“That actually makes sense,” Aiden admitted. “Thanks for your candour, and for taking the time to get this working again.”
“Now then, there are a few issues with that device I need to inform you of. You will not use it as a club to bash people over the head! It is an ancient relic encrusted with rare and expensive crystals — if you feel the need to cave someone’s skull in, have the decency to use a lump of wood, like any self-respecting ogre.
“The crystals I replaced are, as I just said, exceedingly rare,” Desmond continued before Aiden could speak. “If you do somehow manage to break it again, it will be permanently broken. As it happens, the parts I used were not entirely correct, so you will find it behaves a little differently. Do not use it more than three times a day, or you might find it will burn your hand off, melt, or something equally horrible. Am I clear, Mister Wainwright?”
“Very clear, Dean Foster,” Aiden nodded emphatically, cowed by his stern demeanour.
“Good… good, I think you shall do alright, my boy,” the old wizard said, placated by his deference.
“If I may ask,” Aiden inquired with equal politeness, “do you have any scrolls lying about I could use?” Desmond’s brow furrowed at this request, and Aiden knew he was pushing the man’s generosity to the limit.
“I might have been inclined to provide you with a few of the simpler incantations, but I seem to have misplaced a large number of my personal collection recently,” Desmond grumbled, scattering papers around on his desk in a futile effort to find them.
“How unfortunate,” Aiden hedged, swallowing loudly. Sayana had stolen a pile of the scrolls after her interrogation here a few days prior, so in a way, Desmond already had given them to Aiden for his personal use. He wasn’t about to explain the situation, however. “Never mind, I’ll make do.”
“As well you might,” Desmond nodded, giving up the search. “They were far more likely to backfire on you anyway, so you’re better off steering clear of such dangerous magic.”
“Well, I’d best be heading off then,” Aiden finished, offering his hand to the old man who shook it vigorously. “If all goes well, I shall return in a few weeks with good news.”
“I look forward to examining anything you recover,” Desmond offered. “Good fortune to you, sir.” Aiden gave him a quick smile and headed back down the stairs, quietly pleased to have his sceptre back again.
He moved through the cold streets as quickly as he could manage, with his hood pulled low to keep the bitter wind out of his face. Some fool — perhaps a student, judging by his robe — bumped into him as he walked, and Aiden offered him half-hearted apologies before concentrating on the road before him once more.
It was roughly a twenty-minute walk before Aiden saw the warm, inviting lights of the Tradeway Tavern and quickly moved over to a seat near the fireplace in the common room.
It was only half full this evening, and a good portion of those present were raelani men and women. The Tradeway provided appropriately-sized accommodation for the little people, so it was hardly surprising that they tended to congregate here. The distinct musty smell of pipeweed permeated the air, and more than one of the raelani present held a pipe, a common vice of the small people.
One of these women was Margaret Fairweather, a recent associate of Aiden’s who was reclining in a tiny chair near the fire, recovering from her grievous injury at the hands of the death cult that had attempted to eliminate the senate. Margaret, or Maggie as everyone called her, was just shy of three and a half feet tall, and her auburn hair was streaked with grey, despite the youthfulness of her face. Her large green eyes made her seem almost child-like, though she was probably well into her fortieth year of life.
Some less scrupulous raelani made good use of this illusion, passing themselves off as human children to take advantage of people. Maggie was too honest for such duplicity. Aiden very much liked the tiny woman, and they certainly wouldn’t have survived the past week without her help.
She seemed to be half asleep as she lay in the chair, but in her remaining hand she held a small green crystal that glowed faintly in the dim light. Although she had lost an arm, she hadn’t seemed to be all that upset over it, and even hinted that she could grow it back.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Aiden leaned over and pulled aside the cloak that covered her maimed arm. It had been severed near the shoulder, but to his astonishment, he could see it had grown back almost to the elbow, ending in a bare round stump.
