The sun cast an orange glow on the capital below as Sane stood at his window in Farreach castle overlooking Mollifas. The city had not yet fully awakened. Some would no doubt be about their business already. The bakers prepared their morning bread and the smiths were lighting their forges already. There were surely some rogues about who were just now getting to bed after a long night of debauchery. However, for the most part the city seemed quiet. He imagined that Colum must look much the same, as its citizens were blissfully unaware of the trouble heading their way.
Sane stepped away from the window. There was little time to spend lost in thought and the dream was already fading from his memory. Sane dressed himself in a finely made hooded green robe with a slightly darker green tree on the back. Its roots spread across the rest of the fabric in deliberate swirls covering the rest of the material in a design that was similar to the robes worn by Ashura's priests as the sorcerer found it much easier to get around undetected dressed in the garb of a healer. He cinched a bark colored leather belt around the robe keeping it in place.
He grabbed a staff that looked to be made of intertwining wooden branches culminating into two large loops at the top. Normally he preferred another staff to the right of the one he chose with a steel blade on the bottom, but it had an enchantment placed on it that would make the staff appear as an intricately carved spear to any who could not see through the magic. However, the idea of a priest carrying around a spear tended to cause more questions than a magician in disguise would like asked and so he chose another staff that was more fitting.
The door slammed behind Sane as he hurried down the hallway connecting to the main castle. A few minutes later the sorcerer was standing outside of King Kale's lavish bedchamber. He hoped that his lord would be awake already. Kale was considered to be a tough, but fair ruler. However, having been an adviser to the king for the better part of three decades Sane knew that waking him in the early hours of the morning tended to make him a little more tough than fair.
Two guards were stationed outside the king's bedchamber door. When they saw Sane approaching they immediately stiffened. “Greetings, Sir Sane,” said one of the guards.
Sane thought the guard's name was Dernen, but was not sure. “And to you, guardsman,” he said avoiding addressing the man by name, “Tell me is his Highness up and about? I need to speak with him urgently.”
As if in response the door swung open. A man in his early fifties stood in front of Sane dressed in a purple silk nightshirt. “Sane, what brings you to my bedchamber this morning?” asked King Kale. His voice sounded rough as usual, but not particularly cross and Sane felt a little lucky that the king was already up for the day.
“It is a matter of grave importance. Some information has come into my possession that we must discuss,” said Sane with an eye to the guards.
“Of course. Attend me,” the king said casually as he strode past Sane who could not help noticing that even dressed in his night clothes the king still moved with the grace and confidence befitting his stature. To the guards he added, “Keep a good distance so we can talk openly,” not bothering to look back.
Sane hurried to catch up to his liege as they put distance between themselves and the king's personal guard causing his green robe to swoosh back and forth as if the root design was alive burrowing through the earth.
“I take it you had another of your visions,” King Kale said as Sane caught up with him.
“Yes, your highness, although I must admit that my motives are personal in this case. I had a vision of my old friend Kellen, the knight-captain in Colum. I believe he will be dead before midday if I do not intervene...” The image of Kellen's broken body still fresh in his mind drove the seer to silence.
“I know Kellen is a very brave warrior, Sane,” the king put his hand on the sorcerer's shoulder sympathetically; “It is hard to imagine him being defeated. Is the foe magical in nature?”
“He will perish in single combat with an ogre,” answered Sane, “but there is a chance that magic is involved. Ogres do not usually attack cities without some sort of provocation. After Kellen has been saved I intend to investigate the matter further.
“By your leave, of course, your majesty.”
“I suppose I can deal with the bickering in the high court on my own for one day without executing the lot of them,” joked the king hoping to lift his trusted adviser's spirits. Sane flashed a weak smile and King Kale added, “You have my leave. Go and aid the knight-captain.”
“Of course, my king... and thank you.” Sane bowed and left the king's side.
The sorcerer hurried to his study where he opened a small black trunk filled with dozens of round cuts of wood about an inch thick each and small enough to fit snuggly in the palm of a man's hand. On the front of each one was a unique symbol carved into it and on the back was carved or painted the name of a city or place. Sane searched through piles of the wooden pieces flipping them over and reading the name of each one until he found one that said Baj. He squeezed it firmly in his fist.
Reaching Kellen would be a simple task for the sorcerer. Colum was a day's travel by horseback, but Sane was not confined to such mundane means of travel. However, he feared that casting the spell could disrupt the vision that he was trying dearly to cling on to. His visions were not always clear to begin with and like most dreams the details tended to fade in time, but using magic hastened the process and could make him forget the vision completely. Coming only in dream form they were often laden with symbolism and subconscious messages that would have to be sorted through for meaning. It was possible that Sane's vision of his dead friend had a non-literal interpretation, but he was certain that it was real. He could still see Kellen's body lying beaten and bloody staining his once bright and shining armor.
