Vilmos continued his tutelage under Xith’s scrutinizing eye. Talk of the opposing forces had led to more in-depth discussions about the properties within those forces of positive and negative, sometimes viewed erroneously as good and evil—the four basic elements of fire, air, water, and earth. Since the boy had begun with fire, the simplest and the most powerful, and then gone on to air, a median power, Xith considered continuing on to the third element, water. However, he decided to hold off for a time and allow the young man more time for adjustment.
Air was a power that the young apprentice was already very familiar with, a power that he had often played with though he had not known it at the time, so this was where the shaman concentrated his efforts. He found that Vilmos easily understood the realm of air once he put it into a readily understandable context. Since levitation was a skill that relied on the realm of air and a skill that Vilmos had often tried though he had not known how to control it, Xith chose this skill to begin with.
As with the previous lessons, Xith only wished to impart to Vilmos one basic skill, a stepping-stone that would prove the basis for all other dealings with this property. Levitation was simply re-applying the powers he had touched on in the lesson with the rocks, a lesson that Vilmos uneasily recalled.
The journey to the city of Solntse had taken them days out of the way, but this was also a mixed blessing. Although the trek was lengthened by several days, they would not have to endure the tireless extremes of the high desert whose temperatures would roast them during the day and freeze them at night.
Amir rode beside his Little One; occasionally he attempted to carry on a conversation with her but mostly he seemed to be talking to himself. He didn’t mind, though. He could bathe in the beauty she radiated forever. He hoped eventually to find out her secrets and be able to alleviate some of her burden. Xith and Noman rode side by side though seldom a word passed between them. They were content to ride quietly, watch the countryside pass, and concentrate on the dangers that lay ahead.
Something troubled Noman deeply, yet each time he tried to grasp the thought it slipped from him. Xith and Ayrian had similar feelings, the sense that something was amiss; yet as surely as they tried to discern what it was, it slipped away from their thoughts.
This night they made camp a short distance from the main road. While they were well into the heart of the Great Kingdom there was little fear of incidents; nonetheless, they took precautions. They would each take turns at guard during the night. Vilmos was the unlucky one who was chosen to perform the first watch.
Vilmos didn’t complain, though, because he knew they would each eventually get their turn. The long, dark night proved thankfully uneventful; Xith, who had taken the last watch, woke them just before dawn. A light breakfast was eaten and preparations to start on their way were made as the sun appeared on the horizon.
Nijal wiped his tired eyes and nudged Vilmos, who was slumped over seated upright.
“Wake up!” he implored.
Vilmos opened bleary eyes, astonished to find his hand half raised to mouth. He mumbled through a quick apology, cut short as a warning flashed out to all. Stand still, warned the voice in their minds. Noman hurriedly crafted an illusion to hide their presence from the unseen danger. No one dared to move, their eyes set on a place behind them on the trail. Shadows shifted across the land as partially seen clouds passed through the half-shrouded sky.
Under this canopy of darkness, an extremely large group of men clad in dark high-hooded cloaks approached on horseback, hoping to use even the last few moments of darkness to conceal their passage. Slowly, following Noman’s signal, Xith and the others moved to their horses, moving away from the trail.
As they watched, the dark group stopped and made camp off the trail only a short distance away. The light of morning grew and the strangers seemed to disappear with its arrival, leaving no signs of themselves or their camp.
Noman signaled the party to move again; and they moved away from the mysterious group, pausing only to look back briefly, riding hard until the sun blazed fully overhead, only then stopping to discuss what they had seen. Nijal was more puzzled than worried and Vilmos’ expression of confusion only added to the free man’s befuddlement. He had seen groups of highwaymen before though never one so large.
“We must stay ahead of them. We have a long, hard journey to undertake. It lies ahead of us; there is nothing behind us now and there can be no turning back,” spoke Noman, looking to their newest companion, “yet at least we now know who the enemy are.”
“Enemy?” gasped Nijal and Vilmos in unison.
“Ayrian!” bellowed Xith.
“Yes, I’ll go,” replied Ayrian, dismounting. He tethered his mount to Xith’s saddle horn in simple, quick fashion and departed with two long pumpings of his great wings.
Nijal stared in awe toward the departing Eagle Lord. Vilmos had explained the transformation to him, but it still captivated him. Ayrian became a symbol of power and beauty in the new form. And then, with a final look behind, they continued on their way, riding until they were sure they were far, far ahead of what lay behind them. No further discussion was made of the dark figures; and this night they would not camp in the open, for they no longer felt safe, and a guard was now a necessity.
Nightfall seemed to come too soon when compared to previous days; and before the travelers knew it, the sun was setting. Nijal drew first odds and his watch began as his companions drifted off to an uneasy sleep. No fire was made; as night fell, it was only the light of the heavens that allowed him sight, and every sound alarmed him. It wasn’t that he was without experience in the woods or the open land that brought on his fright, but rather an unsettling chill that seemed to rest upon his own skin and the air he breathed.
