The main entrance to the guild was found midway through the hall, but there wasn't a door there. In place of a door, a thin waterfall of black liquid continuously dripped down within what otherwise seemed like an ordinary, wooden doorframe. Horace created the magical portal to keep intruders out many years ago. If you were not one of the royal party, castle security, or guild member you would find a long, suffering time ahead of you, as the liquid sticks to anyone else, and immediately begins to eat away at its victim like an acid.
Shomnath dropped his sack beside the doorway and pulled back his hood to reveal his face, which reflected back perfectly in the sheen of the flowing sludge. He then took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves.
“I never did trust this damn door,” Shomnath mumbled. He then tensed up and stepped swiftly through the black curtain.
Fenwick didn't notice Shomnath emerge from the gushing, yet obscenely silent waterfall doorway across the room. He was sitting behind a large desk that faced the portal, yet he was so absorbed in thought that he did not see the prince for almost a minute after the black liquid fell from the prince's body. It slipped from his body like a silk bed sheet might, rather than some liquid, and it vanished upon touching the ground like a shadow exposed to sunlight.
“Fenwick?” asked Shomnath, startling the young man from his daze. Shomnath held back his surprise when he saw that Fenwick was the skinny mop boy he remembered. Only now he was richly costumed, sitting behind Horace’s desk.
"My Lord?" Fenwick said, and sat up straight in his chair, although he kept his eyes lowered to the floor. It was a reaction built after many years of living as a servant. For a moment he forgot that the room belonged to him now. A week prior he would have been severely punished just for sitting when there was cleaning to be done, while actually sitting in the Archmage's chair was unthinkable.
“Hello?” he called, trying to inject confidence into his voice.
“I'm here to see Fenwick,” Shomnath said as he stepped from the shadows. “My father has sent me,” he lied.
“My prince! I didn't know you were up. What do I owe this honor? Please, come in. Be comfortable.” Fenwick stood up then and bowed low, extending his arms out wide.
Shomnath grinned when Fenwick said to be comfortable, considering the only chair in the room was the one that Fenwick was sitting on. The only other furniture in Horace's old chamber were tables, racks, and shelves, which were mostly covered with books.
“No,” said Shomnath. “I don't have time to stay, but maybe another time.”
“Is there anything I can do for you then?” said Fenwick.
“Yes, actually. My father sent me to see you about a particular ring, a ring that was salvaged from the battle in the forest.” as Shomnath spoke, the demeanor of Fenwick subtly shifted towards the defensive. Londo was right, thought a puzzled Shomnath, my father actually gave this boy the ring.
“Oh, the ring,” Fenwick said, and then hesitantly walked over to the cabinet to the left of his desk. He reached up to open the doors and paused, “Did his highness have any questions about it?”
“What have you discovered?”
“Frostbern,” replied Fenwick, as he opened the cabinet and pulled out a small silver box. When light reflected off of the lid it revealed that it was covered in textured snowflake patterns. When Fenwick turned to face the prince, Shomnath noticed that the bottom half of the box was coated in what appeared to be snow and wavy ribbons of white vapor fell in wisps.
“Excuse me?” said Shomnath.
“Horace’s ring," said Fenwick. "The name of the ring is Frostbern.”
Shomnath held an impartial expression, although he probably knew more about the ring and its origins than the young mage had.
“Yes, well whatever the name, my father has sent me for it,” said Shomnath, as passively as he could.
Fenwick curled the box to his body defensively, something Shomnath did not want. He really didn’t have the time to exchange words, and he feared that his father might send someone to check on him or even worse send for Londo. The guard was snuggly bundled and passed out cold on his bed. He knew that taking the ring from Fenwick by force would be easy, but he also knew that protective wards designed to pacify aggressors were placed throughout the Mage's Guild.
“But I haven’t begun testing it yet,” said Fenwick. From the look of anguish on his face, it was obvious to Shomnath that the young mage was proud to have such a powerful specimen in his possession, and that he was not willing to let it go.
“There is surely none better suited to do tests on such a magical wonder than you,” Shomnath added carefully. “But my father wants it to be inspected by the church, first.”
“The church?" said Fenwick. "Why would the church want to inspect an enchanted ring?” It was a good question, but not good enough to stump the sly prince.
“Archbishop Alexander is concerned about any disgruntled spirit that may have tagged along with the ring, and my father will not be pleased if there is any truth to his worries. He wouldn’t want a rogue spirit in his castle. If there is a stowaway in there, it won’t be able to escape the church’s holy walls.”
Fenwick raised a brow, but had nothing to say. If the prince was lying, he couldn’t tell. It was preposterous to claim that a priest could handle a disgruntled spirit better than a wizard, but Shomnath was weaving his story on faith that Fenwick lacked the skills to handle any spirit that didn’t come corked in a bottle. The assumption was accurate. Fenwick wouldn’t know if a violent spirit was in the ring if it bit his finger off.
“Well,” Fenwick finally submitted. “Please inform the Archbishop that I will need the ring back, immediately.” Fenwick then manufactured a smile, as he reluctantly handed over the frosty container.
