The Magelands Origins

by Christopher Mitchell

  The crowd roared in confusion and anger, and many started rushing towards the stairs.

  Daphne ran up the steps, ducking and rolling under the flailing swipe of a guard. Another tried to grab her from behind, his big arms reaching for her, but she slipped out of his grasp, weaving and dodging. When she reached the top step she turned about, and leapt through the air, landing on the back of one of the civilians guarding the penned-in soldiers, knocking her off her feet. She snatched the woodaxe from the woman’s hand, and threw it at the next guard in line, cutting him down. The troopers of the Household Cavalry gazed at her in amazement, and a few reacted, getting to their feet. Daphne registered this without pausing; leaping, rolling, and killing the poorly armed and untrained civilians that were surrounding the troopers. In a few moments, half of them were down, and Daphne was armed with a six-foot stave.

  The Household Cavalry rallied, and attacked their remaining captors, pulling weapons from the bodies of those Daphne had slain. Soon all the remaining troopers were up and fighting, and had created a buffer between Daphne and the rest of the mob.

  Daphne raced back up the steps, having bought herself a few moments. She upended a man who ran at her, and took the purloined cavalry sword from his hands. She ran through the great doors of the palace, and into the main entrance hall. The room was in disarray, tables overturned, chairs broken, paintings pulled from the walls. Ignoring all of it, she raced for the door in the corner of the hall, which led to the guardhouse and the stables.

  She felt her energy flagging with each step as she hurtled along the passageways, and she was almost on her knees by the time she reached the dark stableyard. Staggering, she sliced off the bonds that held her left arm close to her body, and stretched out the crooked limb as far as she was able. She gasped in pain, but it was manageable, and it felt good to have some movement in her arm again.

  She heard the low sound of horses, and saw some gazing at her from within the nearest stable-block. She smiled, and went through the open entrance. Apart from her and the horses, it was deserted. Even the stable-hands must have run, she thought. Though she wanted to linger, she chose a short but sturdy chestnut mare. She entered the mare’s stall and, holding her neck with her good hand, ran the fingers of her withered left hand down its flank, the smell of the animal filling her, and giving her heart. The mare snorted, and bumped her nose against Daphne’s shoulder, making her smile.

  She pulled down the saddle and reins from a peg on the wall, and got the horse ready. Having no sheath, she left the sword behind, taking instead a long knife she found near the door. She placed it down the inside of her boot.

  Daphne led the mare out of the stable-block, her hooves clip-clopping off the flagstones. The sound of the mob was more distant here, but she knew they would be looking for her. She reached a set of gates that led back out into the Upper City, halfway between Holders Square and the top of the ramp.

  Stepping forward, she removed the bar, slung it to the ground, and pushed the gate open. She put her foot in the stirrup, and pulled herself onto the mare’s back. The horse shifted its weight a little, its breath steaming up into the night air. Daphne wrapped the reins around her left hand and wrist, and nudged in with her ankles. The mare responded, and Daphne smiled again. It was nearly a year since she had been on a horse, by far the longest time since she could walk. It felt like she was home again, back where she belonged. She had been nervous about this moment ever since she had been injured, but she could feel her left arm control the mare as if there were nothing wrong with it. She circled for a few moments, feeling out her nature, speaking soothing words, stroking her neck with her right hand.

  ‘Hah!’ she shouted, kicking her heels and aiming the mare at the open gate, and the horse took off through the archway and into the lane, its hooves clattering. Daphne pulled the reins, and steered the mare to the left, and they raced up the street. The road came out onto a large thoroughfare, used for processions from the ramp to the palace, and the people there turned to stare.

  Daphne kept her head down, and urged the mare into the crowd at a gallop. People dived to each side, yelling. Over to her left, the larger mob in Holders Square was turning their attention to the commotion she was causing on the road to the ramp.

