by Joseph Lallo
She tried to memorise the route they were taking, but was thoroughly lost very quickly. Lamps were spaced about thirty feet apart on the walls to provide light, but the darkness in between made her very uneasy. Her fear of the dark—she would never call it a phobia—might be more of a problem here than it ever had been at home she realised. The lamps did provide light, but they weren’t very bright. There were shadows and ominous looking alcoves almost everywhere she looked. Some of the alcoves contained pieces of furniture or paintings that looked antique to her untrained eyes. Others contained busts on pedestals or statues. She gave up trying to memorise the turns.
“Are you deliberately trying to confuse me, or are you lost?” she said grumpily.
“I’m trying to avoid anyone seeing you in your small clothes.”
“Oh. Where I come from no one would take any notice. I can wear whatever I want... well, mostly any way. In England, a woman can take a job or not as she pleases. If she wanted to wear men’s clothes and do the same job as a man she can—mostly.”
“That sounds like a recipe for disaster to me,” Brian said in disapproval. “Don’t you have criminals in England? What’s to stop a brigand from having his way with a woman? As for work, a man is more restricted than a woman. Usually he grows to be a farmer, a guardsman, or a crafter. There are some others, like artisans, but you see what I’m saying.”
Disgruntled, she said that she did. What was annoying her she realised, was that here she would be unable to compete in the tournaments.
Whoa! What’s the matter with me?
She had forgotten this was all a dream there for a minute. Competing in a medieval tournament didn’t compare with the Olympics—and any way, she would wake up soon. Jill would tell her how stupid she was to work in the gym alone and this would all be over.
After walking through miles of dimly lit stone corridors and climbing hundreds of steps, Brian stopped outside a door. It was no different from countless other doors she had seen, except in one respect. There was no handle on this side.
Brian took a deep breath, and quickly straightened his hair.
“You look fine,” she said.
He grinned at her and then knocked on the door. After a moment, it opened to reveal a very wide woman with a leather belt encircling her ample waist. Iron keys swung to and fro on a ring hanging from the belt. Julia assumed she was some kind of guard for the women’s quarter. She was certainly big enough to break any number of male interlopers over her knee. She stood like a mobile roadblock in the centre of the doorway and looked from Brian to Julia, and back again.
“Well young, Brian. What brings you to my door this fine day?”
Brian inclined his head respectfully. “Lady Elise, this is Lady Julia. Lady Julia, this is Lady Elise—she’s the seneschal.” He must have noticed her puzzled look because he went on to explain. “A seneschal is a housekeeper when the house is a castle or fortress.”
Elise snorted. “Housekeeper indeed. Where did you find your stray?”
Before he could answer, Julia jumped in. “He found me in your lord’s throne room after I was summoned from my world by a wizard named Darius.”
The housekeeper’s jaw dropped.
Satisfactory!
“Leave her with me, Brian. I’ll take care of her.”
Brian inclined his head to both of them. “Ladies, if you will excuse me.”
Julia watched Brian leave then stepped into the women’s quarter. Elise closed and bolted the door behind her. After another interminable walk—in silence this time—Elise showed her to an empty apartment. After indicating the facilities, she left Julia to explore her rooms. There was the main sitting room with a large fireplace—the fireplace was cold but she was warm enough. She had a bedchamber lavishly furnished with tapestries on the walls, thick rugs on the flagstones, a wardrobe bigger than her bedroom at home, and a comfy looking bed with ornately decorated quilt depicting a stag in flight. The bath chamber was a wonder for these times. A stone bath with taps providing hot and cold water. More magic?
She sat on the padded stool in front of the dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. A tired and bedraggled gymnast in a leotard and tapestry looked back at her. She stood and looked out of the windows to see a bright sunny day outside.
She was in the mountains!
She stared at the outside in stunned delight. England could be beautiful, but it had nothing this... this grand. She craned her neck and found a tall curtain wall topped with a castellated parapet, and guardsmen armed with swords walking the battlement. Set in the wall was a pair of heavily barred gates. They were huge and covered in bronze. They were more like vault doors than gates. There was a great deal of activity on the walls, more than she thought necessary, but who was she to say? Perhaps they had outlaws like Robin Hood here. It was her dream after all, and she liked Errol Flynn. Athione was huge, just as she had thought earlier. She was very high up she saw. The women’s quarter wasn’t truly a quarter of the fortress at all. It was more like an entire floor—the third floor to be exact—of a huge hotel.
She turned away from the window and entered the bath chamber to fill the bath. A short time later she was reclining in the stone tub and luxuriating in the feel of her muscles un-knotting. She drowsed for a time before reluctantly deciding to wash and get ready for bed.
She found a nightgown in the wardrobe. It fit her very well, though it was old fashioned from her point of view. It was made of white cotton and covered her from neck to toes. It was only mid-afternoon, but she felt jet lagged or something—gate lagged. She snorted at the stray thought as she slid between the cool sheets. The last thing that went through her mind before falling asleep was what a weird dream she would share with Jill tomorrow.
