by Mark Shane
“Let me show you punishment!” Michael released another volley of fireballs destroying store fronts. Let it burn, let it all burn.
He faintly heard someone yell his name. A flicker of recognition sparked in the back of his mind. He released another pair of fireballs, destroying the front of the town inn.
“Michael! Stop it,” Garen yelled, grabbing his outstretched hand.
Michael let Garen lower his hand, unsure his friend was actually there. The lion pommel of the Sword peeking over Garen’s shoulder brought him to his senses. Did the Eye have a hint of blue?
“They’re not worth it,” Garen said.
Looking around the square with new eyes, the anger and adrenaline drained out of Michael. His eyes fell on the little girl he had saved, sobbing next to her father who lay motionless on the ground. What did she think of him now?
“What have I done?” he said.
“Doesn’t matter now,” Garen replied, steering him toward the alley where his horse waited. “Most anyone would have done the same thing.”
“Would they?”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” Garen said, pulling on Michael’s arm to get him moving. “Grab a horse and let’s go.”
Michael stopped at the edge of the square, taking one last look at the small girl and the carnage he had created. Perhaps these people were right. Perhaps magic shouldn’t be wielded by man.
Garen pulled him past the burning ruins of a corner shop, pushed him onto a horse and slapped the animal, sending him off at a trot. As they rode out of town, toward freedom, Michael felt far from free.
***
“Made a mess of things, you did!” Marla snapped, as they approached her house.
Michael recoiled like she had slapped him.
“The border will be sealed before you get there, best to head south and try your chances elsewhere.”
“What about the Underground?” Michael asked. “Won’t they help us?”
“The Underground! You think the Underground is going to risk its entire existence for one rogue magichae?”
“What was I supposed to do, let them hang me?” Michael shot back, angry more with himself for losing control than Marla for berating him. He deserved it.
“No, but you took out half the town square! They will not let that slide. You stirred up a hornet’s nest! As we speak, the people in Finery’s Way are recovering. Soon there will be carrier pigeons flying in all directions with word of what you did. The word will spread like wildfire. There won’t be a town that doesn’t have posters of you three days from now. The border will be watched. Your best bet is to ride south as fast as you can, maybe outrun the message.”
“What about you?” Michael asked, noticing Miss Nelly was saddled.
“Don’t you worry none about me. I’ve been hiding under their noses for fifteen years. They’re not about to catch me now. Worry about yourself. Go south, cross at Roqmar if possible, or Larrington if you have to go farther. But don’t ride along the border; they’ll be expecting that. Best stay half a day away till you’re ready to cross. Scope out the town at night and see if it’s clear. Disguise yourself best you can and hide your powers if you can manage it.”
Michael looked down at the ground.
“Watch for Seekers, they won’t be sitting in the open. Probably best to cross at first light and hope any around are still in their bed. If you do get across, don’t think you’re safe in Alarus. Plenty of people over there are more than happy to collect the bounty. Your very last option is to abandon your horses and swim across the river. Won’t take them long to find you on foot. And for the love of the Creator don’t do something foolish like blast your way through an Alarus border town. Then you’ll have two countries chasing you.”
She glared at them both until she was satisfied they understood her. “Now get out of here.”
She launched three fireballs into her house, then two more at the thatched roof. “Stupid rogue wizard! Set my house on fire! Like the town square wasn’t enough. Now I have to run for my life before he gets me too!”
Michael smiled as she swung into her saddle. A tough old woman; she would be fine. Of that, he was certain.
“You waiting for them to catch up? Get going!” she snapped, spurring Miss Nelly northwest.
CHAPTER 34
Directions
Falon passed under the portcullis of Lockhart rattled. She had sensed three magichae on her trek from Finery’s Way. The first had taken her by surprise. Lost in her thoughts, senses dulled by the monotony of the road, the familiar sensation of a magichae nearby did not register till she noticed a man and woman working on their wagon beside the road. The man bent over working on the wagon wheel, but she noticed his eyes were set on her, watching. The woman licked her lips nervously for some reason, refusing to look in her direction. Realization struck Falon like a fist. Anger quickened her pace. She gripped the knife under her cloak until a bend in the road hid the Seeker team behind the trees.
