“Thank you, my lady. It is nice to meet someone who understands true quality,” said the shopkeeper beaming happily. “Most of the people that shop my wares have no idea of the skill or quality I provide they just think, 'Ooh, what a pretty dress,' when they look at something like this fine piece of artistry.” Draker motioned to the dress Marian was admiring.
“Nonsense,” Marian scoffed, “I am sure you get all kinds of wealthy and important customers through here...”
Draker's mood instantly darkened. His eyes went to the dark char of a booth across from his and he noticed the elf rummaging through the mess. “What is she doing?” he asked to no one in particular although Marian was the only other person within earshot at this time of day.
“What happened there?” asked the apprentice ranger trying to take Draker’s mind off of Sari who was at the moment examining something or other on the ground with great attention.
“I thought that everyone had heard by now. It was horrible. That shop belonged to Gilkame Axebeard. He is an eccentric fellow, but he is also a masterful artisan of jewelry and time pieces.” Draker pulled a small bobble on a chain from his vest and showed it to Marian. “He made this for me last year. It is a miniature clock and works just as well as a larger sized one.” Turning it over Draker opened the back to reveal a set of tiny gears and springs working in unison.
“That is amazing!” declared Marian. “I have never seen anything quite so intricate! How did he make gears so tiny?”
Draker laughed and told her, “I asked the same question when I first saw the pocket clock. He said it was a trade secret and would never speak of it again.”
“What happened?” Marian asked indicating the burned out booth. “Did some sour fate befall this Gilkame that caused his shop to burn down? Perhaps he was working on something dangerous.”
“No, nothing like that,” Draker answered for the moment forgetting about the elf crawling around the dwarf's booth, “If you believe Gilkame's tales, he is working on all sorts of inventions that sound quite dangerous like a cannon small enough that it can be held in your hand or a collar that can be fit around a magician's neck to take away his power, but he supposedly has a workshop where he works on these things and I have never seen any such devices around here. Of course, it could all be bunk. Dwarves are known to be braggarts.” Draker flashed a smile to show he was kidding.
“Then what happened?” Marian asked nodding her head in the direction of the ashen booth.
“No one knows for sure.” Draker recounted the events of the fire much the same as Lady Edessa had done the previous night. When he finished he was silent for a minute then said, “You are not looking for a dress, are you? You are looking for the missing noble girl, the warlord’s daughter.” Marian nodded and he added solemnly, “I hope you can find her. If you think it will help, Gilkame mentioned his workshop was in the warehouse district. If you want to question him, then one of the local courier apprentices can probably locate it with little effort.”
Marian thanked him for his help, but before she left to join her master she had to know, “How much is the dress?” indicating the blue velvet one she was looking at before.
“For you, it is fifteen gold pieces, my lady,” he said his grin returning.
“Thank you, I will consider it when we are done with this mess and time is not so pressing.” Marian joined Sari who was finishing her own investigation into the crime scene. “Did you find anything?”
“No,” said the elf, “but that is something in its own way too. There is no sign of accelerants and the origin seems to be in this area,” Sari pointed to a corner of the booth, “but there is no sign of anything particularly combustible besides the wood itself which would not have just caught fire on its own.
“Look here where the scorch marks go in a straight line from the corner. This coupled with Lady Edessa's account of how the fire seemed to follow Tian makes me believe this was the work of magic.”
Marian considered the possibilities- a rogue magician with the power of fire. She had never seen it herself, but Sane told them years ago, when they were still on speaking terms prior to Byrn’s escape from Baj, that Byrn was gifted in fire magic. Could Byrn be the one...? No there was no reason to think such a thing. Byrn would never do something like this. It was only the ache in her heart that wanted to see him once more that made her think such a thing might be possible. True there were many rogue magicians spread throughout the kingdom and while most of them may not be adept at wielding fire the ability to cast basic spells of any discipline was a common enough trait. Knowing it was a magician gave them little more information than they had before.
“Did you find anything out from Draker?” asked Sari.
“Not much we did not already know, but he gave me the name of this shop's owner, a gifted dwarf inventor called Gilkame Axebeard, as another possible lead. He did mention that this Axebeard claimed to be working on a collar to make a magician powerless. It is possible that the attack was against the shop owner and Lady Tian got caught in the mix.”
Sari shook her head, “That would not explain why Tian disappeared. This Gilkame could have been taken by surprise just as everyone else when the fire began, but he may have seen someone or something unusual, but first we should check the alleyway for anything the first investigators missed.”
Sari and Marian were both well versed in wood lore. Either woman could track a bear, deer, or person for miles simply by following subtle markings. However tracking someone in the largest city of the kingdom was another matter entirely. The same tricks used in the forests were nearly useless on the cobblestone streets of Mollifas.
The elf seemed at a loss to her younger companion checking cracks and crevices for any small thing that might have been left behind by the abductor. They searched for the better part of an hour and turned up nothing.