“Satisfied?” Maggie asked through half-closed eyelids. Aiden quickly covered her arm again and sat opposite her in a chair made for humans.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he apologised quietly, trying not to draw attention. “That’s not something I get to see every day. Does it hurt at all?”
“If you’ve ever had your arm fall asleep, you know exactly how it feels,” she grumbled, sitting up in the chair. Now that she was fully alert, he could see how drawn and tired she was.
“A small price to pay for being able to regrow limbs,” Aiden suggested, drawing a wan smile from the little woman. “You know, if you can’t settle your differences with your druidic friends, you could always go into business growing back people’s arms and legs. With a war going on, I imagine a lot of people would be in need of a service like that.”
“Unfortunately, this only works if applied almost immediately after the injury takes place,” Maggie explained. “For a few days after the limb is severed, the body tries to regrow it, did you know that?” Aiden shook his head. “It doesn’t succeed in raelani or humans, mind you,” she continued, “unless it has access to the right sort of energy to supplement its own natural processes. Some amphibians do the same thing, but they actually succeed where we fail.”
“Fascinating,” Aiden remarked, not entirely fascinated by her explanation. He was very tired indeed.
“I’m boring you, for which I apologise,” Maggie smiled. “This is why I usually don’t bother to explain things like this.”
“No, it’s okay, I’m just exhausted,” Aiden assured her. “The princess had me swing a sword for most of the day, and studying the most complex book you’ve never read for the rest.”
“I see you have acquired some armour, at least,” she observed.
“A gift from Criosa,” Aiden explained dismissively. “She was tired of watching me get cut to pieces.”
“Good, because I was getting tired of putting you back together again,” Maggie remarked, drawing a rueful smile from the young man. From across the room, he spotted Sir William making his way to the stairs and gestured at a nearby chair. The knight hesitated for a moment before walking over, his face was an unreadable mask.
Cuts and bruises were visible on his face, a legacy of the recent vicious fight. Sir William was past sixty, and would probably take several more days to fully recover. Aiden sensed it wasn’t the fatigue or injuries that were contributing to his sombre appearance however.
“Good evening to you both,” the old knight said with rigid formality.
“Are you well?” Maggie inquired with concern.
“I am healing, albeit slowly,” Sir William replied. “To that end, I won’t be joining you for the evening meal, as I would prefer to turn in early and rest before tomorrow’s journey.”
“Of course,” Aiden said with a nod. “Is there something else that’s bothering you?”
“I do not wish to burden either of you with trivial matters,” Sir William dismissed with a casual wave of his hand. “Suffice it to say, it has been a trying time and I would do well to take my leave. I need some time to think and pray, but I will see you at dawn for breakfast.” Sir William turned and headed for the stairs, leaving Aiden and the druid pondering the hidden meaning in his words.
The talk of food made Aiden realise how hungry he was, so he excused himself and went to the bar to order a platter of food. Halfway through the meal, he spied another of his associates making his way across the floor, a man of average height with dark hair
held back by a black bandana. He was laden with as much equipment as a man could be expected to carry, and more than one weapon was visible poking over his shoulder.
Ronan Woulfe, former sailor with His Majesty’s Navy and retired thief, was usually difficult to read. He had a laid-back, laconic style about him and rarely showed any emotion aside from mild interest. So, it came as a surprise when Ronan unceremoniously dumped his armload of supplies onto the floor and slumped into an empty chair.
“If I had to hazard a guess,” Aiden remarked, “I would say this has something to do with your good friend Perry remaining elusive.”
“Yep,” Ronan replied bluntly, ignoring the looks he was getting from nearby patrons. “Little bastard has gone into hiding along with the rest of the guild, and none of my former associates know where.”
“Is it really that important?” Maggie asked, her eyelids heavy but ignoring the urge to sleep a little while longer. “We dealt with the assassins you were worried about, not to mention those robed chaps with the big scythes. Your old friends are probably safe, and all the more so for remaining hidden.”