Awareness allowed her to sense the next team before they came into sight. Two men posing as trappers sat back in the trees, appearing to be resting, but she could feel their eyes on her.
As she approached the bridge, she sensed a rather strong magichae. Looking around, her eyes passed over the two beggars at the foot of the bridge before she realized they were a Seeker team. Rage made her skin prickle. No magichae stood a chance of crossing the bridge. She was a breath away from killing them both as she rode past. It would be easy, she had killed plenty. At least these two would be for something. The magichae stretched out his grubby hand begging for money. She lingered for a moment, teetering on action. She played it out in her mind; grasping the magichae’s hand, stripping him of his powers. A flick of her other hand and the stripling would lay on the ground with a knife in his neck. It would be over in an instant, quiet and efficient; just as Aleister had trained her. What better use for her skills?
The blue orb formed in her head for an instant, gone as quickly as it had appeared, but enough to take her mind off the Seeker team and subdue her thoughts. What was the orb? What did it mean? She continued to fume as she crossed the arching bridge to the open gate of Lockhart.
The guards paid her only a quick, cursory glance as she passed them. They seemed more interested in her chestnut mare. Would they have treated her the same if the beggars had reacted to her? Marla said magichae had been caught on the bridge mere paces from the gates. She shuddered. What would have happened if she and Michael had traipsed up to Lockhart unaware?
She walked the stone-paved streets, the afternoon throng of people parting for her horse while trying to complete their work and return to homes. Or taverns.
Inquiring about inns garnered her several different suggestions; the Red Eagle was the best, the Stag had the nicest beds, the Swan had the best ale (it was owned by a local brewer). Five inns total. Finding Garen and Max might prove more difficult than she had feared. The Stag lay closest so off she went.
By sunset, she had been to three inns and now stood below the wooden sign bearing a red eagle gripping a mug in one talon and the red striped banner of Alarus in the other. Hopefully, the Red Eagle lived up to its reputation as the best inn because she was tired and very much wanted a bed.
The innkeeper smiled at her from behind the bar as he set two frothy tankards in front of patrons. The half-full tavern had a fire burning invitingly in the hearth. She seated herself in a booth near the fire, thankful for the warmth. A serving maid approached her shortly and she soon had a steaming bowl of stew and a tankard of ale before her. The serving maid had procured a room for her as well.
An hour after arriving Falon slid into a nice bed, not close to what she had grown up with, but nicer than the hard earth she had slept on lately. She checked the medallion, the eagle still pointing the same direction it had for the last two days, and then tucked it back under her shirt as she stifled a yawn. Sleep took her in minutes.
She woke with a start the next morning, light g
rowing in the room as the sun peeked over the rooftops. Her sleep had been restless, filled with different versions of confronting Seekers. Sometimes Michael was with her, sometimes Garen, sometimes slaying them alone with her bare hands. Always she destroyed the magichae completely, not only stripped his magic but destroying his body in her rage.
Moving to the washstand, she splashed water on her face, hoping to wash the images away. She ate a simple breakfast of eggs and bacon before trudging into the city to find Garen or Max. Her heart yearned to see a familiar face.
Midday came and went without any sign of them though. She had visited the Whispering Willow and managed to learn a man fitting Garen’s description had stayed there but left days ago. She feared he had gone into Valan. Dejected, she returned to the Red Eagle and sat at a table near the fire.
“Is this seat taken?”
Falon had been lost in her thoughts, staring into the flames, her dinner untouched. She looked up at the person speaking to her, eyes blinking unknowingly for a few moments before her mind registered Max standing before her. Her heart jumped with elation as she hugged him tightly.
“Now, now, dear, don’t cause a scene,” Max chided, prompting her to take a seat.
