“Well, I for one am not going to wait around to find out,” Portia said.
“So, you still mean to go to Karavella?”
“I do. I’m going to take Zerabnir’s advice and seek out this arch mage Rudalias and ask him to be my teacher. I was not strong enough to stop Jankayla this time, but when next I face her, I will be ready.”
“Let’s hope you never have to face her again,” Loth said. “We barely survived the first encounter.”
“Are you so afraid of her?” Rayzer asked.
“Yes, and you should be, too. She is far older and far stronger than any creature I have ever faced and her heart is as black as coal. We would all do well to avoid her.”
“I owe her a debt,” Portia said, “for taking Ander and for her part in what happened to Nachtwald. What about you? Will you return to Asiron or to the Rowanin?”
“No,” Loth said. “I think we must suspend our search for the Rindaya in favor of other considerations. I too would like to meet this arch mage of Karavella. The shard of volcanic glass that Jankayla used in her ritual; it was an item of great power. I want to know what it is and where it came from and I’m hoping this arch mage will be able to tell us—”
The tavern door banged open and Finn appeared looking more disheveled than usual. His face was flushed and his dark hair hung down over his face in wet strands. He flung the door shut and launched himself at the table, hazarding a quick glance out the window.
“Hello,” he said, a bit breathlessly. “I see everyone is here, except for Ander of course. Aedon guard his soul, wherever he is.” He glanced out the window once more.
“Are you alright?” Portia asked. “What have you been up to?”
“We really shouldn’t be hanging about.” Finn patted his belt pouch, which clanked with the sound of coins. “Isn’t it about time we were away? Adventure calls and we’ve a whole world to explore.”
“What’s your hurry?” Blayde said. “We just got here.”
“They’re coming to Karavella with us,” Portia said, “to meet Rudalias.”
“Excellent. Fine idea. I’m all for it. When shall we start? No time like the present, eh?”
“Who’s put the viper in your breeches?” Loth asked. “As if I didn’t know. Just what kind of business have you gotten yourself into now? Portia mentioned something about the local magistrate—”
Finn’s face darkened. “Not nearly as charming a fellow as I was led to believe, and he employs some less than savory men to guard his house. And dogs. He has some very mean dogs.” Finn fingered a hole in his sleeve.
“You’re hurt.” Portia rose to her feet.
“I’m fine, but we should go.”
“There’s a group of rather nasty looking brutes with clubs headed this way,” Rayzer said, looking out the window at the street. “Friends of yours, then?”
“Arch Mage Rudalias. How interesting. Can’t wait to meet him.” Finn ignored Rayzer and pulled Portia away from the table. “Shall we?”
“But—” Portia began.
“No time for it,” Finn said.
“What about—”
“No time for that, either. Bill!” Finn said turning toward the innkeeper. Bill lounged, unconcerned, leaning against the wall behind the bar as he polished a pewter cup.
“Bill—mind if we go out the back?”
“Do I look like I mind?” The inn keeper didn’t bother to look up. “You’ve paid for the room. For all I care—”
“Thanks, Bill. Let’s go.” Finn pushed Portia in front of him as he made for the kitchen, then went out the back door and into a narrow alley that ran behind the tavern. The elves followed, Loth looking worried and annoyed, but Rayzer and Blayde laughing softly, and pushing at each other as if it were all a game. In a few moments they had left the inn behind and entered the stables where the elves’ horses and gear were stowed. From the inn came shouts and angry voices.
“I wish Ander was here,” Portia said.
“I do as well,” Loth said. “We shall miss his sword.”
“I will miss all of him.”
“I know you will, but gods be kind, he is in a better place and well away from this mad world.”
Loth grabbed her by her waist and lifted her to the saddle, then swung up behind her. “You can ride with me, my lady.” Loth dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. The horse surged forward, out of the stables and onto the dirt lane that ran through town. There were a dozen men now, gathered in front of the inn, all of them armed and anxious for a fight or a lynching. Either would do. The innkeeper was standing in the doorway with his axe in his hand.
Blayde climbed up on her horse and extended an arm to Finn. “Come on then, but let’s not make a habit of it.”
“I’ll do my best.” Finn took her arm and swung up behind her. Blayde dug in her heels and snapped the reins.
Rayzer leapt onto the back of his horse and plunged out of the stables, riding bare back and howling like a banshee. This got the attention of the magistrate’s brutes, all of whom began running toward them now, flailing their arms and shouting. But they were far too slow. The elves, with their young charges, fled south, leaving the village of Willowbrook far behind.
* * *
Ander woke to find himself lying on a field of ash. He rose, slowly, his movements sending up a cloud of fine dust that got into his mouth, his nose, and his eyes. He coughed, the stench of decay filling his nostrils, and wiped at his face. The foul dust clung to his skin and his eyes welled with tears. He picked himself up off the ground, clumsily dusting off his arms and shaking himself like a dog emerging from a river. The ground crunched and shifted beneath his boots. He looked down to see that beneath the layer of dust and ash was bone. He was standing on a bed of dry, bleached bones, the remains of an army perhaps or an entire nation more like. Some of the bones had been people, humans, elves, even dwarves, and some were from animals. There were other bones as well; orcs, goblins, trolls, and ogres. A grinning kerram skull looked up at him, its jaws open as if it was laughing. Where in the seven realms was he? Ander felt as weary as he ever had, and every bone in his body ached. But that was not the worst of it. He had no food, no water, and no idea where he was.
He looked around and found his sword standing at an angle, the point buried in the fine dust and bone. He walked toward it, trying to ignore the snapping and twisting of bones under his feet. He pulled the blade free and lifted it, feeling somewhat reassured by the weight of steel in his hand. He looked up at the sky. It was as pale and gray as the plain he stood upon, with no indication of sun or moon. He stood in a landscape of perpetual twilight that went on forever.
He turned, slowly, surveying the horizon in all directions. There were no landmarks anywhere—no trees, no bushes, no rivers or pools, and no people. He was alone, as alone as he had ever been in the entirety of his life. As he finished his circuit he spotted something, a dark shape against the perpetually gray horizon. In the distance, he saw the spires of what looked like a castle, a dark and forbidding place, like a sharp piece of onyx standing in a sea of dust.
“Well,” Ander said, his voice raw, “that’s something at least.” He shrugged his shoulders and began walking.
Afterword
Thank you for taking the time to read A Way with Magic, the first book in the Draakonor Chronicles. If you enjoyed the book—and even if you didn’t—please consider leaving a review. Feedback is always useful and will help me to improve as a writer, so that the next book will be even better!
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A Way with Magic (The Draakonor Chronicles Book 1) Page 40