The leather scroll’s arrival had an entry to itself.
I found a leather thing in my booga box. It’s covered with some kind of code. I don’t know how it got there. Someone could of dropped it in when we were packing up from Imbolc. But that was two weeks ago. I think I would have noticed it sooner. I can’t see someone breaking into my apartment to leave a mysterious object. Unless . . . he was trying to convince me it had appeared by magic. Which is exactly the kind of stunt some of those jackasses in the Sept would try to pull. So I’m not going to tell anyone about it. Let them wonder if I found it or just threw it away.
Belladonna had been curious about the scroll. She’d transcribed the whole thing into her notebook. She did a frequency analysis of the different symbols (simpler were more common). The diagrams were analyzed from multiple aspects, starting with the hypothesis that they were intended as descriptions of a ritual.
The dates on the scroll-related entries grew farther apart as she failed to crack the puzzle. Regular business and planning for a Beltaine event filled the pages again.
Then she fell asleep holding the scroll.
Oddest dream last night. Felt astral, but not in the way when I try to contact a god in dreams. Not prophetic. Mystical, yes. I heard a voice speaking to me in a language I didn’t recognize. Musical speech, almost as if he was singing to me. He wanted something. Badly. He heard me answering him. I could almost perceive a figure. It was fuzzy, like there was thick smoke between me and him. I woke up holding that leather thingie. I’d been brooding on it. Guess I fell asleep.
Then there was a page of notes on some of the words she’d heard in the dream, annotated as rising or falling in pitch.
Six pages after that were all devoted to the upcoming Beltaine ritual. No reference to the scroll. Goldenrod looked from the sketch of the ritual to the unrolled scroll lying next to her. It was not identical to one of the scroll’s diagrams, but close enough to give her a chill.
Goldenrod tucked the scroll into the notebook to mark her place. Then she shelved it with the cooking gear. It was getting late. She didn’t want that near her when she fell asleep.
***
Peers had the right to demand a private audience with the King. When two dukes, two master organizers, and a master crafter requested an audience with King Ironhelm and Autocrat Sharpquill they made time. The Autocrat’s pavilion was chosen as the location for privacy.
Both dukes were also knights, so all the councils of peers would be represented in this meeting.
Duke Mace was the spokesman. When the pleasantries were over he knelt before King Ironhelm and offered a scroll. “Your Majesty, I present a petition signed by twenty-three peers begging you to disband the unchartered entity called the Council of Mages. We further beg you to order that no magic shall be performed but by the order of the Crown.”
“Please rise. We shall read and consider your petition.” King Ironhelm took the scroll, read through the list of names and passed it to Master Sharpquill.
The Autocrat read through it more slowly and nodded to his liege.
The king asked, “What moves you to make this petition?”
“Your Majesty, the Peers we represent are greatly concerned by the actions of these self-called mages. When it was just a few people practicing little tricks there was no reason for us to be concerned. Now . . .”
Duke Mace stepped back, took a deep breath, and began the rant. “Now we have someone who can kill with a word. A secret group meeting in the woods where no one can see them. One smashed a rock so hard a dozen were wounded and his eye was gouged out. When someone wasn’t willing to use her magic as the Council directed, they chased her up a tree, sawed off the branch she clung to, and let her fall.”
He looked at king and autocrat to be sure he had their attention. “And now these mages have used the fear of their magic to begin stealing from those without it. Baroness Goldenrod invaded the House of the Green Stag and took several items. She claimed her magery gave her the right to do so. We pray Your Majesty will take proper action to end these abuses.”
The duke bowed and took his seat.
“These are serious charges,” said King Ironhelm. “I swear by my crown that I shall not allow the gifted to abuse those without gifts, magical or otherwise. There shall be a full investigation and all appropriate action taken.”
The delegation all offered thanks for the king’s time and attention. After more elaborate courtesies they left.
King Ironhelm waited to make sure they were clear of the tent then looked at Sharpquill. “Talk.”
“I don’t know. Well, I know a few things. First from what Mistress Tightseam told me Goldenrod’s magic is so flakey she might not be able to kill anything but an orc. She tried to kill a squirrel as a test and couldn’t.
“The Council did get a guy’s eye ruined. Lady Burnout reported it as an accident. I think I would have heard about the tree thing if it happened.
“Third, the theft. I have a hard time believing it of Goldenrod. And a hard time thinking the victim wouldn’t come to me or Duchess Roseblossom. Theft is always a crime.”
King Ironhelm began to say something but Sharpquill was still talking.
“Fourth, this list is a bit less than half of the Peers who came with us but they produce eighty percent of the complaints I deal with.”
Sharpquill pointed at names on the list. “‘The privy by the royal pavilion isn’t cleaned often enough.’ ‘Peers should have more variety in their food ration.’ ‘Why does my squire have to work shit hauling duty?’ And so on. I’m tempted to blow off the petition in hopes they’ll be so mad they’ll march off and form a new camp where I won’t have to deal with them.”
The king was laughing. “Okay, I feel for you. They’re a pain in my butt too. Queen Camellia’s biggest fans.”
“But you want to do the investigation.”
