by D. H. Aire
The elvin mage looked up at the man and half smiled, “Sergeant Winton, how nice to see you again.”
“Only because of ‘em ogres... Never was more surprised by such allies in me life.”
The other soldiers began whispering to one another, “It’s the Lyai’s heir, himself.”
“But he’s that Faeryn heretic. He’s wanted for treason!”
“If he can help us, who cares?!”
“Who’s in command?” the Faeryn Provincial Archmage asked as Amira looked about her wide–eyed.
The ogre in front of them shambled forward and pointed. “He –– is –– Master –– here.”
A boy –– a human youngster in elvin mail emblazoned with the symbol of Niota, strode down from the ramparts, “That would be me.” He bowed, “Milord, I’m Lord Niota, but you can call me Thomi.”
Talik stared, leaning back in his saddle. “You claim Niota?”
Yep. NI–O–TA recognizes me, which should be good enough for anyone,” the boy said.
The sergeant added, “Also, by force of arms, Milord.”
“My –– arms,” the ogre said, holding out his fists.
The Sergeant added, “Milord, begging your pardon... Best you see for yourself what the lad’s done with the place. That’s what really settled matters for me and my men.”
Talik nodded and Amira began to dismount.
The self–appointed Lord Niota offered Amira his hand. Taking it,
she abruptly shivered. She stared into the eyes of this human boy
and knew them as well as her own.
As her feet reached the ground, she looked into the boy’s face. He was no more than twelve or thirteen. He blinked, staring at Niota’s sigil emblazoned on her form fitting chainmail. “Uh, interesting choice,” he muttered.
His ogre friend grinned, “Good.”
“Uh, Talik, is it my imagination, or is he human?”
The Faeryn Archmage nodded, “I noticed that. I’m just chalking it up to one of the many unusual things that seem to be going on since I first met you… So, let’s talk inside where I can raise the proper wards for privacy.”
Thomi smiled, “You won’t need to do that, Milord... Niota wards itself
now –– as apparently a Trelorian mage learned to his rue.”
Talik at first doubted, knowing full well that most of the wards protecting the towns and long established settlements had grown weak over the centuries. He glanced about him, he felt more secure in this courtyard than any place he had ever known. He gaped. Niota warded itself, indeed.
Amira found herself unable to let go of the boy’s hand as he led them inside. The foremost ogre marched beside them as his fellows respectfully stepped back. Talik stared, he had never heard of ogres behaving in so civilized a manner. What was going on here? Had he really heard the creature speak an intelligible word?
Esperanza walked her lamed horse up the road. ‘He will be here soon.’
“Who?”
‘A Faeryn mage.’
She stopped, “You’re sending a heretical mage to aid me?”
There was laughter, ‘Heretic is in the eye of the beholder, my dear.’
“So am I to give the sword to him?”
‘He will need it, but he is not to fully draw it.’
“Fine, why may I ask?”
There was a long pause. ‘I do not think the city wards are capable of
handling the resultant explosion.’
He rode for hours when he came over a hill and heard, ‘You are nearly there.’
Galt grimaced, seeing in the distance a woman in chainmail of all things, removing her saddle for her horse and letting it roam free. Minutes later he reached her and stopped his mount. “Milady, I see your horse has gone lame.”
“She will be fine, Milord. She’s only a strained muscle. I’ve healed her as best I could.”
“Impressive, now why have I been summoned to your aid?”
Esperanza shook her head. “It’s a long story, Milord… But all you need to know at this moment is that I need to warn the Lyai––”
“We’ve been warned about Niota and that the Scrying Network has been compromised.”
“Would you happen to need a witness?”
He offered her his arm, “Now that’s an excellent reason to have lost
sleep!”
She climbed behind him, “I have also got something you are apparently going to need.”
Moving his mount back around, he concentrated and willed strength and vigor into his mount, which neighed and bolted forward.
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Only that I need to warn you about it…”
Balfour tried not to complain about the bumpy ride. It was the hay he was concealed under that he hated most. The gentle snuggle was something he had come to enjoy.
Cle’or drove the cart up to the city gate. The guardsmen gestured for her to halt her oxen.
“Purpose in the city?” the most senior asked.
“Delivery to Master Hamian.”
“Where’s your man? You don’t look like the run-of-the-mill driver?”
“I’m a midwife... I’m doing this as a favor for a young couple that are new parents. The wife’s birthing was difficult. I told them I would take the cart and come back with the herbs she’ll need.”
“You’re not from around here.” Two of his men moved to poke through the straw, then their eyes glazed over.
“I’m from Tane...” Balfour heard Cle’or say as he concentrated hard on the two men. He helped them see themselves checking the cart and growing more bored by the minute. “Thought the work here might be, uh, a bit more pleasant.” Balfour sweated as he slowly released their minds, leaving the memory of their search firmly planted in their minds.
The guard nodded at that, “The Tane is not noted for his generosity of late.”
“No, he certainly is not.”
“Did everything check out?” the guardsman asked his men.
Both nodded certain that they had found nothing out of the ordinary.
