Wandering Lark

by Laura J Underwood

  “Then we are agreed,” she said. “We will go to Taneslaw as you wish, and then we will see.”

  “See what?” he asked with a frown.

  “If the stories of monsters and giant men and trow armies are true.”

  He nodded. She picked up her blankets and wrapped them around her and lay down.

  Sleep seemed the logical thing now.

  Tomorrow, she could worry about what to do next.

  “I do not trust her,” Ronan said as Alaric watched Talena close her eyes.

  That makes two of us, Alaric agreed.

  “We should leave when she is asleep,” Ronan said.

  No,

  “What? Are you mad? She will only get in the way.”

  She had not done so yet.

  “That shows how little you know! At that farm last night, she attacked you.”

  What?

  “How do you think you got that bruise on your chest. She attacked you while you were sleeping. She was going to tie you up and take you back to her Temple then. I had to take over and defend you against her.”

  But why would she do that? Alaric thought.

  “Because you are worth much more to her temple alive than you are dead,” Ronan said.

  But the temple didn’t believe I was a heretic, Alaric said. They let me go.

  “And most likely sent her to follow,” Ronan said. “To gain your trust. Which she had done quite well, I might add. Now all she needs is proof of what you really are, and you have given her that.”

  But she had no proof at the farm, Alaric thought. I did nothing to reveal myself to her. So why would she attack me then?

  “You saw the medallion,” Ronan said. “She used it on you that evening when you were in the barn. When you scried her, she felt it, and she knew then that you had lied to the Temple and to her.”

  None of this makes any sense, Ronan. If she knew then that I was a heretic—if the Temple sent her to follow me—why would she attack me? And what does she think I will lead her to?

  “The Elder,” Ronan said. “That is what the temple really wants. To find the elder and give them a reason to declare the king of Taneslaw a true heretic, and a reason to invade his land. They will fight on the borders, but only to keep the Tannish warlords in their own lands. But what they want is to rule Taneslaw as well. To control the Center of All Things. To do that, they must find the Elder.”

  Alaric shook his head and looked at Talena.

  I think you’re wrong about her, Ronan, he thought.

  “I would not close my eyes without ordering Vagner to keep watch,” Ronan said.

  Vagner will keep watch.

  Though as Alaric glanced at the demon and the mare, he was starting to wonder if Vagner didn’t have other matters on his mind.

  Just don’t get her pregnant, Vagner, he thought. I doubt even Talena would understand why her mare is birthing a demonic horse.

  You take all my fun away, Vagner thought back.

  Alaric shook his head and grabbed his own blankets. He would catch some sleep himself while Talena was asleep...in case Ronan was right about her.

  But he was having a hard time believing it.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Blue Oak had never been a more welcome sight to Etienne than it was now when she opened her spell gate to let them out on the main road at the forest’s edge. The massive oak tree looked beautiful in its autumn coat. Curls of smoke rose from various points. She could smell hints of peat and dead wood on the wind, mixed with the odor of acorn mast bread.

  Oh, I have not had acorn mast bread since I left my home, she thought. That would be the first thing she would do; purchase a large loaf of fresh acorn mast bread and share it with Wendon and Shona. She had tried only once to make it herself when she moved to Dun Gealach to study magic, but the acorns there were not as tasty in her opinion. The acorns of Blue Oak were famous throughout Ross-Mhor for their rich flavor. Ard-Taebh, for all its wonders, had none to equal it.

  “That tree’s on fire!” Wendon blurted and pointed.

  “No,” Etienne assured him. “Those are but the smoke of the hearth fires.”

  “Isn’t that sort of dangerous?” Wendon asked. “Having fires in trees?”

  “The tree is green and living, and resistant to flames,” she said and smiled. “And those hearths are cut from stone that has been blessed by mageborn who set special spells on it so that it holds the fire at a safe level. And besides, there are rules about how one builds a fire that are strictly managed by all. Had we not developed ways to do so, these trees would never have allowed us to live in their branches...”