“It’s not about that,” Ronan muttered, sitting up straight. “Perry made a deal with Holister and her group of proper scumbags to sell us out, and I’m not going to be comfortable until I have words with him. And then punch him really hard.” Ronan reached over to Aiden’s plate and plucked a small roast potato away from the rest and popped it into his mouth.
“Hungry?” Aiden asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No, I’ve eaten,” Ronan said while munching on the potato. “Anyway, you asked, so now you know. Don’t worry, it’s not going to get in the way of our business down south. I asked one of Kinsey’s people to keep an eye out for me, in case Perry slips up.”
“Smart move,” Aiden remarked. “I’m surprised you could trust the king’s spymaster, considering your former profession.”
“I don’t have any options, and besides, that smart young woman working for him seems to know what she’s doing. It’s kind of nice having friends in high places for a change.”
“I see you’ve put their money to good use,” Maggie observed, peering down at the pile of supplies on the floor.
“Just wanted to be prepared,” Ronan shrugged. “Bought the best short bow they had in the city. Alright, I’m done in,” he sighed, rising to his feet. “It’s been a bloody hard couple of days, I’ll say that much for truth.”
“We appreciate your efforts,” Aiden assured him.
“You’d be surprised how motivating blackmail can be,” he replied cynically. “I’ll see you at first light.”
“Wait, aren’t you taking all this?” Maggie asked, looking down at the equipment.
“Why, so I can drag it back downstairs again tomorrow? Bugger that. Get the innkeeper to take care of it for us maybe.” With an ambivalent shrug, Ronan slowly made his way upstairs.
“I’ve never seen him so dejected before,” Aiden confided to Maggie, genuinely worried. “This thing with his old guild members must be plaguing him more than I thought. And what’s with Sir William? Perhaps everyone will feel better once we’re on the road.”
“I hate to add to the general feeling of despondency,” Maggie hedged, “but I don’t think this is going to be an easy mission. It’s been over two weeks since I last knew what was happening down in Feybourne, and I’d be surprised if fighting between my Order and the Crown hadn’t already begun.”
“You can’t know that,” Aiden responded. “We’ll find out what’s happening when we get to Amalis.”
“I hope so, because if push comes to shove, a lot of people could lose their lives,” Maggie sighed. “Listen to me — I sound as bad as the others! This arm is making me cranky. Perhaps I should turn in as well.”
“I’ll speak to the innkeeper about our gear,” Aiden advised as they both stood from the table. “Good night.” Maggie nodded in reply and headed off down a corridor to the raelani quarters.
After a brief word with the innkeeper, as well as a motivational exchange of coins, Aiden went upstairs to the room he was sharing with Ronan and almost fell flat onto his bed as soon as he opened the door. At the last moment, he recalled the breastplate he was still wearing and slowly went about unfastening the straps and placing it on the floor with the rest of his equipment.
As he pulled it away, he noticed the polished shard of glass hanging around his neck, gleaming in the candlelight. It was the remnant of a mystical sphere that he had broken years ago, and ever since had been in direct contact with an ancient dragon that communicated with him through his dreams. More often than not, they were disturbing dreams, so for the first time in many years he took the amulet off before laying his head down on the soft pillows. If Salinder had anything to say to him, it would have to wait.
As Aiden blew out the candle, a faint blue light could be seen from inside his backpack. The relic was there, practically calling to him with the promise of secrets to unravel, but his tired body had reached its limits and he reluctantly ignored the device in favour of sleep. The answers within would have to wait.
* * *
A good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast had done wonders for Aiden’s disposition, and he only wished he could say the same for the others. Maggie was still in a dour mood, as regrowing one’s arm was apparently an uncomfortable process. Ronan was clearly still annoyed at having to leave his revenge unfinished, though he didn’t say anything so specific out loud. Sir William was still refusing to discuss the source of his grief, which didn’t stop him going about his work, at least.