Nijal had camped alone in the dangerous border country before and endured darker nights than this, yet this seemed somehow more frightening and more portentous. He made such a commotion pacing through the undergrowth that he awoke the shaman more than once. After the third time, tired of soothing Nijal’s fears, the shaman took over the watch. Nijal felt so chagrined that he offered to take Xith’s watch, which was to be the last one of the evening. Xith accepted.
When it came his turn to watch, Vilmos was also fairly agitated. The night sky had grown dark and unforgiving. Shadows moved in his thoughts, matching those of the land, causing him to draw his small blade and hold it at the ready. Two hours of darkness gave him plenty of time to think. His mind roved over many subjects, not really resting on anything in particular.
Vilmos was greatly relieved when his time was up and it was Amir’s turn at watch. The warrior sat grimly and statue-like on an old stump for most of his two hours listening to the night sounds, passing off the watch to Nijal without question as he had been told, and only with the coming of dawn did the young captain’s nerves settle. Early the next morning Ayrian found the camp, startling Nijal into a panic in the process.
“It is I,” hissed Ayrian softly.
Nijal sheathed his sword.
“Sorry,” he answered.
“For a moment I thought you were going to run me through,” replied Ayrian in jest.
The sound of voices awoke several others whose stirrings, in turn, woke all save Vilmos, whom Nijal took it upon himself to arouse. Ayrian began his report at first slowly and then hurriedly as he noted the diviner’s anxious stares explaining lastly that the highwaymen had made camp about an hour’s ride away.
“From the looks of them, they are very good. They leave no signs of their travel. They ride in total silence; even the hooves of their horses are padded. However, they are a small group; they could not hope to do much damage.”
“Unless there are more groups, or some are already in waiting,” said Noman. “I have received a vision in my dreams. It was a portent of things to come. I have seen the many paths we follow; soon they will merge, then only one path will remain. We must hurry. As I have said, there is one more we must find and only then will o
ur circle be complete!”
“What do the highwaymen have to do with—” Nijal started to ask. He was silenced by a heavy grip on his shoulder.
“You will see, friend Nijal,” said Noman, “for now it is best to say no more.”
Another day passed and again night returned to the shadowed land. Ayrian did not return to their camp that night or the following morning. As they broke camp once more, the friends expected him to appear at any moment; when he didn’t, the fears only compounded. Something must have happened to him—but what?
Vilmos and Nijal rode on either side of Xith, expecting him to have the answer; yet, lost in contemplation, the shaman said little the entire day except to tell the young apprentice to dwell on his lessons and not on things over which he had no control. He said nothing more until much later, words that caught Nijal oddly and by surprise and part of which still sang in his ears: “Even the greatest of Men can fall and often the lesser among you will prove tenfold your greater. Your place is here with us, Nijal of Solntse. You are part of us now. Cast your petty fears behind you.”
“Vilmos,” moaned Nijal, snapping out of his reverie as he lurched forward, “you’re doing it again.”
Vilmos looked to the former captain and his horse; the two were floating about a foot off the ground. The docile steed still unknowingly galloped ploddingly along.
“Sorry,” said Vilmos, “it is just—well, I guess you could say, it’s just nervous energy.”
“I’d hate to see it when you were really agitated then!”
“Sometimes I forget. I didn’t mean to,” said Vilmos.
“That’s okay. It is kind of interesting to ride a floating horse.”
“Really?”
“Ah, Vilmos?” asked Nijal, looking imploringly to the other, “Could you put my horse back down, and—um—gently this time not like last time.”
Vilmos gently brought the horse down. He tried to clear his mind, yet his thoughts returned continuously to the lessons he had learned from Xith: laying a spark of fire to the air, using the forces of the air to shield himself, turning those same forces into a tool with which he could lift himself or others off the ground to glide and float, the workings of the flow, and how to touch upon the most primitive of forces within nature.
Vilmos’ life had completely turned around, turned upside down, and come back again. He had been propelled through the stages of boyhood into those approaching manhood by the strange powers of the forbidden magic. He didn’t miss home or the past anymore; he lived for the future. He also wondered if Xith would ever teach him how to teleport; somehow he doubted the shaman ever would.
“Vilmos!” exclaimed Nijal louder than he expected. Now the entire party was looking at Vilmos. Xith’s eyes opened wide as he looked at his pupil and a smile broadened across his lips. Vilmos had his hands extended, between the fingers of one hand a red ball of light blazed and in the other was a ball of blue-white energy.
Vilmos stared at his hands in surprise. He had been thinking about Xith’s lesson on energy, positive and negative. His face turned red in embarrassment.
“I guess I was thinking out loud!” he exclaimed, “Sorry.”
