“Sir Dargarin,” I said, reasonably, “have I ever lied to you?”
“Well, now that you mention it, no,” he agreed. “Not that I’m aware of. But that doesn’t mean you haven’t started.”
“A point,” I conceded. “How long would it take for you to verify my claim?”
“Three, maybe four... months,” he said. “If you don’t mind waiting here, I’ll—”
“No, I’m afraid our errand requires more haste,” I sighed, unhappily. “And it is near the edge of winter, now. What proof would you require that I am, indeed, who I say I am?”
“Well, I’ve been instructed to use my judgment,” he said, thinking about it hard. “But that usually means just kill everyone. I mean, that’s always how I’ve interpreted it, before.”
“Yet I think this situation requires a more nuanced approach,” I proposed. “For if I am not lying, you would be killing a member of the Council. Surely that cannot be a good mark on your service.”
“Oh, Trygg’s bum, it wouldn’t!” he agreed with an unpleasant laugh. “Not too many jobs around for fellows like me.”
“I’ve heard Shereul is hiring,” Sire Cei suggested, still staring at the literate troll with caution.
The mention of the name made Dargarin snort. “Me? Work for a gurvan? Doing what? Riding herd on a bunch of angry infant trolls? My clan didn’t do well, after we allied with them the first time.”
“You allied with Shereul during the Goblin Wars?” Sire Cei asked, surprised.
“No! Not that ridiculous upstart,” sneered the troll – and it was a hell of a sneer. “The first one, Gurvos. The one who started the original rebellion. Our kin threw in with him, way back when the gurvani first fought against the Alka Alon and escaped into the hills. Only the little buggers fled when the Council sent their troops in. My grandsires were captured, and pledged six generations of service to spare our lives and preserve the clan. Never trust them again, after that,” he said, resolutely.
“Good to know,” I nodded. “Now, are you going to let me through, or are we going to come to blows?”
“If I’m to use my judgement, I’ll need to discover your intent. Are you planning an attack, plotting revenge, or attempting to liberate the prisoner?”
“Not at this time,” I vowed. “I swear by the Everflame of Briga.”
He considered... and then reconsidered. I had to give him points for professionalism. Especially when he took the bribe.
“I suppose I could look away, just this once,” he said, rubbing his chin as he stared at the small library I’d brought him. “Just this once. As you’re a council member, and all.”
“Your indulgence is appreciated, and will be remembered, Sir Dargarin,” I said with a grateful bow. “I bid you good reading. Say... have you ever considered... writing?”
“Me?” the troll asked, surprised. “A... writer? What would I write?”
I shrugged. “What do you know?”
“That’s... that’s a very interesting question,” he said, nodding to himself, thoughtfully. “If I arrived at an answer, do you think anyone would read it?”
“I would imagine it would have at least a fringe audience, among the humani, ” I pointed out. “Something written from the troll’s perspective would be quite a departure, literarily speaking.”
He nodded, liking the idea. “I suppose it would,” he grunted. “You’ve given me some intriguing things to think about, Sir Minalan,” he said, dropping his spear and scooping the books greedily into his arms. “Pass!”
I nodded to Sire Cei. “And that is how you bargain with a troll,” I said, sagely.
“Not information I’d ever thought I would learn. Or need to,” my castellan pointed out, as he motioned the frightened nuns forward with their charge. Alya hadn’t reacted to the encounter at all. The priestesses, on the other hand, looked like they were about to wet themselves.
When we got to the gate I had to take the biggest risk of the journey, from what I could tell. Five years ago a charm from Ithalia was required to pass the magical barrier that encircled Sartha Wood.
Part songspell and part divine magic, the barrier glimmered a bit even without magesight. With it, it was a band of pure power denying either passage in multiple ways. Only at the Elf’s Gate was there any variation in the field. There it was... not weaker, but somehow more permissible. Without the talisman to allow us through, I would have to come up with something else.
