While the two of them had been close in a deep sense, Matthew’s prickly nature had never allowed him to show it with such visible displays. Now that she was gone, and he was here beside her twin, he felt some regret over that, but even then, he kept such thoughts suppressed. The work came first. Always.
Before them was the first section of copper that he had painstakingly created, but with their magesight they could see a growing lattice of golden aythar growing out from it in all directions. Its growth was so smooth and natural that it reminded Matthew of a crystal, like rock candy appearing in a heavy syrup.
But it was anything but easy. In his mind he kept the template clearly displayed, while the dragons fed their power to him and his sister. What came to him was redirected to her as well, and from the plan in his mind she created an endless swarm of tiny spellbeasts, feeding them on the enormous power coursing through her.
As time ran on, her nerves began to burn, a warning that she was nearing her limit. Burnout could destroy a mage’s ability to manipulate aythar, or it could even kill them outright. To avoid that, she created a complex spell-mind—something like a spell-twin but not quite as complex—to handle the task. She had positioned the spell-mind within the flow between her and Matthew, letting it take the power he was channeling and effectively halving her load.
Half an hour later, the burning started again, and she created a second spell-mind to handle the power coming from Cassandra, taking herself almost, but not quite, out of the flow. Somewhat able to rest, she took the opportunity to examine her brother. Matthew was still channeling his half of the power from Zephyr, passing it into her construct, and while his strength had always been greater than her own, she worried he might be ignoring his own internal warning signs.
Yet he still appeared fine. The only evidence of the strain was a trickle of sweat running down his brow. She looked deeper, studying him through the link, and decided he was still safe, so she didn’t interfere. She kept a close watch regardless, for she knew his stubborn nature. If he started pushing his limits, she was prepared to take over. His mind was open, and given their current link she could force him to do whatever was needed to protect him.
Matt’s eyes narrowed as that thought crossed her mind, and he gave her a warning look. Don’t. This is more important than either of us. It must be finished.
It will be, she answered. But I won’t let you kill yourself doing it.
You can’t do it without me, he returned. It needs the Illeniel gift, and I’m the only one who understands this working.
There are others with the gift, and your knowledge can be managed, she replied. Trust me.
Through the link, he caught the meaning of her plan, and after a moment he nodded. Alright, but not yet. Wait until I’m tired.
She agreed and continued monitoring him. Incredibly, he kept it up for another hour before she felt the burning pain creeping through him that indicated he was reaching his limit. Myra created a small independent spellbeast then, in the form of a bird, to carry her message back to the others. A few minutes later Irene, Conall, and Lynaralla arrived.
Myra created a construct based on Matthew’s plan and filled it with the template he was holding in his mind, then gently encouraged him to step back, mentally, while Irene took his place in their working. It was delicate work, but in the span of a few minutes she had Irene channeling her power, while her Matthew-construct managed Irene’s gift. It was a complex balancing act of different gifts and the workload of pushing so much power into so many spellbeasts.
In this way they continued for hours, and when Irene was too exhausted to continue, Conall took her place. Both of the younger Illeniels lasted for impressive amounts of time before Lynaralla took her turn. She lasted slightly less than half the time they had, but when she could take it no longer, Matthew was ready to take his place once more, channeling the seemingly endless aythar of the dragons into the rapidly growing enchantment.
The work lasted through the day and late into the night before the colossal working was complete, an enormous lattice cube that was a hundred yards long on each side, glittering like gold to those with magesight. When it was finally complete, Matthew lay down in the long grass, utterly exhausted since his had been the last turn. Irene sat beside him, while Conall was sleeping a few feet away on his other side.
“You do the honors, Rennie,” he told her, breathing heavily. “This part was purely from your inspiration.”
With a faint smile, Irene spoke the final word to transform their new creation, “Asmollen.” Silently, the massive enchantment shrank over a period of minutes, until it was less than ten feet on each side, a glittering cube whose weave was so fine it couldn’t be discerned with eyes or magesight. It was an anticlimactic end to their long labor, though Irene couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the shimmering gold walls. Stretching out, Irene made herself comfortable next to her brothers.
Karen walked over to them. She and Elaine had been watching off and on over the course of the day. “That was incredible.”
“I still wish you would have let us help,” observed Elaine. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so worn down.”
Unable to muster the strength to reply, Matthew merely waved a hand, as if trying to push her remarks away.
“It had to be them,” said Myra, still relatively unfatigued since her creations had been handling most of her work since the early part of the day. “The Illeniel gift was the essential ingredient.”
“You were able to help,” noted Elaine, “and you don’t have it.” She hadn’t understood Matthew’s explanation the day before, and her frustration showed in her voice.
Karen had understood, though she was still unable to help. “Myra was the project manager,” she supplied.
“The what?” asked Elaine, once again baffled by the otherworlder’s strange use of words.
Frowning, Karen tried again, “Like a factor, or maybe a head chef…”
“It was Matthew’s recipe. He would be the head chef. You’re not making any sense,” argued Elaine.
