Luther, Magi: Blood of Lynken II

by Geoffrey C Porter

  "Perhaps, but my regular army is strong; the men can take turns working ahead, clearing the roads."

  "It's mud under the ice," Simon said. "Even if they clear the ice, they're still going to be marching in mud. And I don't know if you've noticed this, but it's been getting cold enough at night to kill a man in his sleep."

  William growled. "Tell me some good news. I'll ask for volunteers from the regular army. Send them all along different paths, so as not to overburden the peasants."

  "Rangers would get there faster."

  "All Rangers are good for is drinking whiskey; they cannot mine. Where's my good news?"

  Simon raised his eyebrows up high. "Your niece has become a painter. I have some of her work."

  William tilted his head to the side. "I see four frames with blank canvas."

  "The top layers are to protect the canvas underneath. We just need to pry out some tacks. I think."

  A toolbox was nearby, left over from clearing the ice. William started working on one of the canvases, peeling back the upper layer. "This is very nice, but this top layer is not blank on the inside."

  Simon leaned in to get a look.

  William very carefully took more tacks out and looked at the painting. It was a masterfully done portrait of his sister. "This is amazing. The light, the strokes, it's perfect."

  "It's not even what I meant to bring you. Emmy did this."

  "Let's undo the others, carefully."

  They revealed a portrait of Rubie's oldest son, one of Gregory, and finally one of Emmy. William started to cry. "I'll have frames prepared immediately."

  Simon shook his head. "I didn't even realize she painted portraits. Everything else was rage and blood and pain."

  "I have to pay her for these. A true artist like her can command five gold coins for a portrait. In fact, I may even have some frames in an old storeroom. They wouldn't be worthy of these works, but they'll keep them flat and do for now."

  "I was going to give you two of the other ones."

  William seemed to notice the other four paintings for the first time. "Pick your favorites, these are nice, but they don't compare with the ones of Rubie and the kids."

  Simon helped William find temporary frames and grabbed two frames for his. The frames out of William's old storeroom were lacquered hardwood carved with runes. They were quality.

  William put the paintings in his bedroom. The two abstract pieces he hung in the hall.

  William pulled Simon off to the side. "When I sent you to Nork and the boy to Kergia, I sent a Ranger to every town in Lynken to spread the word. We need to send riders again, and soon."

  "Winter will most likely break in a few weeks. Rangers and horses don't travel well in the dead of winter."

  "My guardsmen do not travel well in winter either, but I'm going to ask some to go to Juxta's fiefdom and mine a new vein."

  "Nobody mines in winter."

  "Assemble the regulars and get a map," King William said.

  Scribes ran in every direction, sometimes into each other.

  William and Simon walked out of the castle together; a scribe followed. The troops stood in rows wearing thick jackets. More than a few wore full winter beards.

  William raised his voice high. "There's a rock called turquoise which will counter the Southlanders' magic. The only known source of it is in Juxta's fiefdom, but Juxta needs men!"

  The men began to roar and howl.

  William continued, "It'll be a hard march, and even harder to mine, but I need two hundred men!"

  A man shouted, "I love the cold! I'm in!"

  Another regular stepped forward. "I spent the first ten years of my life in Nork. Lynken doesn't even know cold."

  William smiled. He began to clap his hands madly. Soon enough, two hundred souls were separate from the bulk of regulars. Four of the two hundred were sergeants. William motioned towards those four. "You've got to split into groups of fifty. There are small towns along the way to Juxta's fiefdom. You'll take coins, an extra set of leggings. You must not bed down in the frozen waste, only in a town. Am I clear?"

  One by one the men said, "Aye, my lord."

  "Every man must carry a tool, food, and one skin of water and one of whiskey."

  The two hundred roared even louder.

  One of the sergeants, whom William knew went by Frank, said, "We must leave today?"

  "You must leave yesterday, and you need to hurry," William said. "If we don't have enough turquoise, we can't hold the line."

