Twin Soul Series Omnibus 2: Books 6-10

by McCaffrey-Winner

  #

  “How soon can you get the other in the air?” the king demanded of Mannevy as they watched Warrior soar above them.

  “Tomorrow, maybe the next day,” Mannevy replied suavely. “I understand that mage Tirpin may need some rest —”

  “I’m not happy that we’ve only got the one mage,” Markel said. “We need more.”

  “Indeed,” Mannevy agreed. “However we’re having trouble finding those with the right sort of abilities —”

  “Mine are utterly useless,” Markel grumbled in agreement, referring to Margen and Vistos, the two ancient mages he had inherited from his father.. He pursed his lips sourly. “That Reedis fellow really was rather special, wasn’t he?”

  “Mage Tirpin seems more talented to me, sire,” Mannevy said. “He can lift two ships at once.”

  “So he says,” the king returned mildly.

  #

  “It’s a simple spell,” mage Tirpin said, “any half-trained apprentice should be able to do it.”

  “Sorry, sir,” apprentice Tortin Borkis said miserably as the blue-robed mage turned the full power of his scorn upon him. “I tried, sir, I really tried!”

  “Try again!” Tirpin screamed, moving right up to the young lad’s face, brushing the lad’s blond hair back with the power of his breath.

  Borkis swallowed. He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He raised his arms and executed a slow turn, all the while chanting under his breath.

  Above him, the balloon’s taut walls grew slack and Warrior lurched downwards.

  “No, you idiot!” Tirpin shouted, slapping the apprentice, hard. “Now I have to raise it up again!”

  “I tried,” Borkis said, crumpling to the deck. “I really tried.”

  “You’re useless!” Tirpin said, closing his eyes and raising his arms. Magic flowed from him to the balloon above and Warrior ceased her slow descent. She did not, however, regain her lost height.

  “Mage Tirpin,” Nevins said, his voice taut, “you told us that, once filled, the balloon would remain filled.”

  “The weavers or balloon-makers or whatever you call them,” Tirpin said irritably, “must have botched the seams.”

  “That’s not what you said yesterday,” Nevins replied. “You said that the balloon was perfect.”

  “Don’t tell me what I said!” Tirpin barked. He kicked at the crumpled apprentice. “It’s all his fault. Get him off your ship.”

  “And his replacement?”

  “I don’t have time for that,” Tirpin said, glowering at the captain. “I’m to lift Parvour —”

  “Vengeance,” Nevins corrected with relish. “The king changed her name when he took her into his service. She’s the royal airship Vengeance.”

  Tirpin growled and shook his head. “I’m to get the other ship into the air today.” He gestured toward the ground below them. “Prepare to land, captain.”

  “And once we’re on the ground, how do we get back into the sky?” Nevins asked. He gestured toward the sad apprentice cowering on the deck. “He’s no use, clearly.”

  “I can say the spell from the deck of Vengeance as easily as I can from this deck,” Tirpin assured him haughtily.

  “Will you have the strength?” Nevins asked, genuine concern in his voice.

  “Of course!” Tirpin snapped. “This is child’s play!”

  Nevins nodded to the limp form of Borkis. “It seems that only some children can play this game.”

  #

  “What’s the delay?” King Markel demanded testily as they watched the re-named Vengeance, waiting for her to leap into the sky and join — well, repeat the flight of — Warrior. The king frowned at the frigate, she was supposed to be above Vengeance, ready to greet her sister ship to the skies, not hunkered down just above the water, like she was too heavy, wallowing.

  “I think it’s… mage Tirpin, your majesty,” Mannevy said, peering to the deck of the ship beyond. “I think he’s having some trouble —”

  “He’d best not!” the king growled. “He told us that this would be child’s play!” A shout from the crowd caught his attention and he looked to see Vengeance rise — slowly — into the sky above them. “Is she carrying too many stores?” the king asked his first minister. “She’s not nearly as sprightly as Spite.”

  “I imagine they’re just being cautious, your majesty,” Mannevy said soothingly.

