A Blight of Mages

by Karen Miller

  “Not as calamitous as giving up our songs!” he said, but even as he protested he knew he was wasting his time. He was smothered in foreboding now. Could hardly draw a breath.

  Oh, Bene. I’ve mucked this up. I’ve made everything worse.

  “Good people of Lur,” said Barl Lindin, ignoring him, “think what this will mean. No more drought. No more famine. Your children won’t go to bed hungry, and you won’t weep because there is nothing to feed them. The Doranen know how that feels. We’d spare you such pain. Join with us in this great magework and there will be food enough for every belly, for ever and ever. That is the power of Lur’s magic when matched with Doranen magework. So, in a way, you won’t have lost your earth songs. You’ll be singing them differently, that’s all. And don’t you see? You’ll be safe.”

  Despairing, Jervale watched his fellow Olken fall under her spell. And when he couldn’t bear to watch any more, he left the hall.

  Not a soul called him back.

  Outside, he wandered the torchlit village, breathing in the cool night and trying to calm his disordered mind.

  I can mend this. I have to. There’s Bannet and the others, they’ve a part to play yet. I just have to—

  He heard footfalls behind him, and turned. It was Del of Westwailing, wandering dreamlost out of the woods. She looked tousled and replete, with a lingering memory of pleasure in her eyes. Torchlight sparked along a golden hair on her sleeve.

  Seeing it, he was abruptly pummelled with knowing… just as he’d been pummelled when Bene fell with their Tilly. He could feel the bright humming inside this careless fisherfolk lass. A new life just starting. A frail seed of hope.

  In the Final Days shall come the Innocent Mage…

  “Jervale!” Del said, noticing him. Surprised and suddenly wary. “Sink me, what are you about, lurking in the shadows?”

  In the Final Days? An Innocent Mage? Where had that come from? And what did it mean? “You know there’s a meeting in the hall, Del? Where’ve you been?”

  Her fingers strayed to her lips, tracing a swift and secret smile. “I was in the woods. I fell asleep.”

  No, girl, you tumbled with Barl Lindin’s brother.

  But instinct urged him not to say that aloud. “Come along, lass,” he said, and took hold of her arm. “There’s important doings in the hall. Best you get in there.”

  After they withdrew so the Olken could talk among themselves, Remmie glanced at Venette, a warning, and walked with Barl back to their camp. She was quietly triumphant, on fire with purpose, seemingly oblivious to what her likely victory meant.

  But he was all too aware of its meaning. He didn’t know whether to rage at his sister, or weep.

  “Let me see your notes,” he said, when they reached her tent. “I want to check your magework.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Please.”

  On a grumbling sigh she held the tent flap aside for him, then tossed several balls of glimfire into the air as she followed. Sat on her cot while he sat on the felt mat flooring and read her notes, read her incants and their sigils, and broke his heart anew over what she’d achieved.

  “It’s too late to stop me, Remmie,” she said. “The Olken will agree to my proposal.”

  As if he didn’t know that. As if he hadn’t watched her enchant them with her gilded promises and smiles.

  He looked up. “I know you have to do this—but you needn’t do it alone. If we work the incants together, and the blending, and the bindings, if we—if we share the final transmutation we’ll share the danger and then maybe the spill of energies can be contained, maybe—”

  “Oh, Remmie.” She shook her head. “You know better.”

  His eyes were stinging. “We sprang from the same womb, Barl. We’re not so different.”

  “We’re different enough. It won’t work.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I can’t risk it! We have one chance, Remmie. Just one. And it’s going to be hard enough to juggle all the syllables and sigils by myself. I could never do it with another mage.”

  He met her eyes, breathing harshly. “Not even with Morgan Danfey?”

  Her gaze softened. “Not even with you.”

  “Oh, Barl.” The sorrow was overwhelming. “How I wish you’d never met him.”

  She made a small sound that was half laugh, half sob. “But I did.”

  He had no more strength left for fighting. She’d made her choice. Now he had to make his. On his feet again, he bent down and kissed her hair.

  “I love you, Barl.”

