by DAVID B. COE
“They’ll need our help,” Baden said grimly. “We’d best get down there.”
Baden and Jaryd walked the rest of the way to Taima in silence. The smell of smoke grew increasingly oppressive as they drew close to the town, and, as they emerged from the mountains onto the plain and into the town square, they saw a large crowd of people standing amid the darkened skeletons of their shops and inns. A large building in the middle of the town, probably the town hall, had also been burned, and off on its own, closer to the mountains, stood a single blackened structure from which smoke still drifted into the clear sky. From its narrow, pointed spires Jaryd guessed that this had been the God’s temple. Smoke still rose from the buildings in the town square as well, and the blackened remnants of tools and goods that the people had tried to salvage from the blaze lay scattered in the street. Without breaking stride, Baden and Jaryd advanced toward the throng. But as several of the townspeople pointed them out to the others, Jaryd felt a sudden and inexplicable foreboding. “This could be difficult,” Baden told him with quiet intensity. “Stay behind me and say nothing.”
A hush fell over the crowd as the mage and Jaryd approached.
“We see that we have come in troubled times,” Baden said, his voice pitched to carry. “Can we offer you our assistance?”
At first, none of the townspeople spoke. For what seemed to Jaryd an eternity, he and the mage stood facing a host of people wearing icy expressions and the stains and injuries from a night spent combating a fire. Then a man stepped forward. He was young, no more than a year or two older than Royden, Jaryd guessed. His clothes and face were smeared with soot and one arm bore an ugly, black wound. But most of all, Jaryd noted the man’s eyes. They were deep brown and, once, Jaryd thought, they might have been kind. But now, beneath the impossible tangle of matted hair that fell across the man’s forehead, they looked out at the Owl-Master with a terrifying mix of fear, grief, and hatred.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough already, Mage!” the man charged in a tone that matched the wild expression in his eyes.Mage, Jaryd thought to himself, notChild of Amarid.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Baden responded, his voice placid.
“You lie!” the man retorted savagely.
Baden took a deep breath. “Perhaps we should start over,” he offered in the same tone. “Your town has obviously suffered a terrible loss. We would like to help you.”
“We don’t want your help,” the man said through clenched teeth, the fist on his uninjured arm opening and closing spasmodically. “We want you gone!”
Baden held the man’s gaze until the other looked away. Then the mage surveyed the rest of the horde. Jaryd did the same, and, as he did, he noticed a stocky bald man wearing a long silver-grey robe that was stained and blackened now. The Keeper of Arick’s Temple, Jaryd thought, seeing the man smirk at Baden’s discomfort. We’ll have no help from him.
“I’m sorry for what has happened to you,” Baden began again, raising his voice so all could hear. “But we wish only to offer aid. Many of you are hurt. Will you not make us welcome and allow me to heal your wounds?”
A stony silence met the Owl-Master’s question. To be broken at last by the strained, chilling laughter of the injured man.
“You’re confused; you wish to know why we don’t welcome you with our arms and hearts open. Is that what troubles you,Child of Amarid ?” he said. And there was no hint of deference in his use of the formal title; only heavy sarcasm and the rage, bordering on lunacy, that Jaryd had heard in his voice a moment before. “Fine!” he spat. “I’ll tell you. And then you can answer a question for me.”
Baden held himself very still as the man turned to look at the fire-ravaged buildings. “You see what has happened to our town. Many of us lost our businesses, our livelihoods. But we are a strong people. We’ve had fires before and we’ve rebuilt. But look beyond these shops to the tall building there.” Jaryd turned to look in the direction indicated by the man’s outstretched arm. Behind the burned stores in the foreground stood the charred remains of a towering cylindrical structure. Within its frame lay a large, blackened mound from which smoke still poured.
The man turned back toward Baden. “Do you know what that is, Mage?”
“The silo,” Baden responded softly.
“The silo,” the man repeated, his voice rising. “And do you know what that is still burning inside what’s left of our silo?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Our grain. Our entire supply for the plantings that were to begin today. Without it, our animals will die. We’ll have nothing to trade. Nothing to eat. Nothing to feed our children.”
