Drifter Mage

by PMF Johnson

  They quickly returned to the house. Galle strung the bow, drew an arrow from the quiver resting beside it. Mara considered their position. The man might not have seen them. The stock had been picketed back in the trees, the wagon was on the other side of the house.

  "I don't think he knows we're here," she said. "They're still searching. I'm worried for your father, now."

  "He'll be fine, Ma. He's careful."

  She thought some more. "I don't want us to be trapped in the house. We'll take the stock upstream into the woods."

  "There's a place back by the beaver dam," Galle said. "I saw it. It's like a natural little corral. We could hide them there."

  She nodded. Galle went to gather the stock and draw them back under the trees. She had a knife. And the wand with its fire spells her father gave her long ago.

  From her apron, she drew out the small wand. The rune that indicated the trigger word, 'Mu,' was carved into the thicker end of the slim, beech wood wand.

  "Point the thin end where you intend the fireball to go," her father had said. "Your finger must be touching the rune, to give a little life energy to launch the spell. Speak the preparatory word, 'Kel,' to ready the spell. Then say the trigger word. This wand will defend you, but I hope you never need it."

  She missed her father. Now she put the wand back in her apron pocket, thankful he had cared for her, hoping it would be enough. Deeb had not come home. The sun was almost down and he said he would return by then.

  And where was Galle? It should not take so long to retrieve the mules. Her heart was beating too quickly and her throat felt thick with fear. She would go to Galle.

  She started toward the trees, her ears attuned to catch any sound. That mourning dove call. Had that been a man, making that? She reached the edge of the trees.

  It was a very small sound. One stone rattling off another. Behind her.

  "Now look what we found here."

  Her hand went to the wand in her apron. The wand was small, not easy to notice. She felt cold, then suddenly ready.

  She came around to face them. Two men sat their horses before her, the man with the bruises on the left and a second man beside him, tall, thin, with a hooked nose, and dressed in skins. This second man had wings like a demon out of the old stories. Or...hadn't she heard once that the elven folk bore wings?

  "You know, Owl," said the bruised man, "I'm thinking this is a good day. A good day. I'm thinking there's no one else around."

  "That's not exactly true," said Mara. "But with men of honor, it makes no difference, now does it?"

  Kin Re laughed, derisively. "Men of honor? Like one of those old paladins in a picture book? Lady, that ain't me." He swung his leg over his horse, preparing to jump off.

  "There's no way to persuade you to simply leave us alone? We wish harm on no one."

  "You won't harm no one?" He mimicked her tone. "That's the truth, sure enough. I like the harmless ones best. Makes it so much easier."

  She drew forth the wand from her apron and pointed it at him. "You mistake me, sir. If I need to harm you, I certainly shall do so."

  She spoke the preparatory word, "Kel," and the tip of the wand lit up. She was pleased at how calm her voice sounded. Mr. Arch would have approved, she thought.

  Kin Re halted. "Watch out lady. That's real magic, there. No telling what it'll do if it goes off."

  "I know what it does," she answered. "I would much prefer not to have to clean up the results, however. All that charring, and the stench, after."

  Kin Re's eyes widened in alarm and he hesitated, frustrated. Could this little slip of a thing really command such magic? Would she set it off? Her eyes were so steady, so cold even, he suspected he really would.

  What did the magic do? A wand implied elemental magic, and she hinted at fire. "You know, Lady--"

  The Owl spoke. "Rock may have thoughts about this, Kin Re."

  Kin Re felt a shudder go through him. "True." He took a deep breath. "Maybe we'll just go discuss this with him."

  A twig snapped, back in the woods. The two men turned to look. Mara took that chance to step behind the wagon, improving her protection. "I suggest you leave, gentlemen. Leave and do not return."

  "We're getting out right now," Kin Re said to her. "We got someone to tell about you. He's the one that'll be here. 'Course we'll all be right behind him."

  The Owl turned his horse away and walked it off. Kin Re stared at her a moment, but touched a spur to his horse and followed after the other man.

