by D. H. Aire
However, the Mistress made it clear that the unicorn and its riders were welcome in the inner court.
The servants stared down into the outer court. Casber glanced up at them. Faces, young and old, families dedicated to the Consecrated’s Tower for generations met his gaze.
The walls were barely manned, Juels noted as she looked about her, sensing the wards the projected a sense of stillness, peace, and something she could not name.
The old guard gestured for them to proceed and offered the Legionnaires refreshment as grooms hurried from the stables. Several of their mounts were bigger than any warhorses he had ever seen. The grooms paused.
The monstrously tall man-like figure bent down, “I suggest you let those particular mounts go their own way for now.”
“You speak?” he croaked.
Greth grinned.
The guard was not the only one to shudder.
“I most certainly do,” Greth replied, “and warding or no warding, if anything happens to my friends, I’ll tear this place apart.”
#
An arrow toppled the Tane officer from his mount as he and his troop rode across a farmer’s field. “Sir!” the nearest guardsman cried.
He fell to the ground hard, grimaced. Through the mist of pain, he saw the Haydenese overwhelming his detachment, which would only allow the rest of the garrison troops only a few scant extra minutes to retreat.
That’s when he heard the sound of horns. Antique legion clarions like out of some ballad. The Haydenese were taken by surprise as out of the north right before he passed out he thought he saw Legionnaires and a giant on horseback with four arms.
#
“Just what did you think you were doing?” Re’ut demanded as Lawson grimaced.
“It worked, didn’t it?” Lawson said, having returned from attending Lord Rian as his Legionnaires collected their prisoners’ coin and his mages cast spells that revealed hidden weaponry and charms. The Haydenese surrendered them with unhappy looks.
“You mean trying to scare the Haydenese to death?” she yelled back. “And, let me guess, this was your idea, Yel’ane.”
“It was mine, actually,” Lawson said, “which is likely why it helped us capture so many prisoners.”
The black robed warders rode up. Se’and leaned over and said, “We have a problem here?”
“Definitely,” Re’ut said. “They charged off without any warning about what they were planning.”
George said, “Well, at least they seem interested in working together. Nicely done, Lawson, Lady Yel’ane. I particularly liked your drawing up your legs and tucking close, while waving your daggers in your hands. However, if Lawson was a bit shorter, I think you could easily have stabbed him in the face.”
“I was careful,” she claimed, no longer smiling at his initial praise.
Se’and shook her head, “Well, personally, I thought his screaming his head off while you waved your daggers like claws helped the first Haydenese you came upon throw down their arms.”
“Our plan worked like a charm,” Lawson said, steely.
Smiling, Se’and replied, “Re’ut, you should really go see to collecting their arms and coin… Lord Rian says the spoils belong to Lord Lawson.”
Re’ut frowned. “Spoils?”
“Lord Lawson’s quite a wealthy man,” Se’and said.
Yel’ane suddenly grinned.
#
The Tane officer opened his eyes, finding himself on a bedroll. He reached for his injured shoulder and found no sign of his wound, “What? How?”
A Legionnaire paused. “You’ve been healed, Sir. We’ve very expert mages…. Feel up to speaking with Lord Rian?”
“Rian?” he rasped, then noticed the odd cut to the Legionnaire’s livery. “Who are you?”
“I’m with the Fifth Legion, Sir,” he replied, offering him a hand up.
#
“Uh, Milord, what are you doing here?” the officer asked.
Lord Rian smiled, “We were on our way to pay the Empress our respects, when she ordered us to Lord Tane’s aid.”
“It’s welcome,” he said, although, he wasn’t certain any of his seniors or Lord Tane himself would agree.
“What has caused this act of aggression from the renegade archmage?”
“We’re searching for Lady Hayden, Lord Tane’s niece… Our lord learned she had fled rather than find herself married to him.”
Lord Rian nodded. “I see.”