* * *
6 ~ General
A black robed man sat on an uncomfortable stool staring into the mirror on the table. With him in the tent were two others. Both men were dark haired and wore beards, but there the similarity ended. Lucius wore the black robe of a sorcerer, but the other man was in armour. He was General Navarien, commander of the Fifth Legion and the siege of Athione. He wore a dagger sheathed at his belt on the right, and a sword with an ornate hilt hanging at his left hip.
He turned to the sorcerer standing with him. “What precisely is he scrying for my, lord sorcerer?”
“Please, General, call me Lucius.”
Navarien never quite knew where he stood with Lucius. One moment the man was telling him to mind his own affairs, the next he was being friendly and telling him to call him by his given name.
“You honour me,” he said inclining his head in assent. “Is there a problem I need to be aware of?”
“Belgard is the best man we have for scrying—”
He frowned at the dislike he heard in Lucius’ voice. If the two were rivals, nothing good would come of them working so closely.
“Belgard felt something earlier that he thought might be the disturbance caused by the invocation of a Great Spell. It’s extremely unlikely of course, but we must check so that no errors occur. Lord Mortain—may he live forever—would not understand if we failed our mission here.”
“There will be no failure, Lucius, not while I live,” he said knowing that he wouldn’t live long in that event.
“I’m sure. Tell me, have your men settled in satisfactorily?”
“They’re ready to do their duty. If it’s not too presumptuous of me, can you say when we attack?”
Lucius glanced at Belgard. “As soon as Belgard has satisfied me that there are no nasty surprises, we will assault the gate.”
“That’s good news. If I can be of any assistance, please make it known to me.”
Lucius didn’t reply but nodded his understanding. They both turned to watch Belgard. Navarien could only catch a glimpse of the mirror, but it seemed to be showing a young woman in her bed chamber.
If he’s using the mirror to spy on the women, I’ll... w
hat?
He frowned. Belgard could swat him just by glancing his way. He glanced at Lucius in time to see him scowl at the mirror. Slowly the glass cleared, and was just a mirror again.
“Well?” Lucius snapped.
The only reaction from Belgard was the raising of an eyebrow as if surprised at the rudeness. Navarien nearly burst out laughing. Belgard could swat him without trying, true, but Lucius had no restraint these days. He could obliterate most of the camp in his anger.
“A gate has been opened.”
He gasped.
“Are you certain?” Lucius said intently.
“Of course I’m certain!” Belgard snapped in annoyance. “I never say a thing unless I know it to be true. It’s something you should keep in mind, and perhaps emulate.”
He winced at the acid dripping from Belgard’s words and waited for Lucius to erupt, but to his surprise, the sorcerer stayed calm and waited for the rest of the report.
“It seems one of the Devan mages was quite skilled for an amateur. He succeeded in opening the gate, but then he failed to bring anyone of importance through. He died in the fires of his own magic. I watched the preparations for his funereal—he looked about a hundred and fifty years old.” Belgard frowned. “I wonder how old he was before the spell?”
Navarien was intrigued. “What does his age matter?”
“Well, General, I’m not giving away secrets by telling you that if a mage over reaches when using magic he will age. If I knew his age before the spell, I could estimate by how far he over reached. Do you see?”
“I can see that,” he said.
“Well then, if I knew how much he was short by, I would know how strong their best mage was. We know a so called wizard named Darius lives at Athione. He’s supposed to be strong, but we don’t know if he’s the strongest. They would obviously have used their best. The other mages in the fortress are bound to be weaker.”
He nodded. Belgard’s reasoning impressed him. The information would definitely be worth having. Sadly, it was dependent on knowing who the mage was, and how old he was before the spell. He mentioned this to Belgard who nodded agreement.
“What is the point of debating something that cannot be known?” Lucius said in annoyance. “I want to know who or what was brought through, and I want to know now!”
“The pursuit of knowledge is never a waste of time, but to answer your question: the fates have been unkind to Deva this day. Instead of bringing through someone who could help them, the mage died bringing through a girl.” Belgard chuckled. “It appears he died just as he entered the higher realm. He must have realised his time was up and snatched her at random hoping to get lucky. He wasn’t.”
Navarien sighed and relaxed tight shoulders. No woman had ever been born with the gift for magic. It was a man’s power exclusively.
“That he managed to open a gate at all is worrying,” Belgard continued. “He must have realised that he would die and willingly sacrificed himself. There’s power in that.”
“We will begin the assault at sunrise tomorrow, General,” Lucius said. “The Devans should be at their least effective then. Have your men ready to enter the breach as soon as we provide it.”
Hearing an order for the first time since entering the tent, Navarien came to attention. “Yes, my lord sorcerer. All will be ready. With your permission?”
At Lucius’ nod he bowed to both mages and left. Outside the tent, he paused to breathe a sigh of relief. He had survived by the God! Looking around at his orderly camp, a feeling of justifiable pride came over him.
