“I’ll get something later.”
Sarn crawled over debris—he needed to clean his cave at some point—and levered himself up with help from the nearest wall. Thank Fate for all the nooks and crannies nature had provided. They made excellent handholds.
For a moment, the cave spun around Sarn. When it stilled, Moirraina thrust out her hand.
“Help me up.”
Sarn rolled his eyes and clasped her hand. The instant he did, she pulled with all her might, but he leaned back using his greater weight to lever her up. Everything was fine until his shoulder struck a wall. But it didn’t deform. Sarn didn’t bounce harmlessly off it. Instead, pain shot down his arm, momentarily numbing it.
Sarn let go of Moirraina’s hand. She flopped back onto her bottom as Mount Eredren roared and the pain in his head spiked. Sarn pressed a hand to his brow and winced.
“Papa!” Ran shouted, but his panicked call was muffled by distance and two doors—one of which Sarn threw open as he barreled into the hall.
Ran sounded scared. If those Fates-damned Foundlings harmed a hair on his son’s head—
“I'm coming, son.”
“Wait, Sarn, you need to rest. You can’t do that with a four-year-old hanging off you.” Moirraina’s bare feet slapped the floor as she gave chase.
“You have no idea what I need.” Sarn shot around the bend. The green glow of his eyes lit the Foundlings’ door as he reached for the handle.
“Ha, ha, very funny, but I’m not the one passing out all over the place.”
Moirraina’s comment stopped Sarn cold.
“What did you say?”
“That’s how Bevik and I found you—passed out on the floor with your kid crying his little eyes out. If you won’t take proper care of yourself, then at least move back in with us so we can look after your brat. His mother was a mother to us all. She’d hate to see what you’ve done to yourself, and what you’re putting that poor kid through.”
Moirraina’s diamond-hard exterior cracked just a little, but it was enough to let the girl he’d had snowball fights with peer out. And she was scared for him. But that softening only lasted a moment, then her eyes turned steely and her manner chilled as she brushed past him. The girl he’d once kissed vanished inside that prickly shell.
“Why do I bother? You never listen to anyone who cares about you. We’re not Beku. We didn’t leave you. You left us.” She flung open the Foundlings’ door, leaving her last words hanging like the slap they were, and boy did they sting.
Is Moirraina right? Staggered by the implication, Sarn leaned into the wall. Am I killing myself?
Before Dirk could take another step, the Adversary squeezed his shoulder, pausing the conman just as his right foot lifted.
Darkness flowed out of the Adversary as part of his shadow peeled off. Its features rippled into a two-dimensional grayscale impression of a man known until a few hours ago as Ragnes. The fool was a friend of Dirk’s before he gave his heart to the Adversary. The creature regarded Dirk, but no recognition passed over his mask-like face.
“What is thy command?” asked the dead-eyed wraith.
“There’s a twice-gifted mage on the loose. Find that mage. Bring him or her to me and there’ll be a reward waiting.”
With luck, said mage was around here somewhere waiting for a pickup. If not, well, that’s what minions were for.
“What reward?” Ragnes’ eyes glittered. They were a pair of black jewels set in a skeletal face.
The Adversary held out a hand and, on his palm, an image flowered.
Ragnes stared at a strapping man of late thirties hammering at the rocks around him. Each time the pick rose a little slower, and the man strained to lift it. He was pale and sweat had matted his dark hair into a skull cap. Blood soaked the bottom of one of his trouser legs, and a crimson trail led away from that spot into the encroaching darkness. A man-sized eye peered through the nearby rocks.
“Recognize him? He’s your friend—what’s his name? Ah, yes, Cris.”
Ragnes started at the name. Good, so he remembered some of his former life. Not all wraiths did especially after such a violent demise. Very good indeed. When the Adversary smiled, it was all serrated teeth.
“Do this one thing for me and I’ll help him, The Adversary waved to the frozen Dirk, free your friend. Have we an accord?”
Ragnes nodded. “What is that thing?” He pointed a shaking finger at the eye.
