Eynon realized the river was wider than he’d first understood. What appeared to be the far bank was actually a large island in the middle of the current. On either side of the island, Eynon could see the true far bank several hundred feet beyond. Damon’s attempt at freezing had only managed to chill a fraction of the distance.
“See?” asked Damon. “Now you try.”
“I’m confused,” said Eynon. “That’s not how I froze the mud pots.”
“When were you back in Melyncárreg to freeze mud pots?”
“This morning,” said Eynon. “It’s part of my surprise for the…”
“That’s not important,” said Astrí. “How did you freeze them?”
Damon’s face was returning to its usual dyspeptic expression.
Maybe Astrí should kiss him again, thought Eynon.
“If I interpreted your magic correctly, you’re adding cold to the water,” said Eynon. “That only works slowly, from the top down, and the layer of ice at the top insulates the flowing water below.”
“What do you propose?” asked Damon. He removed his arm from Astrí’s shoulder, then crossed both of his over his chest.
Dârio was leaning forward, watching closely.
“Instead of adding cold, why not take away heat?” asked Eynon. “That’s what I did with the mud pots, and they were hot to begin with.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Damon. He rested his chin on one palm and put his other arm back around Astrí. Dârio saw that Astrí had been rubbing the small of Damon’s back.
“I’ll show you,” said Eynon.
He adjusted his red magestone and centered its setting on his breastbone over his jacket. Then he extended his arms and threw out two huge transparent walls of solidified sound, five hundred feet up and down the river, from bank to bank, with the large island in the middle. The current stopped flowing. Eynon’s blue magestone took over control of the walls, leaving Eynon and his red magestone free to absorb the water’s heat.
Eynon took a deep breath. As he drew in air, he also drew in every calorie of warmth from the top two feet of water between the transparent walls. A layer of ice thicker than a barn’s foundation stones snapped into place from shore to shore and more, drawing high up the river’s banks to anchor it firmly in place.
The young wizard fell backward like a toppled tree. Only Dârio’s quick-thinking assistance saved Eynon from hitting his head on the ground. The walls of solidified sound disappeared with a pair of pops. Beneath the sturdy sheet of ice the river began to flow again, with only a brief interruption.
Dârio carefully placed Eynon’s limp body on the grassy bank. Astrí used her hood to pad Eynon’s head. She listened to the young wizard’s shallow breathing and felt his forehead. It was burning hot.
Astrí moved to sit behind the top of Eynon’s head and put her hands on his temples. The others stood by, watching as she attempted to heal him. Her efforts appeared to be working. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, but his temperature was still too high.
“Should we drag him out on the ice to cool him off?” asked Dârio.
“What?” asked Eynon, jerking his head up and away from Astrí’s soothing palms. “No! Not ice!” he said before his head fell back.
“Rest,” she told Eynon. “That was amazing. A tremendous feat of wizardry. Channel your body’s heat to your magestone.”
Eynon nodded weakly. He felt physically drained by his effort, but Astrí’s healing touch was making a difference. Still, his red magestone was pulsing rapidly, sending out rhythmic flashes of crimson. He looked down and saw his stone seemed ten, or even a hundred times as full of energy as it had after he’d chilled a crust over the mud pots. The stretch of river he’d frozen had been a lot bigger.
Astrí addressed Dârio and Damon. “Did either of you think to bring something to eat on this expedition?”
Dârio and Damon both shook their heads.
“I can understand you not thinking ahead, Your Majesty,” said Astrí. “But this old fool should know better. It takes lots of fuel to work wizardry on such a scale.”
“There’s some dried meat and hardtack in my pack,” whispered Eynon weakly. “I put it there at the start of my wander year and never had a chance to eat it.”
“Thank goodness for that,” said Astrí. “No time like the present.”
Astrí rummaged in his pack, taking care to avoid sharp shards of fractured flying disk, and found the meat and biscuits. She watched Eynon eat both as the eastern horizon revealed hints of a rising sun.
“I have to tell you about my surprise,” said Eynon after a few bites.
