Drifter Mage

by PMF Johnson

  Maybe they would ask to join the Ruskiya.

  It would not be easy. To return to Thehar would be no solution -- the enemies of Deeb's family were powerful and would target her son simply because of his blood.

  She thought of herself as a strong, free woman. But that had always been with a man to protect her -- father, brothers, husband. Now she faced doing it alone, and while she did not much like her circumstances, something wild and glad rose up in her that she must face things on her own. Take care of her man and family.

  She snapped a branch, added it to the fire. The light flickered, creating patterns of light and shade on the foliage around them. The breeze was only a breath of cool on her cheek, a soft stirring of the flames. She worried about all the things still back in the house they had found. If their goods were lost, they had no way to replace them.

  Deeb stirred restlessly, but did not awaken. Galle was quiet in his blankets, also slumbering, having given a command to Lok to hover out in the trees and watch for magic or large animals.

  She felt a determination to care for her family. She thought of her wand, holding only enough power for two spells, the limits of her strength at magic. She must increase her skill so she could store more magic in reserve. She must not grow careless.

  Out in the woods, she heard something stir and all her pride vanished in a moment. She felt an utter chill. Here she was determined to be careful, but her wand was on the other side of the fire, not in her apron pocket.

  Thoughtless, and dangerously so -- Arch kept his staff with him every moment, as though it were another limb -- a part of himself. Belatedly she understood that.

  She reached beside herself to break up a couple more sticks for the fire, then moved as though to gather the leavings of a deadfall nearby. This moved her around the fire to a spot beside the wand. She stooped, picked up the wand, and in the same movement faced the way she had heard the noise.

  A tall, strange man stood there, wings spread out behind him, with pale skin that still somehow seemed to pick up the darkness around him. He was the one who had been with the broken-nosed man earlier.

  "Good evening," she said. "May I help you in some manner?"

  He glanced at Deeb. "He is injured?"

  "A cougar attacked him. Knocked him off his horse."

  There was almost a smile on his face. "That was slick, how you retrieved the wand."

  "Thank you. I am trying to be more clever."

  He chuckled, a low, pleasing sound. "You learn quickly." But then he grew serious. "And the man with you earlier?"

  "He has been helping us. A local," she said, in case that might make them more cautious.

  "Yes. What is his name?"

  She noticed a bloody line ran down the man's cheek, and his sleeve was sliced. "You have been injured."

  "Not a concern." He waved it off. "His name?"

  "He calls himself Arch." She did not give his full name.

  But even that much caused a surprised reaction, a harsh intake of breath. His eyes focused on her, deep and deadly. "When he comes back, let him know that I shall be the death of him."

  "Be...you mean kill him? I don't understand. That would be murder. Barbaric."

  "But then, I am a barbarian." He hissed the word. "I am the Owl."

  "Barbarian? No, you are a gentleman, as far as I can see. Back at the cabin, when that other man would have...you stopped him. You spoke up. Or else he....or else there would have been trouble, if you had not said something for me."

  "The Rock would have slaughtered him. The Rock has claimed you."

  "Claimed?" She was instantly furious. "I am married. Tell him that for me."

  "He does not care about such things. He will murder your man. You will see how powerful he is, fall in love with him, and bear his children."

  "That's insane."

  He made no reply, but his face tightened just slightly.

  She took a shaky breath. "You would not let him."

  "Me? Why should I care about you?"

  "I would be a woman in distress. You are a man of honor."

  He laughed once more. "Again you are slick, attempting to lay such a challenge on me, but no, you must consult others, even your friend Arch -- they all know I am a barbarian."

  "Do they think so?" She studied him. In the way he stood, the wariness, the listening...she recognized something in him. "Mr. Owl, they may not know you very well. Do you know, I grew up in not very pleasant circumstances. I always intended to fit in with the other children, and then as I grew older, with the more well-to-do. I didn't understand why they were cruel to me, looking down on my circumstances, which were not of my making.

  "Do you know what I decided? I decided that I must be strong, stronger than any of them. If none would accept me, why then, none would be my equal. None could be. This made me a lonely child, Mr. Owl. I thought I must always be this way. It was only when I allowed myself to accept another as my equal...that is, my husband...that the loneliness began to pass.

  "I have learned much on this journey. With him. Learned he is a good man. Learned that I do not always have to be the strongest one. I do not always have to measure myself against others. Do you understand me a little better now? I'm already strong, Mr. Owl -- I don't have to spend the rest of my life proving it over and over."

  He seemed silenced by her words, overcome for an instant by her insight. As though he had lived his whole life in darkness, then for an instant a light shined on him. His wings flexed, and the blood caked on his skin grew more visible.

  "I'm sorry you were injured," she said, reacting to the sight. "Did Arch...was it Arch that wounded you?"

  These words seemed to harden him once again. His eyes darkened, and his voice was rough when he answered. "Twice have we met now. Next time, he shall die at my hand."

  Hearing this, she raised her chin, no give in her as she faced him. "He is a man to stand by, Owl. He has stood by us."

  "I know this. But he must die. The Owl does not let his prey escape."

  "You don't..." she started, but he was gone.