“Gods, this is useless!” Sari shouted in frustration- the search finally getting the better of her. “There is nothing here that might help us find Lady Tian! No scraps of clothing! No footprints or marks! Not even a sign of a struggle!”
“Maybe that is it!” Marian suggested to the confusion of her master, “You believe this to be a magician at work, right? Well what would stop a magician from casting some sort of illusion spell making himself appear as a trusted friend? Maybe there was no struggle because the Lady Tian went with him willingly.”
Sari thought back to the last enchanter she faced; the girl who forced her to try and kill Sane in Colum the night of the ogres’ attack. There were not many enchanters with that kind of skill, but it could narrow down the field of suspects. The elf grabbed her apprentice and hugged her tightly, “What would I do without you?” Marian was about to answer with something witty, but Sari kept talking as she worked out what her student had already deduced, “Tian was shopping with her mother when some piece of jewelry caught her eye. Perhaps some pretty bauble that she thinks will impress the prince drew her away from her escort- not completely, but just enough for an unexpected fire to isolate her.
“Tian was forced into the back alley by the spreading flames. She was frightened, but then sees someone she trusts like a guard calling her to safety... or she becomes spellbound and is forced to follow her kidnapper.”
“Or the magician could have taken the appearance of one of the girl's escorts or even the Lady Edessa,” offered Marian.
“To my knowledge that is not possible,” said Sari, “most visual enchantments are limited in scope like changing hair or eye color. The magician must maintain complete control of the illusion and altering one's features enough to look like someone else known to the target is particularly difficult. The enchanter has to know every line and detail of the face he... or she wishes to take well enough to completely fool their mark.”
“So the enchanter could alter his clothing to appear as someone in a trusted role like a guard, but could not be someone she was familiar with,” Marian concluded.
“Yes, just so,” agreed the
wood-born elf, “and it seems like we have a few leads to follow up on. I will contact Sane and see if he can lend his expertise if this is indeed a magician, and you should find this Gilkame and see if he remembers seeing any guards or other people of authority near his booth just before the fire started.”
Marian nodded. She had no desire to see the sorcerer. Her rational mind knew Sane to be a good and honest man or else he never would have won Sari’s loyalty, but there was the other side of the sorcerer that was the man who tried to hunt her son down like a dog. The apprentice ranger understood that the master magician was only following orders, but she could not accept such an easy explanation where Byrn was involved. Whatever the case she could not stomach being around him and of late whenever the sorcerer and elf had a cause to meet Marian Lightfoot would find something less grating to occupy her time... like watching the grass grow.
***
The smell of burnt flesh and hair hung heavy in the small room at the back of the storage house. Mantellus had found it difficult to sneak away from his duties as a priest prior to Sunshillah, but now that the preparations were complete and the festival was underway he found he had plenty of time to visit with the warlord's daughter. It had only been a day since the torment began, but already her body was covered in severe burns going from her chest to her arms, legs, and feet. Her yellow dress that had been so lovely was little more than tattered rags with blackened marks from burning along the edges in straps of clothing that left only some small material covering her seared skin.
The Lady Tian Nightwind's breathing was especially labored as if her lungs were on fire. Mantellus thought for a second... had he set her lungs on fire? No, he did not, but what a wonderful idea. To get to the lungs he would have to go through the mouth and down the throat...
“Please,” Tian squeaked hoarsely and mumbled something incoherently intruding on the mad man's thoughts.
Mantellus drew in uncomfortably close so that his ear was next to her mouth. “Say again? You really should not mumble. It is low-born and beneath your station.”
“Please,” Lady Tian repeated, “Kill me.”
Mantellus laughed at the absurdity of the idea. “Kill you? What fun is there in that?! If I kill you then our time together would be at an end and I am not ready for that.” Lifting his staff so that it pointed at Tian he said, “Let me show you something the good priests taught me,” and with an incantation he learned for concentration and a wave of his staff, Mantellus began to cast a spell. He stood motionless with his eyes shut for almost a full minute except for the slight wave of his staff from left to right and back again as he repeated the words over and over again until there was no meaning left in them. Suddenly his eyes popped open and a gust of white energy flew from the torturer to his victim.
Tian's body heaved against her restraints as the magic entered and filled her, but she felt no pain. Instead she felt a soothing to her body's aches. The cuts, bruises, and scars from Mantellus’ deadly game healed before her eyes and she felt a mixture of relief and exhaustion as every muscle in her body suddenly relaxed.
Her captor stumbled and only prevented a complete collapse by using his staff as an impromptu brace. Now he was the one breathing heavily and he looked as if he might feint, but his mad smile returned as he regarded the fully restored Tian and with a huff of breath he told her, “Most priests are not willing to do more than minor healing and regeneration. In order to restore life it requires a great deal of energy and could result in the caster's demise, but great feats are possible if you have the will for it. I wonder how far I can push it. How close can one get to the brink of death and still be pulled back? That is what we are going to discover together.”
Mantellus Firekin fell back into his chair exhausted, but never lost his wicked grin. “Our fun is only just beginning.”