Damon had been alternating between staring at the frozen river and staring at Eynon. Sometimes he shook his head. Once, he whistled.
“Just a moment, lad,” he said. He threw up a privacy sphere around the four of them with a word and a gesture. “Now we can talk,” he said.
Eynon told them about his plan. Astrí clapped her hands and grinned. Dârio pumped his fist and laughed, glad the noise wouldn’t carry outside the privacy sphere.
“Brilliant,” said Damon. “I’m impressed. You got Fercha and Doethan to help you?”
“I did,” said Eynon. Astrí put her hands back on his head. He was starting to feel better, but kept eating. “Nûd gave me the idea.”
“Did he now,” said Damon. “Good for Nûd.” He paced a few times and looked back across the ice-covered Brenavon. “I should tell our Roma allies about your surprise.”
“I’ll alert the Bifurlanders after I’m sure Eynon’s well,” said Astrí. “We don’t want their dragonships running aground on the ice.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Dârio. “I want to see the looks on King Bjarni and Queen Signý’s faces when you tell them. You can fly me back to the royal army when we’re done.”
“You’re going directly back to camp, Your Majesty,” said Astrí.
“Very well,” sighed Dârio. “That’s the wiser course, blast it.”
Eynon finished his food and began to stand. Dârio helped him to his feet and shook Eynon’s hand, then collected flying disks to distribute to Damon and Astrí.
Without external support, Eynon wobbled on his feet. Astrí reached out to help. She put one arm around Eynon to steady him, then one of her fingers touched Eynon’s red magestone. Something crackled. Eynon felt her channel a tiny fraction of the magestone’s power into his body, replenishing some of the energy he’d lost freezing the river.
Everything was different—brighter, stronger somehow. Eynon had yawned earlier, but now he didn’t feel tired at all. He felt like he could wrestle a mountain lion and win two matches out of three.
Eynon straightened up, standing without need of assistance. He smiled a broad smile at Astrí, then gave her a hug.
“Will you be alright here, young man?” asked Astrí when they’d disengaged. “We should all be going.”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Eynon. “I’m fine, thanks to you. I’ll head back west to make sure my surprise comes off as planned in a few minutes. We’ve got time before both armies take the field.”
“Perhaps an hour,” said Dârio, noting the position of the sun. “Not more than that.”
“Safe travels,” said Eynon. He yawned, then smiled.
“And you,” said Astrí from her flying disk.
Dârio, standing behind her, nodded.
“I have another job for you,” said Damon as he mounted his own disk. “The details can wait, though. We can discuss it after the battle.”
“Yes, sir,” said Eynon. “I mean, ‘Yes, Damon.’”
Eynon was still worried about his red magestone. Even with the small transfer, the energy inside it was like a captive thing that wanted to escape. He was afraid what might happen if he didn’t release it soon, or if it broke free on its own in the wrong place. He didn’t want it to be a threat to his friends or the kingdom.
His finger began to buzz. It was the ring he’d originally
received from Doethan. He tugged on its band until it expanded. A battle was already in progress on the other side of the interface.
“Eynon,” said Doethan as lightning blasts and fireballs filled the air behind him. “If you’re here, come south. A mile or so below the royal encampment. We need your help. I’ve got to go.”
The connection abruptly terminated, and the wide band shrank back down to ring-sized. Eynon returned the ring to his finger.
“On my way,” he said to empty air.
As he rose, he spotted twelve small dragons high above him, their scales glinting red and orange as well as gold in the dawn light.
Eynon waved to Sigrun and Rannveigr and their friends and sped south.
Chapter 66
Túathal and Gwýnnett
King Túathal allowed Uirsé to lift him to the top of the royal observation platform on her flying disk. He didn’t have the time or inclination to climb the four flights of stairs that would take him there. The upper level had a waist-high railing to prevent anyone from falling and provided a vantage point high enough for Túathal and Duke Néillen, his senior-most commander, to observe the course of the battle.
“Stay close in case I need you,” said the king.