#
On the plains between Bastian and Fenn du Blain’s army and siege, wagons rode under a flag of truce Truthsayer, a half dozen Legionnaires, and the Highmage, his glowing staff held high, Se’and and Cle’or riding to either side. A falc flew over Bastian’s parapet, seeming to watch over them.
“Milord,” the Demonlord Priest said, wiping his blade without another thought to Fenn’s latest offering, who was sprawled, unrecogizeable on the blood covered dining table.
“I see him… Let us welcome my old friend and his foolish new ones,” Fenn du Blain replied, turning to his page. “Bring me my horse… and order my best archers to take position.”
“Aye, milord,” the young man answered, running off.
#
Fenn rode out with an equal number of his troops and his priest as a falc circled overhead. He met the Highmage where he waited at the midway point between Bastian and Fenn’s forces. “Well, well, Truthsayer, I must say I am surprised to find you here and on such a fine war horse.”
Said war horse glared back at him. Truthsayer smiled, “Gwilliam had no further need of me after routing your troops at Trelor.”
Fenn frowned, “Well, there wasn’t much left of the place when I left, anyway.”
“Truth.” He acknowledged in reply.
The Highmage shook his head, “Fenn, on behalf of Her Majesty, I am here to accept your unconditional surrender.”
“Truth.”
Fenn laughed. “I am the one who has Bastian surrounded. Not the other way around.”
“Spare yourself and your men what is to come,” the Highmage warned.
“Do you think I fear you, trumped up human mage?”
“Falsehood,” Truthsayer replied, grinning.
Fenn glared back. “I fear this upstart not. I rule Gwed, Gwire, and still most of Trelor… and you have not the legions to stop me from sacking Bastian.”
“The Empress offers you this chance to surrender this one time,” the Highmage said.
Fenn raised his hand.
His archers loosed.
The Highmage raised his staff high.
The Demonlord’s Priest pointed at the Highmage as the arrows descended. Eldritch violet lightning shot forth. The arrows struck the ground as Fenn stared, the Imperial party was gone. He turned to his priest, who gasped, three arrows skewering him. He gurgled and fell dead.
Fenn cried out and rode hastily back to the safety of his lines.
#
“Thank you, Seeress,” Aaprin said as the falc entered the gate tower’s rear window.
The falc hopped inside, shimmered and changed form. Stunning rose in the falc’s place, walking naked up to the Prince, who offered his hand. “Well done.”
She nodded.
Truthsayer looked at her as she nodded. “I take it the priest would have proved a problem.”
“Quite a significant one. He would have realized that this isn’t the Highmage.”
Duncan blinked, muttering, “Oh.”
“Aaprin Summerfelt,” he introduced him with a slight bow. “Senior Journeyman Engineer to Highmage Je’oj du Bradlei, at your service, Prince Duncan.”
His staff vanished, replaced by a young woman in pants and jerkin, and beside her one of the Cathartan changed from a blonde haired woman to a young slightly brunette closer to the prince’s age.
Cle’or sighed, “Well, Truthsayer, Fenn will surely launch his attack at any moment.”
“Not without word from the Demonlord, which that priest would have g
iven after the parley,” the Seeress stated. “Now, he will receive word by dawn.”
Gallen said, “That should give us time enough.”
“Time enough?” Duncan muttered.
Aaprin grinned, “Fenn was right. There aren’t Legionnaires enough, but there soon will be.”
“Truth.”
The Seeress’ gaze lost focus as thousands of young people and children whose families debts to the Dowager would be wiped clean lined up for the lift down to Bastian. The Major shook his head as Marshall General Sianhiel helped steady the warder beside him as the lift filled. “Stand clear!” the Major shouted. There was a flash of light and the lift now held refugees from Bastian, who were ushered clear. “Next batch!”
“Rexil?” Sianhiel whispered in concern.
“We’re… fine.”
“You should sit,” he offered.
“Sit?” the gravely voice replied, chuckling. “That doesn’t matter… But buckets of water to drink might.”