  She smiled up at him. “I love you too. Now go and get some sleep. We’ll talk again in the morning.”

  “I’ll sleep if you will,” he retorted. “You go first.”

  “Bully,” she said, yawning… but didn’t complain when he plumped her thin pillow, and tucked the coarse blanket round her once she lay down.

  And waited, patient and heartsick, until she fell asleep.

  Venette waylaid him as he headed into the woods.

  “And where d’you think you’re going, young man?”

  She wasn’t his mother. Could never replace his mother. But in the strangest way, he’d come to love her like an older sister. Wise and sarcastic, purposeful and brave, during the last long months Venette Martain had become important.

  And so he wouldn’t lie.

  “I was mistaken,” he said quietly. “Morgan Danfey isn’t a wild fancy. Just before the meeting, I saw him strike Barl across the face.”

  Glimfire showed him Venette’s eyes widening in shock. “That’s not possible.”

  “Not in person,” he added. “But with his mind, he struck her. She was right. He’s found us. And he will come after her. You know that, Venette.”

  Venette was silent, fingers worrying Orwin’s ring on its chain about her neck.

  “What you said to the Olken. About Danfey. I know you were simply supporting Barl, then. But now that you know he really is a threat… I have to ask. Did you mean it, about wanting to kill him?”

  Her fingers closed hard. “Yes, I did. Why?”

  Instead of answering, Remmie tipped his face to the night sky and rested his tired gaze on its unfamiliar stars. Remembered Batava’s schoolhouse, and clever Rine Grovsik’s pleasure as his constellation incant held.

  The unfamiliar diamond pinpricks high above him blurred.

  “Remmie, you’re frightening me,” said Venette. “What is this about?”

  Slowly, he looked at her. “Barl’s magework is in two parts. There’s the weather magic, to end the drought and ensure Lur’s bounty… and then there’s the warding, to keep it safe from the world. Her magework’s only lethal if the two parts are combined. But if the warding wasn’t needed? If she only had to break the drought?” His voice caught. “If that was all of it, Venette, she wouldn’t have to die.”

  Venette was too intelligent not to grasp his meaning. Orwin’s ring slid through her fingers as she gasped, and stepped towards him.

  “You think to go home? To rid the world of Morgan? Remmie, you can’t. You’d never survive the journey.”

  “Not on foot, no,” he agreed. “Besides, I’d never get there in time. But if I incanted…”

  “To Elvado?” Incredulous, she laughed. “Remmie—”

  “It’s not as mad as it sounds. Maris told me her uncle Arlin once incanted from Elvado to Iringa.”

  “Did she also mention the state he was in when he got there?”

  “I gather he wasn’t a pretty sight,” he said. “But Venette, if you helped me… if we did a working on the strongest travel incant we know…”

  Shaking her head, Venette turned away.

  “Or doesn’t it bother you, that Barl is about to kill herself to save us?”

  And that spun her back to him, her eyes in the glimfire sparking with temper. “That’s a wicked thing to say. Of course I am bothered. But what you’re suggesting—my dear, it’s madness.”


  He managed a crooked smile. “Not if it works.”

  “And if it works, how will you get back to us?”

  A good question. “Now, now, my lady. One conundrum at a time.”

  “Remmie…” Venette pressed trembling fingers to her lips. “Please. Don’t ask me to do this.”

  “I have to,” he said simply. “It’s Barl’s only hope.”

  “And what of hope for you?”

  He thought for a moment before answering. “My mother loved Barl, but she knew her daughter well. Before she died, I promised her I’d see my sister kept out of trouble. And though I’ve done my best…” He grimaced. “My best was never enough. Perhaps this time, it will be.”

  Tears welled in Venette’s eyes. Spilled. Impatient, she brushed them away. “And if I say no?”

  “Then you say no,” he said, shrugging. “And I’ll incant home the long, slow way, in stages. Cross my fingers I don’t step into the middle of a Feenish war camp.”

  “Now that is playing dirty!”

  He shrugged again. “I’m desperate.”

  A long silence, and then she sighed. “How d’you plan to kill him?”