“Yes, Sire,” said Uirsé softly. She put her flying disk on her shoulder and moved as far away from Túathal as she could manage on the twenty-by-twenty-foot floor of the platform.
“What about me?” shouted Princess Gwýnnett from the ground below. “You don’t expect me to climb up there in a skirt, do you?” The soldiers standing guard on either side of her were laughing.
Túathal and Néillen, a compact man with huge scarred forearms covered in tattoos, exchanged smiles. Néillen was an experienced military commander. He’d been a young bravo from the streets of Riyas before he’d joined the royal guard. He’d fought beside Túathal and his father at the gates of Nova Eboracum. Túathal respected him, considering the man almost as crafty as strategist as he was. The king had made the rough-hewn soldier a duke after eliminating one of his nobles who’d been showing a stubborn tendency to follow his own counsel instead of doing what Túathal told him.
“Might as well lift her up,” said Néillen, “if only to keep her quiet.”
Túathal motioned to Uirsé, who reluctantly approached.
“Fetch the princess,” he said, “but try not to give her a smooth ride.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Uirsé replied. She placed her flying disk on the platform and stepped onto it, lifting off, then descending to do as she’d been ordered.
Soon Gwýnnett’s complaints stopped, only to be replaced by grumbles from her guards who now realized that they would have to climb four flights wearing mail. After a short debate, the guards decided the princess could be guarded just as easily from the base of the high platform as its top.
Gwýnnett dismissed Uirsé with a wave once she landed near Túathal and stepped off the wizard’s flying disk.
“You’re so kind to your captives,” said the princess.
“Stay quiet and observe my victory,” said the king.
“Our victory,” said Gwýnnett.
Duke Néillen was wise enough not to say he agreed with the princess’s way of putting things. He was privy to almost as much information about the king’s plans as Verro and knew he was due to receive a much larger ducal estate in Dâron after Tamloch won.
Túathal stepped to the forward edge of the platform. It was forty feet tall and built on top of a modest hill that made its total elevation nearly a hundred feet above the level of the river. He could see his own troops arrayed before him, like green blocks on his sand table. Heavy cavalry, heavy infantry, archers, and peasant levies were in their predetermined positions.
Reserves were in the rear, but ready to deploy to either flank as necessary. Individual scout-wizards circled above the army, keeping watch from high above, while tight groups of wizards closer to the ground tossed small fireballs or tiny spheres of lightning from hand to hand like beginning jugglers.
Beyond the warriors of the royal army of Tamloch was a wide patch of unoccupied ground—the site of the battle to come. In the distance, past the open field, were the ranked units of blue-clad soldiers in Dâron’s army. Túathal was pleased to see that his army was larger, though not by as much as he’d hoped. Dâron must have been able to assemble more of its levies from the southern reaches and west to the borderlands than his spies had reported.
Speaking of reports, thought Túathal, where’s that report Verro owes me on the status of the Bifurlanders? He rubbed his chin. It’s probably nothing. That fireball just before dawn was disconcerting, however. The scout wizards had insisted it was a young wizard heading east, probably trying to get away before the armies engaged.
Túathal leaned against the railing. Heights didn’t bother him. He knew the Dâron encampment wasn’t far behind Dâron’s army, and behind the encampment was the wide gate linked to Verro’s surprise.
Gwýnnett interrupted his contemplation of the field and joined Túathal at the rail. She didn’t speak at first, which pleased Túathal. He wanted another moment to savor his preparations.
“Why are you being so mean to me?” she asked.
Why is it always about you, princess? Túathal wondered. Don’t you know it’s always about me? He laughed. The two of them were well-matched.
“My apologies, my dear,” said the king. His tone held only a hint of patronizing mockery. He didn’t think Gwýnnett would notice. “I’ve been preoccupied.” He waved his hand at the scene below. “And you are, technically my captive, not yet my queen. We have to keep up appearances.”
Gwýnnett snorted. Túathal was surprised. He’d never heard her make that sound before and didn’t like it. Gwýnnett changed her tack.