Vilmos rode glumly upon his horse the remainder of the afternoon, afraid to let his thoughts wander and Nijal could do nothing to change his demeanor. Eyes intermittently scoured the heavens, searching for signs of the Gray Eagle Lord. They rode for many exasperating hours after sunset this day, pressing the tired animals more than they should have.
There was a perceived sense of urgency now, for the dark travelers were surely on their way to the same destination that they themselves raced to. The mystic had followed this path to its end in his uneasy thoughts. They were being led now by forces stronger than those that had propelled them onward—the unseen hand of fate was leading them all and only it knew where at last it would leave them.
There were no sightings of the mysterious dark travelers during the night, which passed uneventfully, and the monotony of the previous days had at long last ended. High day found them in a small town, in which they unhappily obtained fresh mounts and food. Having to settle on nags, they would sorely miss the swift animals they were forced to leave behind. Several of the animals had thrown shoes and the village smithy had told them he had a backlog of several days. They took the nags without complaint and continued on. The city of Kauj lay just ahead and with the fresh steeds, they would reach it by nightfall. They were hopeful once more; finally, they would be able to stop at an inn and rest, a short reprieve long overdue.
Vilmos and Nijal conversed on and off throughout the day. They had come to an area of hills sparsely populated with small stands of trees, remnants of the immense forests that had once stretched coast to coast and now only ranged sparingly throughout the Great Kingdom. The Belyj Forest, many leagues to the south, was the largest stand that remained of the great forests in the civilized realms—a forest as old as the land itself. In other sections of the land, far to the east and south, forests still dominated the land, populated by growths that were thousands of years old. It was odd yet somehow suiting, reflected Nijal, who was an infant in the eyes of the great oaks he now passed.
Noman eyed the young man with a knowing grin upon his face and then turned to the giant beside him. Amir was clearly agitated. He stretched and flexed his muscles ceaselessly, often uncoupling his great blade from his pack and casting it about the air. Time passed and Noman turned back to Nijal who was also restless.
Noman saw something in the young man’s eyes that told him he would be ready when the test came. He wondered if the former day captain had any idea what sort of a quest he had agreed to with that simple desire to find purpose in life—so much lay ahead, and so very little lay behind. The journey to the path’s end could take him through his lifetime, maybe even beyond. One never knew for sure. The diviner retreated from such thoughts, reflecting upon the converging paths for a time, finding irony that their meeting seemed so near.
“This is a city?” said Nijal questioningly as they approached the outskirts of the tiny city of Kauj, which in his eyes was little different from the village they had left behind the previous day.
“Yes, it is; I like small cities,” said Vilmos. The shaman grinned.
The six companions approached the narrow row of structures that lined the main thoroughfare at a slackened pace an hour past dusk just as the last of twilight faded from the unseen horizon. It was beneath this canopy of darkness that the six passed along the shadowed streets of Kauj.
Lamplight cast its burnt-orange hues into the darkened streets here and there, and along the innermost throughways the odor of the burning oil wafted to their nostrils. The city was mostly quiet, and it almost seemed as if the entire population of Kauj was fast asleep. Yet there were shadows in the doorways every now and again, and sometimes whispers passed out into the street, carrying to their ears even above the soft plodding of the horses’ hooves.
The group soon found the inn the shaman had sought out. It was true that it was not the large, well-lit establishment they had passed on the outskirts of the city along the main street; but cast in the orange of the lamplight, its sight seemed somehow reassuring and pleasant enough. They took the last two rooms the tiny inn had to offer—Xith, Vilmos and Nijal in one, and Noman, Amir and the Little One in the other.
The rooms were surprisingly spacious, so three occupants did not overcrowd them. The inn even had a bathing room, which the group immediately put to use. And it seemed for a short time that all was well.
Vilmos had almost faded off to sleep when Nijal plopped down on top of him. The youth instantly reacted and sent the free man flying to the ceiling, letting him cling to it for a time, playing with him.
“Come on, let me down. I was only kidding,” pleaded Nijal.
“Not just yet,” said Vilmos through a yawn, again playing with the other, “I think I’ll leave you hanging up there while I go back to sleep, so I can listen to you drop onto the floor sometime i
n the night when I forget you are up there and my subconscious wanders.”
“You wouldn’t? You couldn’t?” tested the former captain.
“I might,” said Vilmos feigning another yawn, “just to see if I can do it.”
“I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry.”
“For what?” chuckled Vilmos.
After a few more minutes, he finally decided to let Nijal down and was slowly lowering him to the floor when Xith entered the chamber. Xith’s presence caused Vilmos to lose his concentration and Nijal fell to the floor with a thud. The two tried to look innocent, but Xith knew better.
“Great,” he said, “since you have so much energy, then I take it you are ready to practice.”
“Practice?” muttered Vilmos, expressing his displeasure with a sour grimace. “Why must I practice things that my other self already knows?”
Complete In the Service of Dragons Page 18