The Magic Mines of Asharim

by Pauline M. Ross

  Frantically, I scrabbled for the flicker I’d trained to defend me. Why hadn’t I got him out, just in case? But my wet tunic hung in lethargic folds, heavy and constricting, and I couldn’t get to the pocket in time.

  The warrior poised to strike.

  He didn’t move. He didn’t throw. The spear remained high, ready to kill me. Only his face changed, from vicious determination to surprise. He looked down at his chest. With infinite slowness, he turned away from me, and then I could see the spear protruding from his back.

  He didn’t fall. He lowered his spear, but he remained standing perfectly still.

  Beyond him, Zak stood. Waiting.

  I held my breath. Surely with Zak’s spear through his body, the warrior would fall now? Instead, he shrieked, louder than before. Then he hefted the spear upwards again and prepared to throw.

  Zak raised one hand, and the warrior cracked into a million pieces and showered to the ground.

  What had happened? I stared in astonishment, unable to comprehend it.

  “Quickly!” Zak raced past the heap that had once been a warrior, reaching for his fallen spear. “Flame them!”

  The flickers! There was just a tiny opportunity before they turned to hatred and infested my mind with their aggression. I was aware of them, just three in the warrior’s remains, bewildered, lost. My own were quiet, as if they held their breath, waiting for the outbreak.

  But perhaps there was an alternative. I stepped forward and knelt down beside the remains of the warrior, holding out my bare arm. Then I reached out in my mind for the flickers. There they were, but would they respond? For a heartbeat – two – three – nothing happened. My stomach turned over. What if I was wrong? Was I doing a very stupid thing?

  Then one hummed, hesitantly. And a second. There was a movement on the ground, and a flicker emerged from the debris. With barely a moment’s hesitation, he jumped onto my arm. Then the second one made the leap. All my flickers twittered in excited greeting.

  Two of the three. Just one left.

  The switch to aggression was instantaneous. One moment he was hesitant, bewildered. The next he was bent on killing. He came boiling out of the warrior’s remains and straight onto my hand, spearing me with such intense pain that I screamed.

  Then he was gone. Without conscious thought I had flamed him as he lay on my skin. But his poison was still in me, burning me, spreading up my arm moment by moment. I gasped at the pain, my fingers held out rigid, blackening in front of my eyes.

  But then a warmth. And another. All my flickers emitted a low hum, as the two newest oozed themselves over my skin, soothing the pain, withdrawing the poison. Then they lay, quiescent, their lights dimmed, waiting for my approval.

  I slid them onto my hand and brought them up to eye level. “Thank you, my friends,” I murmured, and they twittered back at me shyly.

  “Are you all right?” Zak’s eyes were wide.

  “Fine. How did you—?” I pointed to what was left of the warrior.

  “Froze him. A human is full of water. Let’s move. Find a safer place.” He looked around, jittery. Warriors rarely moved alone, and although this one was dead, his krin haar might be nearby.

  “Just a moment.” I tucked the new flickers away in spare pockets in my coat. All my existing flickers crooned encouragingly to the new ones.

  Zak smiled. “You know, Allandra, I thought I was the craziest risk-taker in the world. But that was—”

  Horns blared not far away, crashing into the relative calm. I knew the sound at once: the Keeper’s Army. Then a second horn, a lower note. Caxangur.

  Zak’s mind blazed with triumph. “At last! I was afraid they would never get here.”

  “Both of them? They have done a deal, then?” It made sense. There was only a narrow opening for them to take control of Hurk Hranda while the succession was still undecided. Better to mount a joint campaign and settle things between them later than to let the opportunity slip out of their fingers.

  The horns drew nearer, and soon we could hear the beat of drums, and the rhythmic march of hooves and feet. The two armies were rising steadily up the ramp from the landing grounds to join the fray. My heart soared, and I laughed out loud for joy. Now at last Hurk Hranda would be ours and Mesanthia’s water secure for the future.

  Still the skirmishes continued around the lake and up into the city. The Hrandish were consumed by battle-lust and not even the joint armies of Mesanthia and Caxangur could deter them.