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” The Adversary closed his fist, banishing the image. “You have your instructions. Go carry them out. By the looks of things, your friend hasn’t long to live, not of if even a fraction of that blood is his.”
It was, of course. That’s why the Ægeldar was hanging around. It thought it could take Cris’ soul. The poor deluded thing, it had no idea the soul it was eyeing was already bought and paid for and just waiting for his buyer to collect it—all in good time of course. There was no need to rush that reclamation and still so much to do. The Adversary rubbed his skeletal hands together in undisguised glee.
“How do I find this mage?” Ragnes asked, spoiling a well-deserved gloat.
“That’s your problem. Do whatever you must just find that mage and bring him or her to me. Now off with you.” The Adversary made shooing gestures, and Ragnes vanished into a puff of smoke. A breath of wind scooped up his dark essence and flung it at Mount Eredren.
The Adversary straightened his black robe and with a touch, unfroze Dirk and reactivated the seven leagues’ boot spell. The conman set his right foot down and they jumped a half mile toward Mount Eredren.
It was much slower than the Adversary would have preferred to travel, but if he went any faster, he risked breaking the man. Since he still needed the fool, Dirk must arrive in one piece. Mortals were such fragile creatures.
“Papa, are you okay now?” Ran rushed out before the door closed.
Sarn pushed Moirraina’s accusations out of mind for now. His son’s well-being was more important.
“Why were you calling for me? Are you okay?” Sarn slid down the wall and caught his son in a fierce embrace then checked the boy over. Ran looked okay though his eyes were red-rimmed from crying.
Do you see the tears standing in his eyes? You put them there with your recklessness, Beku said. Ran’s mother’s presence filled the dark tunnel. But she couldn’t be there.
Sarn tensed. If he turned, would he see her standing there shaking her head at him?
No, I’m being silly. Beku left, and she isn't coming back. This is just another hallucination. But just to be safe, Sarn pulled Ran in close, so his beloved son couldn’t see anything but the shoulder he pressed his face into. Ran relaxed into his embrace, needing the reassurance his touch offered.
Ran is my son, now. You gave up all claims on him when you disappeared three and a half months ago. Leave us in peace, Sarn thought, picturing Beku as he’d last seen her—with accusations in her eyes. She'd always wanted more than he could give. He squeezed his son and tried to ignore the insults she hurled at him.
Beku’s presence vanished, and the tightness in Sarn’s chest eased. He could breathe again.
She was just another figment of your magic-addled mind. Pull yourself together. Ran needs you sane. You can fall apart later.
Why did the voice of reason sound an awful lot like Jerlo? I’m going mad if there’s a miniature Jerlo squatting inside my mind. Sarn shook his head and refocused on the outside world.
Beku was still gone, but her scorn lingered like a bad smell. Well, he’d earned it today by scaring his sweet son. Though that raised an important question—what was I just doing?
“He was worried about you,” Saveen said from the doorway, startling Sarn. He hadn’t realized they had an audience. The tall lump of a boy looked at Sarn as if he were a hero who’d walked out of a mythic tale rather than a dirty cave.
“Why were you worried about me?”
Ran just shook his head and held tight
to Sarn. Is Moirraina telling the truth? Did I black out? If so, mucking about with magic probably caused it. Unfortunately, it’d happened before. He might never remember what he was doing when his consciousness cut out. If only—but there was no one who could teach him because magic was illegal. Somehow, I must learn for my son’s sake. Sarn tightened his embrace and winced when a sharp pain pierced his palm.
He glanced at it but saw nothing amiss. Likely it was a splinter he’d picked up somewhere. It would work itself out eventually or his magic would reject it. So Sarn looked to Saveen who’d been quiet while he ruminated.
“Why was he with the Foundlings?”
Saveen shrugged. “Moirraina brought him and said he must stay here.”
“Did she say why?”
