13 Day War

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “Remain steadfast, Captain,” ordered Seiko. “We will weather this storm.”

  The black-cloak leader spoke with an air of confidence, but he was worried. The shipbuilders had underestimated the weight of Alutar, and the Resurgence rode perilously low in the water, even in calm seas. In a torrent such as this massive winter storm it truly took magic to keep the ship afloat. The question on Seiko’s mind was whether one-hundred black-cloaks was enough magic to see the journey through to its final destination.

  “Do you have any idea where we are?” Seiko shouted to the captain.

  “None,” spat the captain. “We haven’t seen the sky in days, but I can tell you this. When this storm ends, we will not be anywhere that we want to be.”

  Seiko glared at the captain. “When this storm ends, Captain, we will be alive. That is all that matters for now.”

  * * * *

  The three Knights of Alcea rode into the slums of Farmin and dismounted near the building housing the impromptu infirmary. They avoided the front of building where many ornate carriages blocked the narrow street and walked their mounts around to the rear of the building. They opened the door and entered a large room with numerous beds scattered about. Most of the beds were empty and Garth Shado raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “The friends of Fakir have returned,” greeted Zynor, his eyes twinkling in a friendly manner. “Forgive me if I don’t remember your names. Fakir is in his office.”

  “Names are not important,” smiled Garth. “Where are all your patients?”

  “They stand out front for potions,” frowned Zynor as he scratched his bald dome. The long, thin wisps of white hair fringing his dome swayed as Zynor’s mouth opened as if he had more to say.

  “I meant the indigent patients,” Garth replied. “Are the slums free of disease?”

  “Pretty much,” interjected Atule. “Now we bilk the rich with tonics and elixirs.”

  “And you would rather not?” asked Natia.

  Atule sighed. “The rich are worthy of healing as well as the poor, but I worry about Kalmar. I fear that the lure of gold might once again grab his notice.”

  “You worry too much,” stated Eulena as the elven mage passed into the room through a curtained passageway.

  “Kalmar is not afflicted by greed,” declared Zynor, “and he is not ever likely to be again, at least not for his personal use. He is building a treasury to help the poor. Worry not for him.”

  “Most of the gold is going towards food,” offered Valera as she carried a large box of breads past the Knights of Alcea. “These people were emaciated when we arrived. They still require a healthy supply of food to restore their bodies.”

  Tedi and Natia both moved to take the large box from Valera’s hands.

  “I need to speak to Fakir,” Garth said to Tedi and Natia. “Why don’t you two see if you can offer any help while we are here?”

  Garth passed through the curtain to the showroom where Kalmar sold his goods. There was a line of well-dressed people waiting to speak to the healer, and Kalmar did not even notice the Knight of Alcea behind him. Without a word, Garth turned and entered the office where Fakir Aziz sat staring blankly at a wall. Without looking to see who had just entered, the Mage waved his visitor to a chair before the desk. He shook his head as if to clear it and then locked eyes with Garth as the Knight of Alcea sat down.

  “You are becoming a regular visitor,” smiled Fakir Aziz. “Have you come for more local folklore?”

  “Not this time,” smiled Garth. “Fakir Aziz has already given me what I needed.”

  “And I have not?” frowned the Mage.

  “You have given me much more than I ever wanted,” Garth replied cryptically. “Still, I need your help. There is a water witch named Haditha. If she still lives, I need to communicate with her.”

  “If she still lives?”

  “Haditha and Captain Gomery went on a mission to the Needle some time ago. They never returned.”

  “Yet you still hold out hope for their safety?”

  “Haditha is afraid of Captain Gomery becoming too involved with what is going on. It is plausible that they survived the mission and are hiding in order to avoid the coming conflict. She fears for his safety.”

  The Mage nodded knowingly. “Her fear is not without reason. These are dangerous times that we live in.”