  Grabbing my hand, Zak pulled me towards a gap in the rim. “Come on, let’s go and say hello.” He peered through. “There are no warriors left around here. Not alive, anyway.”

  “Wait a moment.” I scrabbled amongst my still-sodden clothing to fetch my defensive flicker to provide a protective shield to deter stray spears and arrows. Holding him in one hand, I gave my other hand to Zak. He grinned at me, as pleased as I was. It was over at last. A brief sortie to mop up the remaining warriors and the war would be at an end.

  Side by side, we stepped through the rocky cleft onto the road just as the leading horses rose into view up the ramp. They made a stirring sight, pennants flying, spears glimmering, helmets polished to a fine sheen. The glow of the burning city cast an unearthly hue over them, but even so my spirits soared. What could be finer than the lines of Mesanthia’s best marching in practised synchrony towards me? Wherever I went in the world, my heart would always belong to my birth city.

  The Mesanthian commander saw us and called a halt. The Caxangur commander followed suit, although his face beneath the helmet was a mask of disapproval. With the enemy to be engaged and defeated before dark, any delay was significant. I guessed, though, that the agreement between them meant they had to proceed side by side.

  It was not the commander’s second or a junior who dismounted to greet us, but the Third Protector, his face wreathed in smiles. “Lady Flethyssanya! You are safe and well, praise the One. The Keeper will be most relieved. And Zakkarvyn. Splendid.”

  After a few words to the commander, the main column moved on. A troop of Keeper’s Guards stayed behind to escort us, one of them Zak’s father. He and the Protector removed their helmets.

  “So – what is the state of affairs?” the Protector said eagerly.

  “It has been done,” Zak said.

  “Ah,” the others said, with smiles of satisfaction.

  “So all that remains is to settle a few scores in the city,” the Protector said. “But that is a task for others. My job is to take care of you two, and keep you safe, although it looks as if you have managed quite well by yourselves.”

  Zak grinned. “We had our interesting moments. But you will not deny me the pleasure of a clean fight. Lend me a sword, and I will gladly chop a few Hrandish heads. I have a few scores of my own to settle. You can keep Allandra safe, if you wish.”

  He commandeered a sword and a few pieces of armoured leather, and dashed off to join the head of the column, even as the tail continued its ponderous march up the ramp.

  The Protector smiled at me. “As soon as the way is clear, we will take you down to the landing grounds—”

  “I can be more use here. Some of these warriors have flickers, and—”

  He nodded. I didn’t have to explain, but then Zak had been there when Renni had died. The Keeper, and therefore the Protector, knew exactly how useful my talent for fire was.

  We decided to stay with the main column, a little way back from the front but close enough to be summoned as needed. I was offered a horse, but I was happier on my feet. In a crisis, being small and agile and able to disappear into a small, dark space had saved me more than once.

  Several of the Keeper’s Guards closed in around me. I was pleased to be so well protected but curious, too. The Protector had said the Keeper would be relieved that I was safe, but why? What possible interest did she have in me? I’d never had anything to do with the Keeper before. My natural home was in the Academia, buried behind a mountain of books.

&nb
sp; Near to the city, the twin army columns began to break into smaller attack groups. I saw Zak leading a party round the lake to the tunnel entrance, where some fierce fighting was underway. Yes, we had to hold the tunnel, that was vital. The water gushing from it had reduced to a trickle again, so the rebels must have control of the dam once more. The Caxangur army took the southern side of the city, and ours took the northern.

  I’d love to report stirring tales of great deeds done that day. Wars should be a matter of heroes and enemies and glorious victories. There ought to be shafts of golden sunshine lighting the tips of swords and spears, endless lines of massed cavalry, and voices raised aloft in triumphant song. Or so the bards tell it.

  This war was nothing like that. The Hrandish had done most of our work for us. There were bodies strewn about, proud warriors reduced to torn flesh and spilled blood, trampled into the mud or kicked into the gutters. Buildings burned sullenly, nothing but charred stumps. Then it rained, coating every horse and soldier in black filth and reducing the vibrant city of Hurk Hranda to sodden, clinging lumps of ash.

