Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  He lifted up a picture she had painted, creased and worn. It was a woman, though the details were foggy enough that even the subject was unlikely to recognize herself. She wore a tall hat, the ridiculous kind the nobles at court used to wear before the kingdom of men fell, and she had a pink and fat face. She was greeting an elf who was on one knee before her, an arm over his chest, offering some foreign salute. It was a lovely picture in its own way. He admired it and sighed, causing the smoke to scatter before his breath.

  Tabir took a moment to realize what he saw. He frowned. Smoke? He looked down into the box. One of the pictures was half open, its edge blackened and smoking. He placed the portrait on the ground and reached for the smoking paper. It was warm to the touch.

  Curious, he flipped open the drawing. The entire inside face was covered with a single large rune, glowing with a dim red light. His eyes trailed over it briefly before he realized what it was. He’d barely tossed it in the air and pulled his hands away when it went up in flame, consuming itself and producing a thick, acrid smoke.

  He began coughing and choking immediately. He stood up and moved frantically towards the window, banging his legs on the crates as he went. He reached out blindly and found the latch, pushing the shutters open and leaning into the cold night air, smoke billowing out around him.

  He was still rubbing his stinging eyes and wondering just what the hell that had been about when he spied a rock in the center of the windowsill, situated just so to ensure it wouldn’t be knocked off when the shutters were opened. He reached for it, knowing already what he would find. He lifted it to reveal a folded note underneath. The wind picked up and nearly swept the note away, but he snatched it up and snapped it open, the smoke already forgotten behind him.

  It was just as he thought. It was from Ezma. It was also short.

  Christopher, leave for Wickwick immediately. Do not wait until morning. -Ezma

  He read it again and flipped it over, but that was all there was.

  A dozen emotions and thoughts hit Tabir all at once. For a fleeting moment, he was ecstatic. Ezma left a note for him to find—him, no one else. He then felt a rush of sadness; just how many more notes like this could there possibly be? Is this the only one? Is there another? Even if he found another, would he ever know which one would be the last?

  Ezma hadn’t used that room in nearly a year. Just how long ago did she leave this note? Then he boiled with anger. If she left this note, then she knew they wouldn’t be in Verka. That means she knew all their plans would fall apart and didn’t tell anyone. What other information had she withheld from them?

  Then came thoughtfulness: if Ezma left that note, that meant she had looked forward and saw him sitting in her room, placed the note on the windowsill where it couldn’t be seen from below, and placed the explosive rune in her belongings so he would eventually stumble across it, open the window to let out the smoke, and find the note right when it was needed. Gods, how much time had she spent setting up just this one note? It was ludicrous the amount of patience and foresight went into this.

  And finally, he became embarrassed. Ezma was sitting somewhere in the past, perhaps in this very room, watching him. She had seen him going through her personal belongings and fawning over them, possibly on dozens of occasions, and now she would see him turning deep red as he came to that realization. He stood up and looked around, expecting to see or feel the effects of her scrying, but it was impossible to detect.

  “You found a way to make me feel a fool from beyond the grave,” he announced to the room. “Congratulations, Ez. I hope this note was worth it.” He crumpled it up and tossed it on the ground. “I’ll get Jess to saddle up one of the horses and go right away, okay? So if you’re watching, you can stop.” He fell silent as if expecting an answer, but the only thing that happened was that he felt like an even bigger fool.

  Chapter 21

  Water and Man

  The storm had come from out of nowhere. Since leaving the elven forests, there wasn’t a day that hadn’t rained like a lake had been upturned overhead. They had been traveling for two weeks, having no real plan except to keep moving and not get caught, but their progress had been miserable, covering perhaps a hundred miles. Rivers had swollen and overrun, sweeping roads and even some smaller buildings away.

  To make matters worse, winter had begun, leaving the temperature of the downpour just north of freezing. With cold winds coming from the south, they were shaking flakes of ice from their hair and clothes. No one who valued their health could travel long in these conditions.