“You couldn’t save it?” the Owl-Master asked. And from what he saw flare in the man’s eyes, Jaryd knew that it had been the wrong question; that, indeed, it had brought them to the heart of the matter.
The man squeezed his eyes closed and, as he did, tears began to roll down his face. But when he opened them again and began to speak, an unnatural calm seemed to have come over him. “We tried, Mage. We tried. We have a well next to the silo that is off limits for everyday use. No one drinks from it. It exists solely to guard against a fire at the silo. But late last night, after we were all asleep, the fires began. And when we reached the well, the rope had been cut and the bucket allowed to fall to the bottom. We had no water with which to save the grain.” The man had spoken with his eyes wide and unseeing, but now he glared at the Owl-Master. “Do you know what we found at the well, Mage?” The man pulled something from his shirt pocket and extended his hand to Baden. “This.”
Jaryd gasped. In the man’s hand lay a black feather, just like the one Jaryd had seen in his dream the night before.
The man had been so intent on Baden that he had barely registered Jaryd’s presence. But now, hearing Jaryd’s reaction, he turned toward the Mage-Attend, his dark eyes gleaming triumphantly.
“Well, Mage. Even if you won’t deal with us honestly, at least your young friend seems to recognize this token.”
Baden gave Jaryd a questioning look. “Jaryd?”
“I dreamed of it last night.”
“What!” Baden hissed.
“I saw it in a dream last night. It was given to me by a mage, and when I took it in my hand, it burst into flame.”
The Owl-Master turned to stand directly in front of his nephew, his eyes boring into Jaryd’s. “Jaryd, this is very important: did you see the mage?”
Jaryd shook his head. “No. His face was shaded by his hood. I couldn’t see anything.”
“What about his bird?” Baden demanded.
“This is foolishness!” the man broke in viciously. “I have answered your questions, Mage!” he said, confronting Baden. “Now will you answer mine as we agreed?”
Baden nodded tersely.
“Good.” A malevolent grin spread across the man’s begrimed face. “My question is this: why shouldn’t we kill you and your friend right now for what you’ve done to us?”
Jaryd felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a murmur of assent ran through the crowd. Baden gathered himself for a reply to the man’s challenge.
Before he could speak, however, a stern voice broke in. “Enough, Leyton! All of you, enough of this!”
Jaryd turned to see an older man striding quickly toward the throng. He had a tanned, healthy face and a lithe frame that belied the white shock of hair on his head. Like Leyton, this man bore stains and burns from the blaze he had battled the previous night.
“That’s Cullen,” Baden whispered to Jaryd. “We’ll be staying with him and his wife, Gayna.” After a moment the mage added, still in a whisper, “I hope.”
Jaryd shot the mage a look, but Baden was already looking at his friend, listening to what he had to say.
“I know this mage,” Cullen assured the townspeople, making his way through the crowd until he reached Jaryd and the Owl-Master. “This is Baden. He’s been visiting our town, healing our sick and wounded, helping us through troubled
times since before some of you were born. He would do us no harm. And,” he continued, glaring at Leyton, “he deserves better than these accusations and threats.”
“But Cullen,” came another voice, “you’ve heard the talk. We all have.”
“Yes,” the older man admitted, “I have heard the talk. And I’ve tried my best not to believe it. The Children of Amarid are too much a part of the fabric of this land; I can’t believe they’d do these things.”
Leyton gestured at the charred buildings that surrounded them. “Even now? Even after this?”
“After this, I’m not sure what to think,” Cullen conceded wearily. “If the stories are true, I fear for all of Tobyn-Ser. But,” he persisted, his voice strong once more, his eyes flashing angrily, “I don’t believe that Baden would have any part in the atrocities of renegade mages!”
“Then you’re an even greater fool than I thought, old man!” Leyton replied, his tone low and dangerous. “This mage is the demon who destroyed our lives last night. And I intend to make him pay.” As he spoke, Leyton pulled a large knife from a sheath on his belt and pointed it menacingly at Baden. Anla, alert on the mage’s shoulder, puffed her feathers and hissed at the sight of the blade. Another murmur of agreement swept through the crowd, though, this time, Jaryd also heard dissenting voices. Slowly, surreptitiously, Jaryd placed his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
Baden regarded the knife with a composed expression. “Tell me, Leyton. Had I gone to the trouble of attacking Taima at night and guarding my identity, as you accuse me of doing, why would I return here in the light of day and risk being discovered?” The Owl-Master’s voice betrayed no hint of fear.
