by Daniel Kirk
Asra sighed as she came around the corner. “Give me the cloth, Macta, I’ll do it.”
She gave the wound a gentle prod with the tip of her finger. “Does that still hurt?”
“Your touch brings me nothing but the most exquisite pleasure,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Liar,” Asra said. “As King, you must have a personal physik. You should see him as soon as possible. After all that filth we had to crawl through, we’ll probably both be deathly ill from infection.”
Macta shook his head. “All that business about the curse of Blood and contamination is just superstitious nonsense. The Mages who spread that drivel are living in the dark ages. Aye, we got dirty, but it means nothing. We’re clean now!”
Asra wrapped the dressing around Macta’s shoulder and gave the end of it a tug.
“Perhaps I could convince you to stay in Helfratheim,” Macta said, wincing, “just to keep an eye on me and make sure I don’t get into any more trouble.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Asra said, as she knotted the end of the bandage and stood back. “Dream on, mighty King. I want you to find out what’s become of my friend Becky, now that Brahja-Chi’s game is finished. I want you to see to it that an Arvada’s prepared to take Becky and me back to Ljosalfar. I have no intention of remaining here any longer than necessary.”
“I needn’t remind you that I came within a hairbreadth of giving my life for you,” Macta said.
“Nooo, you needn’t remind me, Macta. My gratefulness for your generosity is exceeded only by my profound boredom in your company. Can we go now, and find your Council of Seven?”
Macta had pulled on a clean shirt from his wardrobe, but discovered that he could not button it with only one hand. “Please,” he said, “the buttons?”
Asra sighed and set to work. “Couldn’t you have found something that was easier to put on?”
Macta gave a shrug but said nothing. Asra was surprised to discover, as her fingertips brushed his chest, that she no longer felt the same revulsion she’d once had for Macta. She realized it was her resolve to not accept any more of his bad behavior that gave her strength and allowed her to remain affable in his company.
“There’s something I want to say to you,” Macta murmured, as the Princess fastened the final button at his collar.
Asra shook her head. “I won’t be your servant, and I won’t be your friend. I know what you profess to feel for me, but that’s only an illusion, Macta. You never loved me. You don’t know what love is. You’re fixated on an image that has nothing to do with me. You’re addicted to your unfulfilled desire, your longing, and that’s all. You’re a romantic fool, I can see that now. Perhaps you’re not evil, as I thought you were. You’re careless and insensitive, and you’re a smug, egomaniacal bully, but you’re just an Elf, in the end—a confused, wretched mess of an Elf. You think you know me, Macta, but you don’t. And you never will. Aye, you saved my life. But I saved yours, too. So why don’t we just call it even, and go our separate ways?”
Macta grabbed Asra’s hand and stared into her eyes. “My heart has always belonged to you, to do with as you will. If you choose to toss it into the fire, or abandon it by the side of the road, my love remains undiminished. You wound me, though, when you say you know more about my feelings than I do. You have no real conception of my feelings, because it’s plain that you don’t share them.”
Asra pulled her hand away and stepped back. “Enough! Come now, let’s pay a visit to your Council. I won’t rest until I know Becky’s safe.”
“I don’t dare leave the Goblin here alone,” Macta said, getting down on his knees and stroking the little creature’s fur as it lurked beneath the settee. “Help me tempt him out, won’t you? I’ll take him with us. ’Tis the only way.”
Prashta and the other Council members were gathered in their chambers when the guards stepped aside so that Macta, holding the little Goblin close, and Princess Asra could enter. Black-robed and hunched, the Council clustered in a circle, like crows absorbed in their own frantic pecking. “All hail King Macta,” the guards shouted, and the Council members jumped in alarm.
Prashta bowed and put on an oily smile. “My King, we were unsure of your whereabouts, after Jal-Maktar dispatched you and the lady to—well, we weren’t sure where you were! ’Tis such an enormous relief to know that you’re alive and well! We’ve been discussing an important matter of state, but that conversation can wait, now that you’ve arrived! What, pray tell, are you holding?”