“It doesn’t matter if they’re assholes if they’re right. Theft is wrong. Abuse is wrong. Find out what’s going on. If there’s a crime take it to Lady Justice.”
“As Your Majesty wishes.”
***
“For today’s flight I’m going for altitude,” said Aster. She’d gone flying at least once a day in the week since the tree climbing exercise, usually just around the camp or down to the river. Goldenrod had started hinting that it would be good to stretch herself.
Her fellow mages cheered, Goldenrod loudest among them.
Aster focused. She rose into the air. In seconds she’d cleared the trees. She looked up, straight to the zenith, and kept going.
A glance down showed the camp as a spot on the bluff over the river valley. The river stretched far below her. She could see where it ran through a cleft in the mountains. A thrill of fear ran through her belly but Aster set it aside.
She looked up. Time to go higher.
It was a cloudless day. She could only gauge her height by the width of land below her. From here the mountains had a bit of curve to them.
Aster went higher.
There was movement in the corner of her eye. She turned to look.
The monstrous shape flung its wings wide to brake, like a hawk stooping on a mouse.
Before she could even think to evade a taloned foot wrapped around her torso. Aster grabbed a talon with both hands and yanked. No give at all.
A yellow eye, slit pupiled like a cat’s, stared at her from a black head. Smoke trailed from the nostrils, eddying as the wings flapped to hold them in a hover.
It stank of sulfurous coal and rotting rhino flesh.
The dragon twisted its foot to look at Aster from different angles. The eye stared. Then blinked.
It flung Aster away. As she tumbled through the air she saw it flying off, so fast it was smaller each time she caught a glimpse.
Oh God I peed myself was the first thought Aster formed as she tried to pull her mind together. The ground was growing closer. She’d lost sight of the camp.
Focus, damn it. Three deep br
eaths. Then concentrating on flying.
It worked. Partially. She flew still tumbling, so she accelerated down and sideways as much as up. Which disoriented her enough to lose focus and fall again.
She could make out trees now.
Three breaths. Focus. And she was flying. Diving, pulling out of the dive, flying level. About a hundred feet up.
Aster spotted a gap between two trees. She dipped into it, went around the branches to the larger one’s trunk. Knees bent as her feet planted hard on the ground.
Then she wrapped her arms around the solid, unmoving tree trunk and held on for a long time. Why the hell didn’t it eat me? she wondered. Theories chased each other through her mind. Smelled bad, not enough meat, it was full after catching a rhino . . . none of which made any more sense than the others.
Thirst made her let go. She hadn’t carried any water. She’d planned to be back at the meeting clearing in minutes. Hopefully she could find some water on the way home.
Which raised the question of how to get home. Well, she was on the far side of the river. Once she found that the camp would be easy. The afternoon sun was over there, so . . . she turned and started walking.
The woods should be safe. There’d been hardly any orc sightings since the big battle, and none in the past two weeks. As if they’d all fled the region. Fine with her.
After an hour of walking she still hadn’t seen any orcs. She kept going.
Aster cursed. She was tired, thirsty, and the sun was going down. Walking was too slow. She’d have to fly.
Flying under the trees only worked at walking speed. If she wanted to move fast, and she did, going low would mean scraping her shoulder on tree trunks.
Rising above the trees she turned around slowly, scanning the horizon for anything in the air. Then a second scan for anything high up. No dragons.
She flew toward the river, staying just over the treetops. She accepted the occasional leaf in her face as proof she was staying low enough.
A stream gave her a chance to drink. She hoped it was clean water but by now she was so thirsty she’d accept sitting in a privy for two days as the price of water.
The forest went right to the edge of the river bluff. No sign of camp. She made her best guess and turned downstream. She kept to the edge of the bluff, where she could only be seen from one side.
Two minutes later she saw Goldenrod’s weir. Almost home.
At House Applesmile the mood at the dinner table was grim. Rivet’s injury was horrible, but losing Aster to a dragon made them feel all their efforts were doomed to fail. One mage crippled, another dead, and Goldenrod couldn’t even cast any spells reliably.
Redinkle looked up from the table. A gap between tents gave a view of the river valley. “Look! Is that Aster?”
Goldenrod led the charge to the bluff edge. Aster landed, visibly exhausted, and was swept up in a hug.
“I thought we’d lost you!” cried Goldenrod.
“We thought you were dead!” Redinkle seized the next hug.
“No, the dragon just looked me over then threw me away,” said Aster.
Pinecone whispered to Newman, “Good thing she’s too skinny to be worth eating.”
“Shut up,” he shot back.
Aster spotted the men. “You!” She poked Newman in the chest. “How do you cure fear of dragons, asshole?”
He had the sense to not say anything.
***
Autocrat Sharpquill found Goldenrod weeding her vineroot patch. Redinkle was with her, passing along the gossip from the latest stitch and bitch. They were heads down in the plants and didn’t notice him.
At the edge of the cultivated area he said, “Good morning, Your Excellency, milady.”
They looked at him in mild surprise. “Good morning, my lord,” they said together.
“I was hoping for a moment of the baroness’s time.”
“Of course,” said Goldenrod.
