by Dave Skinner
“The Dragon Woman—Mearisdeana is her name—gave her necklace to Manda of Gore, the Captain of the Red Witch trading vessel.” Andoo continued to speak as another image formed above the pool. Micka watched as countless Dragon People spewed into sight from a large hole of stygian blackness. Some, obviously warriors, led large horse-like beasts, while others staggered on foot.
“At some time in the future, the Dragon People arrive in our world. This happens at different times depending on various parameters which are too numerous to document. The important point is that these people are fleeing something that later follows them, and leads to the destruction of our world. In one timeline, and only one, we manage to defeat them in a battle. In that time line we escape destruction by standing together, all of us, every city from both lakes, every tribe, every person, the Dragon People, and all of the faerie folk, standing together, united. It is our only hope.”
Micka could hear a murmur of disbelief that was finally voiced by one of the council members dressed in a teal green long coat, obviously of leprechaun design and tailoring.
“Uniting the whole world to fight is impossible. Not even considering the Fay folk, the cities of North Lake would never join us. They are all controlled by the King of Nadia, and we all know his reputation. And then there are the wild tribes like the Tawshe and the Bearclaws. They are savages ... impossible to approach or reason with. There must be another way.”
“The world can be united. I have seen it. Uniting the world and winning the battle is the destiny of two men, two Travellers, the same two men who won the battle at Waysley. It was a glimpse of their entwined destinies that led me to this knowledge.”
Before anyone else could speak, the Master of the Council rose. “Thank you, Andoo, for bringing this information to us. There is much to be considered. I suggest we retire for the day so we can all digest what we have learned. We will reconvene tomorrow to consider the steps we must take to overcome this problem. Until then, this council is adjourned.”
The assemblage remained silent as the Master made his way from the chamber. Micka caught brief exchanges of conversations as the members followed the Master’s lead. Words like, impossible, alternatives, and unlikely, dominated.
***
Master Varity entered his chambers. “Wine,” he ordered as he sank his bulk onto the cushions of an oversized, ornate lounge. His assistant, Hengle, was at his elbow in moments, offering a gem-encrusted goblet. The Master took the offering and issued another order. “Have Sim attend me, immediately.” Hengle bowed and hurried from the room.
Verity sipped his wine and stared into the fireplace, the rich trimmings of his chamber unseen. He knew what to do. He knew what would follow in the immediate future. The council would debate, looking for ways to stave off what had been seen in Andoo’s visions. Andoo Toran was mighty, probably one of the few wizards capable of finding and understanding what was to come, but despite his strength in magic he was also blind to the obvious solution, unable to see what needed to be done. Not so, Verity. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at his door.
“Come,” he said. The door opened and Hengle entered, followed by Sim. “That will be all, Hengle,” Verity told him. Hengle’s face showed his relief at being dismissed, his distaste for the other man obvious to the Master who shifted his gaze to Sim.
Sim was not a large man, slight of build, and unremarkable in appearance. No one noticed Sim, no one liked him, and no one befriended him. Nothing about the man drew attention. His hair was short, receding from his forehead, as slight as his beard, as slight as his physical being. If you looked closely, you could see the corded muscles of his arms and neck, but given a choice one would not look because there was something about the man that made people glance away. For one with a strong base in magic, the reason for this was obvious. Sim was enclosed in something dark, a suggestion of dread, something that could make even the strongest reluctant to look upon him for long. It was what made the man good at his chosen profession of assassination. Verity forced himself to look upon the killer.
“I have a task for you, Sim.”
“I assumed as much.”
“I need you to locate this person,” Verity gestured and an image of a red-haired woman appeared in the air before them. “She is the Captain of a merchant vessel called the Red Witch, and she possesses a necklace I need you to procure. Her name is Manda of Gore”
“And if she is reluctant to part with the necklace?”
“The necklace is important, her life is not.”
“I understand, Master Verity. Do you know her whereabouts?”