Fortunately, I wasn’t the wizard I was five years ago. A lot of things had changed. I glanced at Alya. Some hadn’t. I manifested Blizzard in my hand and began pulling power through its stones, and activating the Sympathy Stone in the head. The last time I had done this it was during the dragon attack on Vorone. I focused my attention through the stone to its mate, in the Chamber of the Snowflake (or whatever I ended up calling it). I now had access to the tremendous power of my ever-changing crystalline quasi-molopar.
What to do with it was another issue entirely. I decided to start with a gentle probing. Using a narrow tendril of the Snowflake’s multiphasic force, guided by thaumaturgical purpose, I assailed the Elf’s Gate looking for weaknesses.
I was startled by what happened next: the beam of force from my staff pulsed. It was as if I was fishing and had a far larger strike on the line than I was expecting. Or walking a dog on a leash and suddenly having him lunge toward a rabbit in the bush. I maintained control of the flow, after I contained my surprise – but just barely.
As surprised as I was by the power flowing through my staff, I was even more shocked when I saw Alya lift her head and regard the incredible flow of arcane power that was almost invisible, without magesight.
But Alya saw – sensed – something in that flow, and it caught her attention. An attention I did not think she retained the wit to possess. It was the first sign of spontaneous activity I’d seen in her in months.
While I was trying to control both my staff and my surprise, the Snowflake’s power, with very little direction, brought down the gate. Hard. There aren’t usually material world manifestations of that kind of energy-based spell, but the excess of power and the combination of forces caused a flash of residual energy in the form of light.
Then it was down, and the staff ceased its probing.
“That was easier than I expected,” I commented, to myself. I glanced up at Alya. She had resumed her dumb pose, as soon as the Snowflake’s power was gone. I was sorely tempted to manifest it again to see if she would repeat the reaction, but I also knew that such a display would not only delay us, it could well attract even more attention than I had thus far.
“Minalan!” Sire Cei said, his eyes wide. “Did you see—?”
“I saw,” I nodded, firmly. “It bears further study, but now is not the time. Through the gate, quickly!”
Sire Cei pushed the two wide-eyed sisters and my wife through the portal and followed, drawing his long sword as he went. I glanced around and did a quick scrying spell to see if anyone was near. There was no one – that I could detect – but that didn’t prove anything. I hurried after, wondering if the gate had been brought down permanently by the spell or if it would return.
The path through Sartha Wood was as spooky and gloomy as one would expect the lair of an infamous sorceress to be. For the first quarter mile the forest on either side was choked with undergrowth and thorny briers that I recognized as common passive defenses among the Alka Alon – I’d stolen the idea for my own defensive gardening. After a quarter-mile the woods became more stately and less sinister, though they were far from welcoming.
I could feel a maelstrom of spells encouraging my heart to abandon the quest and seek my personal safety. A sense of dread and foreboding that I was not only endangering myself, but somehow putting everyone I cared about at risk. I indulged in feeling the emotion for a few moments before dispelling it. Blue magic, Alka Alon style. Effective, on the simple-minded and easily-scared. The gurvani used similar spells. Hell, so did we human wizards.
“Minalan,” Sire Cei gasped, nearly panicked. “It occurs to me that this is not perhaps the best—”
“Relax, Cei,” I soothed. “It’s just a spell of discouragement. I’m casting the counterspell.”
“But my lord, I—” he began, looking more and more frightened.
“Bide!” I urged, and threw the spell. In a moment, his face sagged with relief, and his breathing returned to normal.
“Oh,” he said, as his natural emotions took control again. “I see. Merely a trick.”
“Like the spells in our Enchanted Forest,” I agreed. “That’s not to say that there isn’t real danger ahead,” I nodded, “but not the catastrophe the spell encourages you to believe. I believe that was the last major obstacle. We should be past the worst of their defenses, now.”
We weren’t past the worst of their defenses. In the next clearing the ground began to rumble, and a twelve-foot earth elemental appeared before us, stepping out of the ground in all its anthropomorphic glory as easily as a man gets out of a bathtub.