  “Aren’t all times dangerous?” Garth sighed with weariness. “There is always some conflict that threatens us all. There are times that I curse you for the elixir you gave me, but…”

  “But you could no more hide on your island paradise and ignore the ills of the world than Jenneva could. I understand. What is the message you wish the water witch to receive?”

  “Their help is needed,” answered Garth. “They are to return to the Isle of Despair as soon as possible.”

  “That is it?” asked the Mage. “Will they understand? Or will you be there to explain it to them?”

  “I am on my way to Tagaret for a final meeting before the war, but there are others on the island who can explain the situation to them. Will you do it?”

  Fakir Aziz smiled. “You did not ask if I could do it.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Garth smiled broadly. “I have learned not to underestimate you.”

  “What you mean is that I am your last chance to contact them,” laughed the Mage. “Very well, I will try to contact Haditha, but there are no guarantees.”

  “I understand.” Garth nodded in acceptance. “I should also warn you that you and your people are in a precarious place. War is coming soon, and the cities of the Federation will not be safe places for your group. As there appear to be few of the poor left unhealed in Farmin, perhaps you should be thinking of moving on.”

  “Unless Farmin is where we need to be,” the Mage responded.

  “Unless Farmin is where you need to be.” Garth rose and bowed his head respectfully. Without another word, the Knight of Alcea left the room.

  Fakir Aziz continued to sit, staring blankly at the wall. After some time, he rose to his feet and walked out of the office. He passed through the curtain to the back room and left the building through the rear door. He paused thoughtfully in the alley and gazed skyward. The day was ending as the last rays of sunshine fled from the sky. The Mage walked through the alleys of the slums and then through the wider streets of the city, slowly making his way towards one of the long ramps that led from the city down to the waterfront far below the bluffs. When he finally reached the shoreline, the area was quiet. The fishermen had long ago retired to their homes, and the cargo ships that were planning to leave the city had already set sail.

  The Mage slipped off his boots and waded into the water. He squatted and submerged his hands as the gentle waves lapped over his feet. Closing his eyes, he sent a message forth into the Sea of Tears. It was not a message of words, but rather one of feelings. The message carried a sense of anxiety and urgency, but the communication would not affect any but the higher life forms of the sea. With the message sent, the Mage remained unmoving, feeling the essence of the underwater world. He smiled contently as all within the Sea of Tears felt right. The smile soon faded as he felt far beyond the Needle. His eyes quickly opened, and he stared into the darkness as if he could actually see what was transpiring half a world away. The Mage’s brow creased with concern as he rose and returned to the shore. He dried his hands and feet on his hem and donned his boots.

  By the time he returned to the infirmary in the slums of Farmin, the lines of wealthy patrons had disappeared, and the mages were getting ready for the evening meal and then bed. Fakir Aziz sat at the table with the six other mages. Crystil filled a bowl with stew and placed it in front of Fakir Aziz. The Mage looked up at the old hag and smiled. He ate in silence as the other mages discussed the events of the day. When everyone was done with their meal, he stood to get their attention. He then looked at each of the others before speaking.

  “This is our last day in Farmin,” he announ
ced. Several of the mages opened their mouths to object, but the Mage halted it all with a simple raising of his hand. “Our work is never done, but we have no more time for Farmin.” He turned his gaze towards the elven healer. “Eulena, I want you to lead the group northward. You may travel along the Federation Highway, or use the trails through the Dark Forest, whichever you think is safer. Do not call attention to yourselves. Times within the Federation are soon to become more dangerous than they have ever been.”

  “Where will you be?” asked Atule.

  “And where are we going?” asked Kalmar.

  “I am needed elsewhere,” answered Fakir Aziz. “I will rejoin you soon. As for our destination, we will head towards Giza. That is all I can say at the moment.”

  The Mage turned and left the room. Kalmar immediately rose and returned with four fat pouches of gold. He upended the pouches on the table, spilling gold coins out in front of him. Atule raised an eyebrow as he watched the young mage from Korocca count the coins and separate them into two piles.