  They had risked a break in the storm to hurry west, but after passing a single town, the rains resumed harder than ever. Every road leading outwards was lost underwater and the one they had arrived on was beginning to flood as well. Stranded, soaked, and in sour spirits, they entered the town—absurdly named Wickwick, according to the arch over the entry gate—and began to seek shelter.

  They found the only inn already packed with other stranded travelers. They were directed towards the halfling Landmaster—the official in charge of the town’s empty buildings and their use. He allowed them to use one of the empty houses begrudgingly, making it clear multiple times during their short conversation that the town would expect payment for its use. Weary and frustrated, they finally got inside as the sun was setting.

  “Just this whole month,” Aoden said after changing. Attempts to buy clothing in their travels were poor at best, finding only three outfits between the two of them that they could wear. It was unfortunately expected given the nonexistence of the taller races here. The halfling who sold them the outfits seemed happy to finally be rid of them. Not that the shrewd little bastard brought the price down. They had carried the outfits wrapped in treated oilcloth and tucked into travel bags, keeping them dry.

  The one good piece of news for the day was that the house was furnished. It looked ready to accept a family at a moment’s notice.

  A halfling family. The chairs and beds were much too small for them. Still, they weren’t sleeping outside in the storm.

  “At least we have some solid food,” Mergau said, indicating the box the Landmaster had sold them.

  “If you feel like cooking, by all means,” said Aoden, draped over his tiny chair. “Frankly, I’m exhausted and have had just about enough of this day.”

  “Don’t look at me. I’d eat it raw before I took the time to cook it.”

  Aoden sighed. “Can’t you do anything to make my life easier?”

  “Excuse me?” she said. “I saved your life, you jackass.”

  “And you’ve been nothing but trouble and anxiety before and since,” he said.

  “Oh, you have no idea what trouble and anxiety are! I’ll give you trouble.”

  “Okay, shut up, whatever,” he said, waving his hands in the air. “The weather’s just making us snippy. We’ll sleep it off.”

  “It’s not doing anything to me. You’re the one being snippy.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You argue like a child.”

  “You know what—” Aoden began, his head pivoting towards her, some nasty remark on the tip of his tongue, when someone knocked on the door. “Are you kidding?” Aoden cried, exasperated. “In this weather? If that’s the Landmaster…” he grumbled, pulling himself to his feet. He opened the door and looked down, expecting to see a halfling face staring up at him. Instead, he saw a belt of raw leather, wool trousers, and hide boots. Up from there was a woolen shirt, a sodden traveling cloak, and a shaggy and disheveled face, one that was looking down on Aoden. There was a human at the door, and he was big.

  The man tipped his wide-brimmed hat at Aoden, creating a small waterfall. “Evening,” the human said.

  Aoden began to close the door, but the human caught it, cramming his shoulder between the door and the jamb. “That’s rather unfriendly,” he said. “What did I do to deserve that?”

  “Rep
orts of human banditry and robbery,” Aoden said, pressing the door into the human’s shoulder. “I’m sure you understand.”

  “About me, specifically?”

  The human was securely wedged in the way. “Just humans, generally.”

  “Says who?” he asked. “The elves or the halflings? Because one of them is all anti-human propaganda.”

  “I’m armed, so if you don’t remove yourself from this door—”

  The human slipped back through the gap, the door closing with him. Aoden put the deadbolt into place and listened at the door, but with all the rain he couldn’t hear the human leaving.

  “What the hell was that?” said Mergau.

  “I don’t know,” he said, moving back to the table. “Just some strange human. I didn’t know there were any humans in these parts.”

  “I thought you liked humans.”

  “Past tense, yes. Now they’re mostly bandits and thieves.”

  “I guess assuming an entire race of people are monsters is fine when you do it, is that it?”