“I will be sure to let him know,” Shomnath smiled in return and tucked the box under his arm.
“Thank you, your highness,” Fenwick said, bowing low once again, and once again Shomnath decided not to tell him that the royal advisers weren't expected to bow.
“No, thank you Fenwick," said Shomnath. "My father will be very pleased.”
Shomnath then turned for the door once again, pausing only to take a deep breathe before walking back into the liquid shadow. Fenwick watched the prince disappear as the black liquid enveloped him. At first he was a little disappointed in giving up his new toy, but he smiled as Shomnath’s last words echoed in his mind.
“Anything to please the king,” smiled the proud Fenwick.
25) Free Birds
“That’s him.”
“Ye sure this time?”
“That’s him.”
“Ye said that already. I asked if ye were sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Are ye sure?”
“I’m going to hit you.”
“We followed the last feller nearly a mile before finding out he was just a dang cook.”
“Well, he was acting suspicious. This time I’m sure.”
Kala and Pall had been watching the guarded doorway at the base of the castle's southern tower for the better of two days, waiting for their friend to make his inevitable exit. For as long as they’d known him, Shomnath always slipped out this way, through a passage built for servants to bring goods in and out. There was always good wagon traffic going on here, and it made slipping in and out here ideal.
Today, the only sentry assigned was a tubby man well past his soldiering prime. He sported a potbelly that jutted out from beneath his tunic, and he seemed to have an endless supply of whatever he was drinking. He seemed more focused on the massive festival carrying on than his work. The way that he was cat calling to every woman that unfortunately crossed his path, you would not have guessed that he was on duty at all.
The hooded figure Kala was looking at toted a stuffed sack over his shoulder, and confidently glided past the guard without so much as looking up from the ground. Although it was the same type of sack that was constantly going in and out of the castle all da
y long, he was far healthier built than the average linen worker. That was the first giveaway, but this laundryman was also too clean looking to have been laboring away all morning.
Slumped under a tent that was pitched against a wall, Kala stared from below her hood. She was disguised as one of the various merchants that routinely set up shop around the castle perimeter. Atop a small rickety table she'd lined an assortment of mangoes, papayas, and bananas, although she made sure that they were all weeks past fresh.
The swarm of flies and stench of rotten fruit easily repelled any customers, but for Pall, these were the lesser of evils. He was less than thrilled at the costume Kala had put together for him, although the yellow, wide brimmed summer hat and matching dress did hide his identity perfectly. At a glance he was just a young girl helping her mother with her fruit stand.
Happy to take her word on it, he made a move to toss the hat from his head.
“Not yet,” she hissed as loud as she dared.
“Ye said it was him.”
“It is," Kala scolded. "But we'll follow him and make sure he isn't being followed by anyone else.”
“Yer just paranoid,” he said, but held his tongue and followed her.
After examining the direction that the prince was trailing off to, they both waited and watched for any other suspicious characters who might be exiting the gate. When they were confident that Shomnath had escaped cleanly, they jumped up to chase after him. Suddenly, the man with the laundry turned into a lane that was packed with merchants selling drinks and food for the party.
“We have to hurry, or we'll loose him in the party” said Kala. She then picked up the pace and grabbed Pall's hand to keep him close.
"Yes mother," laughed Pall.
The crowd was shoulder-to-shoulder, roaring with talk of diamonds, dragons, wizards and dwarves, yet Kala kept her focus locked on the bobbing sack making its way toward the center of the festival. Then, the sack took a sharp right, cutting away from the crowd and into a quiet alleyway.
When Kala and Pall reached the alley they were practically spit into it from the party, which raged on the same without them. Bordered by tall stucco walls, a dead end lane without windows or doors greeted them.
“Did we lose him?” said Pall, who felt it was as good a time as any to strip off his costume.
“Could Shomnath own one of these homes?” said Kala, looking at the windows high up on the walls to both sides of the alley. The windows looked like they belonged to homes, but they were all shut, and much too high for Shomnath to have climbed into any of them. "It would be a good place for a safe house."
“Would ye be surprised if he did?” said Pall, and the dwarf had only walked halfway down the lane before he stopped in his tracks, signaling for Kala to look at the end of the lane. Sure enough, there was another way out at the end of the alley on the left. It was covered by a hanging cloth, colored over by years of dirt buildup that eventually made the cloth match the color of the walls around it. Kala nodded and then motioned to continue on.
“Catch!” called a voice, and the large white sack that they'd followed shot out from behind the curtain and pummeled into Palls chest, startling and nearly knocking the dwarf down.
“Shomnath!” they cheered.
“Who else?” Shomnath said, and he appeared from behind the curtain with his hood still hiding his face, but not enough to hide a smile that stretched from cheek to cheek.
“What were ye thinking? Yer lucky I didn’t have me axe ready,” Pall said, and he threw the sack back into the prince's chest.
“Sorry for the scare," he chuckled. "I owe Kala like twenty of those.”
“Bah," huffed Pall. "Ye didn’t have me scared fer one bit.”