  “I suppose it won’t matter how fast they get into the sky, just that they fly above everything else,” the king allowed.

  “Indeed, sire,” Mannevy agreed. He turned his attention to Warrior and hid a frown. Tirpin had promised that he could lift the two ships by himself but then he’d demanded an apprentice — the same hangdog lad who was now skulking back toward town at the edge of the crowd — and now he seemed incapable of filling Warrior’s balloon with lift.

  “Rise!” Tirpin’s voice carried from the rear of Vengeance. Mannevy had a brief glimpse of a man dressed in expensive blue robes — lined with gold filigree, no less, as the treasury had pointed out quite needlessly earlier — before Tirpin collapsed from sight.

  Mannevy turned his attention to Warrior. The larger ship moved upwards. It was painful to watch, like a drunkard falling from the sky… only backwards. Finally the frigate steadied up, a good five hundred feet below Vengeance — too low to safely deploy her propellers.

  King Markel turned his head and beckoned Mannevy to lean close. “We need to find another mage.”

  #

  “Ah, that’s a sad sight, isn’t it?” Rabel said, pointing back to the town far in the distance.

  “What?” Ellen asked, craning her neck to peer behind her.

  “Here,” Rabel said, lifting her to his shoulders and turning back to the town that they’d left hours ago aboard the northbound train.

  The crew on the train had greeted Rabel like a hero and had allowed him to show Ellen the boiler and blow the whistle before the train sped away from the town and out into the country.

  Now, many miles north, they were trudging the final two miles from the station to Rabel’s farm.

  “I see a smudge,” Ellen said.

  “And a bump,” Rabel said. “That bump is one of the airships.” He chuckled. “But where’s the other?”

  “I see it!” Ellen said, bouncing up and down on her perch. “It’s there, it’s there! It’s just — lower than the other.”

  “Lower?”

  “Yes,” Ellen said. “And it doesn’t look the same. The higher one has some big white things at the end and they’re spinning slowly.”

  “The propellers,” Rabel told her. “Slowly?”

  “Very slowly,” Ellen said. “Not like Spite.”

  “I suspected as much,” Rabel said, turning back to head toward his farm.

  “What’s it mean?” Ellen said, looking down at the top of his head with its full mane of black hair.

  “It means the king has made a fool of himself,” Rabel said with a laugh. “It’s a good thing we got out of town when we did or he’d be after us.”

  #

  Rabel’s farm was covered in a thick layer of snow as was the surrounding countryside. The kitchen door was unlocked and opened easily. Rabel dropped Ellen from his shoulders before they entered.

  “Start the fire,” he told her.

  “Which way?” Ellen asked.

  He smiled at her and shook his head — he’d leave that up to her.

  Ellen smiled back and moved forward, her hands hovering over the iron of the stove, her eyes closed as she said the words he’d taught her. Nothing happened. She opened her eyes and looked up to Rabel.

  “It’s always best to see if there’s fuel,” Rabel told her, his eyes twinkling. He moved forward and opened the grating. He gestured and she saw that it was empty. “It’s never a good idea to
leave the start of a fire untended.”

  Chastised, Ellen reached for several likely logs and put them into the grate. She closed it and then repeated the spell. She gave a cry of delight when light and heat erupted from inside the grate. “I did it, I did it!”

  “Yes, you did, child,” Rabel assured her, patting her on the shoulder. “So, what’s next?”

  In the past few days, Ellen had learned that Rabel was always teaching, always had a lesson in mind. She also discovered that she loved learning. Especially magic — or witchcraft — whichever worked best for the job.

  “The difference between witchcraft and magic is whether you’re using your heart to reach the gods or whether you’re using your head,” Rabel had explained to her.

  “But if you do witchcraft you need something special, like blood,” Ellen had said.

  “You need energy to do magic,” Rabel countered. “There’s always something you must offer the gods for their favor.” He pursed his lips. “A witch can do her magic all day long if she’s got the supplies —”

  “— like blood —”

  Rabel accepted her interjection with an approving nod. “— but a mage can only do so much magic every day or he’ll —”

  “— she’ll —” Ellen corrected.

