooting him a glance that clearly queried Hamish’s acumen. “But it is more typically in the dry season—what I believe you refer to as summer—not winter.” He frowned at the trees anew, seemingly disgusted with their lack of leaves.

  Carts started appearing on the road as the sun rose higher. Some travelled alongside them for a spell, idly chatting about the weather or this and that rumour. But the larger flow of people were those hastening towards the city with their wares, likely trying their luck at the Spring Festival before buyers’ coin pouches grew lean.

  Gordon took the opportunity to buy a few supplies from a handful of the merchants, ambling beside the carts to bargain, then trotting back with his haul to divide it amongst them. For the most part, that haul consisted of withered fruits from the last harvest along with a few loaves of day-old bread.

  They halted on the side of the road come midday to rest the horses.

  Darshan groaned as he slithered to the ground. He took a few wobbly steps, massaging his backside and thighs as he stretched. “Well, that certainly tenderised the old buttocks.” Even so, he made swift work of the saddle, unbuckling it and setting his gear at the base of a tree with the others.

  Hamish reached for a loaf of bread stashed in his pack, giving a hunk to his mare to chew before her questing mouth could slobber over the whole thing.

  “I’m surprised you’ve managed so well,” Gordon said as he unwrapped a block of cheese bound in wax cloth, a parting gift from the castle kitchen. He broke off a sizable chunk and handed it to Hamish, swapping the cheese for some of the bread. “Wouldnae have thought you’d have many opportunities to spend the day on horseback.”

  Darshan laughed. “Not as much as I used to, sadly.” He tethered the pony with the rest of the mounts, leaving them to quietly graze in the dappled light breaking through the branches. “But do you honestly think one gets to look this good just lazing around the palace? If I ate but only half of the rich food back home without some form of training, I would be the size of the palace by now.”

  “To be honest,” Gordon mumbled around a mouthful of cheese and bread. “I wouldnae have a clue what you lot do down in that empire of yours.”

  Humming, Darshan broke off a piece of cheese as the block passed to him and popped it in his mouth. “Granted,” he said after he had finished chewing. “We are not as ravenous as elves when it comes to sustenance, but magic certainly demands much of our energy.”

  “Aye, take Zur,” Sean piped up, clapping a hand on his fellow guard.

  Zurron grimaced and tugged at the hood of his cloak in an attempt to pull it over his head. Both Sean’s arm and one of the elf’s own ears seemed to hinder him.

  Sean continued, oblivious to his companion, “I’ve seen him devour a whole lamb leg and still go looking for more.”

  “I have no doubt he has done so many times,” Darshan replied, a faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He’d likely seen his fair share of elves and their eating habits, more than Hamish could say. “The dwarves have many theories about elves and food. I believe the current one is that, due to the sharpness of certain teeth, the original elves had a diet primarily of meat and they would have consumed a lot of it.”

  The elf fingered one of his canines, then ran the tip of his tongue over the points.

  Odd. Hamish hadn’t noticed their sharpness before. Or their length. Akin to that of a young bear in being slightly longer than the rest.

  “The dwarves think elves were predators?” Sean mumbled, his brows pulled low in thought. “As in hunting down things bare-handed and all that?”

  Bubbly laughter shook Darshan’s body. He wiped a finger beneath his glasses, composing himself with a sigh. “I doubt they were anywhere near that primitive, not if they built the massive ships of legend. They would have had tools and weapons, same as us. Magic, too I believe. Although, hunting with a bow and arrow would have been far less taxing.”

  A deep rumbling chuckle emanated from Gordon, followed swiftly by a cough as he thumped on his chest. “If you think archery isnae challenging, then you’ve never loosed a single arrow.”

  “Not since my youth, but I do know that just having magic burns through energy at twice the rate of a normal man and using it can easily increase that to thrice again. Even then, it could cause a spellster to drop unconscious in their tracks if the strength is not controlled.”

  “I dinnae ken you could grow tired from using magic,” Hamish said. There were plenty of childhood stories cautioning those who tried to take the easy route, often with the people in the tales always coming a cropper after taking that advice of some suspiciously-helpful spellster, but such tales had rung false to him once he deduced that the person with magic always seemed to win out. “Or that it caused that much of a toll on the body.” Magic had an air of effortlessness about it.

  “How else do you think we were capable of anything beyond the mundane? The power has to come from somewhere, but there is only so much magic a person can do at any one time. No matter how much people try to prove it wrong, magic is not an infinite source. It comes from inside us, as innate as your ability to breathe.”

  “But nae as natural,” Gordon pointed out. “Or it wouldnae be difficult.”

  “And your breathing has never become laboured?”

  His brother grinned. “Only when I’ve pushed meself well beyond me limits.”

  “Then you will understand when I say that magic is, in essence, a constant battle to remain within one’s limits. It takes its toll. Severely, at times. Recuperation is required if used to excess. Your people are familiar with healing, correct? That is all your spellsters are allowed?”

  Gordon nodded, clearly waiting for Darshan to reach his point. He likely recalled the exhaustion of their younger sister, Caitlyn, far better than Hamish could, being the first to find them in the charred undergrowth.

  “Healing is simultaneously one of the most simplistic and difficult magics. Easy to begin, but hard to direct. Harder still to stop without training. In its natural state, it can tear the body apart whilst attempting to repair itself. Learning is not recommended for those weak in magic.”

  Hamish frowned. According to his younger sister, every spellster within the cloister was expected to learn how to heal others, for occasions where their talents might be needed. Did they also know the limits?

  “Fire, ice, shields…” Darshan continued. “These are generally one of the first to be attempted by a young spellster. Their application is easy, but they take from within before using any means from without.”

  “How so?” Hamish queried.

  “Fire.” His lover held out a hand. The thin tongue of a flame danced on his palm. That hazel gaze remained focused on his conjuring, curious like he held a living thing. “It is a simple process, requiring heat, fuel and air. Any novice can do it. But the initial spark of that heat is generally from within themselves rather than the safer method of manipulating outside forces. Offering too much body heat can freeze a spellster where they stand.”

  Hamish rubbed at the scar hidden beneath the coils of his hair, recollecting
the first time he had witnessed his younger sister using her gift. It had all been so fast. They’d been alone in the forests below the castle when ambushed. He had tried to protect them, but he’d been so young and their attackers were many. One had struck from behind, or maybe he had turned, then…

  Fire. His memory was patchy in places afterwards, but he remembered flames pouring from his sister’s hands like the breath of a demon and the men running in their wake. And cold. Caitlyn collapsed not long after the flames went out. He had crawled to her side, too dizzy to move any other way. Her skin had been deathly cold, as if she’d spent a winter buried in the snow. He hadn’t ever considered she would’ve died had Gordon not stumbled upon them soon after.

  “Ice is a little different,” Darshan continued. “But it requires minimal effort to crystallise the water in the air.” He held up his other hand and a thin veneer of frost coated his fingers. “It is rather similar to how nature forms such things.” He shook his head and the frost melted away. “There are other, more complicated, forms of magic, but those three are widely considered as the basics.”

  “You never explained shields,” Hamish pointed out before taking another swallow of water.

  “Well, they are not something that is taught. The appearance is considered an instinctual reflex to danger but…” His eyes became unfocused for a breath. A shimmer of a filmy purple sheet of light surrounded him like a blanket. “It starts close to the skin and can, depending on the spellster’s strength, be extended further to encompass a great deal to protect others as well as ourselves.” The filmy barrier spread from Darshan’s body, growing distorted until it had become a sphere. And still, it grew. The tingling edge slunk over them until everyone sat within. “However, the former is as much as a newborn can manage and all most rely on.”