Saveen shook his head. “No, but it made Ran very sad. I looked after him like I promised. I tried to cheer him up, but he didn’t want to play. He just wanted to see you, but I kept him here like you said.” Saveen nodded. His eyes were bright with hero worship, but there was something not quite right about them. They were too round, and his pupils were dark slits, like a snake’s eyes.
Sarn glanced away. He was seeing things that weren’t there. Damn magic, it was playing tricks on his eyes again, this time with a friend. Saveen was just a sweet-natured boy—preteen—whatever who was perhaps a little slower on the uptake than everyone else. But other than that, he was a normal boy.
“Thank you, Saveen for taking such good care of my son. You have a good heart.”
The rest of the Foundlings might treat Saveen like he was a retard, but with strict instructions, he made a great babysitter. And he was a good friend for Ran.
“Papa, are you okay now?”
Sarn nodded. His headache had abated—thank Fate for that small mercy—but Beku’s accusations, whether real or imagined, still echoed. It was a familiar refrain. Each time it repeated, it hurt his heart until voices droned her out. He started at the sound. It didn't come from the Foundlings' cave, but no one else lived within a half a mile of here.
“Are you expecting any company?”
Saveen shook his head. “Just the return of the others from their work assignments, but it's too early, and I hear too many feet for it to be them.”
“That's what I thought.” Though all Sarn could hear were raised voices and the low rumble of something behind them. But those echoes could come from anywhere. Sound carried far and wide due to the naked stone of the Lower Quarters.
“What’s happening?” Ran asked, his green eyes were fearful as they darted about, searching for the source of those shouts. They gained in volume the longer they remained there.
“It sounds like a mob.” Sarn pushed to his feet, still holding his son. Crowds were dangerous. Where was this one? Was it headed this way?
Of course, it is. They finally found you. You knew you couldn't hide forever. It was only a matter of time before someone learned the location of your cave.
Get out of there right now. Just run, shouted his inner child. It cowered in the back of his mind all too familiar with mob violence.
Before Sarn could move, his map tackled him, and he fell. Shadows fled as his expanding map blotted out everything except his son’s worried face and the increasing glow of his eyes. Did you knock me out earlier? His map didn't reply, but it seemed likely given the violence of its spawning.
I don’t have time for this. Sarn tried to roll onto his stomach, but he couldn’t move. Green light gathered into a man-shape and it sat on his chest, pinning Sarn to the ground.
You must look. We must see, said the magic which was both inside him and on top of him in a strange chorus. Please look.
I can’t. I must run away before the mob gets here. Sarn struggled against the map's pull, but he could find no purchase anywhere. His luminous captor manacled both his wrists above his head, and his hands sank through the stone floor.
“Papa? What’s happening?” Ran landed beside him and goggled at the spectacle.
Sarn just shook his head in answer and searched for a weakness. Everything had one, even his magic. But he was running out of time to find it. His body was growing lighter and everything was blurring as the map and tunnel he lay in merged into a constellation of exploding stars.
Don’t take me away from here. Show me what you need to show me, but I must stay here. I can’t leave my son or Saveen undefended. Sarn told his magic, willing it to understand.
There could be more monsters lying in wait just around that next bend. Those could be shouts of alarm echoing through the tunnel for all he knew. The magic-stealing mist and the tentacular horror were gone or sealed up in the pit by the Queen of all Trees, but he still had no idea how either had gotten free in the first place. Did I try to find out? Is that why I blacked out—because I overreached somehow? It seemed likely and that was reason enough to resist a repeat.
“Papa!” Ran shouted.
“Stay back,” Saveen said.
“No, I want to stay with Papa. He needs me.”
A scuffle ensued, but it was far away, veiled by a map swelling until it encompassed everything. There was nothing outside it. And then there was. A small hand clasped his. Sarn squeezed back, digging the splinter deeper into his palm. But the pain was real, and it provided another reference point outside the magic's hold.
“Anchor me, son, don’t let me slide away.” Was all Sarn managed to say before his map exploded.