  Honest truth was, he was relieved to have a reason to be going. That wand looked dangerous and she looked scared enough to use it. Let Rock be the first to confront her. That was not Kin Re's way.

  Mara waited until she heard the horses going through the stream, then clatter as they climbed the far slope to the top of the hill, west.

  "They're gone..." Galle came out of the woods, leading their stock. He looked very young and solemn. "That scared me, Ma. But you were amazing. I'm so glad you're my Mom."

  "It scared me too, Galle."

  "I couldn't tell," he said. His eyes turned to where the men had gone. "They'll be back, though. I sure hope Papa gets here soon."

  "He will. And I'll make him a hot meal. No use trying to hide from them after that."

  They returned to the cabin and she built up the fire. Galle stood at the door, looking into the dark outside.

  "He'll be with us soon," she reiterated, but her fear surged. Those men could have harmed him. There had been no flash of a spell, no sound of an explosion, but many spells were quiet and there were other ways of hurting a man. Or she could have missed the flash.

  "Your Pa has Lok with him. They won't be able to cast any spells on him. And I believe Lok has grown strong enough to hurt them too, if they don't take care."

  Mara listened, but inside she knew something was not right. Deeb would not have been late. Not by accident. Not today. There had been trouble of some sort.

  "What if he's been injured?" Galle's voice was strained. Lonesome. Her heart went out to him.

  "It's night," she said.

  Her son nodded. "When you can't see and don't know where to go, sit tight. Arch told me that."

  "It would be nice to have Mr. Arch around, about now."

  Galle shook his head. "We need to rely on just us, Ma. That's how things are done out here." Just a ghost of a grin. "That's what Arch says, anyway."

  "Then we shall do so," she said. "Your father has not returned from scouting. He is not able to be here, though we don't know why and he has not sent Lok to explain. So we shall head out in search of him. We dare not stay here alone, at any rate. First, perhaps we should head to that place you mentioned, by the beaver dam."

  Galle nodded. "We can maybe hole up there with the stock. It's a little dell -- someone put barriers over the exits to hold cattle or whatever. We could keep the stock there."

  "Then we will go now," she said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After two weeks in the camp of the Ruskiya, Arch was healed enough to travel. As he readied his horse, the old woman who led the clan, the Rus, came to him.

  "The people you are with, they are leave big magic behind. Spirit magic."

  As she explained, Arch felt a bit of relief -- the pilgrims had lightened their load. So they did have a chance maybe. The Ruskiya had left the magical simulacra alone, out of respect for Arch possibly, or out of caution. Strange magic could be dangerous.

  The old lady knew where they had departed the Magic. Arch assumed the boy's relationship with the whirligigs let her know. He saw no visible difference in her since the night she had contended with the Owl and that strange creature from Beyond, but somehow her presence seemed greater now, more imposing. She had gotten something from that creature, though he supposed he would never know the details.

  Instead of heading straight to the area the Ruskiya told him the simulacra lay, he made a broad sweep of the country, and so came across sign of the thugs. They were drifting
northward, but he found evidence they had been doing a lot of casting about, hunting the Parten outfit, likely.

  At one of the campsites he halted, noting something. With care he reviewed the tracks and decided that only seven of them still followed the pilgrims.

  He had a hazy memory -- he thought it a dream even, of seeing Benn Ku's face, of a frantic moment when both went for their staffs. It explained why the level of magic in his staff was down -- about the amount for a fireball spell. He had been quicker to cast his spell, evidently. Quick enough.

  The third site where the thugs stayed overnight he searched, and his thoroughness had its reward. The camp stood by some water and when he followed the creek northwest, uphill, he found a spot the Partens had unloaded their wagon. Four figures rested there, under a tree, dark of raiment and skin.

  He circled around, so they could see him approach, and when some distance away, he spoke. "Good morning to you."

  Silence. The stir of wind.