  “— he or she will collapse from fatigue,” Rabel had finished, giving her a sardonic nod.

  Now, in the kitchen, he looked at her and asked again, “So what’s next?”

  “We need food, hot food, hot water, and supplies,” Ellen said. She glanced around the kitchen. “Is there anything here to eat?”

  “Why don’t you find out?” Rabel asked, turning to close the split doors of the kitchen entrance and moving toward the stairs at the far end of the room.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m getting us supplies,” Rabel said. His lips quirked. “First, I’ll see to the gods.”

  “What, are they here?” Ellen asked in surprise.

  “They’re always with us,” Rabel reminded her. He pointed up the stairs. “But this is personal.” He turned back to her. “Get us something to eat, Ellen, while I get this done.” He frowned. “We might stay here the night but not longer.”

  “Because the king will come looking,” Ellen guessed.

  “Or worse,” Rabel agreed.

  “So we’ll set wards?” Ellen guessed, allowing herself a smile when she caught Rabel’s pleased expression. “Should I start now?”

  “No,” Rabel said. “Usually, wards should be done before fires, but we’ve a bit of time and we’ll need the food to stoke our spirits.”

  Ellen nodded, turning to the cupboard and pulling open the door to peer inside.

  #

  “We’ve got him!” Vistos cried as he rushed into the king’s bedchamber.

  “What?” the king huffed, disturbed in his sleep. “What is this? It had better be good!”

  “Rabel, sire!” Vistos crowed. “My wards detected him at his home.”

  “Good,” the king said, coming to his senses. “And the trap?”

  “Set, ready to be triggered,” Vistos promised.

  “Get General Gergen, have him send a troop at once,” the king said. “And leave me!”

  Minutes later the courtyard rang with the sound of iron hooves on hard cobblestones. King Markel grunted at the noise, rolled over in his bed, and was soon back to sleep.

  Chapter Seven: Rabel’s Oath

  Rabel paused at the entrance to Krea’s room, his face a mix of emotions. With a sigh, he pushed the door fully open and moved toward the window. He knelt down, found her sacred place and gently took the figurines from the shelves and put them in the small wooden chest, saying their names as he deposited each one. Ophidian he kept for last.

  “I am here,” he said, picking up the figurine. “I have done as you required. The wards are not set. We shall be ready to depart. Send him.”

  The dragon-god’s red eyes opened and Rabel felt the full power of the god’s intent upon him. You must call him yourself.

  Abruptly, as though burnt, Rabel dropped the figure — only to catch it with his other hand before it hit the floor. With a scowl, he transferred the figurine into the chest.

  She should learn the calling.

  “What?” Rabel barked in surprise. “The bargain — our bargain —!”

  She must learn the calling. You cannot do it alone.

  “We have to eat, to set wards —”

  They are coming. If you do not call him, you will die. The red eyes, partly obscured by the soft black velvet of the chest, closed and Rabel felt the god’s presence disappear.

  With a shout, he bundled up the chest, put it in the sack he carried over his shoulder and bolted back down the stairs.

  #

  Ellen looked up at the loud shout and the sound of Rabel barreling down the stairs. “What is it?”

  “Trouble,” Rabel told her, pushing past her and dropping a bar across the kitchen door. He raced away and she could hear him doing the same to the front door before he appeared once again in the kitchen. “They’re after us.”

  “Now?”

  “Now,” Rabel said, nodding. He took a breath. “I’ve got to teach you something. Something I thought you could learn later.”

  “What?” Ellen asked. She glanced around the kitchen, her eyes on the two windows that looked down the road. “Do we have enough time?”

  “If we don’t, we die,” Rabel said. He frowned, looking to the ground, then looked up to catch her eyes. “What do you know of dragons?”