  Wendon and Shona traded looks. “I told you that the trees felt alive,” he said.

  Shona laughed.

  They continued up the road. Etienne thought Wendon was going to fall on his back, the way he kept looking up.

  “This is marvelous!” he said. “This tree must be at least half a league in height! Look how the top of it disappears into the clouds!”

  “No, not quite,” she said. “More likely because of the time of the year, the mist from the mountains to the north is growing thicker. Though I have heard it said that in the old days when the King of Ross-Mhor claimed the highest branches for his palace, he had a problem in winter with the clouds descending on his palace and making it impossible for one to find ones way through the corridors without getting lost.”

  Wendon’s eyebrows rose in wonder. “Does the King not have his palace there now?”

  “Well, the tree had grown quite a lot since the ancient days. His palace is now in the heartwood.”

  “Inside the tree?” Shona said. “How does he get out?”

  Etienne laughed. “My people learned ways to keep the boles of the trees from closing over their homes without harming the tree itself. Since we are going to be here a while, I will gladly take you around and show you some of the wonders of my land.”

  “This will be great,” Wendon said. “I’ll be the envy of every mage student at Dun Gealach when I get back and tell them what all I have seen.”

  His words floundered just a bit, and Etienne could see the realization in his eyes. Poor Wendon, she thought. I hope we will indeed be allowed to go back so you can share what you have seen with others.

  But for now, this was a safe haven far out of the reach of the High Mage. Turlough had neither friends nor power here. For that, Etienne was grateful.

  “Come on,” she said and picked up her pace. The others sped up to match her march. “If we are fortunate, we shall not have to wait long for a platform ride.”

  “Platform ride?” Wendon said.

  “Surely, you don’t want to spend half a day hiking up the stairs,” she said. “I’m not sure Shona is up to it.”

  “The platform ride sounds wonderful,” Wendon agreed. “Is it...safe?”

  “Of course, but if you’re worried, we could go by basket,” Etienne added, “but those are more costly.”

  “Platform,” Wendon agreed.

  Indeed, as they drew closer to the tree, they could see that more than one platform dangled on ropes, as well as a number of enclosed baskets. The roots of Blue Oak were astonishingly large, some taller than small huts. Indeed, some of them had been cultivated to cover the guards quarters on the ground while others formed barrier walls that people could enter and leave just like the gates of a ground city. Arched doorways led into places between the roots where the platforms and baskets came down. One of the platforms was descending just as they arrived. Etienne hurried up to join the line of people waiting. At the head of it, a small man was holding out his hand and gesturing to the people in the line.

  “Five coppers a head,” he called. “This way please. Single file.”

  Etienne had dug out fifteen copper sgillinns by the time she reached the opening. The little man took her money and gave it careful scrutiny. “Foreign metal,” he said, his eyes going wide.

  “Not enough for three?” Etienne asked, looking puzzled.


  “Oh, no, it’s too much,” he said and counted back ten of her sgillinns. “Not been here in a while, have ye?”

  Etienne shook her head.

  “New issue,” he said. “To save metal, they make coppers by plating them around wood. There’s enough metal there for three rides each.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Nothing of this was said when I was in Greenwillow.”

  The little man snorted. “What do the folk of the lesser trees know,” he said. “Now move along. Can’t keep the platform waiting.”

  Etienne did move along, briskly, followed by Shona and Wendon. They stepped onto a plank and climbed onto the platform where men and women wearing sashes were directing passengers according to size. Wendon was stopped and directed towards the middle by one of the guides.

  “Can we not stay with him?” Etienne asked.

  The guide who was directing her towards another row of benches looked puzzled. “It means you will be in the middle with the larger folk,” she said.

  “I don’t mind,” Etienne said. “I’ve never been fond of the edge...”

  The guide nodded knowingly and allowed Etienne and Shona to follow Wendon’s path.

