A Way with Magic (The Draakonor Chronicles Book 1)

by David E. Barber

  The question that consumed Portia’s mind had to do with magic. The elf had said there was some force at work in Nachtwald, and that it might have something to do with Sir Veryan. But where was it? And what was it? More importantly, why had she never heard of it or felt it herself? She was a wizard after all. Well, almost. She could see and feel things others couldn’t, but she still had difficulty locating sources of élan outside herself. This deficiency in her abilities chafed at her and she had laid awake long into the night thinking, trying to imagine what could be hidden among Nachtwald’s twisting streets and crooked houses. But for all her searching and hours of effort and exertion, she had been unable to find anything even a little magical.

  Portia rounded a corner and started down a street that ran past Father Moram’s lodgings. She looked past the little house and spotted Finn, seated on a low bench. He was leaning against the wall of the Blessed Church of Aedon, his arms folded across his chest, his legs stretched out before him, and his eyes closed. Portia started toward him, noting that he appeared to be resting quite peacefully, his jaw slack and a low rumbling noise issuing from between his parted lips.

  Portia stood beside her brother, observing him for a moment. A slight twitch took hold of the corner of her mouth. She placed a hand against Finn’s shoulder and gave him a shove. The youth let out a high-pitched yelp as he slid sideways and landed, none too gracefully, in the dirt.

  “Hey!” Finn cried, clamoring to his feet and looking about wildly, “what was that for?”

  “I ought to turn you into a spotted toad.” Portia scowled down at him.

  “You can do that?” Finn said, a little nervously.

  “I wish. You are supposed to be helping.”

  “I was helping.” Finn dusted himself off and rubbed his bruised shoulder. “You never would have gotten past those Briar Knights without my help.”

  “That may be true, but it looked to me as if you were sleeping.”

  “I had a late evening.” Finn yawned. “I’m a night person. I like the dark, and it’s much too early for me to be wandering about looking for... whatever it is we’re looking for.”

  Portia glanced at the sky overhead. “It’s nearly noon, Finn.”

  “As I was saying, much too early—”

  “Did you talk to Father Moram?” Portia leaned her staff up against the wall and adjusted her satchel, then sat down on the bench Finn had just vacated. She pulled off one of her boots and shook it, watching as several small stones went bouncing along the ground.

  “Yes, I talked to him.” Finn sat down again, wary for any sudden movements. “He claims to know nothing about any hidden magic. However, I don’t think he’s being entirely truthful. He seems to get rather nervous and fidgety whenever anyone brings it up.”

  “How very perceptive.” Portia looked up at the church tower rising above the slanted roof.

  “What?” You think it’s up there? We’ve been up there. You remember, that time you showed me your—”

  “I don’t wish to discuss it,” Portia’s cheeks reddened, “and you shouldn’t either.”

  “The point is we’ve been inside Moram’s church how many thousands of times. If you’re so sensitive to magic, wouldn’t you have felt something?”

  “I don’t know.” Portia looked back at the ground. “I want to ask Zerabnir. Perhaps he knows something about it.”

  “If he did, then why wouldn’t he have mentioned it before? That’s what I hate about wizards.” Finn stretched his arms and yawned again. “They give you just enough rope to hang yourself, but won’t tell you which tree the rope is tied to.”

  Portia frowned. “What you just said makes absolutely no sense.”

  “I’m tired. I’ll come up with a better metaphor later.”

  “We need to see Zerabnir,” Portia said. “Assuming he’s still there,” she added, softly to herself. She stood once more and took up her staff, somehow feeling more confident with the rune-etched wood in her hands.

  “What, now?”

  “Yes, now. Today. This instant.”

  “Cedric has upped the number of guards on the wall. We’ll never get past the gates. And what if we run into orcs in the woods? What if—”

  “We need an escort,” Portia said. “We need a man who knows how to wield a sword, and I know just where we can find one. And since when have you ever had a problem getting past the guards?”

  “I don’t like it. If Cedric finds out...”

  “He won’t. And so what if he does? He can’t keep us locked in our rooms forever.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Come on. We’re going to the Three Legged Goat.”