“That seems to be another obstacle,” Sire Cei observed, coolly, his brush with terror and doubt steeling him with new resolve. Unlike most knights, he wasn’t particularly awed by the construct. We used them around Sevendor all the time for big projects. Only this one was clearly more interested in defense than agriculture. “Do you have a counterspell, Magelord?”
“I do. I brought along the greatest knight mage of the day. Will you do the honors?”
Sire Cei smiled under his bushy mustache. He was relieved to finally get to hit something, I guessed, after contending with magic for so long. He unstrapped the cord of his warhammer from his belt and shed his mantle. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.” he assured me.
The elemental took an obstructive position in the clearing – there was no way past it. While it didn’t have eyes, a couple of shiny rocks seemed to regard me warily. Or perhaps that was just my imagination. If Ruderal were here, he could tell me what the thing was thinking, but I wasn’t particularly concerned. Earth elementals are particularly simple, by nature.
As Sire Cei advanced across the meadow, holding his warhammer with both hands, the big clod of sentient dirt began striding across to meet him. Before the elemental could strike, Cei swung that mighty hammer into the thing’s “thigh”, giving a manly grunt of effort that was (I knew) his activation of his power. Suddenly all the emotion in his soul was turned magically into force.
The meadow exploded in a shower of dirt. While Sire Cei’s blow didn’t quite bisect the construct, there was a hole in his left side that left very little to connect the top of the thing with its two legs. Bereft of cohesiveness, it began to collapse.
Sire Cei was not satisfied with his handiwork. With an expert pivot and twist, he reversed direction behind his back and pounded the construct on the right side. This time the entire elemental collapsed.
“That was oddly satisfying,” he said, as he brushed the dirt and debris off his armor.
“Impressive,” I agreed. “You’ve been practicing?”
“I spent the summer at war in Sashtalia,” he reminded me. “It gave me some opportunity to improve my form.” He hefted the magical warhammer I’d given him. Enchanted to maintain its integrity and focus Cei’s natural Talent more effectively than a common blade, there was little in the mundane world that could stand against it. And not a lot in the magical world, I noted, as the former elemental bathed the clearing in a cloud of dust.
“Let’s move on,” I encouraged the nuns – who were also quite impressed with the display of naked power. “I doubt it can reform quickly, but there are no guarantees. And its defeat may launch further obstacles in our way.”
We traveled through the last portion of defensive woods and into the interior of the forest, which was far less cluttered with underbrush. Indeed, the forest took on the cultivated look I’d come to associate with Alkan settlements. It was odd, viewing century-old oak trees like garden onions, but that’s about how the Tree Folk saw them.
The trail opened on a wide vale between a ring of small hills. It was pretty, the way the modest newer construction complimented the stately old stone foundations. Ancient Alka Alon ruins had been adapted into crude but cozy cantonment. The central structure was a modest six stories, but was built on a sprawling section of intact original construction. Huts and cottages, halls and holes indicated the variety of Alon and even human retainers the Sorceress was permitted, according to my notes.
“ Arth Noafa , the Tower of Refuge,” I announced. “Last remnant of the ancient citadel of Rengolarth, fallen long before humani came from the Void. Though modest, it is a place of great power. The citadel of the Sorceress, Lilastien. Foremost living authority on humans,” I mused.
“But... she’s an Alkan,” Sire Cei remarked, frowning.
“And as such, she’s had a dozen human lifetimes to study us,” I countered. “With the deep perspective of Alka Alon magic.”
“This is who you place your hope in?”
I shrugged. “It has to lie somewhere. I think the Sorceress will be sending a servant, soon. We should probably wait here.”
For a moment, I thought Alya showed a flash of recognition of the place. It might have been my hopeful imagination, but I took it as a good sign. I needed one right now, despite my outward calm.
Within ten minutes a small figure appeared on the path – an Alka Alon, in her true, naked form. She regarded our party with a faint smile.
“Magelord Minalan,” she said, courteously, giving a slight bow.