  "We'll get it for you, my liege."

  Chapter Victor II

  One of the Necro-priests entered the room carrying a heavy book and set it on the altar. The floating torso that was Rivek spoke in Victor's mind, Study the text.

  Victor picked the book up and sat cross-legged on the floor with the book on his lap. He started with the table of contents. At the end of the list, he found a heading, Notes and History.

  He thumbed to that section. The pages were stiff parchment, with dark blackish ink that reflected light as if it was still wet. He touched the ink, but it was dry. The section began simply:

  "This is the thirty-seventh edition of this text, and it contains everything from the first thirty-six editions, plus minor notes by Balron. Every time new information has been added to the text, we produce a new edition. In general, the art of Necromancy has not changed since the beginning, and the first edition of this handbook was written by gods of the nether region.

  "This book, in essence, details the pathways and roads between those nether regions and this world. The One True God works to teach people to avoid the nether regions. We teach people and ogres alike how to avoid her judgment and travel the nether regions. Our burial rights will guarantee a place of honor in these plains. Balron's Notes: My worst fear, my biggest true death, will always be ending up a peon in the One True God's heaven."

  A tingling was beginning in Victor's fingertips. Tiny tendrils of black lines resembling spider webs were growing in the ends of his hands.

  Rivek's rotting torso spoke again. Those faint black lines in your fingertips will grow thick and strong until they climb up your arms and reach your heart. You'll know true power then.

  Victor turned back to the first page of the book. It discussed proper mummification rituals, involving cleaning out specific internal organs, but leaving the lungs and heart intact. Prayers must be said over the body. A simple chant in homage to the gods of Hell. Victor's hands and forearms began to itch. The book went on to talk about birds. If a bird such as a robin or hawk could be captured, with the right prayers and if a Necro was strong enough, they could be made into a vessel for a human spirit. The dead bird would then scout and spy for the Necro.

  The magic was not perfect, and normally lasted only six months, but powerful Necros have been known to keep birds alive for years. The next section talked about making soldiers out of dogs and wolves. The chants were different for canines than for birds, and it was better if the dogs or wolves had been dead and rotten for at least a week. Their sense of smell would become so strong they could track over miles.

  A Necromancer who controlled both the birds and dogs were strong and could take out enemies without ever leaving their crypts. The black spiderwebs in Victor's forearms were thicker and reached up to his elbows. He turned the page and read on.

  Victor studied the chants. The next section talked about the proper burial of ogres, to allow them to be resurrected later. The process was similar to the others, but the ogres kept their internal organs, and the corpses must be entombed within ten days of death.

  The Necronomicon talked about the concept that spirits didn't journey into the afterlife right away, but could often be put on a different path with access to the body. Victor began to just breathe and breathe. He set the precious tome off to the side.

  He lay back. The ceiling had the most interesting carvings.

  The spiderwebs of dark magic reached his heart. He sank down through the earth into the ground b
elow. Sinking and sinking. He landed on a balcony overlooking fields of grapes on a red horizon.

  An older man wearing a simple white shirt and pants spoke. "I'm Lardic. I was once a Necromancer."

  Victor asked, "Where am I?"

  "My estate in Hell. You're dead."

  "Great." Victor sighed.

  Lardic reached to a plate and extended a hand with a wine cup. "You won't be here long, but you must try the wine."

  Victor took the cup. One little sip, he said to himself. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted: it was cinnamon and spice, fruit and wheat. Everything he could have ever enjoyed. He finished the cup.

  "How much of this wine do you have?" Victor asked.

  "I'm constantly brewing more. I ship it all over Hell."

  Victor stared into the horizon. It was beautiful. It wasn't exactly sunset, but the red in the sky was the perfect shade. He could stare at it for an eternity and be happy.

  Lardic said, "We'll meet again."

  Victor lifted up, back through the earth, and into Rivek's chamber. Somebody was beating on his chest. He opened his eyes, and they stopped hitting him. Necromancers in dark cloaks surrounded him. One of them spoke, "We just needed to give you an antidote. And coerce your heart back to life."