  * * *

  Portia and Finn entered the Inn of the Three Legged Goat by the back door, moving along a short passage to a doorway that led into the public room. Six long wooden tables with benches occupied the middle of the floor, with additional tables, two at either end, placed perpendicular to the others. A large square door stood open at the front of the house, letting in light and the sounds of the city. Several feet from the door, along the same wall, was a large fireplace with a fire burning on the hearth. Over it a pig hung on a spit, being turned by a dirty-faced boy. Another boy sliced meat from the roast, piling it onto a platter that rested on the bench beside him.

  On another wall, a table was pushed up against the plaster, with two large casks of ale set in wooden troughs. Beside the casks was a shallow alcove containing shelves laden with cups and pitchers. Mrs. Grumm, the innkeeper’s wife, stood in front of one of the barrels filling a large tankard. When she turned away, Portia spotted Ander sitting at a table just behind her. He was surrounded by all three of Mrs. Grumm’s daughters, all of whom were watching the Northman with rapt attention and wide appreciative eyes. Mrs. Grumm herself took a seat next to Ander, setting the tankard on the table close to his hand. Ander snatched it up, saluted Mrs. Grumm, and then took a long pull. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave Mrs. Grumm a kiss on the cheek. Her daughters squealed with laughter and Mrs. Grumm, slightly abashed, gave a throaty laugh and pushed him away, but not with much conviction.

  “So, I gave the lady a kiss, like so, and leapt onto my horse—” Ander was saying as Portia and Finn came up behind him. The girls looked up, their eyes going wider still and Mrs. Grumm turned, following their gaze.

  “M’lady,” she said, stumbling over the bench, as she tried to gain her feet. She held onto the table for support and gave a quick curtsy. “M’lord. How nice to see you again.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Grumm,” Finn said amiably. Finn was a frequent visitor of the Three Legged Goat, and well known to the Grumms. Portia suspected he might be well known to one or two of her daughters as well.

  “Please, sit down.” Portia felt as if she wanted to strike the woman with her staff, or better yet to club Ander over the head with it. Why was she so angry all of a sudden?

  Ander half-turned to look at her with a roguish smile on his handsome face. Portia felt her anger recede and her cheeks grew hot almost instantly.

  “Who did you kiss?” Finn took a seat next to Ander and grinned foolishly at Mrs. Grumm’s daughters.

  “Who hasn’t he kissed?” Portia said softly.

  Ander paused, distracted. His eyes lingered on Portia. “Oh, no one, really. That is, well,” he stammered, “I was telling the ladies here a tale of my adventures in the north with the men of the border guard. Rough fellows that lot. All hard work and fighting—”

  “I hope you didn’t kiss one of them,” Portia said, regaining some composure. She moved around the table to take a seat across from Finn.

  “We should be about our work,” Mrs. Grumm gestured to her daughters. “Girls.”

  “You don’t have to leave on our account,” Finn smiled at the youngest of Mrs. Grumm’s daughters. “Please, stay—”

  “No, it’s alright. Thank you, m’lord. We’ve dallied long enough. If Mr. Grumm comes home and finds the chores not done, there will be a row and n
o doubt about it.” She looked at Ander and Portia could see the regret in the woman’s eyes. “Come along girls.” Mrs. Grumm’s daughters all climbed to their feet, doggedly, like soldiers going off to battle. The oldest paused long enough to whisper something in Ander’s ear, then hurried off.

  “So,” Ander said, smiling at the girl’s retreating back. He took another pull from his tankard and smacked his lips in appreciation. “What are you two lordlings up to on this fine day?”

  “Where are your friends?” Finn asked, ignoring Ander’s question.

  “Oh,” Ander looked round as if he had only just noticed their absence. “I’m sure they’re about somewhere. Loth said something about new clothes. I swear I’ve known women who care less about their attire than that crazy elf does.”

  “You could have stayed at the castle,” Portia said, feeling a bit petulant. She wanted to be angry with him, but it was difficult when she looked into those amazing blue eyes. “There was no need for you to pay for lodgings here.”