“You take this pass. It’s good for two days –– just two... You can renew it at the Lyai’s Station in Lower Town, but that will cost you a quarter gold, or a half silver.”
“Then I’d best be moving on.”
She was waved past. Once out of sight, Cle’or muttered ever so quietly,
“Nice trick.”
Balfour sneezed as Me’oh cradled behind him softly laughed.
Master Galt and Esperanza entered the city through the gate to the Upper City. Esperanza was dressed as befitted a lady, attended by her human manservant. Galt maintained the illusion easily enough, keying the city wards with the proper deference. They recognized him as being a member of the Mage Guild, which prided itself on its right to privacy –– too bad he wasn’t a member.
The journeyman at the Gate was Academy trained and did not even notice the presence of the elvin-blooded heretic in his midst. Galt wondered what the Empire was coming to if its so proudly trained mages could not recognize one another even under spell guise.
He would have to see to the posting of a Faeryn apprentice at the Gate. It would be good practice and might shame the Academy–trained to innovate, well, perhaps not. Creativity required a bit more thinking than they had become accustomed to.
They headed to the nearest inn. He took her hand as the coach came to a stop and led her within. The old woman who ran the place glanced at him ever so briefly, “Milady, welcome to The Butterfly. Your rooms will just take a moment to air out. Do you wish me to send for a messenger to inform your kin of your arrival?”
Esperanza glanced at Galt, who replied, “That will not be necessary. My lady is not expected until tomorrow, and she is in no hurry to see her kin.”
“Oh, then perhaps you will appreciate a hot bath after your long journey?”
Esperanza nodded, “You are most gracious.”
Galt briefly discussed the price and suitable
accommodations were chosen. “Please follow me,” the old woman said.
The water was steaming hot as Galt poured a third bucket into the tub for her. Esperanza knew it was a luxury, but felt embarrassed. They had been given one room, which included a servant’s pallet for Galt, but other than the tub, no amenities –– other than the screen to provide privacy.
It was obvious that this place was not considered suitable for humans ––
but only for those with elvin blood, and their servants. She undressed
behind the screen, then slipped into the tub.
“Galt, this place must be enormously expensive.”
He chuckled, “Nothing is too good for a well–bred lady such as yourself, Milady.”
She settled into the warmth and laughed. “I was never that well–bred.”
He laughed. “Would you care for more water then?”
She thought about her answer. “No, I’m fine. Save it for yourself.”
Shaking his head, he replied, “As Milady wishes.” Too bad.
A Faeryn for Niota
Chapter 50
The chamber that the lad led them into looked bright and new, unlike anything Talik had expected. The ogre strode ahead, then casually lifted Thomi into a chair that seemed to be of the same stone as the rest of the keep.
The lad cleared his throat, “Welcome to Niota, Milord.”
Amira looked around her and whispered, “The wards are stronger than any I’ve ever felt, even in the Tower.”
Talik glanced at her in surprise and asked their host as he offered his hand, “If I may?”
Thomi extended his arm and shook the mage’s hand. The ogre edged protectively closer, but sensed no ill intent. Talik concentrated on the recognition spell and felt it reach out to the boy. After a moment, he released Thomi’s hand, totally perplexed. “No trace.”
“None?” Amira asked.
“What are you talking about?” Thomi asked, exasperatedly.
“Thomi, I just looked for any trace of elvin ancestry in you.”
The boy laughed, “I could have told you that. I’m human.”
“So I, uh, see. Yet, you’ve managed to bring up the wards of this ancient place. That takes great magery.”
The ogre rasped, “It –– answered –– me... Not –– Thomi.”
“You?” Talik muttered.
“We –– speak –– same –– lang –– lang, tongue.”
The mage glanced at Amira, who walked up to the ogre and asked, “How did you do it?”
Shrugging, the ogre knew he did not have the words to explain it to
them. “Thomi –– tell.”
In frustration, they looked to the boy, who seemed particularly ill at ease. “Well, it –– it happened after Raslinn died. You see, his presence made Niota sick. So, Niota kinda went to sleep. When Raslinn was gone, Niota awoke and Walsh could speak to it again.”
“And just what happened to Lord Raslinn?”
Thomi swallowed hard. “Uh, he cast a terrible spell, which –– well, I think it ate him...”
Dustin stared at him. “You want me to go to the Lower City and find a healer? If someone’s hurt, I can more quickly fetch one from the Healer’s Hall!”
Galt shook his head, “This healer is an outsider... He can help those in the Lower City who could never afford one of the Healer’s Hall’s ilk.”
“But why ask me, Master Galt? Surely you… ”
“I have other business to attend, lad. We’ve already sent off scores of mages. Now I wish we hadn’t been quite so generous. And you’ve made friends in the Lower City, I understand.”
The journeyman swallowed. “Me, Master?”
Galt looked at him more closely, wondering what the young elfblood had been getting himself into while Talik had been away. “You have earned a very valuable reputation over the years. The people know they can turn to you. That is an important asset for this task.”