  “That is a fair return on my diamond,” stated Atule. “What will you do with it?”

  Kalmar took the smaller pile of coins and placed them into one of the pouches. He tied the pouch closed and slid it across the table to Atule.

  “That is a small return on your diamond,” stated Kalmar, “but it is enough to get us started in Giza should we make it that far. I would like you to hold onto it.”

  Atule tied the pouch to his belt, but he still watched Kalmar closely as the young Koroccan put the rest of the coins into the other three pouches. When Kalmar tied those three pouches to his own belt, Atule’s eyebrow rose again.

  “That is hardly a fair split of our efforts,” Atule remarked.

  Kalmar rose and looked at the mage from the jungle. “I am going to find Bacar and give him the gold.”

  “You are going to give gold to a thief?” quipped Atule.

  Kalmar merely smiled and left the building, but Zynor answered the question. “Bacar is no more a thief than we are. He takes money from the rich to aid the poor. So do we. The only difference is that we give the rich potions to make them feel better about parting with their gold.”

  “Bacar is as fine a man as you will ever be,” taunted Crystil. “At least he is honest about his shortcomings.”

  Atule sighed deeply and shook his head. He rose from the table and disappeared through the curtain.

  * * * *

  The Cliffs of Ranool rose over one-thousand feet from the surface of the sea to form the southern side of the Needle. The face of the cliffs was stark, but there were a few caves, although the sheer rise of the face made those caves inaccessible to all but flying creatures. There was, however, one cave unseen by the ships moving through the narrow straight. It had no visible entrance because its opening was well below sea level. The inside of the cave was roomy, and it had several small tunnels that provided light and air while keeping prying eyes away. At night, even a fire was acceptable as the winds flowing through the Needle would quickly disperse the smoke and avoid giving away the hiding place.

  Captain Gomery sat idly in the cave, staring at the large pool of water in the center of the chamber. His love for Haditha had kept him content over the months they had hidden in the cave, but he found himself thinking about the Alceans more and more with each passing day. He wondered if any of them were still alive, and what they might be doing. He wondered if the war between the two continents had started yet. Or was it already over? It was not as if he was growing tired of being with the water witch. He still loved her deeply, but his uneasiness grew stronger with each change in the tides. He did not know what to make of it.

  A loud slap snatched the captain from his thoughts. He looked down to see a large fish sliding across the rock towards his feet. He stopped its progress with his foot and then let his eyes return to the pool. Haditha, in her mermaid form, stared back at him.

  “Where were you?” she asked softly as she pulled herself out of the pool of water.

  “What do you mean?” asked the captain, confusion evident in his voice. “I haven’t gone anywhere. I cannot.”

  “But you can,” Haditha sighed as she changed her form into the old woman from the Endless Swamp. “You travel in your mind, and I know that you were somewhere else when I returned. You did not even notice me when I surfaced.”

  “I am sorry,” apologized Captain Gomery. “I can’t stop thinking of the others. It gets worse every day.”

  “I understand.”

  Captain Gomery raised an eyebrow in surprise. He was sure that Haditha would immediately take his words in the worst possible way, as if his love for her was no longer strong.

  “I suppose it is a failing of humans to require contact with one another,” he offered sheepishly. “I still love you dearly.”

  “I know,” Haditha smiled tautly. “You have proven that beyond question. I have spent so many years in isolation that I forget how it felt in the beginning. I am wrong to subject you to this.”

  “It is not wrong for us to desire to be with each other,” countered the captain.

  “No,” agreed the water witch, “but it is selfish. The others need our help.”

  “We do not even know if any of them are still alive,” frowned the captain. “How can you say that they need our help?”

  “The feelings of anxiety are not yours alone,” admitted Haditha. “We are being summoned to the Isle of Despair.”