  She raised her wand, a futile gesture. There was no one, nowhere to point it. Then, alerted by some sense, she spun to discover Arch coming in.

  "Whose voices were speaking?" he asked.

  "I was talking with the Owl."

  "What?" He faced the way her wand had pointed, strode out a few steps into the darkness, listened. Then he returned. "The two of you spoke?"

  "He has marvelous command of the Hazhe language. Perhaps a slight Terkei accent."

  "I'll be hornswoggled."

  "There is food, Mr. Compher."

  "How is his wound?" He looked over at Deeb.

  "He was awake earlier and took some soup. He's resting more easily."

  Arch nodded. The Owl had found them, then. Question was, would he tell his companions where they were? He operated so independently, he might not.

  "You're considering something," she said.

  "I've fought that half-elven twice," he said. "When we cross paths again, one of us will die. He's got something.... Even your imp can't locate him. Your magic doesn't warn you he's coming. That's frightening, a man so invisible to imps."

  And he had come upon Arch twice, surprising him. Arch had not believed that possible.

  "We need to pack up," he said.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "We've run enough. They found us here, they'll find us anywhere. So we might as well be on with our lives. That house you found, that's a solid home for you. If they return, they do. It's time to make a stand."

  They packed their few things, loaded Deeb up onto his horse, and headed out. Arch guided them away from the direct route, threading through rocks and off into the woods. They came out on the other side of the ridge, the descent below them more open, not too steep.

  They went as fast as the faint starlight allowed, across the open area and into the trees beyond. They passed in silence down the mountain, threading through the aspens. At last they reached
the flat ground of the valley that held their new home. The house was ahead.

  Galle sent Lok ahead to scout. The imp found nothing suspicious, but mindful of whatever magic the thugs had that kept them undetected, Arch followed up on his own, approaching with caution. The wagon was still there, behind the house. Arch studied both it and the open front door, but saw nothing.

  He slipped inside the door -- no one was inside. All seemed undisturbed.

  "Bring him in," Arch said. "I'll scout the area."

  "Are you leaving now?" Mara asked.

  "No. I'll be around."

  He unsaddled the stock, then Galle and he watered them and led them to the corral near the house. The previous owners had woven branches and taken advantage of the rocks to create a reasonable little enclosure for the animals, he saw.

  Done, Galle retreated to the cabin while Arch drifted deeper into the darkness under the trees. It was almost pitch under the trees with the moon down -- only the slightest breeze stirred the leaves. The cabin was carefully situated on a small rise, defensible, with a clear view down the valley and open space between it and the woods.

  They knew he was here now and that would likely alter their approach. They would not likely try a frontal assault on such a strong position, but with their numbers they could be overwhelming. Deeb and his family would fight if needed, of course, but they would need to stay where they could defend themselves -- that meant holding down a position in the little house.

  But Arch intended to stay mobile -- when outmatched in battle one must not get pinned down. Hit, run, hit again.

  He reviewed the lay of the land -- any attack coming up the river, or across the water from the west, they would see and handle from the house. They had Lok, they had arrows, they could make it difficult for the attackers. The same was true for any move they might make coming down from the hill path on the southeast.

  The walls of the house were constructed of heavy logs, so a fireball would not penetrate, and quite possibly would not even set the building on fire -- the roof was of a wood frame, but covered with dirt -- good for insulation, good for protection. A fire seed shot directly in the front door would be a problem, but that was what it would take. And the pilgrims' bows had more carry than any fireball would have.

  As for an imp, the pilgrims could use their own to defend the building from any that might try to tear the structure apart.

  The point of vulnerability for defense was from the woods north and east, where the hills bottomed out. A mage, or several, could use that course to get near to the cabin, where their magic could have a devastating effect.

  In spots, pools of water spread out from the river, encircled by verdant meadows with wildflowers in the marshy spots, a beautiful and fertile land. What had happened to the folks who built the little house? They had recognized the value of this spot, isolated and quiet, with the wealth of the Wilderlands all around. Where had they gone? Killed by nomads or barbarians? Did they succumb to illness? Loneliness? Was the life so hard they retreated to Plover, the town to the west?

  Mara emerged from the cabin. "You seem lost in thought. Or are you trying to hear something?"

  He shook his head. "This is such a beautiful place. It feels right for the soul. People were born to live in places like this, not cooped up together in dirty buildings on narrow streets."

  "This view is good for the soul, Mr. Arch, yes, but for learning, for advancement, there is much to recommend towns, gatherings of people."

  He almost shrugged his shoulder. "Beyond me."

  "Will they attack us?"

  "We have to be ready for that. Nothing has changed their minds that I know of. The Owl is a tricky one so it's hard to say when, but it'll be fight or perish when they do. Nice to talk of civilization, but these are outlaws. They're going to come for killing.

  "They may say, 'We'll let your boy go if...' or 'Let's deal, to save your husband...' But ma'am, they'll be lying. You want anyone to live, you can't deal with them, you got to fight until they're dead or fled. They have chosen the path of pain and cruelty. You got to protect yourself."

  "They can't be all bad. No one is all bad."