  “I like inns. And after last night’s frivolities it seemed like a good idea to keep Blayde as far away from your Briar Knights as possible.”

  “They’re not our Briar Knights,” Portia scowled.

  “They don’t know that.” Ander drained his tankard and thumped it on the table. “But I suspect you two didn’t come in here just to inquire after my friends. Am I right?”

  Finn said nothing. He gave Portia an encouraging smile from across the table.

  “We need your help,” Portia said. “We need to get out of the city, to visit a friend of mine, who lives in an old tower to the southeast, and, well, with orcs prowling the woods and—”

  “You’ve a whole castle full of men with swords and you come to me to ask for protection?” Ander grinned. “And what of you, young squire? Surely, you can wield a blade...”

  “Not so much. At least not one of that length.”

  “Ha!” Ander roared. “One of that length... that’s funny.”

  “Look,” Portia pressed. “Baron Cedric has forbidden us to leave the city. None of the soldiers would think of breaking his law, and we have to see Zerabnir.”

  “Who’s Zerabnir?” Ander asked.

  “An old wizard who lives in the forest,” Finn said.

  “He’s my mentor,” Portia added, “and my friend. He may be able to tell us what the orcs are looking for and why they are here.”

  “Orcs don’t need reasons.” Ander spoke slowly, as if instructing a small child. “They prefer war and chaos, and aren’t particularly shy about stirring up trouble. You have any idea what to do with that?” He nodded at the staff that Portia had laid across the table. “You’re a sorceress, then?”

  “I’m a wizard,” Portia said, “in training.”

  “I thought your father didn’t allow magic in his kingdom,” Ander drummed his thick fingers on the table.

  “He doesn’t. He doesn’t know about my... my abilities, and he doesn’t know about my relationship with Zerabnir.”

  “Oh,” Ander arched an eyebrow. “I bet he does.”

  “Look.” Portia sucked in her breath, feeling a growing exasperation. “Are you going to help us or not?”

  “Not, I think,” Ander picked up his tankard and looked around for Mrs. Grumm. “Helping young lordlings to defy their lord father’s will seems like a good way to end up in said lord’s dungeon, if you see what I mean.”

  Finn slapped his hand down onto the table, drawing both Portia’s and Ander’s attention. When he lifted his palm, a gold coin glittered on the table before him.

  “Where did you get that?” Portia asked.

  “So, you think you can bribe me?” Ander’s face grew serious.

  “Absolutely.” Finn smiled.

  “Do you have any more of those?”

  “A few.”

  “Well, you might have begun the conversation with that bit of information.” Ander grinned. “Let me get my sword.”

  * * *

  Portia led the way down a well-trodden path deep into the forest. No one spoke and they moved carefully, with as much stealth as they could manage, listening all the while for sounds of pursuit or attack. Getting out of the city had been easier than Portia would have imagined. Finn had taken them to the postern gate where a single guard stood watch. Finn seemed well acquainted with the man, and his silence was cheaper to come by than Ander’s sword. Finn paid him off with a few pennies and they were on their way.

  Portia had traveled this path so many times that she knew it without looking, so instead she focused on her surroundings, scanning the woods and the deep shadows beneath the trees for any sign of orcs or other fell creatures. Going to Zerabnir’s tower had always felt to her like going home, like going to a place of safety and security, but not today. Today it felt more like she was walking into danger. She clenched the staff tightly in her hand, trying to remember everything Zerabnir had taught her. Her small store of knowledge suddenly seemed inadequate.

  When they reached the tower, Portia made Finn and Ander wait while she climbed the rickety stairs to the tower door.

  “He doesn’t often get visitors, and I don’t want you to startle him.”

  At the top of the stairs she rapped on the door and waited. When there was no answer, she pushed the door open and peered inside. “Zerabnir?” She was greeted by darkness and silence.