They had gathered at the inn’s stable, where Criosa had left a gift for them in the form of two horses. A small pony had been provided for Maggie, but she refused to accept it. She explained that she wouldn’t be requiring a mount, leaving Aiden to assume she meant to ride with one of them. He walked up to a chestnut mare and gently stroked her mane, thanking the stable hand for preparing the horse with a saddle in advance.
Sir William’s sullen demeanour evaporated when he laid eyes upon his own personal horse he had brought with him the previous day. It was a massive grey stallion, caparisoned in red and gold livery. Unlike the two riding horses Aiden and Ronan would be riding, the knight’s was a proper warhorse, roughly sixteen hands high and heavily muscled. He seemed to light up at the sight of his master, stepping forward to nuzzle the offered hand.
“Friends, this is Bastion,” Sir William said, stroking the horse’s head fondly. “We’ve been together for nearly twenty years.”
“Bloody big horse,” Ronan remarked.
“Isn’t he getting a little old to carry around an armoured man?” Maggie asked, moving in closer to examine the old warhorse, while being mindful to avoid being stepped on.
“Bastion has a few years left in him,” Sir William assured her. “Just be careful down there — he has been trained to fight, and a good solid kick might kill you outright.”
“He wouldn’t do that to me, would you boy?” Maggie replied, giving the horse a pat on the flank. She went about checking the horse’s hooves, which might have been difficult with only one hand, but she had a novel way of dealing with that particular problem. A quick tap on each leg prompted Bastion to raise that hoof, allowing her to inspect it, while the nearby stable hands looked on in astonishment.
“You have a certain graceful way about you,” Sir William murmured appreciatively.
“Wait ‘til you see me with two hands,” Maggie quipped, finishing up her brief examination. “Bastion has been well looked after, but time catches up with us all. I strongly recommend you put him out to pasture when we get back from Feybourne. I’m sure he’s earned it.” The knight’s smile vanished once more as he nodded soberly, patting the flank of the huge horse.
“Now might be a good time to mention that I’ve only ridden once in my entire life,” Ronan remarked, looking at his black mare mysteriously.
“I’ll refresh your memory on the basics,” Aiden offered, taking a few m
inutes to guide the sailor through the use of the reins, and the trick to climbing onto the saddle. Fortunately, his horse seemed to be a placid creature, willing to tolerate an unskilled rider without complaint. Satisfied that he was able to control the horse, Aiden climbed upon his own mount and offered his hand to Maggie.
“Thanks, but I have other arrangements once we get outside the gate,” she replied, craning her neck to look directly at him. Aiden nodded, stifling his curiosity as they made their way out of the stable and onto the street. Perhaps she was going to ride a tornado, or turn into a falcon? The child within him couldn’t wait to find out.
The streets were crowded with merchant wagons and travellers arriving or departing from the city, but the guardsmen at the gate kept the procession moving at a reasonable rate. Within a few minutes, the four of them were on the main road outside the walls of Fairloch, with Maggie jogging along behind them. Merchants and travellers began to pass them along the road, giving them accusing looks as the little woman struggled to keep up.
It was overcast with leaden grey clouds as they slowly travelled, and hard packed snow covered the landscape as far as the eye could see. Fenced-off fields lay fallow as the mid-winter freeze continued unabated, and it would be at least another two months before the long northern winter finally ended. The farmers who populated the land surrounding Fairloch would simply have to bide their time until the turning of the seasons.
Aiden was beginning to grow concerned about Maggie, who insisted on jogging instead of accepting a ride on one of their horses. She assured them that they’d understand in a few minutes, once they reached the tree line that lay just ahead. Snow-covered pines were appearing with greater frequency as they travelled, and the little druid asked them to stop for a few minutes while she took care of something.
Aiden cast a curious glance at Ronan, who merely shrugged as Maggie gathered the reins from the three horses in her one good hand, and brought their heads together. Aiden thought he could hear her whispering to the horses, but the chill breeze that blew across the landscape made it difficult to make out exactly what she was saying.
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