  The captain frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either,” the water witch replied candidly, “but I know it to be true. A force more powerful than anything I have ever known is causing our anxieties. I have found myself wondering about the Alceans and how they are doing. That is not natural for someone like me. It is clearly a command to return to your people.” The water witch nodded towards the fish she had thrown towards the captain. “We will have a fine meal this evening and then depart for the Isle of Despair.”

  * * * *

  The dwarven mages of Tarashin were a varied lot. Some were male, and some were female. Some were old, while others were young. They came in all shapes and sizes, but they had one thing in common. All of them were well versed in the magics of strengthening metal and cutting into rock. Metal and stone were the mainstay of dwarven life, and dwarven magicians seemed to have an innate ability to perform such magics. A few had taken their mastery of the arts far beyond those rudimentary offerings, and they had often tried to interest the others into expanding their knowledge. The result of those efforts had been the creation of the Magicians’ Guild. The guild met once a month, and magicians took turns teaching new spells.

  Dorforun was the current leader of the guild, and a frequent lecturer. He was extremely tall and lanky for a dwarf, which had precluded him from working in some of the more enclosed spaces during his earlier years. As a result, he had spent more time studying old magical scrolls than most of his kinsmen. Over the years he had amassed an amazing knowledge of magic, and he was eager to share it with the others.

  On this particular day, Dorforun was speaking before the guild about a spell that could create flexible watertight seals. While the process of creating the seals was complex, manipulation of the seals after their creation was amazingly quick and simple.

  “As you can see,” summarized Dorforun, “the seals can be quickly expanded or contracted. Other than our little display basin here, can anyone think of uses for these seals?”

  “The obvious use is for sealing doors where water might intrude,” stated one of the dwarves.

  “That is obvious,” snorted another magician, “but there are other potential uses. The generous amount of expansion and contraction suggests another use to me. If these seals are strong enough, they could be contracted and fitted into a crevice in the rock. They could then be magically expanded, forcing the crevice to widen.”

  “Excellent,” smiled Dorforun. “The seals would indeed be strong enough, as long as the mage who creat
ed them made them strong enough. That is a variable in the creation that must be taken into account to match the use of the seals to their task.”

  “Then we should also have a rating system for these new seals,” suggested one of the guild members. “We wouldn’t want to inadvertently use a weak seal for a task that requires a strong one.”

  “Correct,” nodded Dorforun.

  Dorforun was pleased with how the lecture had gone. He stood listening to the discussion of various uses for the seals and how the rating system should be devised and implemented. He purposely left the discussion to the others and did not try to steer it or manage it any way. He knew that some of the dwarves considered him to be too intellectual and not active enough in the actual day-to-day operation of the mine, and he didn’t want to appear as a schoolmaster. After a while, Dorforun quietly exited the chamber where the guild met. He strolled aimlessly through the finely hewn corridors of Tarashin to give the guild members time to develop their own thoughts. He had planned to return after an hour to see how the discussion was developing, but that was not to be.

  Dorforun halted suddenly. He had meandered into one of the oldest sections of Tarashin. The corridor had been created in the days of King Arak, but the dwarves of Tarashin had moved on to richer areas where the veins flowed with precious metals. The dwarven magician warily glanced around, wondering what had caused the sudden feeling of unease. Uncharacteristically, the dwarven mage called forth a protective shield to envelop himself.

  “That is hardly necessary,” smiled Fakir Aziz as he stepped out of the darkness. “I am not here to harm you.”

  Dorforun stared at the human with a mixture of suspicion and unease. “Then why are you here? And how did you get here? You certainly did not walk past the guards.”

  “The how is not important,” smiled the Mage. “As for why, I think you already know. Your services are required.”

  Dorforun blinked. He was positive that he had never laid eyes on the human before, yet he suddenly felt as if he knew him. Were he younger and less experienced, he would have suspected the human of casting a spell upon him, but the feeling was not caused by magic. Dorforun was sure of that. A feeling of awe swept through the dwarf’s body, and suddenly he understood.