“No. Check the Marshtown harbour. If you do not locate her, I suggest you watch the Wizard of Waysley when the council ends. He has people trying to find her, or try your contacts within the Bentmen. Keep your cat’s-eye with you and contact me when you have acquired the necklace.” Verity made a dismissive gesture. Sim left without another word.
***
Micka rolled the coin across the back of her fingers as she waited for the council room to fill. From this seat nothing would obstruct her view of the council chamber’s floor and the seeing pool. She could see energy waves sparking throughout the pool as lesser wizards, witches, and apprentices arrived. She had lost her seat behind Andoo’s chair. All of the other apprentices and associates had been moved back from their Masters also. The others were still scrambling for places. Micka had used a glamour spell to reserve her seat, projecting an image of herself into it. The spell had dissipated as she sat down. Some of the other trainees even failed to notice the ruse. The glamour had activated in the first minute of this day and was still running strong when she claimed the seat in person. She noticed a few glances of appreciation from some of her friends. Lesson shared. The coin continued flicking across her fingers, back and forth, until the chamber quieted, as the Masters started taking their seats beside the pool. The turbulence that had been building stopped, agitation settled, as the members brought their energies to bear. Master Verity was the first to speak.
“Place your staffs,” he commanded. A circle of staves lifted and settled again with their tips immersed in the seeing pool. Bolts of colours spread across the pool, just below the surface, as the staffs were linked. “We will follow Master Toran’s vision. If any Master detects a possible exit point, it is to be assaulted. We all agree that we must escape this line of destiny, so let us begin. Master Toran, if you will.”
Micka felt the link, how could she not, it was pulsing around her. As an apprentice she was forbidden to take an active role, but she could feel it. The image rose over the pool and she felt the power line drawing her along. She was a reserve of energy to be drawn on by her Master if he needed her, or so she had been taught. She had never spoken to an apprentice who had survived the Draw, as the process was named. Survivors were rare. The association of wizards, who are the governing body, reported that only a few survive. But her Master was Andoo Toran, the Wizard of Waysley. She had absolute faith in Andoo, even though he led the vision she was living, they all were living.
The vision was a torrent, accompanied by a scream of magical force, available for Andoo to call upon when necessary. The Masters formed the primary reserve of forces, directing magic into the waters through their staffs. The energy was throbbing through her body as she sat at her place, drawn along on this path. Not long now, around the bend, and straight on. There was the target. The force around Andoo veered, ramming the throbbing ball of magic into the wall of this pathway. Micka could see where the forces collided. As Andoo’s forward motion struggled, tiny sparks formed into a fist shaped protrusion in the wall. The ball’s growth slowed again. Micka wanted to throw her magic to Andoo, as the Masters were doing, but all she could do was watch. If the Masters’ force was not enough, Andoo would reach for her energy, as would every other Master in the circle. The apprentices and associates would be drawn into a seething inferno of magic. Not all would survive. Andoo had tried a short time before on his own. He had faile
d that time, had come close to destroying himself. Could he survive the forces now flowing through him? How far would Andoo push them?
Around the image which sat above the lightning show in the pool, the Masters became enveloped in a simmering distortion, as the barrier around them solidified into a smoky haze. The haze pulsed. Micka pulsed. Above the pool, within the vision, the forces pushed against each other, sparks crackled, the haze pulsed. She felt an assault on her magic which turned into a Draw. The Masters were reaching for their apprentices. Now she was asked to push. She could feel it reaching for her. Micka pushed her magic at Andoo, releasing the anger and frustration she felt from being excluded for so long.
Stop, Micka, Andoo’s voice in her head told her. I want your magic, not your anger. Control yourself.