“Where is Jorgen?” she asked.
“In the city. We split up to search the inns quicker. No doubt he will be along shortly. We agreed to meet here at the Red Eagle at sunset. Where are Michael and Garen?”
Falon recounted everything that had happened since Jorgen sent them ahead. Max’s eyebrows rose when she mentioned the dragon and his jaw dropped when she told him Michael threw the Sword. He mumbled something about throwing Michael that she did not entirely catch and from the dark look on his face she had no desire for him to repeat it. His face grew red when she told him about the Seeker team and how she had been forced to use her power. Marla piqued his curiosity, but any questions he was going to ask were forgotten when Falon mentioned the attack by the remaining nightstalkers. She glanced around nervously as Max went on a less than silent tirade, chastising himself for leaving them to roam free. She stifled him by telling him about the wolf saving them and Michael being healed by Marla. He looked at her suspiciously, causing her to shift in her chair.
“You sure the nightstalkers did not nip you too?” he asked.
“I don’t know how it’s possible either, but if the wolf hadn’t been there we’d both be dead. And he did speak to me. The Creator does things in whatever way He chooses. Just be thankful He chose to help.”
Any comment by Max was brooked as Jorgen tossed a piece of parchment on the table and sat down in a foul mood. Max glared at the parchment then dropped it back on the table, his lips twisted by a look of disgust.
Falon’s eyes widened. It was a wanted poster with a drawing of Michael’s face on it.
“Posters started going up a little while ago,” Jorgen said. “They must have every scribe and artist in the ministry at work.”
“What happened?” Max growled.
“Apparently some town tried to hang him at noon today and he destroyed half their town square in response.”
“Bloody fool!” Max declared, barely keeping his voice down. “He’s stirred up the hornets’ nest now.”
Falon would have felt elated that Michael was well if he had not managed to get himself into mortal danger again. Men! Leave them alone for a minute and they will find something else to get into!
“We have to go get them,” Falon said emphatically.
“Them?” Max asked.
“I searched the city for Garen and learned he left several days ago. I think he got tired of waiting and went into Valan searching for us.”
“Impetuous boys,” Jorgen growled. “When I get my hands on them they will wish the crazies had finished them off!”
“I can think of someone else with a knack for being impetuous,” Max replied, shooting a sly grin at Jorgen.
Jorgen grimaced. “Point taken. Who better to teach them about jumping in too deep? And they don’t have the luxury of a healer nearby to save their tails.”
“Perhaps they managed to meet halfway and they’re headed here now,” Max suggested.
“Marla would never send Michael north. She would send him to the Underground.”
She quickly explained what the Underground was and the location they used to cross the Kisenar River.
Max looked at Jorgen. “Think you can find us a boat?”
“The taverns near the docks should be full by now,” Jorgen mused, “shouldn’t be too difficult to find a captain sailing tomorrow. How are we going to find the boys?”
“We sail to this Underground rendezvous point and go from there,” Max replied.
“I think I can do better than that,” Falon said, pulling out her medallion.
CHAPTER 35
Extra Muscle
Falon met Max and Jorgen early the next morning, the aroma of bacon coating the air in the common room.
“We have to leave the horses,” Jorgen told her as they walked out the inn’s front door where only Caballus stood waiting. “The boat is loaded with goods. I had to pay a hefty price to get the captain to make room for Caballus.”
“Don’t worry,” Max added, noticing her concern. “We’ll get new ones when we take leave of the ship.”
“What if Michael,” she looked around as if someone would hear his name and make a connection to the man on the wanted posters, “what if he’s at the crossing? We’ll be able to get off, right?”
“Sure,” Jorgen replied, stepping lithely around a puddle. “You might have to get wet, but you can disembark anytime you wish. All the more reason to travel light.”
“If Michael is at the crossing, you and I will jump ship and join him,” Max explained. “Jorgen will sail to the next town, buy horses and come back for us.”