“I’m calling him Powcca,” Macta said, lifting his chin imperiously, “in honor of my old Goblin. Asra and I, as you can see, are both well; but that fiend Jal-Maktar is gone for good. I have dispatched him to the netherworld from whence he came. Do not mention his name in my presence again!”
Macta slipped into a seat and sighed. “I have returned, Prashta, and I’m in command. Now what is this matter of state you mention? Are you so helpless in my absence that already my kingdom is in jeopardy from new enemies?”
The Council members exchanged furtive glances. They had not expected to see Macta alive again, and each had secretly been relishing the sweetness of supreme authority. With no King or living heir, all power in Helfratheim would have gone to the Council. Now that Macta was back, however, their role would revert to the mundane task of carrying out the King’s commands. The suddenness of their loss of status made them sag as they stood, disheartened, before their Master.
“Allow me to explain,” said Lehtinen, Director of Operations. “A major problem has developed in relation to the new Mage, Jardaine. I believe you know her well!”
“Aye, I count Jardaine the vilest of my enemies,” Macta said, nuzzling the Goblin with his chin, “for she was once my ally. Her crimes are too many and too foul to mention. What has she done now?”
“Jardaine has done her best to ruin us,” Lehtinen said. “You have no idea how close she’s come to succeeding. She set fire to the techmagick labs. The building complex is completely gutted! Ongoing experiments in biogenetics, plasmatology, and psychotometrics are lost. Weapon development has been set back, irrevocably. Records have been damaged, prototypes destroyed!”
“Jardaine nearly killed me, and my wife, as well,” Prashta said. “She forced me to sign papers providing her with one of our Arvada, along with its crew, maps, and supplies. If not for the incompetence of that Troll who follows her everywhere, I wouldn’t be speaking to you now.”
“Once I was informed of Jardaine’s traitorous actions,” Lehtinen said, “I authorized a pair of Arvada to overtake her on her way to the North Pole and bring her down. The Arvada have not yet returned, however, and we fear for their safety.”
Macta shook his head. “The North Pole?”
“That’s where Tuava-Li’s headed,” Asra said, “with Tomtar and Becky’s brother. Jardaine must be following them! What’s she trying to do?”
“Jardaine is a menace,” Macta said. “In all the world there’s no greater threat to my authority. She must be stopped. Send more Arvada after her, and when she’s captured, bring me her head. Tell me the names of her allies in these villainous acts!”
“Sire, she traveled with a Troll called Nick and a Human female,” Lehtinen said. “The guards told us that she’s the child who accompanied you and the Princess on the night of your arrival in Helfratheim.”
“What?” Asra cried. “It can’t be. Why would Becky go with Jardaine? It makes no sense!”
“Macta, there’s no way to stop Jardaine,” Prashta said, his jowls shaking. “The rest of the fleet of Arvada was sold to our allies on the promise that they would be used to help us fight a war with the Humans. Since the labs have been burned, we can’t prepare any more Air Sprites for flight. We’re completely helpless!”
Macta’s face darkened. “No Arvada? None? You gave them all away? Without my authority?”
Lehtinen’s eyes darted back and forth between the King and the Princess. “Sire, forgive us, but we di
d not know if you were alive or dead. You have to understand the debt we incurred, preparing for battle with the Humans; it was astronomical. Promises were made, deals undertaken, that had to—”
“What about Becky?” Asra asked. “Did it appear that she left of her own free will to travel with Jardaine?”
“As far as can be discerned,” Prashta said, anxious to avoid further discussion of the loss of Arvada, “Jardaine and her fellow traitors are trying to beat another group of three, who hope to reach the North Pole and acquire the magick Seed from the mythical tree that grows there. We assume they believe this will cure the ills of the Cord, according to legend.”
Macta snorted. “Hogwash!”
“We must stop them,” Asra said. “Becky’s in danger. I don’t know what Jardaine said to her, what she promised her, but she would never have gotten into the back of one of those things again, I know it. Not unless she was forced. Macta, please, you’ve got to do something!”
