by Awert, Wolf
Bairne stared with her big eyes and did not move.
Brolok sighed and was quickly on his way. He did not stay long enough to see the fear in Bairne’s eyes turn to burning resolve.
The tall sorcerer stood before Talldal-Fug, who was sitting in a comfortable chair, his hands around a fine chalice of wine. He ran his finger around the top and it made a singing sound, then he laid it aside.
“We have the mage. It was easier than we expected. Is there any hint to why Ringwall thinks he’s dangerous enough for the magon to want him dead or alive?”
“The magon cares very much,” Talldal-Fug said, his fingers reaching again for the cup. “They want him dead more than alive; the money is for his corpse.”
“So why did we kidnap him? In front of half the city, no less!” The sorcerer was agitated. “Keeping him here isn’t without its own dangers. There’s something about that boy... it would be good to know what we’re in for with him.”
“Oh, you artists,” Talldal-Fug sighed theatrically. “You have no sense for business. If Ringwall wants him dead, they can kill him themselves. We live off trade, not conspiracies and assassinations. It’s bad for business. And besides…” Talldal-Fug made a small pause to show that this was the important part, “we can demand considerably more for a living mage; if our price is not met, he just might escape. We have costs to consider, and we have something Ringwall wants. Ringwall was never frugal when it comes to getting what it wants.”
“Ringwall could read it as provocation… extortion.” The sorcerer’s face was filled with concern.
“Oh, not at all. You worry too much. It’s all a matter of negotiation. Dead or alive… there are misunderstandings. Death is so final. We wouldn’t want to do something wrong. My friend, leave the talking to me. You are merely responsible for the prisoner’s, ah, well-being, and keeping him where he is. How have you secured him?”
“He’s in a cellar room under my house and is guarded by three sorcerers directly under my command. One is in front of the door, he keeps guard over the front wall and the two side walls, another is responsible for the back wall and the floor. A third is currently in my chambers, keeping the room’s ceiling safe, and an eye on the boy. We have covered the room in magic from ceiling to floor. Nobody inside is capable of casting a spell. The walls are so strong and the door so heavy that he could not break out by physical means.”
“And his well-being?”
“For now he’s living off the water we let in through the ceiling, drop by drop.”
“A wise decision. We must hurry. We need a solution before he starves. Send word to Ringwall and inform our dear friends on the High Council what we have to offer.”
Bairne had come to Brolok like a dog without a pack, and then she had simply stayed with him. She had never told him where she had come from, nor where she wanted to go. She was definitely not from Metal World, and most certainly not a citizen of Fugman’s Refuge. Nevertheless, she found it easy to find her way around the city; all the big streets led to the palace, as if the Trade King wanted enemies to attack.
“If you invite your friends, invite your enemies too. If you want free trade, you have to risk weapons coming into your home and the hands that hold them.” It was a common saying amongst the trade kings, but Fugman’s Refuge had never been taken. Not that there had been no attempts, Bairne knew. But the stories of how the city had defended itself were conflicting.
She would have to infiltrate the palace complex unnoticed. It was surrounded by a very solid, but not excessively high, wall, which itself was enclosed by a broad circular street. The only means of entry was the main gate, where two bored guards were positioned.
Bairne slipped into a passing group of loudly-talking merchants and simply walked past the guards. They did not even raise their eyes.
The palace complex was a city within a city. Here, the streets were corridors, and in place of houses there were shops and offices. Several doors stood open, bright light flooding onto the floor in front of them. Bairne caught a glimpse of the inside, but she saw no more than talking people and busy scribes. She followed every corridor she came upon and slowly she understood the layout of the palace. In the center, behind a large, ornate door, were the Trade King’s private quarters. His residence was a tower, surrounded by a single narrow hallway on all sides. It was the only building without windows; in their place, there were two small crenels where archers might be positioned. Its roof was flat and crowned by a battlement. It looked as though it would be the best-protected place in the city, as any attackers could not gather around the tower in a group.
The rest of the palace was publicly accessible. Bairne muttered a few words and retreated to an unlit corner. She would never find Nill in this chaos. She closed her eyes and let her spirit wander. Three… no, four places had signs of awakened magic. Something was happening there, but she could not make out what it was. Another place… a strange aura grew, it grew stronger and bigger and seemed to devour any magic that came near it… and then there was—
Bairne keeled over from a forceful kick to her ribs.
“Move it, girl. This isn’t a resthouse. Who even let you in?” Two rough hands yanked her into a standing position.
“My apologies, m’lord, but I have something to sell and don’t know who to ask.”
“What’s an urchin like you got to sell? Something you’ve stolen, I’ll bet. Show me.” The voice was no less hostile, but had lost a little of its iciness.
Bairne hesitated as her hand moved toward her neck. Her talisman did not have the same powers as a true amulet, but it was no mere trinket. She grasped the leather band around her neck and with her other hand pulled out a tooth from her shirt.
“Please, it’s the last thing I’ve got left.”
“Just a tooth? Not even metal,” the guard said with palpable disappointment.
Bairne knew she had won. If the talisman had had any value, the guard would have taken it from her. A tooth would sell for nothing.