But Leyton was ready for his question. “Maybe you’re not through with us yet. Perhaps this is all a part of your plan. You might wish to gain our trust by healing our burns from the fire, only to betray us again. Or maybe you just wish to gloat over your success of last night. I’m a simple man, Child of Amarid. I don’t claim to understand what drives a powerful mage to do these things.”
Baden nodded. “I see. And if I am as powerful as you say,” the mage went on, his tone suddenly cold and imperious, “what’s to stop me from destroying you where you stand, before you can finish whatever it is you hope to do with that blade?”
For the first time, Jaryd saw a flicker of uncertainty in Leyton’s eyes. The hand holding the knife fell to his side and, again, tears rolled down his face.
Once more, a voice called from the multitude. “But if you didn’t come to destroy us, why are you here?”
“A fair question,” Baden responded, speaking to all of them. “My companion and I are on our way to Amarid, for the Gathering of the Order. And I assure you that we of the Order will discover who has done these things and we will stop them. I also give you my word, sworn in Arick’s name, that my friend and I had nothing to do with the burning of your town.”
A stillness descended on the town center. For what seemed to Jaryd a very long time, no one moved or spoke. Then a woman stepped out of the crowd. She was supporting a man with an angry gash across his forehead, and she looked at Baden, a plea in her eyes. “Can you heal my husband?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Gladly,” Baden answered, smiling kindly.
Throughout what remained of the afternoon, Baden healed the burns and gashes of the townspeople. Assisted by Jaryd and Cullen, who saw to the comfort of those who waited for the mage, Baden moved through the crowd tending to injuries, which mended and vanished beneath his touch. Many of those to whom he ministered looked warily at him and the owl on his shoulder. A few, Leyton among them, refused treatment entirely. But most accepted the Owl-Master’s aid and, by the time Cullen led Baden and Jaryd back to his home on the outskirts of town, the first stars were beginning to emerge in a darkening sky of deep blue.
Cullen and Gayna’s house stood within sight of the Dhaalismin River, a fair distance from the town square. Theirs was larger than most of the other homes in Taima, although, like the others, it was constructed of dried red clay and covered with a low-pitched thatch roof. Unlike the tall wooden homes of Accalia, it was built low to the ground, perhaps, Jaryd thought, to protect it from the strong winds that swept across the plain. Several wooden pens built along the side of the home housed cows, pigs, horses, and fowl, and, in a large, well-tended plot behind the house, young green shoots stuck out of the dark soil in neat rows. Led inside by Cullen, Jaryd saw that within, the house felt as homey and comfortable as it had looked from outside. The front door opened onto a common room, which was brightly lit by the hearth at the far end of the room, and by a number of lanterns mounted along the walls, whose light reflected off the polished wood floor. Near the fireplace and to one side stood two matching chairs made of a dark wood with swirling grain. On each sat a small, quilted pillow with a pattern matching that of a sofa that faced the chairs from the other side of the hearth. Between them, a low table, made from the same fine wood, supported a decanter of dark, red wine and two crystal glasses.
Through a doorway, to the left of the fireplace and chairs, Jaryd caught a glimpse of the kitchen, where shining copper pots hung on the wall. At the same time, the rich aroma of roasting meat reached him, and he realized with a pang in his stomach that he was famished.
“Is that you, Cullen?” came a melodic voice from the kitchen. A moment later a woman stepped into the room.
If he had not known that Cullen and Gayna were married, Jaryd might have thought them brother and sister. Like her husband, Gayna had snow-white hair, a warm, ruddy complexion, and dark blue eyes. But while he was slender and wiry, she was stocky and solid.
When she saw the Owl-Master, she put down the dish cloth she carried and walked toward him. “Baden,” she said, smiling warmly and embracing him. “It’s been too long.”