  ***Good day.***

  The reply came as a voice inside his head, but with a trace of alienness and intrusiveness that confirmed this was not his own thought. It was a strange experience.

  He thought he knew the one who spoke, but all of their eyes sparkled with life, with intelligence.

  He felt a surge of nostalgia sweep through him. He recognized this as their magic.

  He spoke with deference. "I am seeking the Parten family. They are being followed by men. Thugs."

  ***Why do the ruffians seek them?***

  "You met the thugs?"

  ***Do we know you are not one of them?***

  A second voice spoke. ***I remember his voice. He was helping us for a time.***

  "I was injured. I need to catch up. I am seeking information on the men following them."

  ***They were...unpleasant. We gave them no information of use.***

  "They knew where the Partens were going?"

  ***They did know, though we did not tell them. The ruffians have a canny hunter with them.***

  "The Owl."

  ***He is very dangerous. He left you a message.***

  "He did?" Arch was surprised.

  ***He said to tell the man who follows that he will be waiting.***

  ***He was smiling as he said so, but it was not a pleasant smile.***

  The simulacra knew little else. He sensed a quiet power in them. For wisdom rather than for violence, but holding a tinge of sadness as well.

  He bid them adieu and headed off in the late afternoon northward, making a dry camp that night and thinking about what he had learned. He was not surprised the Owl expected him, but not pleased either. The half-elven was a dangerous man and a puzzle -- why he traveled with the Preacher and his crew was a mystery to all but the Owl himself. He needed no man: it was uncertain what he did want.

  Before dawn, Arch was up and riding again, a bit sore and stiff after his ordeal but well enough to move.

  The seven men made no effort to conceal their trail and in the Magic it was possible even in darkness to follow them. They left a faint trail that faintly gleamed with traces of magic in the predawn light.

  Why was he doing this? He owed the pilgrims nothing, but they had been kind to him, treated him with dignity and fed him when they had little themselves -- they were good people doing the best they could. Such things mattered. They mattered to him. Such people deserved support.

  He made good time, very good time. The thugs were going on a guess surely, but their trail was plain to follow.

  On the morning of the third day, he emerged from the Magic -- the kaleidoscope effect around the edge of the sky faded and the sparkling in the air ended. Ahead rose a bulwark of mountains -- the southern end of the Holy Sa range. It was beautiful country, the morning sun playing off the slopes of the mountains, verdant at their base, rising to rock at the higher altitudes and ending at their top in white -- snow remained year-round at the highest altitudes here.

  At lower elevations, the land was folded at their base into any number of ravines, canyons and larger valleys, many yielding streams and rivers. The pilgrims could have gone into any one of them. But assuming he had emerged from the Magic close to where they had driven their wagon, they had most likely entered one of the nearer ones so he didn't worry about it.

  He had the advantage in knowing they intended to homestead in one of these canyons -- the thugs presumably would not know that and might keep on traveling. A caravan route crossed east and west here, south of the mountains, and if the thugs turned to the right they might follow it all the way up to the city of Holy Sa itself. Not that Arch would assume as much -- it was always best to prepare for the worst, leaving the chance of a pleasant surprise. Anyway the Owl would not be so fooled.

  The land was rich grassland here, with clumps of mountain pine and on occasion a blue spruce, while cottonwood and alders grew by the rivers. A good land.

  But caution was needed -- nomads traveled here, many of whom would consider any strangers as potential plunder. Large beasts, many that had never been named, some with a preternatural intelligence, came down from the mountains in search of prey or out of simple restlessness.

  Even the caravan masters would be suspicious, reluctant to risk themselves for small gain. Prospectors for raw magic, gold and other minerals would pass through, but people here must rely on themselves. It was a tall order the pilgrims had set for themselves. Few ever tried, fewer succeeded.

  He studied the land, hunting a likely place for a small family with a wagon to head upland. The meadows were filled with nodding flowers, purple standingwolf and red and yellow eagleclaw, while under the trees grew yellow fiveleafs with a few white easternweeds.