“Or me,” laughed Kala, but from ten feet behind Pall. It was where she landed after jumping from the attacking laundry bag. Shomnath and Pall both looked at her incredulously, before all three of them broke out into laughter. They were so thrilled to see each other that what ensued in the forest already seemed far behind them. The euphoria was short lived though, as Shomnath locked eyes with Pall.
“Once again, I’m sorry for your loss,” said Shomnath.
“And again,” Pall said, matching Shomnath’s solemn gaze. “It still aint time fer mourning. The ghosts of me kin is also having a party. A party fer the sweet revenge we got on Baylor. It’d be a shame to ruin the party with tears. Fer now, we need to get ye out of here before ye lose yer minute of freedom.”
“You're being sworn to the throne tonight, right after the inauguration of the new Archmage,” warned Kala.
“That’s what the crowd's celebrating, yah big hero,” snickered Pall.
The backdrop noise of the crowd felt louder than ever to the prince, only now he realized that the bulk of the cheering was his own name.
“Well, they're going to have to do it without me,” he said. "Let's get out of here."
The path behind the dirty curtain led to one forgotten path after the next, twisting through the more poverty stricken sections of the city, before eventually opening up to Somerlund’s quiet north side residential blocks. Until they reached this section of the city they moved at a feverous pace, running from alley to alley, avoiding stops, but once the houses started to get nicer Kala and Pall both understood where they were headed. They were going to Baymar’s school.
********************
Things have changed a lot since my day.
“You wouldn’t believe.”
Baymar jabbed three candles into the ground, which was more ash than soil now. He took care to ensure that they roughly formed a triangle around where he sat.
When the moonlight struck the shards of obsidian above, they glistened like black-green emeralds. Baymar felt he could lie and stare up at the formation all evening. He loved how the glass twisted gracefully and fluid in some areas while it was dangerously sharp and jutting out in others. During the bright of day you could see completely through the shards in some areas. These areas created an amazing kaleidoscope of clouds so beautiful that he almost forgot that they were Aga’s remains.
King Shomnor only lingered around long enough to see his troops tunnel into the heart of the obsidian. He said that he wanted to see Baylor's body, or rather whatever was left of the wizard-dwarf. It was to 'ensure that the diamond was destroyed', but Baymar had a feeling that Shomnor wanted more than that.
Unfortunately for the king the ground that Baylor was standing on was a large slab of granite. When Aga landed on him the result resembled a bug being caught between two clapping bricks. Baylor was instantly reduced to a smear, while the diamond was crushed to powder.
Miraculously his magic ring, Frostbern, survived the crash by slipping snuggly into a crack in the granite floor. The ring alone was very valuable, and the king was pleased to not leave totally empty handed.
I cannot believe the nerve of your king, said Ambrosia. It's hard to fathom that he’s a descendant of Shomrill.
Baymar paused at the mention of the ancient king, before continuing to mark the ground between the candles with the runes of spirit sight. It must have been ages since he’d heard that name. He let the white powder slip through the bottom of his powder horn slowly, forming the rune’s inner lines first, before finishing a larger circle around himself and the candles. The process was easier this time.
“He wasn’t always like that," said Baymar. "When I fought by his side he was so full of hope, so sincere in life. It’s like he’s a different person altogether now.”
Then you haven’t spoken to him in a while?
“Not for years. I’ve heard him speak plenty of times, but you can’t count his speeches because none of that is real. I think it’s been years since he’s spoken his own thoughts in public. Politics have killed the man.”
How can that be? There must be times when you bump into the king in the castle. I can remember that even the lowest mages would cross the king’s path at least once in a while. Has the guild moved from the castle?
/>
“The guild hasn’t moved," said Baymar. "I’m not in it.”
You’re an… independent? Ambrosia gasped.
Baymar cringed at the way she said the word. Apparently the wizards of her day also looked down at practitioners who chose to study outside of their esteemed hierarchy.
“I have my own school, as a matter of fact. I only teach healing magic.”
Well, it wasn’t healing magic that got me trapped in here.
“Well, I only teach healing magic. In my spare time I try to keep up with the arts, in case one day…” Baymar capped his powder horn and tossed it into his satchel, and then also threw in his spell book. It was the book he used in the Evernight, the night that he caught Ambrosia's soul. This time he wouldn’t need any of the words to chant. He wasn’t going to do any spirit catching this time. Today he just wanted to look.
One day? said Ambrosia.
“One day, maybe, I might fix the disaster the guild has become.”
If that’s the case then you’re taking rejection very well.
“What rejection?”
Archmage. After what happened you should be the only one eligible for the position, not this Fenwick character.
“I don't want to be the Archmage," laughed Baymar. "I haven’t for many years.”
Then why was the king so happy to throw the name of his new lackey in your face? said Ambrosia.
This was true enough. After Frostbern was retrieved from the glass rubble Shomnor openly, and loudly mentioned that his new Archmage would be very pleased to recover the enchanted ring. He seemed to say it just loud enough for Baymar to hear. Only those who knew the king well would recognize the crooked smirk that came along with the words.
“That's just the way Shomnor is. It was probably a test, to see where I stand on the subject today,” Baymar decided.
Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga) Page 27