  Daphne kept the mare at a canter, but the crowds were starting to press around her as they sped past. Someone grabbed the reins, but she drew her knife and slashed at the hand, and the mare careered down the street. Up ahead of her, people were pulling a cart into the road to block her way, so she pulled on the reins, and guided the mare down a tight alley, and into an area of narrow lanes and walled gardens. They cantered on for a few turns, and the sounds of the crowd faded behind her. She pulled back on the reins and the mare came to a halt, next to the gates of an ancient cemetery.

  ‘Good girl,’ Daphne said, patting her flank. ‘Thank you.’

  Daphne gazed up, looking for a high point, and spotted a spire close by. Gripping onto the reins, she drew on her line-vision, and her sight shot up to the top of the spire. She controlled her sense of dislocation and looked at the city laid out wide before her. To the right, in a flickering glare of torches, a sea of people flooded Holders Square, while the Old Tower stood high and proud to her left. Beyond was the wide ramp down to the bridge, and the garrison. The ramp was empty, and there were no sign of movement from the bridge. Across the Lower City, flames and smoke were rising, and she could see people on the streets. Did any of them realise what was happening in the Upper City? Although the mob in Holders Square looked large, it was a small fraction of the masses of people living in the capital.

  She turned her focus back to the Upper City, looking for a way down. Both the Royal Steps and the Cathedral Steps had been commandeered by the mob, and only the ramp lay clear. She checked the location of her pursuers, and quickly mapped out a route. She closed her eyes and switched back to battle-vision upon re-opening them. She was getting better at this. She grinned, the dry blood on her face cracking.

  ‘Ready?’ she whispered to the mare, and dug in her heels.

  The horse took off, and Daphne raced her through the narrow twisting lanes. At one corner they had to jump over a handcart, sending civilians diving to the ground, and at the crossroads just before the ramp started, she had to gallop out in full view of the crowd, gathered only a few paces away. The mob roared and surged towards her.

  Daphne pulled the mare into a tight turn, while hands reached out for them, stretching and almost touching. She kicked her heels and the mare burst out from the mob, Daphne hanging on, and they raced down the ramp, hooves clattering, an angry roar echoing in her ears.

  There was one switchback in the ramp, halfway down, and Daphne struggled to control the mare in the turn, they were going so fast, and sparks flew as horseshoes skidded off the flagstones.

  ‘Come on!’ Daphne screamed, as the mare made the turn, and they careered down towards the river.

  As they approached the bridge, on the far bank she saw cavalry troopers pointing at her. They were guarding the entrance to the city garrison, which stood on the Lower City side of the river.

  Daphne slowed the mare to a walk as they crossed the bridge, while the soldiers stared at her.

  She pulled on the reins, and came to a halt before them.

  ‘Tell your commander,’ she said, her speech slurred from the bruising on her face, ‘that she should get up to the palace, if she wants to save the queen. The church are about to put Prince Guilliam on the throne.’

  ‘It’s Daphne Holdfast!’ one of them shouted.

  ‘Get down, Holdfast!’ their sergeant yelled. ‘You’re coming with us!’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m done. Just do your job, and pass on my message. Can you manage that?’

  The sergeant looked blank for a moment, then frowned. ‘Off the horse, Holdfast.’

  Daphne pulled her feet from the stirrups, and untangled the fingers of her left hand from the reins.

  The soldiers approached.
They reached out their hands.

  Before they could touch her, she sprang up onto the mare’s back and jumped, leaping through the air and diving over the side of the bridge into the cold dark waters of the river. She heard yells and curses from above as she resurfaced, then she kicked out with her feet, and drifted away into the night.

  Hours later, near dawn, Daphne perched on the tiled roof of a tenement, in a pleasant residential district of the capital. Wearing clothes she had stolen from an open window, a dark hood shadowed her face as she watched the building opposite.

  A faint light was growing to her left, the east, where the first glimmerings of sunrise were approaching. Over to her right, the Upper City was ablaze, and she could see flames coming from the Old Tower, and from part of the citadel. The streets below were silent. She had ghosted through areas of the Lower City where riots were still going on, but none had reached this neighbourhood, filled as it was with more upmarket, and guarded, mansions of the merchant class.