  His head snapped toward her. “If you think I’m taking that from the woman who has hated me from the moment she saw me because I’m an elf—”

  The lock rattled loudly. “Damn this persistent human!” Aoden shouted. He was about to add more when the deadbolt turned and slid from its housing on its own.

  Aoden took a step forward when the door burst open with a spattering of rain and crashed against the wall. The human’s hand caught the edge as he passed through and slammed it closed behind him. Now in the full light of the room, his appearance was striking. He stood easily a hand over Aoden, his head a mess of long black hair falling past his shoulders, a beard that had gone long unshaven covering most of his face and neck. He stared with two wild, leaf-green eyes at the pair in the house, their hands leveled at his chest, offering a sword and licking flames.

  “You look like fools. Put down your arms.”

  “You’re not in a position to make demands, stranger,” said Aoden.

  The scraggly intruder looked about the room with disinterest then locked his eyes back on the half-elf. “Aoden, please lower your weapon. You as well, Mergau of Pon Gundruc.”

  “How do you know who we are?” demanded Aoden, the oddity of the situation making him clutch his sword with white knuckles.

  “A half-elf and an orc traveling together? One such pair exists in this world, and that’s you two. No mistaking it.”

  “You can see through my illusion?” asked Mergau, her hand lowering a fraction.

  The man squinted at her. “Ah, yes. I barely noticed. The glamour hangs about you. It’s clever to keep the illusion up even in private.”

  “How?”

  He frowned. “I’m a seer, so I can pierce illusions naturally. If you paid any attention during your studies, you’d know that.” Mergau’s arm raised again. “No offense intended,” he added gruffly.

  “You’d best explain yourself before this comes to trouble, seer.”

  “It’s simple. I’ve come to keep you two idiots from dying tomorrow.”

  The pair exchanged looks. “Why would we die tomorrow? And why would you care?”

  “I’m not going to tell the whole story standing here, sopping wet. Either put your weapons down and offer me a seat, or you can try your luck with the events of tomorrow. Which will it be?”

  When neither budged, he looked to Mergau. “What if I said this involves Ezma?”

  “My mistress?”

  He nodded. “The one and the same.”

  Mergau hesitated a moment, but finally dropped her hands. “What does that mean?” asked Aoden calmly.

  “Ezma once told me that all the mages and seers she worked with were genuinely decent people who put the good of others above themselves. If he knows my teacher, I feel that we can trust him.”

  Aoden nodded and put his blade away as well.

  The stranger shook his head. “Aoden, you trust Mergau too easily. It’s no wonder…” he trailed off, distracted by the puddle forming at his feet.

  “Would you mind telling us who you are, then?” asked Aoden.

  The human pulled off his cloak. “My name is Christopher Tabir. Just call me Tabir; Christopher is such a dreadful, common name.”

  “Not so much since the Fury,” observed Aoden. Tabir gave him a searing look. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m as upset as you are about it,” he added defensively. “I’m just saying it’s an out-of-date complaint and you haven’t exactly given me a reason to treat you warmly yet.”

  For a long moment, Tabir glowered at the half-elf, but finally he jammed his cloak onto a hook by the door. “Still don’t care for it.”

  Tabir pulled over the footrest from the armchair and sat upon it, looking across the room at the others who retook their seats at the table, all scrunched up in the halfling-sized furniture. He found it irksome how quickly they went from defensive to disarmed. Surely he was more intimidating than that?

  “So, what’s this about us dying—?” began Aoden, but Tabir raised his hand for silence.

  “That’s not the place to start. This goes much further back, and it’s a long story. We’ll begin with you, Mergau. How much do you know about seers?”

  “You barge in here, make strange claims, then start asking us questions?”

  “Humor me.”

  Mergau shook her head, disbelieving. She looked at Aoden, who shrugged. “Fine. Seers can see distant events with their minds.”

  Tabir waited for more, but it soon became apparent that Mergau was done speaking. “Is that it?”

  Mergau nodded. “Is there supposed to be more?”

