Seeker of Magic

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  “We still have arrows with silver tips,” Roland shouted, “but we’ve only one bow!”

  Rook turned and pointed at the ground with the bow, but when no one understood, he made a quick motion with his hand. Wren let out a shout. “Rook says look to your feet, they are coming,” she said. “I’m not sure what that means.”

  The ground starting moving beneath Taliesin’s feet and she saw a shiny green beetle with enormous claws emerge from the ground. It went for the tip of her boot and she stomped it into mulch. “It’s the Scourge of Dire Yadru!” she shouted.

  Hundreds of thousands of beetles came from the ground on either side of the firewall and converged on humans and Wolfen alike in a moving carpet of green. A loud chittering was heard over the roaring fire and the snarls and growls of the wolf pack. The beetles attacked the weapons in each Raven’s hands, along with the Wolfmen’s weapons that lay on the ground. Anything made of metal was devoured, from the buckles on their belts to the daggers still tucked inside their boots and all the Wolfmen’s armor.

  With a loud cry, Hawk threw up his arms and tossed off the hungry green beetles. He waved his weapons in the air and tried to throw off more bugs as they scurried along his body in a rush to get to metal. Roland’s dagger and axe vanished. His companions suffered similar affliction, including Rook’s bow and Wren’s javelin, as well as the metal on their armor. Only Taliesin’s silver sword withstood the attack. She stomped on clusters of bugs and pinned several slower crawlers to the ground with the tip of her sword. Beetles ran the length of the silver sword and sent out a silent message that caused the bugs to drop to the ground in clumps and scuttle into a massive mound. With nothing left to devour, the bugs dug into the soil, leaving the agitated wolves milling about in a frenzy.

  Roland rubbed his hands and looked for a weapon of any kind. “Frankly, a silver butter knife would do.” He glanced at Taliesin, and a sad smile appeared on his rugged face. “It’s up to you, woman. You are our last line of defense.”

  The wall of flame continued to burn brightly, but Taliesin could hear Zarnoc muttering, which seemed less than a good sign. Roland gathered a pile of rocks and ordered Hawk, Wren, and Rook to do the same. The wolf-beasts ran around the circular firewall on their hind legs and eyed the Ravens, snarling and snapping. It wouldn’t be long now, thought Taliesin, risking a glance at the wizard. Zarnoc stood behind Taliesin and muttered in a strange language. His white eyebrows were knitted together, and his nose was wiggling. Ginger prowled around the area, snarling.

  “How long can your magic last?” Taliesin said. “There must be fifty wolves; I can’t kill them all.”

  Zarnoc shrugged. “Long enough for help to arrive, my dear,” he said. “I told you I had gypsy friends, didn’t I?” He shook a finger at the furry bodies in front of the flames. “When Shan Octavio arrives, you’ll be sorry you came!”

  “Gypsies?” Roland hurled a rock through the firewall and hit a Wolfen in the forehead, knocking him to his knees. “How can you be so sure they’ll come?”

  “Tsk,” Zarnoc said. “Must I tell you all my trade secrets? The firewall is more than fifty feet high and can be seen for miles around. We might even get Prince Sertorius to help us. How can I know everything? Just be ready to fight as I am a bit tired.”

  “What’s wrong, Roland? Don’t you like gypsies?” Taliesin said, mildly impressed with his good aim. She wasn’t ready to forgive him quite yet, though.

  “Alvarado Octavio’s son and I had a run-in a few years ago. I don’t care to renew the relationship.” Roland sounded none too pleased. He threw more rocks at the wolves. Rook, Hawk, and Wren also pelted the Wolfmen who had reverted back to their naked human forms, but missed most of their targets.

  Taliesin watched a Wolfen piss on the fire. The liquid sizzled and sputtered in the orange swirling mass. She could tell by the shape of his eyes it was Wolfgar, and wondered what he might have looked like as a wolf, instead of a monster that walked on its hind legs. He faded into the background and joined the pack which morphed into giant wolves. One wolf stood out with blond fur and lifted its head to howl. This had had to be Wolfgar, she thought. A chorus of howls signaled another attack. The pack charged forward and rushed the flames at the same time. The Ravens hurled rocks through the flames, but only Roland’s struck, hitting the blond wolf in the head. Wolfgar rolled to the ground and ran off into the dark, yelping like mad and trailed by a score of its kin.

