by Ulff Lehmann
“Mauls it is then,” Mireynh said. The High General looked at Callan Farlin. “You can still apologize, milord.” Anne knew Mireynh was giving him a last way out, but the man remained silent. “Until first blood then,” he said with a chuckle.
First blood. She knew what it meant with regard to her choice of weapon. Mauls did not cut a foe, they shattered them, and as such Mireynh might have ordered a fight to the death. She knew House Farlin, and she knew Callan’s father to be a cruel, selfish man who scorned physical weakness. She didn’t know if the young man could fight, but what she did know was that fighting and killing an inferior opponent in a duel was not honorable. Her decision to spare the young noble’s life came quickly, but she would slap him around a few times before accepting his surrender.
“Prepare,” Mireynh said. “I want this over with before we move out tomorrow.”
“We’ll fight tonight?” Callan of House Farlin asked, his voice tinted with dread.
“Aye, so you best get your armor.” The High General turned to her, “The same goes for you, Cirrain.”
She stood and left without another word. What the other nobles would say behind her back mattered little; already they saw her as an outcast, and her choice of weapons merely confirmed this. The sword or the lance was a noble’s weapon, but a maul! In all likelihood they had never encountered one in battle. In the right hands it could be a devastating weapon.
In her chamber Anne slipped into her chain shirt and fastened beaten steel plates to her legs. As she was finishing with the last clasp, someone knocked at her door.
“Enter!” she barked as she righted herself.
In came a young woman with a mane of curly, unruly red hair. She wore the colors of House Farlin, and Anne surmised that she was a servant to the lord she was about to fight. Then she noted the girl was out of breath.
“What do you want?”
“Lady Cirrain, I came to warn you,” she panted.
“About what?” Anne asked as she slipped into her surcoat and wound her belt around her waist.
“The bastard’s going to try and poison you, madam.”
Cocking an eyebrow, Anne inspected her visitor. There still were traces of a recent beating on her face, and the way the young woman stood showed she favored one leg.
Another bruise, Anne guessed. “Did he do this to you?”
“Aye, said a squire should behave differently.” The girl smiled shyly and winced; the motion seemed to cause pain.
“Squire? What’s your name?” Red hair certainly was not uncommon among the nobility, and if she wanted to owe some nobleman’s daughter a favor she wanted to be certain this girl was noble in blood and in spirit, something quite uncommon in Chanastardh’s nobility.
“Gwennaith of House Keelan,” she replied with a curt nod.
House Keelan, a family with its own share of scorn from the nobles in Herascor. But whereas Anne’s family fought the northmen in the mountains, House Keelan had the duty of protecting the coast without the benefit of its own ships. The impoverished Keelans were bound by debt to serve a merchant family. Poor girl, only the gods knew what her parents had to do to get her a position as squire.
Gwennaith stiffened under Anne’s scrutiny. “Watch out for his dagger, madam,” she said and left, slightly dragging her left leg.
“More honor there than in most of the palace,” Anne muttered. At least she owed her life to someone who wanted nothing in return.
CHAPTER 35
Lightbringer tore through the protective wards of the Great Library when she felt Cat’s presence next to her body. She thrust her spirit back into her prone, blood covered form. Her eyes opened and beheld her companion’s ghostly form.
Cat floated next to the hollow and stared at her blood bath, revulsion plain on her face. “What is this?” she snapped. “What are you doing? Where did the blood come from?”
Lightbringer took a rag and cleaned caked blood from her lips. “I do what is necessary.”
“With blood?” Cat shrieked.
“There is no other way for me,” she replied, lowering her head. It made no sense to explain the necessities to the ghost. She would not understand.
Cat glowered at her, then after a few heartbeats she said, “The fools killed him.”
Her head snapped up and she focused on the apparition before her. “What?”
“The boy is dead.”
“Who killed him?”
“I know not. He was ambushed in the Shadowpeaks, and his body is now in Dunthiochagh.” Cat trembled with fury and disgust; Lightbringer saw the spirit’s emotions plain on her face.
“This was the reason I didn’t want you here,” she whispered.
Now it was Cat’s turn to stare at her in confusion. “What?”
“The blood, my way of working magic. I was afraid you’d hate me for what I do.”
“Help me save him.”
She hadn’t seen this coming. A big part of her wanted to help Cat, but she dared not. The boy’s soul probably drifted in the one place she dared not go. Given the circumstances, it was likely his spirit had not gone to the Bailey Majestic. Should he cross the Veil not much would change; there would be another pawn, another life to destroy. That she could not allow.
“I can’t help you directly.”
“Why not?” Cat snapped.
“I can't tell. Believe me, please.”
“Can he be returned to life?”
“He isn't truly dead. Still, there is danger.”
“I am willing to face any danger for him, for Lliania’s, Darlontor’s, his and my sake!” Cat shrieked. “I endured too much to let my revenge die.”
“Your revenge is insignificant,” Lightbringer stated.
“How can you say that?” Cat growled.
“I open my mouth and use speech.”
“Don't mock me, witch!”