  He traveled cautiously, wary of attack, eyes open for any sign of people traveling this way. He saw an eagle floating high above a canyon, heard the pinon jays squawking, passed within yards of a brush wolf who paid him no mind. Here and there he spotted deer tracks, rabbit scat, and once an elk back in the brush.

  He followed the side of a ridge, high enough to look around but taking care not to skyline himself. From this vantage point he saw down and across the valley to his right, a stir in the trees. Several men on horseback emerged into view, bows and staffs in hand. The thugs.

  A curse died on his lips. He could tell it was them, knowing their horses and the cut of their clothes. They moved with purpose, bound somewhere and ready to attack. A fireball had a range of perhaps fifty paces for a large blast, twice that for something head-sized or smaller, so they were far outside of range.

  How far ahead were the pilgrims? He headed up the valley along the side of the ridge, northwards after the thugs. Then he spotted a deer path down the hill a little ways. He could move faster on that perhaps, so he guided his horse down to it.

  He did move more quickly, but a few paces onward he glimpsed the straight corner of a cabin through the trees. He could not catch up in time. Not a chance.

  The thugs had hard going, though. A rock fall blocked their way. They avoided, or did not know of, the trail and so pushed through heavier brush. Down further the trees spread out and he would be exposed.

  He drew his staff from its riding case. Seven ahead and only one of him. Hit and run tactics would be needed, ambush and retreat.

  Arch rode through the woods, going down to the flats. Coming out of the trees he pulled up, stopping to take stock. They would be down to his right, moving more slowly since they would have to work through the thicker brush near the water.

  He went forward through a meadow and into another band of trees. A few paces beyond that the land dropped off again and he could see the cabin a few hundred paces away, the wagon of the Partens drawn up behind it. He looked for any movement, but saw none.

  Jays squawked their rough songs in the forest, marmots played in the meadow below. A woodchuck that had been in the grass near the cabin door waddled away. From this he assumed no one was home. He gazed about but caught no trace of where they might be.

  A splash of
water warned him, and a moment later the thugs appeared, riding through the shallow water. As they came up out of the water they spread out and charged the house. Rock leaped from his saddle and burst into the door, but came out a second later, cussing.

  "Gone," he said.

  Ulf was first to the wagon, looking for treasure maybe. But he shook his head. "Empty. They didn't leave nothing."

  The others examined the clearing, the corral, the ruins of the garden. Arch could clearly hear them -- they were less than a hundred paces away.

  "But where'd they get to?"

  Shef seemed the only one who seemed calm about it. "Pilgrims, like I said. Folks like that never have anything worth bothering about."

  "They left their stuff," said Ulf. "They'll be back."

  "See anything you want? Worth hauling all the way to somewhere to sell? I sure don't," said Shef. "Even if they do come back, you got your pick of their stuff right now. And maybe they just threw it all over -- gathered the horses and headed to town. Not that far from here, a couple days, maybe."

  "Maybe they hid their magic," Ulf said. "It must be here someplace. Let's look around at least."

  In a short while they would be searching for where the pilgrims went. Arch had best be at that first. He turned his horse to the right and began to circle, looking for tracks. He rode a wide circle up the side of the ridge on the east then north along it, until he dipped into a valley not visible from the south. Here he found tracks leading up into the hills.

  He followed, assuring himself shortly these were the tracks of the pilgrims. He climbed a grassy bank, but before he could guide his horse into a stand of aspen beyond, a murmured conversation ahead warned him of people. He carefully threaded his way into the trees, approaching a further clearing behind a low screen of evergreens.

  In the clearing stood Mara and Galle, holding the reins of their two mules. Their bay horse stood just beyond them, riderless. Blood covered its saddle.

  Deeb was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Arch studied the situation -- was Deeb down nearby? Were his attackers lying in wait somewhere? As Mara caught up the reins of the horse, Arch took a wide route around the clearing, hunting sign. Preparing for trouble, anticipating it, had never cost him, but had saved his life a number of times.