  War cries, along with the thunder of galloping horses, rose in the distance. A shower of silver arrows fell beyond the flame wall in front of Taliesin and her friends, and struck the retreating wolves. She watched the injured wolves scream in pain before crumpling to the ground and turning into men, not to stir or rise again. The gypsies arrived in number and chased the pack into the night.

  The Ghajars were mounted on swift horses and shot arrows from short bows with speed and accuracy; the gleam of silver was unmistakable. Taliesin watched a score of wolves fall to the ground. She never considered she stood in harm’s way until a large shape appeared at her side; one wolf had managed to jump the diminishing firewall. Roland yanked her out of the way and used a rock to crush the creature’s skull. Taliesin knew it would only regenerate and stabbed it through the heart.

  “Thank you,” Roland said, wiping his bloody hands on his cloak.

  “You owe me, Knight of the White Stag,” Taliesin replied.

  Zarnoc dropped his hands and the magic wall of flames vanished as he sagged to the ground. “I’m too old for this,” he gasped.

  Taliesin hurried to the wizard and pulled him to his feet. Rook retrieved his silver spear, Wren at his side, and joined them. Hawk and Roland stood together and watched the gypsies as they jumped off their horses, went to each Wolfmen, and cut off its head with a silver dagger or a silver sword.

  Hawk elbowed Roland. “Price on your head very high, my brother?”

  “Too high for you to reach,” Roland said.

  Leaving Zarnoc with Rook and Wren, Taliesin sheathed her sword and went to Roland. She slid her arm through his, catching him by surprise. As he met her gaze, she felt her anger melt away, replaced by an aching desire to forgive him.

  “Pull your hood over your head, you big oaf,” Taliesin said, but she did it for him, tugging the edges of the hood tight around his face. “It’ll be safer if we call you ‘Grudge.’ Keep your head down and don’t talk to anyone. As far as the gypsies are concerned, you are a Raven, and we protect our own.” His fingers slid along her jaw, and she gave him a quick kiss before turning to face the approaching gypsies.

  Shouting and whistling, the Ghajar rode around Taliesin’s group in two circles that moved in opposite directions. They were dressed in short-cropped jackets, baggy black pants tucked into riding boots, and colorful sashes tied about their waists. Their extravagant beards were braided with silver beads, and each looked more spectacular than the next. Every man was armed with a bow and arrows, javelins, and scimitars made from silver. They generated so much excitement and ferocity with their shouting and piercing stares that they seemed the perfect natural enemy of the wolves. The Ghajar had been around forever, and moved from place to place, never staying—shunned by society. They used trees as ancient as the great oak of Raven’s Nest to build their wagons.

  Taliesin stood protectively in front of her friends as they were forced closer together when the riders closed in around them. She had no reason to be afraid of them; after all, they’d come to their rescue, but she sorely wanted to find Thalagar, and searched the darkness in vain for sign of their horses

  The riders finally came to a halt, slid out of saddles, and commenced dragging the Wolfmen’s bodies into a large pile to burn. An older man with a white-flecked beard who were bright red caught her attention. He reined in his large, dapple-gray horse and dismounted. Taliesin counted the crow’s feet at the sides of his lustrous brown eyes as he approached Zarnoc; six deep grooves told her he was around sixty years old. His shoulders were broad, an
d he looked strong. His bright red coat fell mid-thigh and had shiny silver buttons. Under his coat was a red vest with silver threading; beneath that, he wore a ruffled white shirt that reminded her of one of Hawk’s shirts. His slacks were black and tucked into knee-high leather boots. A silver scimitar hung on his right side in a jeweled scabbard; Erindorian, she thought. On his left hip hung three different-sized silver daggers, each decorated with jewels. He wore a necklace made of wolf fangs.

  It was obvious this man was the leader Shan Octavio, and though she’d never met him, his powerful presence was hard to ignore. The Shan was intimidating, standing several inches above Roland, but handsome, and for a moment as he held her gaze, she imagined dancing around a fire for his pleasure. She’d heard plenty of stories from the gypsies who visited Raven’s Nest and knew the Shan loved his people. They in return were devoted to him, especially the females. Osprey had told her the Shan had eight wives and more children than Osprey had adopted; it was an impressive tally.