During the war with Bandar, he had proven himself worthier than several others when he was raised to temporary command of Second Legion—he’d been Senior Captain back then, and his General was relieved for a serious failure. He’d taken up his new duties without a fuss and immediately planned an attack. By splitting his forces, he by-passed a defensive position, and while the Bandarians fell over themselves trying to change front, both halves of his legion wheeled and struck. The Bandarians were annihilated.
Now he had a new command and a new campaign to fight.
His legion, the Fifth, was ten thousand strong. All infantry. He’d made it clear at the outset that cavalry would be a liability at this stage. Athione sat on an escarpment completely blocking the pass. The only way into Deva was to negotiate a narrow road out of the now destroyed town, and follow it up to the gates of the fortress. Lucius had told him that the escarpment was created by the up thrusting of rock with magic. Looking at it, he could see for himself that it wasn’t natural.
His chosen campsite was about half a league from the remains of the town just at the point where the pass widened into an irregular circle. It mattered not at all to him that he was following in the footsteps of armies and generals now long dead. They had attempted to breach Athione and failed, but they hadn’t brought sorcerers with them.
He had.
Moving through the camp, he studied the burned remains of the town. It was an annoyance that he’d been unable to capture it intact, but only that. He had hoped, but not counted on, taking the town to resupply his troops. It would have been considerably more than an annoyance if he’d brought cavalry with him. The pass was completely devoid of vegetation. No forage meant no horses. It was as simple as that.
He paused to watch some of the men unloading the latest pack train to arrive through the pass. The stores of food and other essentials looked pitifully small, and ordinarily he would be worried. He wasn’t though. Everything was going according to his plan. Two battalions had been detailed to start the unenviable job of supplying the legion with food, water, and other necessities. Those two thousand men were important, any less and the task would become unworkable. It took his men two days to travel the pass to reach this point, so to make the round trip the draft animals had to work on low rations for four days. It would be pointless to ferry in food for the animals, he would need even more of them to carry it. No, it wasn’t critical to his plan to capture the town, but it would have saved a great deal of effort.
He stared up at the arrogant and forbidding walls of Athione.
Soon.
* * *
7 ~ Consequences
He should never have let Darius study that God cursed book!
Keverin sat slumped in his chair atop the dais in the great hall. He had ordered the room cleared a few candlemarks ago, after his mages had removed Darius to prepare him for the final journey. His friend had always said the term was silly. He said the body was like a cup, and the wine was life. When death came, the soul left the body behind after savouring the wine of life.
He stared at his bandaged hands in his lap. A soothing balm had leached the pain from them. How he wished there was one for his soul. He unconsciously clenched then released his fists, not noticing as a red rose suddenly blossomed on the bandages. The blood soaked through then dripped onto the dais.
It was a habit he’d learned from his father who wanted to strengthen him. His sword work had been atrocious when he was a child. His father had decided his forearms needed more strength and gave him a ball made out of rags tightly bound with leather. He was ordered to squeeze it when he had an idle moment. He had idolised his father, and took the orders to an extreme. For years, he used the ball. Other children thought him a baby for carrying it, but he ignored the comments and continued to exercise with it until the string wore out. His sword work became excellent as even the heaviest blades became light as a feather in his hands. Now whenever he became upset the familiar motion of clench and release eased his soul.
Suddenly his emotions came to a head and he jumped to his feet to storm out of the hall. He made his way through the labyrinthine corridors and eventually came to the north tower steps. Climbing quickly, he came to the last door. Hesitating briefly, he unlocked it and went inside.
There wasn’t much to see. A bed, a wardrobe, and a chest he knew held spare red robes. On a wall, a shelf supported a mirror
and two books. He picked up the books and read the titles. The larger of the two was a book of poetry he recognised as being borrowed from the library. He replaced it on the shelf. The smaller of the two was a history entitled: The Black Isle. Taking it with him, he sat on the bed and read the day away.
Turning another page he realised there was no more. Surprised, he looked toward the window, and saw the sun was going down. He replaced the book on the shelf and was about to leave when a scroll caught his eye on the table. How he had missed it before he didn’t know, but he snatched it up as if it held all the secrets in the world. On the outside of the parchment was his name in Darius’ hand. Breaking the seal, he began to read.
My dear friend.
If you’re reading this, events have proceeded as I foresaw. Do not blame yourself for my death, mages such as I never expect to live into old age as the founders were said to have done. Only another mage can truly understand the ecstasy of using magic to create something never seen before.
“I never did understand my friend. How could I know?” he said into the gloom.
To me the gate spell is like a fine horse or blade is to you, it begs to be used and used wisely. I hope I am wise, but if not, I will not know it after today. Already the knowledge of the spell works upon me. It calls me, and I burn to use it. The founders had iron discipline to thwart temptation. Alas, I’m not one such as they.
“You were the strongest and bravest of men,” he whispered. Who else would walk into his hall, knowing he would come out an old man, or not at all?
You must use your best judgement about showing the book to anyone else, but I urge you to destroy it before allowing the Hasians access to such a treasure. Uncountable harm would result should they build gates to anywhere they wished. Imagine for a moment, a gate opened into this very room, and an army pouring through.