  “They’re not wyverns,” Ellen said quickly, “they have four limbs and two wings, they breathe fire, and they’re enemies of Ametza.” She put a hand to her mouth in worry and glanced toward the ceiling, fearful that the goddess had heard her.

  “They’re children of Ophidian,” Rabel told her. “And, like wyverns, they’re twin-souled.”

  “Like your daughter?” Ellen asked in a soft, awkward voice.

  Rabel nodded. “Like her,” he agreed. He looked up to the ceiling. “We’re going to summon one.” He lowered his head to catch her eyes again. “I’m to teach you how.”

  “Why would anyone want to summon a dragon?” Ellen asked in surprise. Rabel gave her that look — the one that told Ellen she had to find the answer herself. “Are we going to ride the dragon?”

  Rabel smiled and gave her a pleased nod. “It’s that or be taken by the king’s men.” He gestured her toward the stairs.

  “But the food!” Ellen protested. Rabel sniffed at the pot, smiled at her, and ducked into the pantry, pulling out a large sack which he threw to her. Ellen caught it in surprise and nearly staggered under the weight.

  “Always keep travel rations handy,” Rabel told her. “They taste awful but they’ll keep forever.”

  Ellen, who’d eaten many strange things, merely to keep body and soul from meeting the Ferryman, rather doubted that they tasted that bad.

  “Come on,” Rabel said, pushing her toward the stairs. “You can see my daughter’s room before we burn it.”

  “Burn it?”

  “There are too many secrets here,” Rabel told her. “And the fire will help attract the dragon.”

  Ellen was too rushed to take in the various pieces of artwork hung on the way up the stairs. She paused just long enough to brush her hand against one piece.

  “Redwork,” Rabel said, pulling the piece off the wall and handing it to her. “Put it in your bag. You can give it to Krea, maybe, someday.”

  “Krea made it?” Ellen asked, clutching the piece tighter to her chest. She wondered what it would be like to meet the wyvern, the union of Rabel’s daughter and something much different.

  “She did,” Rabel agreed. He pointed toward a door. “That’s her room, we go there.”

  Ellen entered th
e room and saw treasures beyond her imagining. “It’s beautiful!”

  Rabel snorted. “It did its job,” he allowed. “But it was a small room, when all’s said.”

  Ellen, who’d never seen a prettier bed, nor a nicer coverlet, kept silent.

  Rabel stopped her by the window. “When the time’s right, we’ll open it,” he told her. He put down the sack he was carrying. He turned to the chest of drawers and opened them. “See if there’s anything that might fit you while I set the kindling downstairs.”

  “Kindling?” Ellen squeaked. “For a fire?” Rabel nodded. “But we’re still in the house!”

  “That’s what the king’s men will say,” Rabel agreed, bounding out of the room and down the stairs. His voice carried back up the stairs. “There’s a chest there. Find Ophidian and pull him out.”

  Ellen felt odd pawing through Rabel’s sack but she did as ordered. She found the chest. It wasn’t all that big, not much larger than her two hands but thick. She pulled it out and opened it, pausing to gasp as she took in all the carved figurines that gazed up at her.

  “Ophidian,” Ellen said to herself, looking at the figures and wondering which one represented that god. She saw a scaled creature with folded wings and grabbed it. She felt a warmth from it. She pulled it up to her face and said, “Nice to meet you.”

  The figurine’s eyes flared red for a moment then closed again.

  “I found him!” Ellen called out, hoping to catch Rabel’s ears. “Now what?”

  “We’re to summon his son,” Rabel called, his voice climbing up the stairs. He was in the doorway just as Ellen turned to him and said, “His son?” Rabel nodded. “Gods have sons?”

  “And daughters,” Rabel said, moving to stand beside her. He gestured for her to place the figurine just under the window. “And the sons and daughters have children of their own.”

  “Are they all gods?” Ellen asked in awe.

  Rabel shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “But they have more ability than those who don’t carry a god’s blood.”

  “Am… I…?”

  Rabel shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he told her softly. “But — remember — I said ability. Ability is a chance, not a guarantee.”