  With a deep, throaty laugh, Shan Octavio pulled the wizard into his strong embrace. “Fortune smiles upon you this night,” Octavio said. His voice was rich and warm, with a thick, guttural accent.

  “Shan Octavio Alvarado,” Zarnoc said, bowing his head. “You truly are my lucky star.”

  “You must be blessed by the gods, old friend. We are camped three miles east. When we saw your fire in the sky, we knew you were in danger and rode straight for Pelekus. Seems I’ve finally repaid my debt.” He placed a large hand on his chest, indicating a prior injury. “If it were not for your wisdom and magical arts, I would not be alive.” He glanced at Taliesin, causing her to blush. “These are Ravens,” he said. “Friends of yours?”

  “Yes, yes,” Zarnoc said. “I sent for them.”

  As Zarnoc started to lead the Shan toward Taliesin, a young man rode up. He held a lead line attached to the reins of Thalagar, the mule, and the other Raven horses. The five horses and the mule looked unharmed, which seemed a miracle.

  Octavio gestured for the young man to come forward. “My youngest, Nash, has found your friends’ horses,” he said. “You know the law, Zarnoc. What we find, we keep.”

  “You dote on Nash too much, Octavio,” Zarnoc said, disapproving. “He is spoiled.”

  Spoiled or not, Taliesin wasn’t about to let some gypsy boy keep her horses. She felt Roland’s hand grip her arm to hold her still, as if he knew she was about to tell the Shan exactly what she thought of their ‘gypsy law.’ The horses belonged to her, and she wasn’t about to let anyone claim them; Thalagar was not a spoil of war. Her slight movement drew the Shan’s attention; he’d seen her reaction, and leaned over to whisper into Zarnoc’s ear. A look of delight appeared on the old wizard’s face as she heard Roland say, “Keep silent. These men do not like outspoken women.”

  “Then we are doomed,” Hawk said, sounding almost gleeful.

  Nash jumped out of his saddle, still holding the lead line. He wore a light-blue headscarf, from which blond curls stuck out, and a colorful vest covered with silver beads. His arrogant attitude set Taliesin’s nerves on edge. At Thalagar’s nervous whinny, she jerked away from Roland and hurried to her stallion.

  The riders did not make it easy for her to get through and blocked her path as if playing a game, refusing to let her near the horses. Nash turned, his cheeks flushing as Thalagar slipped his bridle and, with a toss of his head, headed straight for Taliesin. The gypsies moved out of the way and allowed the black stallion to come to Taliesin. Voices whispered as she pressed her forehead to Thalagar’s and placed her hands upon his narrow head.

  “That’s my brave boy,” Taliesin said, planting a kiss on his nose. “I know you protected the others. You were right to lead them away and not fight.”

  Taliesin noticed Nash storming toward her, smacking a riding whip against his thigh. Another gypsy held the lead line of the horses as the youth stalked around Thalagar. The horse snorted and kicked out a hoof that connected with Nash’s kneecap.

  The boy let out a cry of pain. “You’ll pay for that, you damn beast!”

  Taliesin stepped forward as Nash drew back his arm, about to strike. “No, you don’t!” she shouted. Acting on impulse, she gave Nash a hard push that sent him tumbling to the ground. “Nobody hurts my horse, you damn beast!”

  Nash tossed the whip aside, drew a curved knife, and jumped to his feet as Taliesin reached for her sword. Thalagar interceded again and unexpectedly smacked the young man in the face with his long black tail. The gypsies laughed as Nash let out a yelp of pain, rubbed his eyes, and pointed the knife at Taliesin. The Shan interceded and stood between his son and Taliesin. The dagger was lowered and Nash stepped aside, head bowed, and Taliesin dropped her hand from the sword hilt.

  “Clearly this stallion belongs to her,” Octavio said. “These folks are from the Raven Clan. We do not take from a fellow thief, Nash. You know the law. Let the woman have the horses and see the bodies are burned.”

  “This woman has shamed me,” Nash said. “I would have my revenge, father.”

  Shan Octavio let out a furious snarl and moved so fast Taliesin never saw him remove the dagger from the boy’s hand. The disarmed boy spun, regarded Taliesin with an expression of anger and hate, and then ran off. The Shan looked her over in admiration.

  “Who is this woman who brought shame to my youngest?”