Micka felt a wave of shame rise from the depth of her being, before she dismissed the emotion and concentrated on doing magic. She relaxed, and focused on aiding Andoo. The bubble around her pulsed, the point of contact sparked, the bubble pulsed, and pulsed again. Micka had never imaged the extent of the force she was now part of. They were pushing through. Micka felt like she was being crushed. She pushed against the force, she pulsed brightly then the complete force pulsed. An apprentice beside her screamed, then a second, and a third. Micka pushed harder. Movement stopped in the vision. Micka felt the first quiver. A flicker of despair, and then the Masters eased their draw. They were still enclosed within this path of destiny, and the Destroyer was coming.
Micka was floating, a peaceful levitation towards the roof of the world. She was floating freely without any thought, and then Andoo was there, in her head, pushing her magic back into her. Her vision cleared, her heart rate steadied, and she was able to retake her seat, she had somehow left.
“Are you feeling better?” Andoo asked. She nodded.
“We will retire to care for the injured and broken,” she heard Master Verity announce. “It would appear that magic cannot free us from this path, despite our best effort. We are not the focus of these events. That honour belongs to two men. We must do our best to locate those two, and give aid when needed. Andoo Toran is tasked with this. Return to your centres of power. Girth yourself for battle. Listen to the whispers. Share what you have learned with others. Remember the simplest means of defeating this enemy is to block their passage. We must find and break the link between worlds.”
“Come, girl,” Andoo told Micka as he rose slowly to his feet. It was then that she noticed the glow emanating from his body. She worried needlessly, it appeared. He wasn’t tired. He was exhilarated, energized. She was caught in his web. She tasted his anxiety, but the force of his chosen path overrode caution. “We are away to Marshtown. We will hope that the Traveller lass has had some luck locating Bray.”
Chapter 26
The small boat swooped into Marshtown harbour driven by a strong breeze. Bray appreciated the ability with which Adel handled the small craft. She was a much more accomplished sailor than he.
“I see a strip of sandy beach,” Adel said as she pointed, “unless you have a different landing place in mind.”
“It looks fine to me, but as close to the other boats as possible.”
“Are you worried that it will be stolen or damaged?”
“I have learned that there are always Bentmen in the larger centres. I am being cautious, that is all.”
“What are Bentmen?” she asked as she maneuvered the craft towards the beach.
“They are the less reputable members of the population. You know, gamblers, thieves—that type of person.”
“Like that Blackheart man?”
“Some would group Blackheart under that banner, but I believe he was something else. He contained a wickedness that I have seen in few others. Maybe it has something to do with being a pirate. The reason evades me, but I have met a few Bentmen and have mostly been treated fairly by them.”
“Mostly?”
“There are bad arrows in every quiver. Should I drop the sail?”
“Not unless you want to row us in, but be ready.” Their forward motion fell slightly as Adel manipulated the rudder. The beach was fast approaching, but Bray said nothing, trusting fully to her skill.
“Now,” she called.
He lowered the sail quickly as the boat surged up onto the sand of the beach. Adel pulled and stored the tiller while he made the craft fast to a metal ring attached to a large boulder that sat above the tide line. When Bray looked back to the boat, he saw Adel shake Aramas awake. The courtier climbed out slowly, still favouring the side that had recently taken two injuries. Adel started throwing their few possessions from the boat, and Aramas dragged his and Bray’s bundles higher up onto the beach. Bray returned in time to take his sword and bow from Adel’s hands. She sprang from the boat, grabbed her own bundle, and they joined Aramas.
“I will take my own pack,” Bray told the courtier, “and remember I am a Traveller named Bray, not a Prince of Nadia.”
“I understand, my... I mean... your... Bray.”
Bray and Adel smiled as they returned to the boat. “He is trying,” Adel said. They pulled the mast and laid it down after wrapping the sail tightly around it. A few more moments saw the boat shipshape. They joined Aramas on the beach, and then the three of them made their way towards Marshtown.
“I would call this a fair harbour, not a good one,” Adel observed, “but there are many ships here. Why is that?”