  Tabir stared at her incredulously. Realizing his mouth was hanging open, he breathed deep and closed it. “Are you sure you’re Mergau of Pon Gundruc? I can’t believe that’s all Ezma taught you.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Human.”

  “I’m not patronizing you. Ezma was a damn genius of magical theory, so to teach you only so much is unlike her, even if you did leave early and on poor terms.” Mergau’s face flushed as he continued. “Ezma was an incredibly gifted mage and far seer, one of the youngest and easily the most talented of our order. There hasn’t been a seer as talented as her for many hundreds of years.”

  “Really?” Mergau shifted forward. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Ezma wasn’t one to boast of her own abilities, but she was extraordinary. She was barely a third my age, but I don’t think I could compare with her in sheer power.”

  “A third?” Mergau scoffed. “Humans don’t live that long. You must be barely thirty yourself, and Ezma was no child.”

  “You’re a bit off the mark. I’m two hundred seventeen years old.”

  Mergau chuckled. “You can’t be that old. You would’ve died a long time ago if that were true. That, and it would make Ezma over seventy.”

  This time, Aoden joined Tabir in his incredulity. “How long did you say you studied with your master for?” Aoden asked.

  Mergau looked between the two men. “Why are you both staring at me?”

  “You can create fire with your hands,” said Aoden slowly, “but you don’t know the first thing about magical theory?”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot,” she said, her color rising. “Ezma taught me plenty about magical theory, more than you could hope to understand. Just tell me what the problem is here.”

  “Mergau, I can’t even use magic, and even I know that mages age slower than normal people.”

  “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Tabir rubbed a hand over his face. “How could Ezma have taught you so poorly?”

  “Will you stop saying that!” Mergau stood up. “She taught me well enough. Just because I’m missing one or two inconsequential bits here and there doesn’t mean you can look down on me. If you think you’re so damn smart—”

  “Settle down, Mergau,” said Aoden.

  “Don’t you tell me what to do, Elf!”

  �
�And we’re back to ‘Elf,’” said Aoden. “Tabir, just explain yourself before I throw you back out into the rain.”

  Tabir was silent for a long moment. “Do you at least understand that seers can see future events?”

  Mergau sat back down. “Some seers can, yes,” she answered.

  “Not some of them, damn it!” He slapped his thigh. “Being able to see the future is what makes a seer a seer!”

  “What about distant viewing? I can track things at great distances.”

  Tabir slapped his leg again. “That’s a parlor trick. Any mage can learn that. That doesn’t make you a seer any more than catching a falling apple makes you a juggler.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “No!” He shouted. His face had grown very red.

  “There’s no need to be so offended.”

  “Seeing is a rare and noble magic, one of life’s greatest gifts, not some teachable Peeping Tom technique!”

  Aoden already had his hand on Mergau’s shoulder to keep her from rising again. “Just get to the point. Mergau isn’t great with criticism.” She slapped his hand off her shoulder. “See?”

  “Look,” said Tabir, “how long do you think you’re going to live, Mergau?”

  “I suppose until tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  Tabir threw his hands up. “Good luck with that,” he said, standing, grabbing his cloak, and making for the door.

  “Wait!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “Honestly, it’s just a bad habit of mine. I don’t wish to offend a peer of my mistress. Please, stay.”

  “Even a novice mage,” he practically shouted, tossing his wet cloak to the floor, advancing on the now retreating Mergau, “will have their lifespan doubled. Ezma would’ve lived to be many hundreds of years old had she not died trying to protect this insipid, uncaring world. And what does her work have to show for it? A dozen plans that have fallen to pieces and an idiot apprentice who couldn’t tell me the difference between an incantation and a hole in the head! She said you were stubborn and single-minded, but I was at least expecting some spark of intelligence to make up for it!”

  A heavy silence fell on the room. Aoden was waiting for Mergau to erupt, but when she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “So Ezma really is dead?”