“Buckets?”Sianhiel murmured.
The voice changed ever so slightly, “It’s getting a bit hot in here.”
“Oh, of course,” Sianhiel yelled, “I need buckets of water!”
#
A young blonde haired white gowned scryer stood poised across the courtyard at the entrance to the Consecrated’s Tower, “Welcome, Lord Casber, it has been long since we have been visited by the Highmage’s Hand.”
Juels dropped from the unicorn’s back. The blonde scryer stepped back as what appeared to be a beast walking on ts hind legs climbed the wide steps to the Tower entrance with the unicorn, Casber astride, plodding along behind her.
The scryer gestured, “This way. The Mistress is expecting you.”
#
The Mistress of the scryer’s Tower wanted to bite her lip as she stared not at the unicorn or the boy Hand, but instead at the girl, who seemed somehow familiar. Her presence was seeking to force her attention away. Do not see me, her gift seemed to quietly demand behind the illusion of the black maned tawny beast.
“Welcome,” she said, all the gowned young women of the Order were arrayed around her.
The girl met her gaze, eyes widening.
So, you are even more gifted than you already appear, the Mistress thought.
‘That’s more true than you know,’ an ancient voice replied.
The unicorn halted, looked around.
The Mistress smiled. “Katrin, Liadra, accompany us to Talisman. The rest of you, see to your other duties. This way,” she gestured to an arched doorway, which rippled.
#
Juels felt her hair rising as she crossed into Underhill. The Talisman Pool was in the center of the wide arched ceiling chamber. The water was still, reflected like glass. The unicorn came up to it and glanced into its depths.
“She says the Scryer’s Network is disrupted,” Casber said.
“Your unicorn friend is correct,” the Mistress replied. “Liadra, scry, please.”
The elvin woman walked into the pool, which rippled around her in waves. The waves began to spin around her. She looked down as if mesmerized. “I can see our Tower and for ten leagues around, but no further.”
‘Truth. This is not the time for illusion… Only truth,’ the ancient voice of the Talisman’s guardian seemed to whisper, who for centuries had remained silent, while the Tower’s former Mistress, who proved to be a minion of the Dark One, ruled here.
The new Mistress sighed, “We all have our secrets, don’t we?”
Juels saw the elfblood young woman pale as the Mistress of the Order removed a necklace from about her neck, then drop it on the stone floor. The moment it was out of her hand, the woman’s shape changed.
Casber frowned.
In a deeper unfeminine voice, a young man, no older than the scryers around him said, “When the three of us came here, the Talisman was broken; cracked and unrepairable by any traditional magery… Liadra, Katrin, and I changed that. The price… we will never cross the wards and set foot outside the Talisman’s precincts for the rest of our lives.”
He stepped into the pool and offered his hands to Liadra, who looked up with unseeing eyes.
“I am a Faeryn mage… not a master, only a journeyman. Anywhere else but here, I would not even be a proper scryer.”
“He’s more a thief,” Katrin said, arms crossed. “He stole my heart and thought to escape me… but fate… fate played us both for fools.”
“Be that as it may,” he said in reply, “I’m more a Faeryn craftsman than anything else, which is why Lady Esperanza felt it best to send me her to repair the Talisman.”
He paused. “However, in meeting the price, the three of us learned something else…”
The waters churned and arched over them like a hood. An elvin face formed in the curved shape. ‘They woke me.’
“This is the Guardian,” he said.
Juels frowned, “No, she’s not.”
The face turned. ‘I am that and more… but you only know that because your blood sings with the knowledge… which is impossible.’
Nodding, Juels sighed, “There’s power in paradox.”
Casber muttered, “A dragon told me that once.”
The face turned upward, grew a long snout and wicked teeth, ‘There is power in paradox… Free me at your peril, puny human!’
“Yeah,” Casber replied, “that’s exactly what he said before I freed him.”