  The particular mansion that concerned her looked no different from the others, but she knew it was where her old friend Douanna was residing.

  A bedroom lay opposite Daphne’s position and through a narrow crack in the shutters she could see a bed, where someone was sleeping. She smiled at the thought of what she was about to attempt. Though she had read about the power in books, she had no idea how it was done, but something within her was urging her to try. After all, if her father could do it, why couldn’t she?

  She made herself comfortable, resting against the stone blocks of a chimney, and focussed her line-vision, shooting her sight right through the crack in the shutters of the window. In the dim light of the bedroom, she looked around, and located the bed. Douanna was there, sleeping peacefully, a thin cover pulled up to her shoulders. One of her arms was resting on the blanket, and her silvery scales glimmered in the low light.

  Daphne focussed all her vision on the woman, and tried to enter her mind. She pushed her sight right up to the woman’s closed eyes, but nothing happened. She concentrated with all her being, pushing her line-vision to its limits, trying to feel her way into Douanna’s head. She was tiring, and was about to give up in frustration, when her vision went black, and she reeled in confusion.

  She felt panic, and a strange, dislocating sense of being in someone else’s mind. She could feel the woman breathing, and sensed her body and limbs as she slept.

  Douanna? she whispered.

  Nothing.

  Douanna? she said a little louder.

  Ahhh! Who’s there? Am I dreaming?

  No. Well, yes, you’re asleep, but I’m really here.

  Daphne? My dear, is that you?

  Daphne half sobbed. Yes.

  How cheeky! Douanna said. You never told me you had the inner-vision.

  You know about that? I thought it was a secret.

  Not a very well kept one, my dear, Douanna said. Where are you?

  On the roof of the building across from your window.

  Ha! Douanna laughed. I always knew you were a resourceful girl. And what is it that I can do for you?

  I was hoping you might like to take me to Rahain, Daphne said. We could be partners. I think my powers might be useful.

  Sounds a little risky, Daphne dear, Douanna replied. Could be dangerous even. A long journey across the Plateau, and the Inner Sea, and then round the Grey Mountains to the cities of my people. Are you sure?

  I am.

  Hmmm, Douanna considered. One condition, my precocious young mage.

  Yes?

  I’ll need a cup of tea first.

  Retreat of the Kell

  Christopher Mitchell

  Dramatis Personae

  Kell - The Squad

  Killop ae Kellan, Squad Leader

  Keira ae Caela, Squad Leader and Fire Mage

  Killian, crew leader and oldest

  Kylon, Killian's crew

  Conal, youngest

  Connie, Conal's twin

  Caelia, Kyle's twin

  Kyle, Caelia's twin

  Calum, crew leader

  Colm, Calum's triplet

  Collyn, Calum's triplet

  Clara, second oldest

  Kallie, archer

  Kelly, Kallie's twin

  Kell - Others

  The Chief, Chief of the Kell

  Kalinda, Kell herald

  Klannit, Kell champion

  Kai, leader (Klannit's half-squad)

  Kyleen, leader (Klannit's half-squad)

  Conwyn, in Klannit's half-squad

  Koreen, in Klannit's half-squad

  Calman, in Klannit's half-squad

  Kalma, in Klannit's half-squad

  Careen, Kell high mage

  Clewyyd, Kell mage

  Kalayne, crazy old man

  Kaylan, staff officer

  Conor, commander of Kell army

  Kyla ae Kylanna, leader of Southern Kell

  Kelpie ae Kylanna, leader of Southern Kell

  Lach

  Lana, leader of Lach contingent at Pass

  Lachlyn, Lana's aide

  Lacey, young Lach warrior

  Leckie, clumsy young warrior, Lacey's twin

  Loreli, Lach commander

  Lachryn, archer - joins after Marchside

  Lyla, archer - joins after Marchside

  Lanika, Lach Leader

  Brig

  Brendan, Brig commander

  Bridget, warrior - joins after Marchside

  Bryanna, warrior - joins after Marchside

  Bryony, warrior - joins after Marchside

  Budge, scout and guide

  Braed, Brig commander

  Domm

  Dugald, Domm champion

  Domnan, exile from Domm

  Donial, Domm leader

  Chapter 18

  Green Leathers

  Northern Pass, Kell – 15th Day, First Third Summer 503

  Killop awoke to the sound of his twin sister’s voice.