Enough. There was no other choice. The only way Sane could make it to Colum in time was through magical means. It would do him no good to know that Kellen faced death if he could do nothing to prevent it. Forgetting the vision was a risk that he would have to take.
Chapter 2
The air was cool off the great lake and refreshing against Byrn's face. It was early spring and it felt good to be basking in the sun. The winter had been a harsh one this year forcing the young man to stay cooped up much of the time. There was little need for couriers during the winter meaning there was little reason for the young man to stretch his legs. Occasionally, there was the odd job in town passing a message from a trader to a merchant telling him that his shipment was being held up by the snow and the like, but nothing that allowed him to venture far from home.
Byrn sat under a tree daydreaming of the future, as most young men were apt to do. This day he dreamed of being a master swordsman jumping into battle and felling legions of enemies with a swing of his sword like Targan the Berserker in the Tale of the Undead Isle. Over the last two winters Byrn learned the basics of swordsmanship as part of his courier apprenticeship and he took to it well enough, but he possessed no great skill for a boy his age and it was unlikely that he would develop the stamina or fortitude needed to become the kind of great warrior that songs were sung about. “Better to learn to ride like the wind than stand and fight,” his master and adoptive father, Tannys Lightfoot, had told him when his lessons in swordsmanship began, “You're employer won't care how many bandits you fought off or how valiantly you died. His only concern is if you delivered his message swiftly. Likewise in war, a master courier can make the difference between victory and defeat. We are unsung heroes, but heroes all the same.”
His father would soon have a message that needed delivered, Byrn thought. It would be a simple matter for an apprentice rider like himself. Running correspondence from one farm to another or telling one of the local merchants that his order of mutton would be a few days late. The morning was slipping away and Byrn pushed thoughts of heroism and bravery from his mind as he mounted his horse and headed towards Colum.
His ride into the city was leisurely. It would be a poor thin
g to rush needlessly and risk trampling a passerby in one of the narrower streets that honeycombed Colum- another lesson from his father. After a few minutes he came to a small home located in the trading district. Beside the door there was a wooden sign bleached by the sun with a picture of a winged boot painted on. The live-in shop was called the Winged Boot as the sign implied. It was not a terribly creative name, but was effective in garnering new business.
“Father, I'm home,” shouted Byrn as he entered the storefront of the home, “...Father?”
“In here,” Tannys Lightfoot answered from the kitchen. His voice somehow managed to sound both rough and comforting, “Go for a morning ride, did you? Not getting into any trouble, I hope.”
“No, I just wanted to get out of the city for a little while. Spring is finally getting underway and I wanted to take Emma out for a ride. I imagine she needed to stretch her legs as much as I did.”
“I knew I made the right decision when I took you in and made you my apprentice. You have the same wanderlust that I did at your age,” Tannys told him with a gleam in his eye. “Just be sure to keep your itchy feet under control now that you will be starting out on your own as a journeyman this year.”
Entering the kitchen Byrn could smell the freshly cooked eggs as his adoptive mother, Marian, put them on three plates. A loaf of freshly baked bread already sat in the center of the table. “You have excellent timing,” she told the young man, “Sometimes I swear you are part bloodhound.”
“No, I just know your routine,” replied Byrn sitting down to enjoy his breakfast, scrambled eggs with bits of bacon mixed in. Byrn's stomach growled in delight. He broke off a piece of the loaf and took a big bite of the still warm bread. It was the simple things like this meal that reminded him how lucky he was to be taken in by the Lightfoots and given an apprenticeship. If not for them he would still be living in the orphanage or more likely would have been kicked out when he turned fourteen and living in the street as a beggar or thief.
Marian laughed at the boy, “You're not a hound at all. You're all stomach!”
***
Not far to the south of the lakeside where a young man was fantasizing about becoming a great hero there was a cave that no one dared go near for fear of the creatures that lived deep underground. If anyone was foolish enough to venture into those caverns they would find themselves surrounded by a pack of ogres. No one was sure how many resided in the cavern’s tunnels, but a pack of ogres were known to grow to two dozen with an ample enough supply of food and that was the general estimate held by the cityfolk.
It was unclear if the woman entering the cave was foolish or just desperate, but no matter what her reason she entered showing no signs of trepidation. She was in her early twenties and very beautiful with raven hair and blue piercing eyes. Her slender figure was hidden under a black cloak with a blood red skull on the back. At her side she carried a staff made from the wood of the Great Forest in the elven kingdom of Raiden known for its magic harnessing properties. Had any seen her staff it would instantly have given her away as being a magician just as the red skull insignia on the cloak would have marked her as a necromancer.
Her footsteps were light, but determined. She had no desire to wake an ogre by accident. It would do her no good to be killed in this place.
Lifting her left hand a soft flame emanated from it lighting the way through the cave as the sparse sunlight diminished the further in she went. It took only a few minutes to find what she was seeking. As she approached she could see the gray-green skin of an ogre's belly rising and falling as it slept soundly on the dirt floor. It was one of four of the beasts lying in the expanse.