The mage returned her smile. “It’s good to see you, Gayna. I’m just sorry I didn’t come in happier times.”
Her grin faded. “I know.” She looked toward Cullen. “Were you able to save any of the grain?”
Cullen shook his head and she frowned. “Well,” she sighed, “we’ve got enough stored here to get most of the town’s plantings in. I just hate to leave ourselves with such a small margin in case something like this happens again.” She paused, staring sadly at her husband. Then, noticing Jaryd for the first time, her face brightened. “I don’t mean to be so glum, especially not with guests.” She extended a tanned, work-roughened hand to Jaryd. “I’m Gayna. Welcome.”
Jaryd shook her hand, feeling her strong grip. “Jaryd. Nice to meet you.”
“Jaryd is my Mage-Attend,” Baden added, somewhat unnecessarily. “I’m taking him to the Gathering.”
“Well, you just make sure that he treats you right, Jaryd,” Gayna called over her shoulder as she stepped into the kitchen. She returned a few seconds later with two more wineglasses, which she placed on the table.
“Actually—you might be interested in this, too, Cullen—he’s not only my Mage-Attend, he’s also Bernel’s son.”
Cullen’s eyes widened slightly and Gayna moved toward Jaryd and looked closely at his face. “Now that you say so,” she said to Baden, “I definitely see a small resemblance. To you as well as to Bernel.”
“You know my father?” Jaryd asked.
“Yes,” Cullen answered. “We also knew your grandparents.”
“When your father and I were young,” Baden explained, “we sometimes traveled with our mother to the Gatherings. And we often stopped here. In fact, I introduced Gayna to Cullen.”
Cullen laughed. “What he means is, he had a crush on Gayna and brought her to dinner at my parents’ home. And I stole her from him.”
“And what Cullen’s not saying,” Gayna commented, walking back toward the kitchen, “is that we were all about twelve at the time, and it took him four more years to get up the nerve to even ask me to take a walk with him.”
Jaryd joined in their laughter as Cullen moved to the table by the
hearth and poured four glasses of wine. When Gayna returned with a basket of bread and a wooden board on which sat three slabs of cheese, they each raised a glass.
“To old friends,” Cullen said, and, looking toward Jaryd, he added, “and new ones. May Arick guard you both and guide your journey.”
Baden inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the toast, and all of them sipped from their glasses.
“You’re looking well, Baden,” Gayna observed after a brief silence. She turned to look at the mage’s owl, who had glided to the mantle above the hearth and now sat hunched and motionless, her eyes closed. “And Anla looks more beautiful every year.” Gayna took a tentative step toward the bird and glanced back at Baden. “Will she let me stroke her head?”
Baden smiled and nodded. “I’m sure she will, but try scratching beneath her chin. She prefers that.”
Gayna nodded and did as the Owl-Master had suggested. Anla opened her eyes briefly at the woman’s first touch. But then the bird closed them again and stretched out her neck so that Gayna might caress her more easily.
“What of Trahn?” Cullen asked.
“The last I heard he was doing quite well,” Baden replied. “But that was early in the winter, just after an attack near my home village.”
With Baden’s mention of the attack a shadow seemed to envelop the room, though the fire and lanterns remained bright. For some time the four of them said nothing.
“Forgive me,” Baden offered at last. “I didn’t mean to reopen that particular discussion. Please,” he added, looking from Cullen to Gayna. “Tell me how you’ve been. I’d much rather speak of that.”
For another moment the farmers said nothing. Then Gayna smiled warmly and motioned for them to sit, and Cullen began to describe for Baden the past year’s events. Life on the plain seemed to Jaryd to consist mainly of storms and market prices for livestock, but Baden appeared genuinely interested. When Cullen finished, the Owl-Master launched into a lengthy narrative of happenings within the Order, much of which Jaryd did not understand. After a time, Cullen and Gayna asked Jaryd for news of his family, and he told them a bit about his life in Accalia, which, he realized as he spoke, already felt distant and unfamiliar. Soon, they moved to a small dining room on the far side of the kitchen, where, over supper and a second decanter of the rich wine, they continued their conversation.