“Oh,” Dustin replied weakly, glad Galt had not heard of his more recently made reputation. But knew it would not be long. “Of course, Master Galt, I’ll find the healer and let people know they can trust him. That should be easy enough.” If Terhun does not find me, first.
Cle’or noticed the change in people quickly enough. They had taken lodgings in meager but warm accommodations. Me’oh had told the old tavern keeper that she was a midwife, and her husband, a healer
of uncommon skill.
If she hoped that would create a proper entry to the society of the Lower City, she was sadly mistaken. Balfour had even gone out seeking ways to help, but people were frightfully mistrustful.
However, that suddenly changed one afternoon. Mothers with ailing children began appearing at their door. Cle’or looked them over carefully, while Me’oh and Balfour worked at diagnosing their problems. Most were suffering vitamin deficiency, while Me’oh dealt with by first providing important herbs to be added to their morning porridge or tea. She also explained what foods their mothers should buy whenever possible. Each person he saw he accepted the most nominal of payments from, but it was enough to secure their lodging for a few more nights.
One child, a girl nearing adolescence, came to see him showing signs of abuse. Her face was black and blue. Her mother would not satisfactorily explain how it happened. “I can heal the bruises,” Balfour told the mother, “but I cannot help her here.” He tapped his head. “Those bruises can alone be addressed by you.”
The woman shook her head. “We live a hard life. She will do what she must. I cannot help her.”
The girl winced. A memory came to mind as those same words were shouted at her. She had tried to do what they wanted but –– but just couldn’t! Balfour’s eyes widened, then he squinted at the girl’s mother. “Very well. Perhaps you don’t believe me or that I really can heal her.” He took a deep breath and concentrated. The bruising on the right side of her face faded away as if it had never been. The left side he left marred. “There. That is all I can do for you today. Tell your husband I would do no more. The price for having a pretty daughter is much higher than he seems willing to pay –– or that others will so readily seek.”
Aghast, the mother clutched her child and fled. The other mothers waiting heard his every word and quietly spoke among each other. There would be no talk of the healer being unable to cure the child.
The next day, they had people waiting along the hall to see the marvelous healer.
The news of the healer was reported to Terhun. But the most interesting fact was that Dustin had gone down into the Lower City and spoke on their behalf.
The young elfblood had never met them. Now, here he was doing them a service. Perhaps, Jeo d’Aere had new friends in the city? But then came word that Hynrik, Archmage Talik’s servant, had spoken at a sudden meeting of the Faeryn.
Something was up. Galt likely had spoken to Dustin, hence the favorable introduction for the new healer living in squalor in the Lower City. But what exactly did a healer think he was doing? The money was to be made was from wealthy clients in the Upper City, not the poor of the Lower City.
Now, there was a thought. Perhaps this new healer did not care about that. Terhun considered adding the healer’s presence to his weekly report to the Lyai, but hesitated. No, I had better look into this further first.
Cle’or sensed that they were being watched. It might be no more than the merely curious. People were talking about Balfour, the wonderful healer come into their midst. However, those watching seemed to be lurking in the shadows and apparently had very keen and discerning eyes.
Balfour noticed her hand sign. He casually shook his head, indicating they were sticking with the plan.
She sighed, not liking this one bit. She kept her hand from reaching for her concealed throwing dagger. She decided that she hated the plan.
Terhun sent for Dustin. That entailed his suddenly being waylaid by one of Terhun’s mages. The spell left him feeling numb as he awoke to find himself sitting opposite from the
agent. “Uh, hello, Master Terhun.”
“Good afternoon, Dustin.”
“I take it you want something from me?”
“Yes. I’m interested in knowing more about the new healer in the Lower City.”
Dustin did not even try to dissemble. “It’s Faeryn business. Nothing to concern yourself with.”
Terhun laughed. “Everything involving the Faeryn of late concerns me. The Chancellor is close to seeing every ill in the Province as being Faeryn wrought.”
“You know that’s not true, Master.”
“Of course, I do... which is why you will tell me all you know about their interest in the healer.”
“I know no more than you do.”
Terhun smiled, “Oh, but you can find out, which is why I like you so much.”
“I’ll not betray my people.”
“I’m not asking you to –– and won’t,” Terhun promised. “I just don’t like the feel of things at present and wish to be prepared for every eventuality.”
Dustin liked the sound of that not at all.
Defending the Keep
Chapter 51
Niota rested on the ledge of the great cliff that marked the boundary between the Empire and the Crescent Lowlands. It was said that the first Highmage, himself, had made the earth rise, setting the Imperial lands forever out of reach of both common humans to the east, and the Dark One’s forces to the north. The Trelorian captain had begun to believe such mystic folklore of late.
The narrow road that his troops held led up to Niota’s very gates –a place that had proven to be a deathtrap. Between the refugees and the ogres had at first defended the keep, they had killed over two hundred of his soldiers. They had dropped boulders, rained burning arrows, and slung stone at them. The gates had held firm against their battering rams.
Gates that should have been open for them.
Now, under cover of darkness, a group of Gwedian Northerners, men of Lord Fenn du Blain’s personal troops were scaling the keep’s wall, while one of Fenn’s sorcerer watched.