  They sat down on the benches as the platform continued to fill with people. Very few carried more than a few parcels. She imagined that livestock and goods were taken on a separate platform these days. Finally, the little man stopped allowing folk through. “All full,” he shouted. “Step back, please.”

  The platform lurched quite suddenly, and the sensation of her stomach freefalling to her knees made Etienne gasp in surprise. She grabbed Shona’s hand and saw Wendon seize the edge of his bench between his knees, his eyes going round. The platform shifted a little, swaying like a swing before it gained a little momentum and rose more steadily towards the tree branches above. She had forgotten what it felt like to ride the platforms, but living in one of the smaller trees, it was just as easy to climb to the branches by way of the stairs. This ride never ceased to make her a little queasy.

  Shona’s grasp lightened. Around them, the world passed smoothly by. Etienne watched the horizon to keep from getting giddy. Up here, the wind was a little stiffer than below. The crisp autumn air had a distinct chill. Oh, she would welcome fresh acorn mast bread and perhaps a cup of acorn and cinnamon tea as well. Hot, with a little cream, she promised herself. Pleasures of her childhood long forgotten and neglected.

  At length, the platform slowed then bumped to a halt. The guides were using pikes to grab anchor ropes tied to rails, and those who worked topside were using similar hooks to grab the platform and secure it to the edge. People rose from their seat swiftly, eager to be on their way, so at first, the view was obscured. But then, they parted enough for Etienne to see the main square. The common, as it was called. Around its edges, merchants hawked wares to the new arrivals. She could see the great ropes and chains that were used to raise and lower the platform. Giant wooden wheels and a series of pulleys that handled the great lengths of rope and chain were secured to strong parts of the tree, and teams of six oxen were set into the harnesses that drew them.

  “How do they manage oxen up here?” Shona asked as she stared at them.

  “Much more easily than horses,” Etienne said. “Horses do not travel up here well. And it takes less oxen to lift the platform with so many people on it than it does horses.”

  “Clever how they came up with the pulley system to shorten the rope,” Wendon said. “Otherwise, the oxen could never drag it up in one long pull.”

  “Yes, I understand that is actually the invention of some mageborn or another,” she said.

  “Seems to me the mageborn could do the same with levitation spells,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Oh, I am certain they could,” she agreed, and her mind roved back to the flying platform Turlough had used to chase them around Shadow Vale. “But having ridden such a platform, I can assure you that it has its disadvantages as well. Apart from the cost, can you imagine having to hire all the mageborn it would take to get people in an out of a city like Blue Oak? They would have to charge much more to pay them.”

  “Still, a mage could make a profit that way,” Wendon said. “They could offer the service to rich, important people. And it’s really just a matter of finding the right combination of spells.”

  She shook her head. Fenelon had found that combination through a long series of experiments she was glad to have not witnessed. The platform Turlough used had been Fenelon’s invention, after all.

  “Come on. I suspect I know which inn Gareth would want us to wait at,” Etienne said. “A humble but well kept place on the eastern side. And once we are there, I will treat you to acorn mast bread and tea and whatever else is on the menu. In fact, we shall think of this as a holiday and enjoy ourselves immensely.”

  “Oooo, I like the sound of that,” Shona agreed. “Enjoy ourselves before we’re captured, sundered and executed for defying that old gyte Turlough.”

  Etienne gave Shona a hard look. The lass grinned sheepishly.

  “I meant it as a jest,” Shona said.

  Wendon said nothing, but he nodded.

  Etienne suspected he was missing poor Thera. Blessed Brother, I do hope she is all right, she thought.

  FORTY

  Dawn rolled across the Cursed Moors and wiped out most of the disturbances of the night. Alaric had slept soundly and awoke feeling refreshed for the first time in a long time. In fact, he didn’t feel as achy as he had the previous morning. Of course, the bruise on his stomach was still there as a reminder of the “attack” on his person Ronan claimed happened.