Once the cloaked woman could see the whole beast she stopped and held her staff straight up placing the butt firmly on the dirt floor. I'm coming for you, father, she thought hopefully. Closing her eyes she took a moment to clear her mind of all fear and worry so that only a calm clarity remained. She exhaled lightly one moment and inhaled more heavily the next. The beautiful young woman opened her eyes and began to sing. A sweet melody of peace and love sprang forth, but her voice was low and controlled. She sang in a whisper like a mother singing a lullaby so that only her intended ogre was close enough to hear.
The ogre was still deep in hibernation, but as the woman sang it began to stir from its long slumber. For months the beast slept as the winter passed and now as the foul creature was finally waking a loud growl of hunger came from its belly. It was consumed with an overwhelming desire to feed.
Chapter 3
Sane watched the family exchange through their kitchen window. Inside the boy called Byrn ate and laughed with his family. The sorcerer blissfully remembered what it was like to be young and ignorant of the world’s dangers. When life seemed so simple and the world seemed right and just... but that was long ago before he knew anything of magic and he was much younger than this boy. Sane wondered if he was about to impose the same fate on Byrn. To learn the harsh lessons of loss and sadness better saved for a man much older, but rarely was the world so kind.
A half hour had passed since Sane woke from his dream and it was already starting to feel like a distant memory. Why was it always so hard for him to remember? In his dreams the visions were so clear, but when he woke they began to get muddled like the reflections in a pool after a handful of pebbles were thrown in it.
“Why am I here?” Sane muttered to himself. A nagging frustration that he should be doing something important kept eating at him. Maybe it had something to do with Byrn Lightfoot. He had a certain presence, an aura, that was almost... magical. The sorcerer came here to protect someone. It must be this boy.
Sane closed his eyes as he tried to remember what brought him here. His breathing was soft and measured. His heartbeat slowed as he centered himself to enter the trance-like state necessary to relive his vision. It would leave him exposed and unprotected, but he saw little choice unless he wanted to find Kellen and ask for his assistance, but the sorcerer remembered that time was of the essence. He was just not sure why. After a few moments Sane was back in his vision reliving it. He could see everything that was to happen, but it was all jumbled together like the pieces of a puzzle waiting to be fit together. Byrn, he thought, Show me, Byrn.
The images cleared in the sorcerer’s mind and he began to see an image of the young man forming there. It was night and Byrn was carrying his mother to the temple of Ashura as the life rapidly drained from her body. The woman was bleeding from a gash on her head and she appeared to be suffering some internal damage most likely from an ogre attack.
The city was in shambles many of the buildings in the temple district were destroyed or badly damaged. Rubble lay around them as the young man hurried to find a healer. The temple was overrun with the injured and the dead. Byrn sat his mother on the hard ground unable to find an unused cot.
“Please, everyone just remain calm and we will help you as best as we are able,” shouted the high priest to the crowd.
A pounding came from off in the distance. It was feint at first, but the sound rapidly grew louder as the ogre invasion reached Ashura’s temple. Without warning a vendor's cart arched through the air and came crashing down in the middle of the crowd killing several of the already injured people.
A moment later the ogre that hurled the cart was in sight and almost on top of the crowd before anyone could react. Byrn drew his sword and pointed it at the hulking monster. The blade shook at the tip as he realized he was all that stood, literally, between these people and death, but he pushed his fear down and stood resolutely.
No, that's not what happened. That is not real, Sane reminded himself as clarity began to return in the dream-state. This wasn't about Byrn at all and it wasn't night. It was much earlier, because he knew time was short. Sane needed to go farther back to find the thing that brought him here. Byrn wasn't the reason the sorcerer was in Colum, but if the young man was part of his visions then he may have a role to play in this before the day was finished.
“Who is that?” asked Marian looking out the kitchen window.
Tannys and Byrn looked up from their plates that had consumed their attention moments before. Outside was a priest standing remarkably still just outside their kitchen window. Although the man was looking in their direction he appeared to take no notice of them at all.
“What is that priest doing out there?” wondered Tannys. “He looks like he is in some kind of stupor. I saw the same look on a fool’s face once when he was kicked by a mule and knocked senseless.
“Sir, what are you doing out there?” When there was no response Tannys knocked lightly on the windowpane. “Can you hear me?”
The green robed man's face was expressionless as he stared blankly ahead. He looked almost like a statue standing outside the Winged Boot's kitchen window. Byrn half expected a bird to fly down and perch on the man's head, but the young courier dismissed the mildly humorous image as he was genuinely concerned for the healer's well being.
The three Lightfoots exited their home and went around the back to attend to the immobile man. Tannys snapped his fingers in front of the priest’s eyes, but there was no response.
“Should we get a healer?” asked Byrn.
Tannys thought on it, “Perhaps you should. Go bring Healer Chaste or any other priest you can find. They may know what is afflicting their brother.”
Rogue Magician (The Magician Rebellion) Page 2