Lightbringer sighed. How could she explain what had taken her more than a century to understand? “I can help you. I can take you to the boy, but be warned: if you do, you will fade!”
“So be it, if this grants me revenge!”
She shook her head and looked at Cat. “Nothing is written in stone. His survival isn't certain. Your sacrifice might be in vain.” Ashamed, she cast her eyes down, staring at the pool of blood. “Besides, I would miss your company.”
“Just help me.”
“When you do this, you will die!”
“I am already dead,” the spirit replied.
Something powerful had entered Castle Duasonh, Ealisaid was certain of it. She felt the swell in magical energy much like a farmer feels a change in weather. The surge came from inside the Palace, and it seemed as if it did not spread but focused on a specific place, maybe a specific being. She was unsure. Without proper examination she could not be certain, and any divination would break her oath to the Baron. There was something odd about the magic, it did not feel right to her, but neither did it feel wrong. It was akin to her inner strength, but it was far more potent, and yet it seemed also strangely soothing.
“Guard!” Ealisaid shouted as she rattled on her cell’s door. “Guard!” She shook the bars again. “Hello?”
From down the corridor came a grunt, the turn of a key, and then, with the creaking of the door, light spilled into the hallway. The sound of footsteps approached fast, and within a few heartbeats a man wearing the colors of House Duasonh above his leather tunic and chainmail came into sight. He carried a torch and his expression betrayed his sleepiness.
“Wha’d’ya want, witch?” he yawned. The smell of ale penetrated even the rank stench of the straw inside her cell.
“I need to speak with the Baron,” she replied, forcing down her nausea. “It’s urgent.”
“Ain’t it always,” the man mumbled. “The Baron ain’t at call from the likes of you, witch.”
“It’s important!” she repeated. Even now Ealisaid felt the power surging within the Palace, and was unsure what it meant. It did not feel hostile,
but magic never felt hostile, only those wielding it did. If one was prepared and knew what to look for.
“So you say,” the man snarled. Obviously, he did not want to alert either his liege or anyone else for fear of his drunkenness being discovered.
“Get your warden here!” Ealisaid turned the shout that had almost left her mouth into a hiss. “Now, warrior!”
The man must have seen the determination on her face, but merely shrugged. “Stay quiet, woman. Baron’ll come when he wants to. Food’ll come at sundown.” He turned and walked back down the corridor.
She stared at the space abandoned by the guard as the torchlight faded away. Even without the Baron’s permission she had to discover the source of this power. This investigation was against Duasonh’s strict order, but to her anything felt better than to remain in this cell and dwell on all the people and things time had taken away. She had to do something to keep from losing herself in the past and grief. Anything, any action, was better than this.
Ealisaid sat back and considered her options. She could blast out of this cage at any time, which meant certain death; Duasonh had been quite clear on that. She had promised not to cast any spells, but to discover the source of and reason behind this surge of energy she would have to cast spells. Unless…
Spiritform was no spell, but a state of being, and nothing done while in it affected the world. How could it? No one would notice her if she walked the Palace as a ghost, and this other state of being might aid her in discerning what kind of magic was at play here. She would not break any oath, technically, and the information gathered could help her when she went to trial.
A smile crept onto her face as she considered this option. Sure, it could be construed against her, but in the end anything she did or didn’t do would be used against her. Spiritform was no spell, this fact made up her mind.
She leaned against the wall next to the door, in a spot where only direct light would actually show her face, and closed her eyes. To any observer it’d look as if she was asleep, a common mistake made by the untrained. It was almost like going into hibernation, but instead of drifting into the dreamless sleep, she would be mobile and could return to her body at a moment’s notice.
Her mind slipped out of her body and she drifted into the corridor, the pulse of magic her beacon. Ealisaid felt too uncomfortable to merely walk through walls and ceilings, even though these barriers were just smoke-filled mirages of their real-world counterparts. As she floated along the hallway she could almost make out shouts coming from the center of power. This was odd in itself, because in spiritform one should be unable to hear anything at all. By the time she reached the door at the end of the corridor the Wizardess could discern voices, but what they said was blurred. She also felt silly because of her fear of not walking through walls and ceilings. She did not need to know the path back to her cell: one thought and she would return to her body. This realization made following the magic much easier.
Walls, ceilings, and floors were left behind as she floated toward the now brightly shining, magical whirlpool. Despite knowing that she could move more speedily, the Phoenix Wizardess refused to hurry. She was still new to this method of travel.
When she entered the room’s echo in which the magical vortex pulsed, Ealisaid was glad she had decided against faster movement. Within this chapel she saw a body that appeared very much solid in this world of shadows and smoke, and next to it was something she could not truly describe, even to herself. The thing that even now laid its hands—paws—onto the body, howled… screamed at something she could not see. The woman-dog bared its fangs, scowled,pleaded, and whined. She felt another presence, but it was too weak to make out, and the little she felt made her want to cower in fear. The woman-dog screamed, her voice a howl that was almost discernible. Then the howl became a whimper, a shield, to Ealisaid as solid as the body, interposed between the woman-dog and the man, and the faint nightmare presence.