  Zarnoc stepped forward. “This is the Raven Master’s favorite daughter, Taliesin. She is as deadly as she is beautiful. Taliesin, this is Shan Octavio.”

  The gypsy king’s eyes were hypnotic and held her gaze as she reached to shake his hand. His grip was strong, and she thought he held on longer than necessary. He turned her hand over, contemplated the lines on her palm, and again met her gaze.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Raven Mistress,” Shan Octavio said. “Your father and I have known each other for many years. I’ve been meaning to pay him a visit since he never seems to get out and travel anymore. What brings you and your friends this far north?”

  “Raven business,” she said, removing her hand.

  Octavio laughed. “The woman is strong of spirit, Zarnoc,” he said. “She has no fear. I take it she is the leader of this small group?” The wizard nodded. Octavio looked away and shouted at his men, ordering them to burn the bodies and to salt the earth. The gypsies did as he commanded. After stacking wood under and around the headless Wolfmen, the men threw a smelly liquid on the bodies. When lit, it ignited quickly and fire soon covered the corpses.

  “Do you know why we salt the earth and burn the bodies?” Octavio asked.

  Taliesin nodded. “So buzzards won’t eat their flesh and spread the disease,” she said.

  “A disease?” The Shan’s expression was thoughtful. “The Wolf Clan is a cursed clan, and our enemy. We consider the Raven Clan friends of the Ghajar,” he said. “If that were not the case, we would have let the Wolfmen pick your bones clean, Taliesin of the Ravens.”

  “These are good people, Octavio,” Zarnoc said. “I’ve asked them to join me on a great adventure. As Taliesin said, it’s Raven business, but I shall be their guide.”

  “It’s not like you to take orders from a woman. Nor is it like you to join such a circle of friends. The Raven Clan are scavengers, like us, so I assume you seek something of great value.”

  “We seek the Raven Sword,” Taliesin said. She found no reason to keep the fact secret, but was aware Roland had stiffened beside her. “The Wolfmen you killed wanted to prevent us from doing so. Their captain will come back for us, and he’ll bring more men.”

  “Not men,” Octavio said. “They are Wolfen. Cursed wretches that have no right to breathe the same air we do or to live among us as normal men. We hunt them whenever we have the chance.”

  For a moment, Taliesin caught the gypsy king ogling her breasts, but then realized he was staring at her silver sword; he had never seen a woman carrying such a weapon, more than likely. Octavio reached out and touched the silver hilt. Alarmed,
her hand closed around his, holding it firmly against the hilt. She’d meant to throw his hand off, but she detected no malice or deceit in the Shan. His fingers were roughened by sun and wind, but his skin was warm; the rings on his fingers felt cool by comparison. Carefully, she peeled his fingers from the hilt and released his hand.

  “Thank you for your help, Shan Octavio,” she said, lifting her head high.

  “My help does not come for free. If not the sword, then what will you give to repay your debt to me?” The Shan glanced at Roland, who hid his face beneath the hood. “You are taken by this one?” He eyed Roland, trying to see under the hood. “What is his name?”

  “That is Grudge. I’m Hawk. This is my sister, Wren, and my blood brother, Rook.” The young man looked embarrassed when the Shan gave him a stern look. He’d clearly spoken out of turn, and the introduction was not his to make.

  “I am my own woman,” Taliesin said. The Shan eyed her breasts, his meaning clear. “You suffered a recent injury Zarnoc healed with his magic. He is our friend and, in helping him, you helped us. I think your debt to him includes us, and no payment is required. Or, am I wrong?”

  “Not at all,” Octavio said, grinning. “Oh, I like her, Zarnoc. I like her a lot.”

  Thalagar snorted and came to sniff the gypsy leader’s leg. A large hand slid down the horse’s neck. Taliesin was surprised when her horse whinnied and nudged the Shan with his head, something he only did with her. Her opinion of the Shan wavered as Octavio patted the stallion on the head and ruffled the black mane. However, she wasn’t about to sleep with him to repay a debt she considered paid. The Shan and his men didn’t think much of women, and knowing they considered females beneath them didn’t sit well with her.

  “You and your friends are welcome to stay in our camp tonight,” the Shan said. “We will have dinner and dancing and get to know each other.”

  “That is gracious of you, Shan Octavio,” Taliesin said. “We accept your offer.”