  There was no need even to enter the city to clear out the last few lingering warriors, for just as we approached, out from the pall of smoke came a wide line of fighters, driving them towards us. In a matter of moments, ropes were called for to restrain those surrendering. But who were they, these fighters? They wore no uniform, just ordinary worker’s clothing with a little protection at chest and arm. But they wielded swords, rather than spears, and with a skill I’d rarely seen before.

  It was the chains at wrist and ankle that gave them away. The freed slaves from the pits, kept for their fighting prowess, big men, and women too, muscled and fit. The rebels had freed them, and now their skill was turned against their captors.

  One in particular caught my eye. A great golden lion of a man, his mane of yellow hair blowing free, his sword whipping and spinning and slicing the air so fast it was hard to see.

  And I knew him. I had never met him before, but I knew his name. Hytharn.

  My heart shattered like glass. Grief washed through me like a summer storm, fierce and desperate. I let it flow, then lifted my head to watch him, this man who had stolen Zak’s love so completely that there was nothing left for me. He was an artist with a sword. Zak’s memory had not lied; Hytharn was as fast, as agile, as inventive a swordsman as I’d ever seen.

  Even as the last few warriors fell at his feet, even as I admired every perfect stroke, I wished him dead, cursing the Hrandish to the deeps for their habit of keeping their enemies in the slave pits. And I, all unknowing, had started the war that released him, set him free to take Zak away from me. These last few days, Zak and I had grown so much closer. He’d begun to turn to me, he’d offered me – something. Marriage, perhaps. A life together. Now it was all gone.

  No one knew. No one recognised him but me. Zak was still fighting somewhere else. One flick of my fingers and Hytharn would be gone, consumed by flames. In all the confusion, no one would know.

  Except that I would know. Every time I looked at Zak’s face, I would see Hytharn and know what I’d destroyed. Hytharn was the love of his life, as Zak was mine. I understood that feeling, that all-consuming need for the one person who makes everything right. I couldn’t deny him that, not if I loved him.

  So when the last warrior was contained or dead, and I was sure there were no flickers abandoned anywhere, I went across to Hytharn and spoke his name.

  He leaned on his sword, the hilt almost level with my face, and turned puzzled eyes towards me. “Do I know you, Gracious Lady?”

  “We have never met, but I have seen your face. Come. There is someone you need to meet.”

  “Now, Lady? There’s work still to be done.”

  “Now. This moment.”

  I led him towards the path leading to the water tunnel, where I’d last seen Zak. Even there the fighting had stilled, and for an instant, when I could see nothing, I feared the worst. But as we threaded our way through the debris, avoiding bodies and still-smouldering ruins, out of the gloom came the triumphant group of rebels.

  And Zak.

  Hytharn stopped dead, a strangled sound in his throat. On Zak’s face, a thousand emotions passed in an instant. The two men stared at each other, shocked, disbelieving. Then, weapons and helmets abandoned, Zak threw himself into Hytharn’s arms. They embraced, broke apart to gaze at each other, embraced again, a fierce hug oblivious of all the world. When they parted again, there were tears on both men’s cheeks. With a tiny smile, the smile of a lover, Hytharn ran his hands through Zak’s hair and bent to kiss him.

  I tried, truly I did, not to intrude on their minds, to leave them some semblance of privacy. But I couldn’t help myself. And the pure joy, the ecstatic wonder, in Zak’s mind should have comforted me. He was gloriously happy, he had his lost lover back, the man he loved with all his heart. His world was whole again.