  He shrugged. "That Shef, he's bad but not too twisted. Might let you off. His brother Ulf wouldn't give even him a hand if he was in trouble. Nor would the big elven, Rock. The Preacher, he uses words to lull folks, he'll say anything to get a person off their guard. Then he kills. He's done it twice I've heard of, from folks who were there.

  "The rest of them, well, they're the sort who find such men companionable. They like to be around such. What does that say about them? They're people of violence, ma'am, it's all they understand, it's all they respect. Any woman is at a disadvantage with such. There's something nurturing in a woman. It's born in her. But you'll never find that in any of these. They have killed and expect to kill again. They enjoy the power of it."

  She shuddered. "We came out here to avoid a fight, Mr. Compher. Not to get into another one."

  "People fight, Ma'am. They'll take what's undefended. You want a home, you, or someone, has to be willing to battle to make that possible."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Arch kept on the move in the area around the house, finding wood, hauling water, while contemplating their situation. The thugs all commanded magic to one extent or another -- Kin Re and the human brothers used war magic, mostly casting fireballs.

  The thugs still seemed to believe the pilgrims carried raw magic, which the war mages could use to increase their power dramatically. It would be powerful incentive for them to continue hunting the pilgrims.

  The Preacher used clerical magic, calling down attacks and curses from some twisted god of Chaos, maybe Kerun, God of the Hunt. Arch once heard that was the god the man worshipped. In fact, the Preacher might have used his clerical magic to summon the cougar that attacked Deeb.

  Dunshil was a conjuror and commanded an imp, same as Deeb, though Arch never heard the goblen was particularly adept. He knew little about her and did not know why she had taken up with these men, but he never heard any good about her, either.

  He knew conjurations could use raw magic, so if she believed in it like the others she would covet it too, but he did not know enough about conjuration magic, or the goblen race for that matter, to speculate more on her motives. Some conjurors could take on more than one imp, so maybe she was actually thinking to steal Deeb's imp. He supposed that was possible. They had seized it once, after all.

  The Rock was elven, and that meant planar magic, magic derived from the force of the mage's will. The elven would catch you in his intent, and if your own will was not strong enough, he would shut down your heart, your breathing, even as you struggled, helpless against his strength. He would overpower you, leave you dead without a mark. He was after the woman, with a sort of fascinated hate.

  The Owl, well, not only did he command the planar magic of the elven, he also knew elemental spells -- war magic -- same as the others. Worse, there was something else about him...his ability to move without being seen by imps, that bore thinking about.

  As for his allies: Deeb's imp Lok had grown quite powerful as Deeb himself had strengthened on this journey. Lok could likely hold off Dunshil's imp or even defeat it face to face. Mara, though she was no mage, did have her wand with its own fire magic, but she was powerful enough only to command a couple spells at a time. She was no true elemental mage, not knowing how to create a staff to hold power nor the many spells of elemental magic, water, air, earth and fire, but possessed only enough skill to wield her wand, and that only to cast a couple fire spells.

  Galle would have to use his bow, boy or not. It was on him, out in the Wilderlands, to grow up quick as he could. He was well outside the area where whirligigs flew, otherwise that might be another skill he could bring to the dance, and no telling all that commanding whirligigs might entail.

  They were severely limited. Arch would have to whittle away at their enemies. He avoided killing where he could, but the t
hugs had no such concerns. They would maybe not relish the chance -- though Ulf surely would -- but they had each killed and killed again. And they were the sort to do so from ambush, slyly and without compunction, and they would set the time and place for any attack.

  So taking up a defensive position and waiting for them just did not make sense. It gave the thugs all the advantage.

  But a position they THOUGHT was defended, now...that might serve as a decoy, a way to trap the attackers. They might advance on the cabin from up the river, or from down the river, or from the eastern hill. The marshy ground to the north would slow any attack, but the woods to the south and southeast would protect the attackers. They had already attacked from the south once, learning they must fight the thick brush along the river both upstream and downstream to pass through there.

  They could follow the wagon track and then ford the river at the shallows just southwest of the cabin, though that would leave them without cover, open and vulnerable for some ways, and the noise of their horses in the water would give warning.

  He walked the area, studying it. Just upstream, a ridge actually jogged in from the east, which would serve to squeeze any attackers on horse trying to pass around the tangle of brush and fallen trees beside the river. Though the vertical wall of that ridge was not high, a person could climb it, a horse could not.

  The bed of the river upstream from there was soft and deep -- it would likely bog down any trying to ride along it -- and the bank was tricky on the far side -- they would have to come down all the way to the ford to cross from there. But the trees and brush would serve excellently for defense.

  He went back to the cabin. "I'm thinking we need to spend the night outside tonight."

  "I'm pretty beat up," Deeb answered wearily.

  "You'll need help to get out there, yes," Arch said. "Gonna use the cabin as a decoy. Put a heavy log on the fire that'll keep burning and make 'em think we're inside."

  Mara nodded. "I think that's a good idea."

  Her husband slowly nodded his head.

  A short while later, they were nestled atop that low ridge in a tangle of trees that would hamper anyone trying to get at them. They used a large canvas for shelter, giving them enough room to move around and a clear firing line to the cabin.