The dragon glared, then laughed. ‘Little Lord, your time of peril approaches… for now trust in paradox.’
Casber patted the unicorn’s neck, “That sounds… ominous.”
The unicorn’s eyes narrowed.
The guardian met her gaze. ‘The nodes are flaring as prophecies are in flux.’
“Which prophecies?” Juels asked.
‘The Fall of Gwire for one,’ the guardian replied, a twisted tongue made of water flicking out.
His eyes unseeing as the waters lapped over his waist. “Everyone believes the Talisman is for scrying,” said the young half soaked and gowned man. “She’s not.”
‘No, I’m not, but only my Chosen knew that… and I haven’t been able to bond Chosen in over a millennia.’
Nodding, Juels said, “Let me guess… that’s because there hasn’t been mated scryers in the Tower precincts in that long.”
‘Things changes, when they should not have.’
The unicorn stomped her right foreleg.
“She said she didn’t know,” Casber said.
‘We had our secrets… which I realize now was used against me.’
Juels said, “But if the Talisman isn’t a special scryer’s hall, what is it?”
Liandra replied, “We watch for the signs.”
“The signs?”
‘Of prophecy…’ the dragon’s head replied.
The young man in the Talisman Pool added, “And the prophecies we are most interested in are the prophecies that have changed.”
Juels felt the dragon’s eyes boring into her.
‘Each of you here are an agent of those changes… you have and will change reality, not just the human Highmage, Je’orj Bradlei,’ the guardian said, her face reverting to that of a young elvin lady.
“How?” Casber asked.
‘I do not know… and that disturbs me greatly,’ the presence said.
Juels shook her head, then trusting to her luck walked up to the edge of the pool.
Katrin shouted, “No, stop! You need to be Consecrated!”
Chuckling, Juels stepped into the Talisman’s waters, “I’ve a feeling I already am…”
The young elfblood mage and Liadra struggled to move, to stop her, but the water became a physical force weaving around their legs and torso. “Stop!” they cried.
The unicorn strode forward, lowering her head toward the water’s edge. Casber toppled forward and fell toward Juels, who turned and half caught him as he reached the waters. The mare’s horn appeared like a ray of light which shot into the pool
.
The Talisman geysered, filling the room with a cool mist-like steam as the guardian cried out, ‘Prophecy and fate are bending reality… Paradox is at play!’
Soaked to the skin, Juels went blind to the here and now as Casber trembled, seeing elsewhere as well.
Chapter 40 - Stalling
“Janielle, I must be on my way,” Farrel said. “I’m really not comfortable staying for the dinner.”
“You must. My uncle means to honor you,” she replied. The two were in her room, a gown lying across the bed. “It’s not as if any ships are leaving here for at least another day.”
Farrel looked at the second dress Janielle’s uncle had sent her with a lovely note addressed to her. “I really should check on my, uh, warhorses.”
“I’ll come with you, then.”
“I doubt your uncle is going to like that.”
Janielle sighed, “The palace is well guarded and I’ve more apples here than I could possibly eat. They saved my life, too, didn’t they?” Farrel frowned. “They deserve a modest reward, don’t you think?”
Farrel didn’t like the glint in the young woman’s eyes.
#
The young elflord wore finery too elegant for the stables, but his father’s wishes were best not ignored, he knew. Frowning, he watched as two grooms approached the warhorse stallion’s stall, with ropes coming up behind him. “I’ve someone I’d like you to meet outside. I think you will like her,” he told the stallion as its eyes grew wide. “You two will get to know one another. Then when the time’s right we’ve a lovely breeding shed for you both.” He gestured to the grooms, who appeared hesitant to approach.
The stallion glared at them as the warhorse mare in the next stall began rearing. The grooms stepped back.
“Get him,” the elflord ordered.
The grooms took a step closer as the stallion rammed the stall’s gate. The pair muttered something about perhaps needing stronger ropes.
“Fools!”