  For me, it was the end of everything. I knelt in the black mud of Hurk Hranda and wept until I had no tears left to weep.

  ~~~~~

  When, an eternity later, a hand reached down for me, it was not Zak’s.

  “Xando?” He was with the rebels, a blood-marked sword in his hand. “I had no idea—”

  “I know,” he said sadly. “You understand so little of me, Allandra… Sanya.”

  We all made our way back to the open space between the city and the lake, Zak and Hytharn side by side. A pile of ash, still warm, showed where the meeting pavilion had stood. Other buildings were less damaged, but few were unscathed.

  The army leaders had gathered here to receive reports from the troops sent into the city, but it was clear the fighting was all but over. A few Hrandish had emerged from their hiding places, and stood a safe distance away watching the action. Wagons were arriving from the landing grounds below, full of support troops to begin cleaning up.

  Amongst the new arrivals were some of the family of King Craxtor. I recognised High Prince Axannor, the eldest son, not much older than I was. The two princesses were unknown to me, but the elder was the Crown Princess, by the insignia on her uniform. She wore her sword as if she could use it, too.

  “Ah, Lady Flethyssanya,” the prince said. “We meet again at last.”

  “Highness.” I bowed, surprised that he recognised me. I’d never met him officially, but I’d sat in a dark corner at meetings where he and his advisors had consulted my father, and brought wine to him on two occasions. It seemed that my efforts to pass unnoticed had failed. “Always a pleasure, even if an unexpected one, in this case.”

  “Unexpected? How so?” he said.

  “You and your troops are a long way from home, Highness. What brings you to Hurk Hranda at such a fortuitous moment?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Why, you, of course. We have been chasing you all over the Two Rivers Basin, Lady Flethyssanya.”

  How tedious. Do the people of Caxangur never forgive and forget? Apparently not.

  “This is Lady Flethyssanya?” The Crown Princess broke off a discussion with a commander, and turned to me. I detected only curiosity in her mind, but no hostility. Many eyes stared at me, and all conversation ceased.

  “Highness.” A lower bow.

  “It is,” the prince said. “Lady Flethyssanya of Mesanthia, I arrest you for the murder of… I forget exactly who, just now. And various other crimes.”

  He crooked a finger, and a couple of juniors leapt forward to grab me, pulling my arms roughly behind my back. Pointless to fight, so I allowed them to bind my hands with rope.

  “May I be allowed to speak in my defence?”

  “No. You should have spoken at your trials.”

  “My trials? More than one trial?”

  “Two trials. One for the murder and… other things. The other for luring soldiers to their deaths at some mine in the mountains.”

  “But I—”

  “No. You have been found guilty and the punishment determined. Commander! Excecute her.”

 
; 51: The Choosing

  Everyone shouted at once. Even as the commander reached for his sword, I was surrounded by Keeper’s Guards. Weapons were scraped from scabbards, helmets donned, visors lowered.

  Above the melee, Xando’s voice. “You cannot kill her. She is a thrower.”

  The prince clucked in annoyance. “Very well, then. We had better build a pyre to burn her on. Commander, see to it.”

  I laughed, and they all turned to me, the Caxangur contingent astonished. I saw Zak smiling, too. Fire was really not going to work.

  “What is so funny?” the prince said, brows lowered.

  “Nothing,” I said, still laughing. “You can try that, I suppose.” I flamed away the ropes binding me, and waved the burning remains under his nose. “Fire is not very effective on me, Highness.”

  “Oh. We will find some other solution, then,” he said crossly. He looked so much younger when he was angry, like a petulant little boy. I don’t suppose people often said no to him.

  A sudden commotion amongst the ordinary soldiers, and a slender figure darted out to stand in front of me protectively. “You can’t kill her, you can’t! She saved me. Highness, I beg you…” It was the boy my husband had mistreated. I’d barely recognised him in his uniform.

  “In any other case, your words would carry some weight,” the Crown Princess said gruffly. “We do not punish those who look after our people. But it is too late. The law has already determined the proper penalty and it cannot be changed now. She must be executed.”

  “No, she must not.” That was the Third Protector, moving up to stand beside me. “Lady Flethyssanya is under the protection of Mesanthia, and you will not touch her.”

  The Crown Princess stepped forward. “I am in charge here, and I say she is under arrest.”

  The Protector drew his sword. “You may be in charge, but—”

  “Wait,” I said. “You gave them control here? Hurk Hranda belongs to Mesanthia!”

  “We had to come to some arrangement, or neither of us would have it,” the Protector said. “We get the water, they get the city. Verbal agreement, details still to be finalised. Look, Highness, there is no need to start a war over this, but we will, if we have to. Or we can settle this with champions, if you wish.” He threw a glance at Hytharn, looming at one side of the circle around me. “But you cannot have her. Lady Flethyssanya is the Keeper’s choice of candidate for the Choosing later this moon. She has to go back to Mesanthia. Alive. This is not a matter for discussion.”