“I want to be married in Brendinas,” she said, surprising Túathal. “On midsummer day, in the palace gardens—or the grand hall if it rains. I’ll wear a beautiful green and blue gown and Dârio will walk me down the aisle.”
“Excuse me?” said the king. “I never thought you were the type to focus on frivolities.” He faced Gwýnnett and saw she was smiling. He wondered what subtext of hers he was missing.
“Of course not,” said Gwýnnett, “but while you’ve been concerned with battles, alliances and armies, someone has to think about how to get the people of Dâron to love you as much as I do.”
“More than that, I hope,” said Túathal. He relaxed, glad he hadn’t been completely wrong about Gwýnnett. He’d need her for the next few years, at least. Then, perhaps, a convenient accident…
“We’ll restage the ceremony in Riyas, so your nobles and subjects will see you can be changed through the love of a good woman,” said the princess.
“Perhaps my subjects,” said Túathal. “My nobles will know better.”
“Whatever,” said Gwýnnett. “We can save the details for later.”
“There is the small matter of winning the battle first,” said the king. He left Gwýnnett at the rail and returned to Duke Néillen at the middle of the platform.
“Where’s your wizard?” he asked. “I want an update on the Bifurland fleet.”
“I sent Tairí down to the keepers of the Blue Whale,” said Duke Néillen. “I thought you might want to share a bottle of wine while we watch the defeat of Dâron’s army.”
“I might,” said Túathal, “but I expect it will be too early for wine when we win. The battle should be over before noon.”
“I expect a swift victory as well,” said Néillen, “but will be glad to have a glass of red from the Isle of Vines no matter what the hour.”
Túathal nodded, acknowledging his most senior commander’s plan if not sharing it. The king stretched his shoulders and admired the construction of the viewing platform. It was built from logs and rope and had been erected before sundown the previous day. Verro had suggested a physical platform, since it would free-up six or eight wizards who would otherwise have to lift an extra-large observation disk
with their magic. The king expected his brother was using those additional wizards to implement his surprise.
Gwýnnett called to Túathal. “Is that one of your projects?”
“What?” asked the king.
“All that ice on the river,” Gwýnnett answered.
Túathal and Duke Néillen rushed to her side and followed her pointing arm. The Brenavon was frozen from shore to shore.
“Blast!” said the king.
“Now we’ll have to worry about the Roma,” said the Duke.
“It must be Ealdamon returned,” said Gwýnnett. “This is just like the Master Mage freezing the Abbenoth when you and Dâri fought at the gates of Nova Eboracum. I thought he was dead.”
“Blast!” Túathal repeated, tugging off one of his rings. “I have to talk to Verro. Why didn’t he warn me something like this might happen?”
Chapter 67
Melyncárreg
It was still dark beside the wide gate in the valley. The only illumination came from glowing balls above the heads of the Merry, Nûd, and the four wizards sent by Inthíra to protect the gate’s integrity. Nûd’s sphere of light had been created by Eynon and was still tracking his movements, floating a yard up from his forehead.
Rocky was resting on a patch of dried grass with Chee on the padded saddle strapped to the wyvern’s broad back. The raconette was weaving long strands of straw-colored grass into a circle. Chee hopped down from Rocky’s back to Nûd’s nearby shoulders and gently placed the woven circle on Nûd’s head. The big man rubbed the fur on Chee’s back and a higher-pitched sound of contentment came from the raconette to join Rocky’s deep basso hum. Nûd didn’t seem to notice Chee’s gift.
Merry wondered if all raconettes wove grass, maybe as part of lining their nests. She wasn’t sure, though. Chee seemed brighter than any animal she’d encountered who wasn’t a wizard’s familiar. Rowsch, Doethan’s large hound, was able to communicate with him in complex ways she couldn’t follow. Tutu, Fercha’s owl familiar, had a particularly prickly disposition and obeyed Fercha’s instructions, up to a point. Three examples weren’t enough to generalize, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Chee found a piece of chalk and started drawing geometric figures from Euclid’s Elements on a piece of slate.
The Congruent Wizard (The Congruent Mage Series Book 2) Page 37