“It’s no ordinary truth. There’s writing on it. There’s a spell in that tooth.”
“What kind of spell?” The guard’s curiosity returned.
“Don’t know. Only the sorcerers can read.”
“Tell you what, I’ll help you, girl,” the guard said, his voice now warm and generous; but there was an uncanny gleam in his eyes. “The only ones who can tell you anything about magical items are the court sorcerers, you’re right. You’d best find one of the king’s councilors. There’s five of them. Their quarters are right next to the tower, you’ll have seen it. Just go in there and ask them, can’t get worse than no for an answer.” The guard laughed, as though he had just told an amusing tale.
Bairne heard the falseness in his voice, but she thanked him all the same and continued towards the tower. She looked over her shoulder timidly and saw the man standing there, his eyes upon her. He waved encouragingly at her. Bairne was not nearly stupid enough to be unaware of what would happen if she followed his advice. But as long as his gaze was fixed on her in anticipation of the spectacle that was sure to follow if she disturbed a royal advisor, she could not simply slink away.
The door to the house was closed. Carefully she pulled at the big, cast-iron ring. The door protested at first, but then swung open with a small creak. It was dark and empty inside. Bairne had no intention of running into any more guards, or anyone else for that matter, so she decided to wait here until the guard grew bored of waiting himself and continued on his patrol. She sat down beside the door, closed her eyes and allowed her spirit to walk again. At least here she would not get kicked in the ribs.
Magical streams jittered everywhere, forming fields small and large. The strongest of these was around the tower. Where there’s sorcerers, there’s magic, she thought. None of these betrayed any sign of a struggle. It was all just elemental magic, as it was used everywhere else.
The strange, pale aura still wandered around aimlessly, and it was slowly coming closer. Bair
ne decided to find out more about it. But what she was really looking for was something she could swear she had almost found when the guard had disturbed her. It was a place in Fugman’s Refuge that was utterly devoid of magic. Not simply the absence of an aura, when nobody was near; not even the tiniest hint of Earth or Wood. Even the otherwise ubiquitous Metal energy had not been there.
Bairne opened the door a hair and slipped out; to her relief, the guard had grown bored and left. She smiled. Men have no patience. A shuffling sound made her look around, staring into the darkness. A shadow crept along the wall; a shadow with a pale, mottled aura. It was wide and heavy. It came up to her chest, which was not saying much; Bairne was not a tall woman.
She stood frozen in the half-darkness. The shadow, too, stopped moving. Her heart skipped a beat. The shadow continued. Whoever owned that aura had some connection to the arcane, but it was no human. Or was it? If it was, it was crawling. And it had a magic Bairne did not understand.
Ramsker, as the diligent guard that he was, had noticed the four sorcerers long before they had approached Nill, but he had not anticipated the danger they posed. Other beasts were easy to read; humans, on the other hoof, were not. His mind was not advanced enough to understand what happened, but he knew on a deeper, more primal level that Nill was not consenting to being carried away.
As always when Nill was in danger, Ramsker’s mind cleared and made him see things from more than a simple ram’s view. It made him strong and clever. Although his stomach demanded to leave the city, for edible food was in short supply here, he resisted the temptation and instead followed the sorcerers to a tall black door. He stayed in the shadows nearby until the day was done and the sun had left the sky. Then he moved out, never staying in one place, never retracing his steps until he was certain he knew where his master was being kept.
Ramsker understood that he could not free Nill without help. So he made his way to find Brolok and the witch… he did not know her name, but he knew her smell and the sounds she made when she moved. That would be enough.
A ewe is a ewe, Ramsker thought slowly. She will be with her ram.
That was all well and good, but Brolok had disappeared too. Ramsker had no choice but to wander around Fugman’s Refuge, his eyes and ears and nose open to anything that might help. He kept mostly to the castle lane, and there remained mostly near the big door Nill had disappeared through. One of the four men had left the building since and entered the tower. Nothing else had happened. It was dark now, and even his keen ears could not hear a sound through the mighty door. The only noise he heard were cautious, quiet steps in the hallway ahead of him. Ramsker trotted closer. The steps had stopped, and so did Ramsker. He sniffed the air.
The ewe, he thought, and he stepped forward and nudged her belly lightly with his horns. Bairne’s fear evaporated.
“What are you doing here?” she asked numbly as she stared at Nill’s ram.
Humans are so thick, Ramsker mused and nudged her forward. Bairne tried to stand still, but she did not have the strength to resist the ram’s insistence.
“Alright, alright,” she whispered and allowed Ramsker to lead her to the black door. “In there?” she asked.
Ramsker’s slanted yellow eyes closed and Bairne could feel his aura expanding and then contracting again.
“Nill is behind this door?”
Ramsker’s thoughts grew more liquid and quick, and his opinion of humans and their abilities sank to a new low.
Why don’t you just go inside and check? he asked. Nill sometimes understood him, but this ewe was evidently too stupid for that. He nudged again, considerably more impatiently, and less gently, this time.
“I’m going in there,” Bairne told the ram. “If you see someone coming, hit the door so I can prepare.”
Ramsker pushed her even more forcefully and then retreated to the shadow of the stones.