  Remmie reached inside his roughspun shirt, and pulled out the knife he’d carried since the day they left Elvado. “With this. And if that doesn’t work, if Barl’s binding hasn’t made him vulnerable, well… I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

  Despite everything she’d said about Danfey, Venette flinched. “I see.”

  “Venette…” He took her hands and held them. They were cold, and felt small. “Please. Help me.”

  She tugged free. Folded her arms. “And how will we know if you succeed, and Morgan dies?”

  “Barl will know,” he said, reluctant. “They’re connected. If he dies, she’ll know.”

  “And if you die?”

  “She’ll know that, too.”

  Staring at him, Venette blinked away more tears. “Remmie Lindin, I could hate you for this.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you sure there’s no other way?”

  He kissed her cheek. “You know there isn’t.”

  “I could go.”

  Loving her, he shook his head. “No, you couldn’t. You’re the last of Elvado’s Council of Mages. You’re needed here, far more than me.”

  “I beg to differ.” Her eyes narrowed. “And so would Maris.”

  Maris Garrick? She really was thinking to push him into that girl’s arms? Oh, Venette. And then, remembering the Olken girl in the woodland, he felt his face heat.

  Misreading him, Venette smiled. “Ah. I knew you liked her.”

  There was no time for contradictions. Besides, he didn’t have the heart. Let Venette cling to her daydream. One way or another it would never come true.

  “Venette, if I’m going to do this, I have to do it now,” he said. “So are you going to help me or not?”

  She sighed, shuddering. “Yes. I’m going to help you. But why must it be now?”

  “Because if Barl sees me, she’ll know something’s wrong. She’ll try to stop me… and I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “You don’t want to—” Bemused, Venette stared. “And you don’t think this will hurt?”

  “This is different,” he muttered. “Please, Venette. Let’s go.”

  Abandoning argument, she let him lead her into the Black Woods. And when at last they stopped, beneath a bobbing of glimfire, and debated the best travel incant to use, she gifted him with magework from the Hall’s most secret archives. They worked the obscure incant together, drawing even more strength from Lur, and felt the incant’s power like a waterfall thundering through their blood.

  “She’ll be furious with me,” he said, before Venette triggered the final sigil. He held his knife tightly, fingers cramping on its hilt. “Barl. She’ll need you, Venette. Don’t let her turn you away. Help her, however you can.”

  Her fingertips traced the scar on his cheek. “I will, my dear. I promise. Just finish this, I beg you. For your sister. For Orwin. For everyone we’ve lost.”

  Irielle. He nodded, his vision blurring again. “Venette, tell Barl—”

  “I will,” she said. “Now go, my dear. Go. Before I change my mind.”

  The night air burned with magic… and the Black Woods disappeared.

  When at long last the meeting in Gribley’s village hall broke up, Jervale loitered a little distance from the doors until he saw Bannet come out, a subdued Del by his side. Catching sight of him, Del’s cheeks pinked. She murmured something and slipped away.

  Paying no attention to the curious glances thrown in his direction, Jervale waved to catch Bannet’s eye.

  “Thought you’d come back in,” said Bannet, joining him. “There was a lot of lively talk, after you left.”

  He could imagine. “I said my piece, Bannet. But I’ve more to say to you. Are you willing to listen?”

  Bannet’s eyes narrowed in his plain, weathered face. “You’re set to tell me something hacklesome, ain’t you?”

  “Something… heart-thumping,” he said, not smiling. “But for all our sakes, Bannet, it’s got to be told.”

  “I can see that.” Heaving a resigned sigh, Bannet nodded at the Olken leaving the hall and milling in the narrow street. “They chose to side with the Doranen, Jervale. Every last one of ’em’s said they’ll chime home to say it’s best.” Another sigh. “And who can blame ’em? Lur’s in a bad way.”

  “I know. For better or worse, I’ll be chiming home the same thing.” Jervale touched his arm. “We’ll go back to my tent.”

  Bannet took the news of being dreamed about without fuss. When the telling was done with, he sat silent on his tree-stump stool, scratching his raspy chin and watching the excited comings-and-goings of the other Olken who’d travelled to Gribley.