  Alaric wasn’t sure. Had he said something under the influence of the wine that set Talena off? And if she did think he was a heretic before now, why had she let him go this far. After all, if she was so convinced of his guilt already, why had she not turned him in? Why had she not been the one who took him to the Temple to begin with?

  No good would come of worrying about it now, he told himself as he glanced across the smoldering remains of their campfire at her sleeping form. She was snuggled into her blankets like a small child. The sight made Alaric smile, for it reminded him of his youngest sister Fiona. She always slept in a similar position, grasping her pillow as though frightened it would run away.

  “We should be on our way,” Ronan said, stirring restlessly inside Alaric. “We should leave her behind.”

  “Talena, wake up,” Alaric called.

  Her head popped up out of the pillow. “Whuh?” she murmured and showed her hair out of her face where it had gotten tangled and skewed by sleep.

  “It’s morning,” Alaric said. “We should be on our way, shouldn’t we?”

  “Oh...yes,” she muttered and crawled into a sitting position. Her eyes briefly rose to look up at the rafters. “Are the raveners gone?”

  Alaric closed his eyes and let his mage senses drift outward. He sensed the little brigands were hiding in the boles of the trees and in some of the lower reaches of this keep. But none of them were close enough to matter.

  “Yes, I believe they won’t be bothering us now,” he said.

  Talena nodded, rubbing sleep from her eyes and leaning her head on her hands. Then she forced herself to her feet.

  Alaric had gotten up as well, fetching his pack from Vagner’s back. How it had remained there all night was a miracle. He opened the sack the landlord had given him. The bread was a bit hard, and the cheese was starting to develop a patina of mold, but he could live with the former, and the latter could be cut away easily enough. He drew his dagger and cleaned it on his sleeve, then started cutting the bread and extracting bits of cheese. When enough was free, he offered Talena her pick. She gave him a funny look, then took a piece of each.

  “Well, since you seem to know something of conjuring,” she said carefully. “Any chance you can relight the fire so I can make some morning tea?”

  “My pleasure,” Alaric said and went back to the circle of stones and smoldering wood. He hel
d a hand over it, drew essence from the embers and whispered, “Loisg!” Flames blossomed. He glanced at Talena and said, “Your fire awaits you, my lady.”

  She made a face. “Not the best choice of words,” she said as she crossed dug through her own packs for the tea and a small pot to heat water from her waterskin.

  Alaric shrugged. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he said.

  Talena nodded and began to fix her tea. Once the water was on the fire, she sat back on her heels and looked at Alaric once more. “How do you stay young?” she asked.

  “Beg pardon?” he asked.

  “Heretics usually age fast and die,” she said. “Few of them live past thirty winters...”

  Thirty winters? Alaric thought. “It must have something to do with how they use their power,” he said. “I was always told that it’s the magic that keeps us young for so long.”

  “That can’t be true,” Talena said.

  “Why not?”

  “You saw Desura at the temple, did you not?”

  Alaric frowned. “Yes,” he said.

  “She’s my age,” Talena said. “The power she possesses has been eating her life away from the time she came into her first blooding.”

  “Blooding?” Alaric said.

  “Aye...her woman’s blooding,” Talena said.

  “Oh,” Alaric said and nodded as his face flushed. He knew well what she meant now, having grown up with irritable sisters. “Yes, of course.”

  “All heretics are like that,” Talena said. “They get old fast and die young, at least, the ones that the Temple keeps alive for their purposes do. Desura will be fortunate to see another five winters at the rate the power is eating her life away.”

  “But the only way the power eats our lives away is if we use our own essence to feed the spells,” Alaric said. “Do the mageborn in this land not know that?”

  Talena looked puzzled. Alaric felt Ronan stir restlessly as though agitated by what he had said. “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

  “Look,” Alaric said, hoping to enlighten her. “Mageborn have a core of power in them, and they use that essence, that life force, to feed their spells. But if they pull too much power from themselves, they can drain themselves dangerously close to death.”