Chapter 33
Rain pelted the garden of reflection, but Byrn scarcely noticed. His attention was completely focused on the gray and black figure that stood under the great oak. Six months had passed since he first attempted the necromancy spell that summoned the shadowy figure. He thought of all the things he would say and what he would ask, but when the moment came he could only mutter, “Father,” under his breath.
The spirit of Tannys Lightfoot stepped forward. “Greetings, master magician,” the ghostly spirit said mildly teasing his son now a strong twenty one year old man dressed in black leathers and a dark red cloak tied at the waist, “How long has it been?”
Byrn's heart fell in his stomach. It was suddenly very difficult to form words, but eventually he managed, “Four years.”
“That long?” the spirit sounded mildly surprised, “In the underworld time seems to pass differently. To me it feels like only a few days have gone by since I last saw you standing before the goddesses.”
“It has been hard since you... died,” Byrn told his father as he choked back tears. The young man clenched his fists tightly.
Tannys put his hand on his son's shoulder to comfort him and the magician was a little surprised that his father was corporeal. “I know. I have watched you as you escaped Baj and Ilipse and found your way here,” the spirit spread his arms as if to encompass all of the rain soaked grounds, “and watched as you mastered your craft.” Byrn was about to object, but Tannys silenced his protest and continued, “I am very proud of you.”
At that Byrn could not stop himself and he fell into his father's arms dimly wondering if the wetness on his face was from rain or tears and years of worry and anger fell away. The spirit was cold to the touch, but still comforting as the spirit hugged him tightly.
After a few moments Tannys released his son and held him at arm's length trying to get a better look at him. “Remember, when you were thirteen and just learning to ride a horse? We had that old temperamental nag, Ruth, and no matter how hard you tried you could not get her to listen. Then after one particularly frustrating day for the both of you, she bucked you. I ran to see if you were alright, fearing that the fall may have broken your back.”
Not looking at his father Byrn said, “I remember. My wrist was broken and I had a sprained ankle, but with the healers' help I could ride again a week later.”
“And you did,” finished Tannys. “You told me that nothing was going to stop you and got back on that horse. Day after day you worked on that nag until she eventually decided that her life would be easier if she gave up and listened to you.
“That is how I thought of you then and still think of you now. No matter what obstacles you face you never give up. It is your strength of will that has carried you through to this day and it is that same strength that will carry you forward tomorrow and every day after that.”
Byrn regained his composure, but could not look his father in the eye right away, embarrassed by his display. Deciding instead to change the subject he asked, “How can you watch me from the underworld if time moves differently?”
“The underworld is not as the name implies,” the spirit told him as he considered the best way to explain it. “In fact it is a wholly different level of existence. It is apart from this world, but still connected and as we are connected through the bond of family I can watch you... and your mother. Most times I only see flashes of your lives unless I really stop to watch closely. Then I become still and it is as if I can see you and nothing else in the world exists.”
“You have seen mother? How is she?” Byrn asked eagerly. He often wondered if his mother was safe and happy. Sane told him that she became a ranger back when he was still in Baj, but Byrn could not imagine her as a woman of the wilderness. Then again four years ago he could not imagine himself as anything other than a simple courier.
“She is doing well,” Tannys assured him, “Your mother... well you would have to see it to believe it, but she has come into her own so much so that I wonder if I did not hold her back when I still lived.” Tannys was about to add something when he paused and after a moment said, “That is strange. I can not feel the rain anymor
e.” His body began to fade and small tendrils of what appeared to be smoke wafted off of him at the shoulders and arms.
“The spell anchoring you here is fading,” Byrn told Tannys somberly, “It is a great challenge to summon a specific spirit and pull it from the underworld. It requires a great deal of focus and an invocation of Kassani. Only if she acquiesces can the summoning occur.”
“Say no more,” said the spirit with a wave of his smoky hand, “Go get some rest and know that I am watching over you.” The spirit of Tannys Lightfoot faded back into the underworld leaving his son standing alone under the great oak tree.
As he stood there Byrn felt a sudden keen understanding that he was completely alone in the clearing. He sat under the oak tree in the wet dirt. The earth was soaked enough to be moist to the touch, but not quite to the point of turning into mud. For a long time he sat there listening to the rain spattering against the leaves and the ground thinking about what he had just done and what it meant to him as a magician.
In three years under the tutelage of Avelice Necros, Byrn transformed from a boy who was scared and alone into a powerful magician that was quickly growing into the role of a sorcerer, a magician who is the master of at least two of the four disciplines. Summoning spirits was a fairly simple spell to cast depending on what was being summoned. A ghostly warrior of Vailon or a sprite could be accomplished with little effort, but the act of calling forth an unbound spirit as Byrn had done required a great deal of skill and knowledge in the arts of necromancy. The summoning of his father even for a short time showed that Byrn was an adept necromancer. His skill progressed as far as it could with his avoidance of the darker side of death magic for fear of taking a life.
Rogue Magician (The Magician Rebellion) Page 18