Map Battles
The conman stared at the outer circle of standing stones ringing the meadow after taking only ten steps. Those damned menhirs had spells woven into the fabric of their being. They prevented all magic from passing, and that included adaptations to seven-league boot spells. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
“After you,” the Adversary said waving the fool on.
Dirk blinked as if he’d only just noticed their surroundings. Mortals were so slow on the uptake. “How did we get here so fast?”
“Does it matter? Time is of the essence. Who knows how much air your friends have left.”
Dirk paled at the mention of his comrades. The fool had no idea two of his friends were already dead and claimed—Ragnes and Gorfen. And one of his friends was dying, the one called Cris. Only the fat one—Villar? —was still in one piece and likely to stay that way for the time being. Speaking of Villar, it was time to pay him a visit. First, there was a wall of light and magic courtesy of the Queen of All Trees to obliterate.
The Adversary patted Dirk on the shoulder. “Come, we don’t want your friends to suffocate and freeing them will take time and resources.”
“You can’t just magic them free?”
“No, I’m not physically on this plane so my powers are limited. If you remove all the seals keeping me out, then I can snap my fingers and return your friends to you. But don’t worry, I never promise anything I can’t deliver.”
The Adversary patted Dirk’s shoulder, and his hand merged with it. He climbed into Dirk's body, donning it like an ill-fitting suit as the man crossed the threshold. Giant stones to their left and right oscillated with magical energy, but their keep away spells didn't target infernal souls hitching rides on the mortals who lived inside the mountain they protected. Still, those blasted rocks sensed something was amiss. They roused a fiery man-shape—the golem in this magical machine—and it emitted a green beam from its swirling emerald eyes.
Holding back gales of laughter, the Adversary threw Dirk’s arms wide in an invitation. Scan me. You'll find nothing, but a son raised inside the mountain you protect. And so, it did.
When The beam scanned Dirk, it missed the Adversary grinning inside him and recognized Dirk as a resident. Golems were only as intelligent as their programming, and this one had no provision for possession. Too bad, because a fight with a powerful golem might have been fun, but he did still need his temporary vessel, Dirk, alive. Oh well, there’s always next time.
The golem stepped aside and allowed Dirk’s possessed body to pass through the inner
ring unmolested. Once Dirk exited the second circle of menhirs, the Adversary materialized beside him and dropped a steadying arm around the conman's shoulders.
“Did something happen? I feel strange.” Dirk touched his brow but staggered on.
“It’s just a little stone-witchery throwing you off. I wouldn't worry about it when there are more important things, like your friends’ lives, at stake.”
The Adversary threw in a sickle smile right before he recast a variant of the seven leagues boot spell. Of course, he modified it, so his prize could pass through solid walls unharmed at his side once they entered the mountain stronghold.
In two strides, they reached the base of Mount Eredren and the Adversary repossessed Dirk for the second it took to step inside the mountain’s protections. No golem challenged them this time. In fact, these shields were riddled with holes.
The short-sighted fool who legalized mage-killing must be turning in his grave. He left no one to stop me. The Adversary grinned.
A quick step to the left put him beside Dirk. No torches or lanterns interrupted the pitch-black tunnel because the residents of this place had depended on the glowing veins running through the walls. But the black lumir crystal had eaten the magic in those stones, snuffing out their glow hours' earlier. And the Adversary reveled in that perfect darkness.
Dirk roused from the double possession like a man waking from back-to-back nightmares.
Oh well, I guess my dark aura rubbed off on him. It might make him a better minion, thought the Adversary as he reinstated the modified seven leagues' boot spell.
“How can you help them?” Dirk shivered in the dark as they jumped closer and closer to the Ægeldar.
“Everything has a weakness, even her shields.”
The Adversary pointed a bony finger at the wall of light and magic looming up ahead. It spanned from floor to ceiling in an unbroken bar of coruscating white. Beyond it lay a pit where an ancient monster long ago calcified by time waited and black lumir crystals, of course. Otherwise, he wouldn’t bother reopening it.
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