  Jervale eyed him, nervous. “Bannet, reckon I know how this sounds. And you ain’t known me long, so—”

  “Reckon I’ve known you long enough,” said Bannet. “And it’s funny.” He frowned. “Now you’ve told me? What you say about these Doranen… it feels right, Jervale.”

  Dizzy with relief, he clapped his new friend on the knee. “Means a lot to hear you say that. Means more to know I’m believed.”

  “Good to know I’m useful,” said Bannet, almost amused. “But what else I can do, I ain’t sure.”

  “You can sit by while I find the others I dreamed. For I won’t rest easy ’til this is settled.”

  “Settled how?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know. Not yet. Will you stay? Could take me a while.”

  “I’ll stay.”

  So he left Bannet to his own musings and went in search of those other Olken, folk his instinct told him would help save Lur. Searched for them, found them, learned their names and then persuaded them to meet him at the eastern edge of the village, at first light. Just like Bannet, they seemed strangely unsurprised. And with every nod, every tentative smile, Jervale felt that odd twist of rightness.

  Could be I’ve not mucked this up after all.

  He returned to his tent, light-headed with the first hope he’d felt for days.

  “Done?” said Bannet.

  He nodded. “Done. We’ll talk it over in the morning.”

  “Then best we get some shut-eye,” said Bannet, standing. “I’ll wish you pleasant dreams.”

  And some time in the night he did dream, a blizzard of faces and knowings, so when he woke before dawn… he woke knowing what to do.

  Barl startled out of sleep to the torment of Morgan’s lips soft on hers. To the echo of his mocking voice, his breath sighing against her skin.

  “My love, my love, don’t worry. We’ll be together soon.”

  She sat up, heart pounding. “No!”

  The tent flap was pulled open. She never left it that way. And then, in the dawn gloom, she realised she wasn’t alone.

  “It’s all right!” Venette said swiftly. “It’s me, Barl. Not—it’s me.”
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  “Venette? What are you—”

  “I’ve something to tell you. About Remmie. He’s—”

  “Gone,” Barl whispered, feeling his absence like a limb cut off, and snapped her fingers for glimfire. The light showed her Venette, somehow elegant in her roughspun shift, cross-legged on the tent floor. Her eyes were hollow, and haunted. “Oh, my lady. What have you done?”

  Waiting for Bannet and the others, Jervale felt oddly serene. Bad times were coming to Lur, he knew that without a doubt. But he’d not live to see them. And before the bad times, there’d be good times. Years and years of them, he knew that too. Which, also oddly, was a comfort.

  And as it stands, I’ll take what comfort I can find.

  One by one, the Olken he’d dreamed of joined him, bleary-eyed in the early woodland light. Bannet came last, still lacing up his shirt.

  “Right, then,” Jervale said, nodding. “Let’s find us a place to chat.”

  He led them into the woods until he was certain they were deep enough they’d not be stumbled on, and overheard. Stopped, he had them introduce themselves so they weren’t entirely strangers any more.

  The oldest of them was Phryn of Tanny hamlet, on the eastern edge of the Black Woods. Bushy grey eyebrows pulled low, he worried the wattles on his neck.

  “So, Jervale. What is it you want to say?”

  Bannet gave him a small, encouraging nod. Warmed by it, Jervale cleared his throat. “First of all, I want to know if you believe the things I said in the hall last night.”

  “Say we do,” said Neese of Dellin, once she and old Phryn and the others finished exchanging cautious glances. “So what?”

  “You want us to chime our elders to say we were wrong, the Doranen should be sent back over the mountains?”

  And that was sharp-faced Boyde from Jerring village.

  Jervale pulled a face at him. “No. Truth is, like I said, Barl Lindin’s magework will save us from drought and famine and worse.”

  “Then what are we doing here?” said Eryn of Sapslo, sounding plaintive.

  “We’re here ’cause there’s another truth,” he said gently. Was she too young for this? He feared so, but had to follow his dream’s prompting. “There’ll come a day when the Doranen are helpless… and then it’s an Olken as will save Lur.”