Karen took a deep breath. They’d had the same conversation with small variations several times over the course of the day. “Nevermind.” Suppressing her irritation, she focused on their exhausted friends. “Ready to go home? Alyssa’s cooking has reached a new level of excellence, though I think it’s gone cold by now.” She nudged Conall with the toe of her boot. “Wake up.”
Conall cracked one eye, then closed it again. “Go on without me. I couldn’t move even if you set me on fire.”
“That could be arranged,” commented Elaine with a wicked curve to her lips.
“I have an idea,” said Karen. Kneeling down, she put her hand on the young man’s chest and vanished, taking him with her. A minute later she reappeared, rubbing at her knees, which were apparently sore.
“Are you hurt?” asked Irene. “What happened?”
“I teleported him to his bed,” explained Karen ruefully. “Which worked out fine for him, but I forgot to account for my positioning.” Matthew began chuckling quietly.
“What do you mean?” said Irene, confused.
“He was on the bed, but I was several feet off the floor, so I landed hard,” clarified Karen.
Irene winced. “Ahh. Sounds painful.” Together, she and Lynaralla helped Matthew to his feet and Karen took them and Myra back in a single jump.
***
The sun had almost reached the horizon, bathing the field Priscilla was landing in with sullen rays of gold. Chad ignored the spectacle of beauty and clambered down from her back almost as soon as her feet had touched earth. He was glad to be on solid ground once more. “I’m never going to get used to that,” he grumbled.
“Flying?” asked the dragon. “It seems perfectly natural to me.”
“Nothin’ natural about it,” groused the hunter. “If I’d been meant to fly, I’d have been born with wings.”
“You weren’t born with hooves, yet you ride a horse to increase your speed. I w
as born with wings; what’s so different about borrowing my back to get someplace quickly?” suggested Priscilla.
Chad glared at his companion. “For one, if I fall off a horse I won’t plummet to my death, and for another—”
She interrupted him, “People die falling off of horses all the time.”
He ran a hand across his face in exasperation. “Most of the time they don’t die. If I slip off your back, I’m not getting back up again. As I was sayin’—”
“I wouldn’t let you fall,” insisted Priscilla, interrupting again. “And if you did somehow manage to be that clumsy, I’d catch you. I’d like to see a horse do that!”
The archer swore silently under his breath for several seconds until he found the patience to continue, “As I was saying, before you interrupted, I’m not too partial to horses either.”
That brought the dragon up short, but after a moment’s consideration she replied, “Oh. Well, I don’t have an opinion on that, since they’re too small for me to ride, but they look delicious.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” she declared. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Did you eat any horses while you were on your own?” he asked worriedly.
Turning her head away from him, she replied, “No.”
“Have you ever eaten a horse, perhaps some other time?” added the hunter.
Pretending to groom one of her claws, she answered, “Not yet.”
“Prissy!” he snapped.
“You said you weren’t partial to them. I thought you’d understand,” she whined, before adding, “So much for honesty.”
Squaring his shoulders, Chad spoke sternly, “Listen, under no circumstances, are you to ever eat a horse, and that’s an or…” He stopped himself before making it a command. “You know what, screw that. Just know that I don’t want you eating them, and if I ever catch you eating someone’s horse, I’ll whip that fat scaly ass of yours into next week.”
She smiled inwardly at his wording. Truth be told, she didn’t care too much about trying horseflesh, though she also had no objection to it. She just wanted to draw him out of the dark place he kept retreating into whenever the silence lasted too long. To that end she responded, “How?”
“How what?” he asked sourly.
“Exactly how are you going to ‘whip my scaly ass?’ I’m fairly certain you’re not big enough,” she replied.
The hunter swore for several minutes, practicing his art, before turning away. “I don’t have time to argue with yer crazy ass,” he announced. “I’m going into town. I need to find someone intelligent to talk to.”
Prissy grinned as she watched him go, calling after him, “Avoid mirrors, then!”
Entering Arundel, Chad headed straight for the bowyer’s shop. He passed a few of the townsfolk on his way, some of whom knew him, but when they saw the stern expression on his face, they decided against greeting him. That was fine with Chad, though. He’d been without drink for two days, and his nerves felt like they’d been scraped raw. Arguing with Priscilla all the way from Albamarl hadn’t helped either.
Mattley didn’t open the door. “Go away,” answered the old man. “I’m done with you. The bow is with the Baron, so there’s no need for you to come here anymore.”
“I need to pay you for it,” said Chad reasonably.
“Didn’t do it for you,” said the old man through the door. “I did it for the Baron. If you want to pay me back make sure your shadow doesn’t cross my threshold again.”
Despite his gruff exterior, Chad was still hurt by the words. He hadn’t realized how deep the old man’s resentment was. With a sigh, he reached into his purse. “I’ll just leave it on the step.”
“Keep your gold. If the Baron thinks I need paying, he can do it. Just go,” insisted Mattley.
Frowning, Chad asked, “Where is he?”
“Not here. Probably at the manor,” said the bowyer.