This door, too, was unlocked. The passage behind it was unlit. It went straight ahead and disappeared into the darkness. As she followed it, she arrived at a winding spiral stair that led up. Suddenly she felt as though she had been hit with lightning. In front of her was the strange place with no magic. Several doors were locked with powerful magical seals. She had almost missed a small, steep stair that led down from the corridor.
If I can’t continue up here, I’ll have to go down. The stair was stone and steeply stepped. At the bottom there was a door, but it stood open, revealing yet another corridor. At the end of it, she could barely make out a man in a sorcerer’s long robe. He sat motionlessly on a chair, staring at something she could not see.
Small, afraid and silent, Bairne shrank against the wall. She breathed a few words. Her form grew blurry; her silhouette looked as though heat was distorting it, and without further hesitation she walked along the hallway towards the man, and then passed him.
The man’s head turned and Bairne broke into a run, then she stopped abruptly. A short, high-pitched squeak escaped her.
“Rats. We’ve got rats down here.”
Bairne could feel the suppressed anger in the man as he turned and drew a dagger from his cloak. He threw it straight at her. With another squeal she leapt aside. The steel met the wall and made sparks fly from the stone as it fell to the ground. Bairne sprinted down the corridor. The man rose from his chair as though he meant to follow her, but thought better of it and sat back down to watch the door opposite him. He shouted something Bairne did not understand. She did not need to, either; one of the doors opened and his reply came out, another sorcerer in a simple robe.
“We’ve got rats down here. Do something about it. I can’t leave for another half-day.”
Witches, unlike rats, can block flames. Bairne pounced towards the newcomer, dived under the jet of fire that shot her way and ran, squeaking shrilly, back to the other sorcerer in his chair. She leapt over him with a mighty bound and stood still, breathing heavily.
“Stop wasting time,” the first called. “The bloody beast is impudent enough to be hopping around between my legs, and I can’t do anything about it. I can’t leave.”
“Yes, yes, but if you want to keep that mane of yours you’d best get out of the way.”
Another blast of flame shot through the hallway, but it was aimed far too high. Bairne knew that danger was close now. She would manage to get to the stair easily, but getting up was impossible. The narrow rise would bundle the fire and burn her to ash. A shield could protect her, but that would require her human form.
Now what?! Think, think! Bairne’s eyes twitched around, taking in the stair, the sitting man, the second sorcerer with his threateningly raised hand.
What to do?
For a heartbeat, the scene was frozen like a painting, anticipating the deadly flames. Suddenly, an almighty crash came from upstairs. Wood splintered, voices came loudly closer. Heads turned and Bairne took the opportunity the general confusion offered. She ran up the stairs and out of sight of the sorcerers. Her assailant forgot all about the rat and stormed upstairs, where he stopped dead in his tracks as he stared, dumbfounded, at a ram standing amid the shattered remains of the door. It turned at leisure and disappeared in the darkness. The rat followed.
“Call that a warning?” Bairne said once she had assumed her human form again. She ran her hands through his coat and scratched his head affectionately.
Ramsker enjoyed the scratching but was amazed at the amount of stupidity that had found its home in this ewe. Did she not know that he had witnessed every single thing that had happened in the corridor below? Probably not. She was stupid and knew nothing about him. But he, whom Nill had ennobled with a name, had never noticed before that this ewe was able to fill the world with illusions. Ramsker grew very thoughtful.
Brolok had considered returning to his father. He would find good weapons there, easily the best he could lay his hands on. Everything inside him wanted to go home to his parents’ forge, but the road there was long.
It’s odd which directions your thoughts
take when you’re in trouble, Brolok mused. And I thought I’d broken with my family forever. I will return. Nill’s right. I have to go back. But not now, not here, not today.
Instead, his path led him through one of the small passes into the mountains. Small forges were everywhere in Metal World, even outside of the settlements. The rich traders visited the cities; the wandering merchants preferred to deal in solitude, where the shadows could aid them. When he had left Ringwall for Fugman’s Refuge, he had been carrying a sack full of weapons, but no tools. One of these blacksmiths had traded shoddy tools for great weapons and offered him an apprenticeship in his workshop. This was where he went.
The small forge was located half inside a cave, half under a wooden canopy. It was cold up here, but there was a forging fire and metal. It was enough.
“Hello, Master Gerk. Already at work this early?”
“Brolok? Brolok was the name, right? Do you bring new weapons or have you reconsidered my offer?”
“This time I’m in search of weapons myself.”
“Good clean silver will get you anything here, sonny. Special orders might take a while.”
“No silver, no copper, and certainly no gold. I’ve been robbed and want my things back.”
“Yes, it’s terrible, isn’t it? No more honesty left in the world. But I’ve got a business here. No silver – no weapons.”
“I have some blanks left. Might I use your forge?” Brolok was polite as always.
“Of course, my boy. We’re kin; that makes us friends in my eyes. So how much do you mean to pay for the fire?”
Brolok ground his teeth and cursed silently. Money-grubbing bastard, he thought. Aloud, he said: “You are a true friend. If you would help me with the process and allow me to use your forge, I can grant a weapon of your choice immense durability with a spell.”