Macta smoldered. His fury with both Jardaine and his Council engulfed him, overshadowing his delight that Asra was begging for his help. It took a supreme effort of will to calm himself enough to formulate a strategy. “Prashta,” he asked, “how long will it take to get back one of our Arvada? I’ll gladly authorize the purchase, just so I can personally go after Jardaine and bring her to justice. ’Tis not enough that the witch must die—she must die by my own hand. She’s the one who’s responsible for the loss of my arm, the burning of Alfheim, my father’s and Brahja-Chi’s deaths, and the near ruin of my own kingdom. I despise her, I loathe her, and I shall not rest until my blade tastes her Blood. If she thinks she can escape my wrath, she’s sadly mistaken!”
“I shall send messages right away,” Prashta said, “to the effect that the King of Helfratheim wishes to purchase an Arvada, as soon as possible. I’m sure we can have you airborne in just a matter of days, my lord!”
“Days?” Asra cried. “That’s far too long!”
“Make it sooner,” Macta said. “My fiancée appears to be the only one here who understands the urgency of this situation.”
“I’m not your fiancée,” Asra said. “But if you’re going to stop Jardaine, then I’m coming along, to make sure that nothing happens to Becky.”
“Indeed,” said Macta, his eyes wide at the prospect of his great good fortune. He had always thought that he was at his absolute best when on some sort of mission. Now Asra would be at his side to witness his discipline, his valor, and his victory. Jardaine would die by his hand. And with any luck, when this was all over, Asra, sweet, sweet Asra, would finally be his. The Goblin pup squirmed against Macta’s shoulder, so he knelt and let the creature down onto the floor. It limped over to the nearest piece of furniture and lifted a hind leg. “Bad boy,” Macta said, as a yellow puddle grew beneath the feet of the new Powcca. “Bad, bad boy!”
of the Arvada?” asked the captain, attempting to make small talk with Jardaine, as they sat in the steering deck and sailed high above the Canadian forests. He’d realized that it might be to his advantage to have the Mage on his side, after all. He was uncertain as to the extent of her powers and did not want to be on the receiving end of her wrath. He was well aware that Jardaine must have done something dreadful back in Helfratheim; otherwise, the only two Arvada left in their kingdom would never have been sent to find them and launch an attack. He had witnessed the life go out of the original Arvada crew like snuffed candles, and Jardaine, with her witch’s powers, had to have been responsible. It would be best to give the impression of being open and friendly, as long as he was careful.
A pair of Aeronauts sat next to the captain in plush window seats, surveying the passing landscape. Adepts at psychic messaging, they sent coordinates to the trio of Telekeneticists, who were settled on a carpet at the center of the deck. Together they directed their commands to the mind of the Air Sprite, which modified its weaving path through the sky.
Jardaine was hunched in her seat. She was studying a large parchment map, spread like a blanket over her lap. When she shrugged distractedly at the captain’s question, he took it as an invitation to continue. “The Arvada, you know, was an invention of the Techmagicians of Helfratheim. As such, it combines advanced technology with elements of ancient magick. The first step in the process is to capture and breed a pair of common Air Sprites. The offspring are genetically modified in the lab so that the natural limits of growth are extended a thousandfold. They grow quickly from tiny creatures to beasts of truly immense proportions.”
“Fascinating,” said Nick, gazing first at the captain and then at his Master.
The captain, too, looked for a response from Jardaine, but she had not yet warmed to his pleasantries. “Examined in spectral light,” he continued, “the Sprite, which is naturally translucent, resembles a kind of slug or primitive newt. Because of its molecular substance, it’s lighter than air. The rudimentary nervous system of the creature allows for easy motor manipulation by Elfin Telekeneticists. These are Aeronauts, specially trained in Etheric Perception, as well as the magickal art of guiding external matter with internal commands. This is the training I’ve undergone, by the way.”
Jardaine glanced up. “Indeed,” she said curtly, then returned her gaze to the map.