  "Am I a Necromancer now?" Victor asked.

  Rivek whispered, You're on your way. You'll be both Magi and Necromancer in one.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Prince William, Mathew, Adam, and Clark secured their horses and asked around in pubs about finding transit across the sea, around the great swamp. By the look of things, there were more than enough ships anchored in the bay. Every man they talked to said no. Something about the great winter maelstrom. It wasn't even that cold this far south.

  They were having dinner in a pub, debating their options. An old man wearing a smudgy brown cloak and a white scarf, sitting at the bar, spoke in a loud voice, "You plan to go through the maelstrom or around it?"

  Prince William turned to face the man. "Whatever you think is best, old soul."

  "They say, if you go around, it'll surely be your death. If you go through it, your boat will get sucked to some nether region of Hell, never to return."

  "You know a way, or you're interrupting our dinner for no reason?"

  "I've done it, twice."

  William stood and walked up to the old man. "Name your price!"

  The old man shook his head. He took a sip of whatever steaming hot beverage he was drinking.

  William looked back at Mathew. He shrugged. William said, "Please."

  The old man took another drink of his brew. "It's a job for a younger man. So he can earn his name."

  "What's your name?"

  "People call me Birk. I need ten gold pieces. Five now, and five when we land."

  William's mouth dropped open. "That's insane!"

  "I wasn't finished. I have a crew of four, and they need two gold pieces each."

  "You're a madman!"

  "Yes, because it takes a madman to cross against the maelstrom. I want to retire. My men can live for a year on two gold coins."

  Mathew said, "You've done it twice?"

  The old man finished the brew he was drinking. "Twice in winter."

  Mathew got out of his chair and approached the old man. "Bartender, whatever he is drinking, refill it. You're a robber, Birk, but we seem to have no choice."

  William leaned into Mathew's ear. "I only have 15 gold coins."

  "I can provide the extra three coins, and more to cover our return trip."

  The bartender refilled the old man's drink. The bartender asked, "What's so important that you cannot wait a month? Every man who has ever tried to cross the maelstrom in the heart of winter is at the bottom of the sea."

  "Except me," Birk whispered.

  "You don't count, old man!"

  "We can't take your horses."

  "We'll sell the horses at dawn," William said.

  "Sell the horses tonight, we must leave before dawn."

  Mathew said, "Let's hurry."

  The four men found a barn and lodged the horses for two months. Mathew paid the man a gold coin. He promised to take good care of them.

  They left at midnight. The ship was really no bigger than a skiff. At first, Mathew thought the tiny thing would be taking them to a bigger ship; instead, they sailed out of the bay. A strong wind blew at their backs, and the helm cut through the water like grease.

  Birk said, "Coins. Sleep on the deck."

  William handed over the first batch of coins. Two of his crew were old as Birk was. Four oars lined each side. The moon raged through a clear night above. Two of Birk's men were young and fit. Each of them rowed on opposite sides. After about an hour, the rowers went below, and another man came up to guide the boat. Birk went below.

  Mathew, William, Adam, and Clark tried to rest. It was dry, and not that cold, but with only one man steering, it felt like a ghost ship.

  The sun woke the men of Lynken. All four crewmembers were on the deck. Birk was at the wheel, and two men held onto ropes attached to sails. The two young men with muscles sat at oars but didn't row yet.

  Thunder in the distance made the men turn and look. A storm filled the horizon. It raged in clouds of gray and black and white. There seemed to be no end to it to the left or right.

  "Mother always said, if I had to go to Kergia, take the ocean route," William said. "Now I'm thinking a swamp sounds kind of nice."

  The ship cut through the waves, clearly faster than most vessels. The wind was strong at their back. The men of Lynken ate beef jerky for fuel. Birk pointed at the wineskin with arcane runes on it at William's side. "Is that Druid's Wine?"