“What if he’s on the Valan side?” Falon asked.
Jorgen grunted and Max glanced at him, flustered. “One obstacle at a time, my dear. One obstacle at a time.”
At the docks an old, grizzled man with a white, scrubby beard and head of hair to match greeted them. His calloused hand felt rough but deftly gentle as he shook Falon’s hand.
“Mornin’ to ya, and a fine one tit tis,” he said, gazing at the sky filled with hues of pink and purple. The sun would break the horizon soon. “Welcome aboard the Sarias. I’m Captain Treback,” he said, motioning them to board. “The heavy rains we’ve had recently make for a swift current. We should make excellent time. Probably reach Roqmar in a day.”
Despite the swift current, the day passed slowly for Falon as she constantly checked her medallion, willing it to move. She stood at the rail and watched the river bank pass by, shifting her feet anxiously. Disappointment washed over her as the boat passed the crossing point and the medallion’s arrow continued pointing southwest.
She spotted two men on the Valan bank watching the ship pass. A shiver ran down her spine when she sensed magic in one of them. Marla must have sent Michael south rather than chance the Underground being discovered. Or had the Underground already been discovered? Maybe Marla fled with Michael. The idea gave Falon some comfort.
True to the captain’s word they reached Roqmar late that night. Falon scanned the arching stone bridge hoping beyond reason to see Michael crossing safely into Alarus but no one was on the bridge. There was nothing to do but spend the night and inquire about Garen at the local inns in the morning.
Falon’s search at the inns proved fruitless and her tension grew as she walked back to the docks where Captain Treback unloaded tobacco, wool, and wooden crates only to replace them with barrels of ale and wine destined for Larrington another day south. She wanted to purchase a horse and charge into Valan. By herself if necessary. Anything would be better than sitting on the deck doing nothing.
Thanks to a little extra coin from Max, Captain Treback cast off as the sun dipped low on the horizon promising to have them in Larrington by morning.
Despite the captain’s best effo
rts the trip took a full day and they docked in Larrington at dusk the next day. Falon’s feet landed on the dock as the last mooring lines were being secured. At midday, the medallion’s arrow had moved, pointing more west than south. When they reached Larrington it pointed almost due west. Max and Jorgen caught up to her at the end of the dock.
“Slow down, girl,” Jorgen chided her, “we’re not rushing into Valan at this hour.”
She watched the last sliver of sun disappear behind the tree tops.
“We’ll get horses first thing in the morning and be on our way,” Max said.
“What if Michael doesn’t have a horse?”
“We’ll buy extras. They can serve as pack horses till we find the boys.”
“Best we find an inn,” Jorgen said, heading down the street toward a square sign gently swinging in the breeze.
The Barron’s Inn seemed nice, but Falon hardly noticed. Her food held no taste, the fire held no warmth, the revelries around her barely existed. Rescuing Michael consumed her mind.
Trudging up to her room, she slumped down on the bed and fell asleep before she realized it. One moment she lay on her back, looking at the medallion, and the next Max was gently shaking her awake.
They inquired after a good horse trader and found themselves on the northwestern side of town near Straymore’s Gate. Romero Baritton, a friendly fellow, tended a sorrel mare as they approached. He eyed Caballus, a smile creeping across his face like he saw an opportunity. The smile disappeared as Jorgen haggled with him, deflecting each sales trick, countering any argument Romero presented. Jorgen selected four horses including the sorrel mare, which Romero protested he could not sell at first. The horse trader appeared put out at the price he declared Jorgen forced on him, but as they rode away Falon noticed the glint in his eye as he bit down on one of the gold coins.
The angry, grey sky promised rain as they crossed the bridge into Valan. It matched Falon’s mood.
They reached Kingsgrove, a common farming town set on a hill, under the midday sun. The surrounding fields of ripe crops dotted with farm houses and barns made a patchwork of greens, oranges, and browns outlined by short stone walls of whitewash or slate color.