  ‘Think about it, ya big-eared bawbag, if we’d decided to build a stone fortress we’d still be on the fucking foundations. The lizards would scurry their scaly arses right over the top of us.’

  ‘I’m just saying, Keira,’ said Conal, the youngest of the squad, ‘I’d feel safer behind proper castle walls.’

  ‘Castle walls are no good,’ Killop said, getting himself into a sitting position, furs and blankets wrapped round his large limbs. ‘We know what their mages can do with stone.’

  ‘Excellent point,’ Keira grinned. ‘Thank you wee brother.’ She banged her bowl and spoon together. ‘Now, where’s my breakfast?’ She glared at the squad, then at the pot in the centre of the round hut, sitting on a stand over heated stones, its contents bubbling. Clara and Colm were on food duty that morning, and they hurried to get to their tasks. Clara started ladling barley meal and apple into a collection of bowls, while Colm prepared the drinks. Two cups each, one of warmed milk, the other of cool cider.

  Killop took his cup of milk from Colm and downed it in one draught. He placed his cider on the earthen floor next to him and waited while Conal fetched his bowl of barley meal. As a joke, Keira had cajoled the lad into believing it was the job of the youngest to get the squad leaders their meals, and it had reached the point where Killop felt it would be more humiliating for him to discover he had been fooled.

  He nodded as Conal passed him his breakfast. Over the lad’s shoulder he saw Keira raising her own bowl, grinning at him like a mountain cat, and not for the first time he realised his sister was enjoying the war. Despite the death and horror they had seen since the Rahain had invaded at the beginning of spring, her spirits were higher than ever.

  Killop and Keira were among the few in the squad who had taken part in the earlier, losing campaign in Northern Kell. Eight from their village had been selected by the elders in answer to the summons for aid. They had taken their arms and crossed the pass into Northern Kell, and spent the next two thirds involved in a series of tactical withdrawals and r
etreats, abandoning Northern Kell to the innumerable ranks of Rahain soldiers.

  The Kell forces had staged one final delaying action to allow as many civilians as possible to flee into Southern Kell, before taking up position at the head of the mountain pass, along which the Rahain would have to come. The pass was three miles long, and formed a natural step in the mountain’s flank. It was a hundred and twenty yards at its narrowest point; double that at its widest. On the north-western side rose a near vertical cliff, difficult to climb, impossible to take an army over. The south-eastern edge of the pass fell away into a deep ravine that plunged to the base of the mountain. Upon arrival, Killop and Keira had been assigned a fresh squad, mostly comprising new recruits, and given responsibility over a stretch of the front. Over the next third and a half, as scouts reported that the Rahain army was resting and re-supplying their mauled brigades, the Kell had been busy. A web of palisades, trenches and ditches zigzagged across the pass, from the cliff to the ravine. At the centre of the web was a rectangular enclosure, double palisaded on all sides, with a tower at each corner.

  Their squad was based a hundred yards to the north-east of the central enclosure, and occupied a section of the forward line. They had dug their double ditch, and felled enough trees to build a sturdy palisade wall, and the small hut in which they slept and ate. Their section of wall joined those of neighbouring squads on either side, and competition had been brutal, with each squad blustering and boasting as they raced to be first to finish. Every tree had been cut down from the area in front of the forward line, and the resultant clearing was a hundred yards deep in places. Dozens of arrow loops had been cut through the palisade wall, and longbows and quivers had been stockpiled for days.

  ‘Well, boys and girls,’ Keira said, breaking into the low conversations that murmured through the hut, ‘I hope you had a good night’s kip, cause, you know, those fucking pits out front won’t dig themselves.’