The captain smiled, pleased to have elicited a response.
“How did you know what the giant Sprites would be good for?” asked Nick.
“Ah,” the captain replied, “weapons technology, like all warfare planning, is a kind of game. ’Tis all about planning ahead, preparing for contingencies. We grew the Sprites to a suitable proportion to haul brass cabs through the air. We built the cabs large enough to accommodate a dozen Elves, to be carried by the Sprites over long distances. We figured the Sprites could transport equipment more efficiently than moving it over ground, or in gondolas that traveled in the Cord. Sprites could be used to drop explosive charges from high altitudes. But then, when the Techmagicians spliced in genetic material from Fire Sprites, the offspring acquired the ability to breathe fire. Each Sprite is now a formidable weapon. You’ve already seen a demonstration of that, I’m afraid!”
Nick glanced at Jardaine, still busily studying the map, and sensed that something was wrong. Whatever was making her agitated, it might be best to ignore it, for now, and perhaps her mood would pass. “Where does the name Arvada come from?” he asked the captain, glancing nervously back and forth between the two of them.
“In one of the ancient Elfin tongues, Arvada meant ‘eagle.’ To Macta’s father, King Valdis, Arvada seemed a fitting name for a craft that was swift, stealthy, deadly, and when seen from below, quite majestic in appearance. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Aye,” Nick said, swallowing, and glancing again at Jardaine. Her brow was furrowed, her fierce attention directed at the map.
“This is madness,” Jardaine spat, leaping from her seat and tossing aside the map.
The captain sat back, wide-eyed. Nick stiffened, waiting for the explosion of rage that was Jardaine’s trademark. She glared through the bow window at the expanse of undifferentiated forest that spread in the shadow of the mighty craft. Then she kicked the map. “I can’t make any sense of it. How do you navigate with garbage like this? These maps of yours must have been drawn before any of these trees were saplings.”
“You must be still,” one of the Aeronauts said, his voice distracted and dream-heavy. “The Sprite is meandering westward, and we must correct its course, or risk losing time. Captain, your attention?”
Jardaine spun her head around and glared at the Aeronauts. Too late, Nick realized that Jardaine saw him staring at her. “What are you looking at?” she hissed.
Nick cleared his throat. It was terrifying when Jardaine directed her anger at him. “Nothing, my Mage,” he said. He stared dumbly at the images imprinted on the brass walls of the cab. There were figures there, birds, insects and mythical flying things, dragons, and hippogriffs, as well as Pixies with delicate wings and beautiful, sm
iling faces. Intricately woven in a decorative pattern, the flying creatures filled the pictorial air with motion, frozen in time. Nick felt a stab of longing for his own Pixie friends. In a moment of pride, selfishness, and ambition, he had left them behind. Now he wondered if it had been the right decision.
“Well?” Jardaine said darkly.
“I—I was admiring you, my Mage,” Nick replied, flustered. He dared to look up for a moment and found that she was still glaring at him. “I’ve observed that even when your … your uncertainty about a subject is exposed, you still manage to convey authority!”
Nick was not lying; he did truly admire Jardaine’s confidence. He could only wish that he believed in himself with just a fraction of the self-assurance Jardaine possessed. “Say what you mean,” Jardaine ordered. “You dance around an answer like a foolish child.”
“What I mean is,” Nick said haltingly, “if I didn’t know how to read the maps, I’d be afraid to say anything, for fear of making a fool of myself. But you, my Mage—”
Jardaine was half out of her seat. “You’re saying I don’t know how to read maps? You’re calling me a fool?”
Nick blanched. “No, my Mage, that’s not it at all. It’s just that—”
“There,” interrupted the captain, swiveling his chair around. He rubbed his eyes; it took time to readjust to normal conversation as he withdrew from communal-mind navigation. “The course correction is complete. Am I to understand that you wish to learn something of the Aeronaut’s art, Jardaine? ’Tis a discipline few are equipped to master, but if you’re willing to try—”