“You must be Cuinthora, Ithalia’s cousin,” I said, returning the bow respectfully. “I am aware we have met, but I confess the loss of the memory.”
“So, your memory has not returned?” she asked, frowning. “We were certain that the failure of the spell would be the only way you would have remembered the way.”
“You forgot the human fetish with the written word,” I explained. “Alya and I wrote down a complete account of our journey, before the spell was fulfilled, and hid it away.”
“Writing,” she said, shaking her head. “A useful tool. Too useful,” she chuckled. “And your friends?”
“Sire Cei the Dragonslayer,” I introduced, “mage knight, my castellan and champion. Sisters Arania and Gessiri, of the Holy Hill Abbey. They are in attendance of my lady wife, Baroness Alya,” I added. “She has been maimed. She is the reason why I am here. I seek refuge and her restoration”
Cuinthora studied Alya, and immediately assessed her blank condition. She nodded sympathetically.
“Come with me,” she agreed. “But quickly. Your arrival was noted, and not only by the Lady. It would be best if we got under cover,” she advised, glancing toward the skies.
The brisk walk through the Tower’s tidy precincts demonstrated a well-run community of a number of races. Human farmers toiled in the fields of winter wheat while Alka Alon tended to a late harvest in groves of nuts, and Tal Alon cultivated herbs and roots, vegetables and mushrooms. There were gurvani laborers hauling loads and tending flocks. Human estates did not run this well, even in Sevendor. All was at peace, in the land of the Sorceress.
As we came closer to the center of the community, the Tower itself, the number of Alka Alon increased. We were escorted into a wide, welcoming hall filled with intriguing magic and fascinating artifacts, where we were offered food and drink and fire.
“The Lady will see you shortly,” Cuinthora promised. “She has been notified of your arrival.”
“This is a strange, strange land, Minalan,” Sire Cei confided to me in a quiet voice as we sipped mulled wine and watched the priestesses fuss over Alya. “Gurvani working next to humans?”
“It wasn’t unknown in the Mindens, before the war, particularly in the iron trade,” I reminded him. “Once all the Alon were servants to the Alka Alon. Some tribes of each race retain that sense of loyalty. At least to select nobility,” I added. There were plenty of Alka Alon nobles who were assholes
.
“And the humans?”
“From what my notes say, they’re more pets and test subjects,” I explained. “Not unlike the status of free peasants on our own estates.”
“She experiments with them?” he asked, suspiciously.
“No more than we ‘experiment’ with what we feed our livestock. Look, she has a sinister reputation,” I admitted. “But there are complex reasons for that. Reasons involving Alka Alon politics, which is about as twisted and contrived as anything in our own political nature. Lady Lilastien has a loyalty to humanity that most of her Alkan peers find a distasteful fetish. She’s more political prisoner for her views than villain, from what I understand.”
“Like Korbal?” he asked.
“Good point,” I said. “Only Lilastien didn’t try to overthrow the established order, she just helped out humanity against the Council’s wishes. Or so the rumors go,” I added.
A moment later, Cuinthora returned. “Master Minalan, if you will follow me, I will lead you to the Lady. Your friends will be taken to a guest house where they can refresh themselves and await you in comfort.”
I assured Cei with a glance that he would be secure, without knowing for certain that he would. I was trusting the good graces of this sorceress. I tried to relax, as I followed the diminutive Alkan woman up three flights of too-narrow and too-shallow stairs, but I couldn’t.
Lilastien was seated on a couch in a wide, spacious room with a broad window leading out to a balcony overlooking the village below. She was in her natural form, but had draped herself with a colorful human-made mantle.
“Master Minalan,” she said, without rising. “Welcome back to my home.”
“It’s nice to see it again, for the first time,” I quipped as I bowed. “Thank you for seeing me, Lady Lilastien.”
“I daresay your determination to return required no other response. Cuinthora tells me that your return was not due to a failure of my spell, but to your own desire to get around it.”
The Spellmonger's Yule: A Spellmonger Series Short Story Page 5