  "Yes," William said.

  "I hope men of Lynken are good rowers."

  "We're ready to row, Birk. Tell us when."

  "When we approach the maelstrom. Row for life."

  William thought they were already close to the beast of a storm, but it was an illusion of the size of the clouds.

  "The thing most people don't realize is that the maelstrom is a series of whirlpools," Birk said. "It's not one huge whirlpool, one huge storm, but instead scores if not hundreds of them in a line."

  "Crossing in winter is impossible, but crossing the rest of the year is easy?" William asked.

  "Some say the pools are over great caverns, and the caverns drain in spring, summer, and fall, then have to be filled again in winter. The storms only come in the dead of winter. No one understands it."

  The two young and healthy crewmembers stepped forward. One said, "You're sharing the Druid's Wine? Yes?"

  William said, "A capful is enough."

  "Surely you jest? You have a full skin."

  They started passing the wineskin around. The men of Lynken took sips. Birk's crewmembers took great swigs.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Between sips of the Druid's Wine, Mathew raised his hand and waved at Birk. "When it comes to rowing, I'm likely the weakest link."

  Birk raised one eyebrow.

  "Yes," Mathew said, "I was never a Ranger or swordsman. Really never worked a day in my life."

  Birk stared off into the distance. He pointed at the two young brutes with red skin due to the Druid's Wine. "Both of you on the right. The rest of you, on the left. Get ready."

  William's heart raced faster than if he'd been running for miles. He moved to the front of the boat, to the first oar. The handle was about the right size for his hands and wrapped in soft leather. His eyes looked towards the front. They were about to hit a wall of rain and storm.

  Lightning flashed into the water ahead. A simple thought crossed into William's mind: if this is going to be my end, so be it. The Druid's Wine raged in his arteries, and his hands were red as blood. The wall of rain hit him in the face, and it was a beautiful, cooling thing.

  Birk shouted, "Row, you worthless dogs!"

  William was clumsy at first, not sure exactly where up-down and forward-back were. L
ightning crashed with a great thundering burst twenty feet from the end of William's oar. He began to row feverishly. He dared not look back to see what the others were doing.

  "If any of you want to pray to the God of Winds," Birk yelled.

  William said no prayer. He rowed with every ounce of energy he possessed. They were heading right into a whirlpool spinning in a clockwise rotation. Birk had to see it. William wanted to shout, but with the winds howling like tortured souls, he doubted he'd be heard. The little boat jerked left, and they bounced past the whirlpool on the fringe of it. Momentum was a godsend. The wind pushed at their backs. The rain fell in great sheets and soon turned to ice chunks that bit into their skin.

  William's arms did not burn. He had never rowed more in his whole life, but his shoulders and muscles did not burn. A great ache raged in his heart. He didn't seem capable of breathing in enough. He synchronized his rowing with his breathing. When he pulled back, he breathed in. Pushing forward, he exhaled. His mind moved above the pain.

  Another whirlpool right in their path. William rowed. Steady. Strong. No stopping. The boat turned at the last instant and skipped over the water past the whirlpool. They were making good time, and the wind was a steady rush at their backs. The shards of ice falling out of the sky stuck to the deck and added weight to their vessel.

  A bolt of lightning six feet across shattered the water in front of them. William paused for a split second for rest.

  Birk hollered, "Don't stop now!"

  William rowed again, stronger than before. His heart began to pound so viciously in his chest that he felt every pump. Push the oar forward, two heartbeats. Pull the oar back, two heartbeats. A third whirlpool turned in the distance, and it was the biggest, at over two hundred yards across. William realized they were already in the topmost portion of the whirlpool, and he was looking down into it.

  "You dogs need to row!"

  William pushed himself further. The boat skimmed the edge of the pool. An instant later the sun shone brightly. They were through. The rain and ice stopped. In a fever, William did not stop rowing.

  Adam and Clark stopped and lay on their backs. Mathew groaned in pain.