“Honor the bargain,” a voice thundered, and before the last remnant of sound—how was sound possible in the realm of spirits?—faded away, the malevolent presence vanished. The feeling left by the faltering shield was one of resignation.
Ealisaid looked at the man who, while the woman-dog looked less solid with every passing heartbeat, seemed as firm in this spirit realm as he was in the real world. Whatever or whoever this man was, he was anchored in two worlds, and yet there was no visible presence that consciousness existed.
The magic faded, and was gone, but the body remained. A frown creased her forehead when Ealisaid closed in on the still man. She had to know if he was truly an island of solidity in the spiritworld. If her hand passed through his, he was merely another mirage, more focused than the walls around her but still just an image, if not…
The man’s fingers closed around hers and held on. She screamed and this yell, pushed through her own mouth, slammed her into her body, and still she screamed. The feeling of being held fast remained with her until she heard the guards’ door being unlocked and opened.
“What the bloody Scales is goin’ on?” the warden of the watch shouted.
Ealisaid tried to answer but her sore throat made speech impossible, a wheeze the only sound escaping her lips.
“What are you screaming about?” the warden asked, as he poked a torch through the bars to get a better look.
They both heard another pair of footsteps approaching, and the warrior turned away from her and looked at the new arrival. Ale-Breath, Ealisaid realized as the guardsman’s stench wafted toward her.
“Witch said she wannet t’see de Baron, sir.” Judging from the smell, Ale-Breath had resumed his duties with another bottle to join however many had gone before.
“I told you, pea-brain, that if I caught you with more than a pint of bitter during duty I’ll have you lashed, and now you’re not only going to get one score but two score caresses o’the cat!” the warden barked. “One of ‘em is for you drinking yourself piss-silly on duty, and the other is for you not telling me at once about her request to speak to the Baron!” The man leaned closer to the drunk, but Ealisaid still heard what was being said in a harsh whisper. “You’re also gonna be sent to a new post—Dragoncrest!”
The guardsman sniveled and stumbled away, as the warden turned toward her and gave a quick nod. “I’ll speak to the Baron, but don’t get your hopes up too high; he’s a busy man, what with the invasion and all.”
Invasion? What was going on in this new world? She still couldn’t cope with the apparent fact that her order, her family, her friends were all dead and gone. Now that her thoughts touched the subject of her prolonged hibernation again, she felt like screaming, wailing yet again. Ealisaid fought back her tears and glared at the warden watching her.
“You all right now?” he asked. She nodded. “I’ll talk to the Baron.” His voice seemed almost gentle, but when she looked into his eyes she saw the barely suppressed rage that was in almost everyone’s eyes whenever speaking to her. Not that she could blame them.
A century had passed; she had thought the buildings her magic had blasted mirages. She had killed a dozen or more people, and with the new knowledge of an invasion, she understood the bitterness of the guards. More townsfolk would die in the fight to keep the invaders at bay. Starvation would come, as it always did in the winter, but now it would be more thorough with people from the countryside fleeing to Dunthiochagh. Thank the gods, she had never been in a war, or a siege, but what she knew about both was enough to make her shudder. People would die, and her anger and confusion had already killed some.
Ealisaid sat with her back to the cold stone wall, hugged her thighs against her body, and rested her face on her knees. One hundred years. Did it matter if it were only three score or four score years instead? The people she knew would still be dead. She couldn’t hold back any longer; tears ran down her cheeks and soaked her already filthy dress. The man in between worlds, him she envied. At least he did not know what had happened to his loved ones, and he
would never feel her guilt, because there was nothing left of him to feel anything. Trapped between worlds, she felt the same. But while the stranger’s body and soul rested in both places and neither, hers was in a Now she couldn’t understand, and she longed to be in a Past that was no more, destroyed by people she had called colleagues and friends.
One hundred years. This world was without magic, or so Kildanor had told her, and yet there was the vortex she had seen above the trapped man. No, not without magic, she realized since she could cast spells, but without teachers. Was it only here in Janagast… Danastaer that wizards were no more? What about the rest of the world? They couldn’t all be gone, could they? She couldn’t be the only wizard left. She was still a novice, even with her hibernation finished, a century later than intended, what did she really know about magecraft? Again, Ealisaid felt tears running onto her dress; she drew a shuddering breath and tried to banish the fear, the uncertainty, and the grief. What was there to hold on to? Who was there to hold on to? The only thing she had left was magic, and that was an unreliable friend at the best, and an uncontrollable killer at the worst.
She remembered the day her parents, filled with pride, had sent her away to learn with the Phoenix Wizards. The promises she had made that day, to visit them and help them with the farm, all made void by her sleep. The thought of her mother and father brought on the vision of what might have happened to them during this Heir War. She could see the farmstead burning, the fields torn apart by the same magic she had used when fighting her “illusions.” She didn’t remember killing anyone, but the houses she’d destroyed had been real, people had lived there.
Guilt, despair, fear; these were her companions as she huddled on her cell’s floor, waiting for Baron Duasonh. She had to do something, anything, to keep those maddening thoughts away. Without it, she knew, her fate would be worse than the man caught between two worlds.