“Some of the goods that come down the Trade River from North Lake are destined for South Lake cities,” Aramas answered. “The Trade River ends at Riverrun South, but large ships need guidance to travel through the waterways of the delta. They stop here to pick up the Marshmen pilots who serve as guides if they plan to travel to Riverrun. They also stop here to pick up cargo that the Marshmen bring from Riverrun in their flat-bottomed boats.”
“The channel we travelled through to get here was not difficult to follow.”
“The waterways become more complicated as you travel further into the delta. There are many stories of captains who grew impatient or simply wanted to save money who tried the trip without a guide. None have happy endings.”
“Have you been here before, Bray?” Adel asked.
“Never.”
“That was abrupt. Is something bothering you?”
“Sorry, Adel. I was looking at Marshtown. There are no city walls or gates. This is the first city I have seen that is not protected by walls or a stockade.”
They had climbed stairs from the beach to a raised road that ran towards the water atop a large pier and back the other direction towards the city proper. It was a perfectly straight road with no buildings on either side until the structures of the city started about three bow shots ahead.
“Oh, I remember,” Bray said as they moved off along the road. “Marshtown is on an island, or many islands would be more accurate.” The earth underfoot had changed to timbers as they walked. A vista opened on both sides that showed a half bow-shot stretch of open water bordered by thick weed beds. The road was a bridge, he realized. When they approached the city end of the bridge, Bray saw that much, if not all, of Marshtown was built on timber stilts and sat above water.
Appropriately, the inn they were directed to was named Wet Foot Wanda’s. It was located off the main thoroughfare and was favoured by Travellers. There were six in the common room they entered after dropping their packs on their beds. Bray was barely into the room when he saw Lee at one of the tables. She had her back to the door, and was unaware of him until he stopped behind her and spoke her name. She jumped up and they were buried in each other’s arms for minutes before he introduced her to his companions.
“This is my sister, Ta’Lee. Her family adopted me when my father was killed by pirates. Lee, these are my travelling companions, Adel, and Aramas.”
“Pleased to meet you both,” Lee said before turning back to Bray. “We need to talk, Bray, privately.”
Bray flashed a hand signal to Lee that asked if
it was Tawshe business. She returned a negative signal followed by the signal for urgent.
“Let us find a quiet table,” Bray suggested and led them to the back corner. “What is so pressing?” he asked when they were all settled.
“Andoo Toran is looking for you. He says it is urgent, and... something else.”
“What else?” Bray asked.
“It is for him to tell. Suffice to say it is important.”
“Important to him, or to me?”
“To everyone.”
“And am I to run to him in Waysley to hear this important message?”
“No. He is attending the Wizard’s Council at Delta. He will have to come here to find a ship for his return trip.” Lee glanced at Bray’s companions before continuing. “Our people watch for him, and I suggested he stop here before taking ship in case I had news of you.”
“I will wait then.”
***
Lee lay in her bed at Wet Foot Wanda’s and thought about the evening she had spent with Bray and his two companions. It had been wonderful to see Bray, but she wondered about the two people he was travelling with, especially the girl. The man, Aramas, treated Bray as if he were someone special. He tried not to, but at least twice his tongue had betrayed him allowing a Highness, and a My Prince to slip out. The second time it happened, Bray had scowled so fiercely that Aramas excused himself and went to their room.
Lee would ask Bray about it when she could get him alone. She had to assume that Aramas knew that Bray was born a Prince of Nadia. His fussiness and the clothes he wore made it easy for Lee to believe he was somehow associated with one of the courts. Why Bray was travelling with Aramas was a mystery, but not so the girl Adel. She was obviously a witch and a woman of questionable morals.
No girl was so naturally attractive. Lee witnessed how men looked at her, and not just Bray. Every man in the common room had looked her way. Even Lee had felt herself drawn to the girl and that alone told her that it was unnatural. The way she clung to Bray, her arm entwined with his, snuggling on his shoulder, and eventually falling asleep with her head in his lap was disgusting, and it was disturbing.