Redinkle looked uncertainly from one to the other. The Autocrat jerked a thumb toward the bluff. Goldenrod nodded. Redinkle said, “Good day,” and walked briskly off.
Goldenrod asked, “How can I help you, my lord Autocrat?”
She did not want to deal with him right now. She was in her worst dress, skirts hitched up, and her hands muddy to the wrists from checking the growth of the roots. She’d already been due for a bath. Having one would be her reward for finishing the gardening. If the Autocrat didn’t screw up her day.
He sat cross-legged on a patch of grass. “There are some unpleasant rumors circulating about you and your council of mages.”
Goldenrod grimaced. “We’ve been experimenting to learn the extent of our powers. Sometimes it goes badly.”
“Hence the boy with the eyepatch?”
“I tried to get him to back off. Well, no. I didn’t try. I just said a few feeble words. If I’d told him time out he would have stopped. Then we would have avoided him smashing the rock.”
“Are any of the experiments successful?”
“Sure. Marjoram figured out which edible species her powers worked on so she’s catching three or four waterfowl a day. Aster can fly reliably now. Sparrow can charge gadgets, light fires, and do tiny arc welds.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Did someone get forced up a tree?”
“She wasn’t forced. Aster wanted to overcome her acrophobia. We set up a safety line and she practiced climbing a tree to get more comfortable with heights.”
“Did it work?”
“Um. More or less. She was climbing higher and higher on each attempt. Then she slipped and flew in panic. That put her higher in the tree and stuck out on a branch.”
“Did you really cut off the branch?”
“That was Newman’s idea. When he realized she was stuck and he couldn’t get to her he just sawed it off. Dick move. It was still safe, she had the safety line. But he didn’t give her a chance to get unstuck.”
“Was she hurt?”
“No, Newman was. She started flying and beat him with the branch. He admits he totally had it coming. That got her to where she could fly on purpose. She had a close encounter with a dragon yesterday. I don’t know if she’s still up for it.”
Master Sharpquill put the dragon aside for another time. “That may be very useful. I heard you visited the Green Stag.”
“Oh, yes. I’m still working on that stuff. I meant to bring it to you when I’m done. Belladonna wrote up notes on how she cast the spell to bring us here. If we study it, do some brainstorming, and find someone with the right magic, we might be able to reverse it to go home.”
“Really?” He leaned back, propping himself up with his arms. He hadn’t let himself think of going home. Hadn’t thought of home at all since Mistress Cinnamon had taken charge of him. To hear Goldenrod speak of it so causally staggered him.
“I don’t know. But if we can go one way the other should be possible. And it was just sitting there. We should have investigated it from the beginning instead of just making it an open secret that all this is her fault and ostracizing her.”
“Well, yes.” Sharpquill tried to make his mind function again.
Goldenrod began to elaborate on Belladonna’s notebook, the strange scroll, and her discoveries in them. The jargon blurred together for him. Sharpquill nodded in appropriate places.
At last he remembered why he’d come there. “You took the notebook from the Green Stag?”
“Yeah. I went through Belladonna’s gear to find the magical stuff.”
“You’re being accused of theft.”
Goldenrod’s jaw dropped. “Theft? But I talked with Lady Yarrow. She was right there. She didn’t object at all. She started a card game.”
“Did you claim authority as a mage?”
“She asked why I wanted it so I said I was head of the council.”
Autocrat Sharpquill frowned. “That’s not a Royal council. It doesn’t have any authority.”
“I know. But it’s not like Yarrow had any ri
ght to the stuff. Just because Belladonna was living in her tent doesn’t make her Belladonna’s heir.”
“No, it would revert to the Crown. That’s a very good point. Could be useful.”
“So there’s no theft. She saw I was taking them and didn’t object.”
“Part of the accusation is that you intimidated her.”
“How? I didn’t even touch her.”
The Autocrat sighed. “Goldenrod, you can kill with a word. Talking to someone is threatening.”
“But-but-” She couldn’t form a coherent reply.
“This is going to wind up in front of Duchess Roseblossom whether there was a crime or not. You’ve given your enemies an opening and they’re going to take it.”
“Enemies? Why would I have enemies?”
“Christ give me strength.” Sharpquill paused to gather his thoughts. “Did you know Duke Stonefist was a lawyer in mundane life?”
She blinked in surprise at the change of topic. “No. Doesn’t surprise me. I knew he was a master armorer and a knight.”
“He’s the kind of guy who will succeed wherever he is. Roseblossom too. We have a bunch of people like that. Then there’s those who wound up in the top layer by luck or a specific skill. The Kingdom gives high rank for fighting, medieval art, and keeping the outfit running.”
Master Sharpquill looked around. There were many people working on the flood plain. Weir-tenders carrying fish. Water haulers with bottles. Farther off shit haulers going downstream.
“And then there’s those who lucked into a position that gave them rank, through relationships or a skill that they can’t keep up any more. They cling to it hardest because they can’t climb to the top again if they have to start over.”
He paused. Goldenrod nodded to show she was following.
“Now we’re in a situation where respect and power go to those fighting starvation and orcs. It looks like magic is going to be a source of power now. So what’s that mean for our current upper class?”
The War Revealed Page 3