Without a word, Chad left. Some days the world seemed to be full of assholes. Deep down, though, he knew better. Mattley had always been a decent man. Ruminating over the many burned bridges in his life, he headed for the manor house. “Everyone’s an asshole to a murderin’ bastard,” he muttered under his breath.
The walk to George Prathion’s manor house was less than twenty minutes from the bowyer’s place. Unlike Mordecai’s land, Arundel wasn’t delineated by walls and a fortress. The town had no wall to speak of, and the Baron’s home was merely a private manor outside of the town proper. In past wars between Gododdin and Lothion, Arundel had been destroyed several times, until they had simply given up trying to rebuild a significant defense. Since the Barony had previously been under the protection of first Lancaster and now Cameron, their plan in the event of war was simply to abandon the town and retreat to Washbrook or Lancaster. That being the case, it didn’t make sense to build fortifications that might aid an invader.
Of course, in recent years things had changed. One of the entrances to the World Road was located close to the town, bringing an influx of trade and commerce. The World Road entrances were all guarded by fortresses of their own, but serious consideration had been given of late to enhancing the protection of Arundel, for the town was growing quickly.
None of this mattered to Chad, though. He was more concerned whether he would have any difficulty getting in to see the young Baron. That turned out to be a non-issue, however, for as soon as he approached the front of the house, one of the two guards went inside to inform George of his arrival, while the other opened the door and directed him to wait in the parlor. It seemed the Baron had been anxiously awaiting his return.
Sure enough, George appeared after only a handful of minutes. “Master Grayson!” he greeted the hunter. “Good news! I’ve finished the arrows in less time than I expected. The bow is here as well.”
The young man’s enthusiasm set Chad’s teeth on edge. In the past George hadn’t shown much ambitionؙ—something about being in the shadow of his older sister had made him approach life with seeming indifference, if not downright disinterest—but since his father’s death that had changed. Becoming a Lord of the Realm had given him a sense of agency, and also proved to be less exciting than the young lord had anticipated.
“That’s great,” said the hunter. “I’ll just take them and be on my way then.”
George looked disappointed. “Don’t you think you need my help?”
Chad grimaced. The last thing he wanted was to drag someone else into his troubles. “Nope,” he said flatly.
“That bow won’t be enough. He’ll kill you if you try,” said the young man.
The archer was keenly aware of that fact, but he was prepared to accept the risk. He didn’t have much to lose anyway. George was an entirely different matter. He had a future. “Only if he sees me coming.”
“He can sense you with his magesight,” said George, “long before you’re within range of him.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” replied the hunter dryly.
“A Prathion is the ideal partner for what you have in mind,” continued George. “No one finds a Prathion that doesn’t want to be found,” he added, repeating the family motto.
“There’s a lot more to hunting than not being seen, boy,” Chad said, rebuking him. “I’ve been hunting men since long before you were born. Trust me, you don’t want to get mixed up in this. I’ve heard Mort’s stories about Tyrion’s past, and from what he said this bastard’s fought and killed every kind of wizard you care to name, including a fair share of Prathions. I’ll do this my way and if things go south, well, at least I won’t have your death on my head as well.”
Undeterred, George asked, “How do you plan to do it then?”
Chad had already given that a lot of thought and had resigned himself to the inevitable. “A lot of waiting I imagine, years if necessary. I’ll pick a city with a lot of people, wherever I hear he’s heading. Eventually he’ll wander into my sights.” That was a half lie,
since he had a fair idea where Tyrion might be heading next already.
“What if I already know where he’s heading?” suggested the young Baron.
“And how would you know that?”
George smiled knowingly. “I finally got a letter from my sister yesterday.”
Chad waited.
“Mordecai set up pairs of enchanted message boxes with various nobles around the kingdom. She finally used one to send me a letter. Elaine is with Matthew and the others at their hidden home in the mountains,” said George.
Keeping his voice flat and his expression bland, Chad replied, “And what does that have to do with me?”
George went on, “Lynaralla had a vision. Matthew is planning some sort of grand enchantment to cure his father, but she saw Tyrion killing them all in the middle of it. Elaine warned me to stay away, but they’re trying to figure out some sort of scheme to accomplish their goal and keep Tyrion from killing them all in the process.”
Damn everything, Chad swore to himself. Now he’d never be able to keep the boy out of it. “You should listen to your sister,” he told the Baron.
“You need to know where they’re going to be when they attempt it,” said George, a challenge in his voice.
Chad stared at the sideboard, where several bottles of wine were silently calling to him. He needed a drink so bad that it made his teeth hurt. He forced his eyes back to the young man. “What makes you think I’m planning to help them?”
“Aren’t you?”
The hunter shook his head. “I’m done with people. All I care about is killing one man, just one more, and then the world can go to hell without me.”
George walked to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of wine, then turned back. “I don’t believe it.” Then he glanced at the glass in his hand. “Would you like me to pour you one?”
Yes! screamed Chad’s inner voice, but with some effort, he reined it in. “No, thank you.” There would be time and wine enough to drown himself afterward.
Transcendence and Rebellion Page 34