  Leaving the door ajar, Portia went inside. The room was unchanged from her last visit except now it was still and empty. There were ashes in the fireplace and the hearth was cold. No candles burned in their holders and the teakettle remained where she had left it on the table. The room was cluttered with Zerabnir’s things, but there was no indication of the wizard himself. Had he gone already, Portia wondered? He had promised to tell her before he went, but he was sometimes forgetful of such things. Portia couldn’t help but wonder if he had gone off and run into trouble on the road. Surely a wizard as great as Zerabnir could handle a few orcs and goblins.

  “Your teacher has gone on ahead,” said a soft voice from the shadows.

  Portia turned, the hairs along her arms standing on end. Her eyes darted from one corner of the room to the other, and back again, but there was nothing there.

  “Who? Who are you?”

  “He will not return to this time and place,” the voice said. “You must stand alone now.”

  It sounded as if the voice had come from behind her. Portia turned again, searching, but no one was there. A chill crept up along her spine and she suddenly felt very alone and vulnerable. Did spirits now haunt Zerabnir’s tower? The voice sounded like that of a woman, but it was old and the sound of it filled her with terror.

  In the distance she heard a horn blowing. Three short blasts that cut the air, ringing out over the treetops.

  “Oh no, not now,” Portia turned in a circle, her eyes wide, her hands trembling.

  “Go,” the voice said and when she did not move, it spoke again. “Go!” The word was loud and sharp.

  Portia went. She ran to the landing outside the door and looked down at Finn and Ander waiting below.

  “He’s not here! But...” She had no idea what else to say.

  “Portia,” Finn called up. “We have to go.”

  “Onar, Iden, and Sura!” Ander swore. “Fool that I am. I knew I shouldn’t take you two out of the city. Damn you and your gold.” He aimed a fierce glare at Finn. “You two aren’t safe out here.”

  “And you are?”

  “But—” Portia gestured helplessly at the tower door. “Where is Zerabnir?”

  “I don’t know,” Ander said, “but we’ve no time to look for him. Come on down, girl.”

  “Girl?” Portia scowled, her fear turning to sudden annoyance. She pulled the door shut and went quickly down the steps, glancing back to make sure some wraith or ghoul was not following. Had she imagined hearing that voice?

  “I’m sorry, Portia, but he’s right.” Finn took her arm. “We’re not safe here. Wherever Zerabnir is,
he’s on his own, and so are we. We’ll have to figure things out for ourselves.”

  Then they were running. Finn led the way and Portia noted that he held a dagger in his hand. From where it had appeared, she did not know, for there was no sign that he carried a weapon of any sort. Ander followed close behind, his broad sword in hand and his shield banging against his back. The big Northman moved with a supple grace that Portia would not have believed. His entire demeanor had changed and his eyes had gone cold and deadly.

  They crashed through the forest, whipped by branches, and pursued by shadows. Portia found that she was breathing hard and her legs hurt after walking all morning. She was not used to such exertions. Finn, on the other hand, was having no such difficulty. For all of his complaint and protestations regarding Sir Eris’ training, it was clear that the suffering inflicted on him by the knight had done him some good. He flew over the uneven ground, his breathing regular and his steps sure, like a young fox being chased by horsemen. Portia wondered how long she would be able to keep up with him.

  It was a league or more from Nachtwald to Zerabnir’s tower. The distance went by in a haze of uncertainty and confusion. Sooner than she had expected they broke from the cover of the trees and were racing over open ground toward the road that ran through Southside, a small community of houses and farms that stood outside the walls of the city. The horn continued to blare, louder now, and looking up Portia could see dark shapes coming down out of the hills and moving rapidly toward them. It would be a close race.

  Portia thought she might faint. She was so tired. Her breathing was labored and spots danced before her eyes, but she dare not stop. Finn dropped back, running beside her, staying close and looking as if he might grab her if she stumbled. Ander was on the other side of her, but he was not looking at them. He was watching the approaching orcs. Portia followed his gaze and now she could make out a column of dark, red-eyed figures, their weapons clanking as they loped along, ape-like, long arms swinging. There were smaller shapes there as well. Goblins, she guessed, armed with curved swords and spears. They were angling toward the bridge and there were a great many of them.