Letting the magical craft continue its descent, we landed gently in a small field near a farmer’s croft. Roland was dozing comfortably, and thanks to his strong stomach muscles, most of the contents of his belly had landed on me. The rest wound up on the ground when I dismissed the enchantment that created the fields between the stones of my airship. I lowered Roland gently to a nice grassy spot, while the stones moved slowly back together; reforming the small stone disc they had originally been a part of. Once it was complete, I slipped it back into my pouch.
Using magic I cleaned my clothing as well as I could, but somehow the smell lingered. I needed water. I probably could have brought some up from beneath the ground, or created a small downpour, but sometimes simple was the best solution. I left Roland snoozing and walked to the farmer’s house.
As I approached I saw an old man in the yard, carrying a heavy bucket toward a pen. At a guess he was taking slop to the pigs. He stopped when he saw me walking up and waved at me. “Hallo, young man!” he said cheerfully, as if I were an old acquaintance rather than a complete stranger.
I smiled back, “Hello, old man!”
“Oh! You’re not Sammy,” he said abruptly.
“I’m afraid not,” I admitted, “I’m just a traveler looking for a bit of water.”
“There’s a pump over there. You’re welcome to help yourself,” he replied genially, before lifting his bucket again. The weight of it was a problem, and I could see he had struggled to get it this far.
“Let me get that,” I offered, and after a moment’s resistance he let me have it.
“I guess it’s alright to let you young ones help out now and then,” he said, as I carried it over to the pen and emptied the contents into a slop trough for the pigs.
I came back and put the empty bucket near his front door. “It’s the least I could do since you’re sharing your water with me.”
“That’s nothing I wouldn’t do for anybody, and you smell like you could use some,” he answered, wrinkling his nose.
I took a moment to look him over. His hair was mostly gone, leaving his pate bare, and what was left sprouted in gray tufts around the sides of his head. His eyes were a soft brown, but they wandered as he spoke, as though he were having trouble deciding where they should rest. I had no idea of his age, but he appeared to be quite old, possibly into his eighties, which was a very respectable age for someone living such a hard life.
I washed my face and considered removing my shirt so that it could be rinsed, but the prospect of wearing wet clothes wasn’t particularly appealing. Perhaps I could dry it afterward using magic.
While I considered my options the old man came closer, “You smell like dog vomit,” he said helpfully. “Let me get you another shirt.”
His offer was generous. Clothing wasn’t cheap, especially for a poor farmer. His age made me suspect his wife was probably already gone, and my senses had already confirmed that we were the only people within a mile or two of his home, aside from Roland. “You don’t have to do that,” I replied hastily.
“Nonsense, you don’t want to keep wearing those things. Do you need some pants as well? I think you might be close to my son’s size,” he said.
The mention of children made me feel a bit better. “Is he the one you mistook me for?” I asked.
“Yeh, it is. He comes to visit me now and again, just to check on his old dad. He and his wife live about ten miles off… down that way,” he said, pointing in a generally westerly direction.
We talked for a few minutes and I eventually accepted his offer, on the condition that he keep my own shirt and trousers in return for his extras. They were of a much higher quality material than his own, so I hoped he would benefit from the trade. The clothes he gave me were rough but clean and they fit well enough, although the pants were a bit short for my long legs.
During the course of our conversation, I determined that his eyesight was severely limited, though his ears and nose were sharp enough. He hadn’t noticed the crest sewn into my shirt or the quality of my other belongings. That alone would have tipped off most people regarding my social stature, but I appreciated being treated as a normal person for a change. I couldn’t help but wonder if my own father might have been similar in demeanor if he had reached such an age.
After I had changed, I spent a few minutes talking to the old man while I tried to think of some way of repaying his kindness. I could have left a few pieces of gold but he’d probably have had some difficulty spending them without being robbed.
“You’re not from around here are you?” he asked, breaking my train of thought.
“No sir, I live in Washbrook, in the county of Cameron. It’s way to the north of here, near the border with Gododdin,” I answered honestly.
The old man’s eyebrows went up, “You really are a far ways from home. Did you travel by that new road the Count is building?”
“The World Road?” I said, surprised.
He nodded, “I think that’s what they’re calling it. It’s supposed to open up the whole world. That wizard, the Count di’Cameron, is building it. Leastwise that’s what my Sammy told me last year.”
“It isn’t open yet,” I told him, “but I have heard that it should be soon. What do you think of it?” I was curious now. It was rare that I got the opinions of someone who didn’t have good cause to want to please me. As we talked, I quietly focused my attention on his eyes, seeking the cause for his poor vision.
“Thought it was mad at first and my son did as well, but then he don’t like the Count much neither,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
“He’s a god fearin’ man, was devoted to Celior before the church started having such troubles. He blames the Count; says the wizard killed his god, and that it’ll bring doom on all our heads,” explained the farmer.
I nodded, “I’ve heard that. What do you think?”
“Heh! I love me son, but he never was too bright. No way could any man kill a god. I’ve been around long enough to know how stories is… they get bigger with each tellin’. Whatever’s wrong with the church is probably its own fault or mebbe’ the fault of our heretic king.”
That got my attention, “Heretic king? Are people saying that?”
The old man laughed, “People say all sorts o’ stupid things. They say his son was favored by the Lady o’ the Evenin’ Star and that he turned his back on her. I dunno if that’s true, but his father, our king, did toss the churches out o’ Albamarl,” said the old man, before adding, “That’s enough to make him a heretic, if’n you care what the churches think anyhow.”
“You don’t sound as if you think much of the churches,” I observed.
The farmer spit on the ground, “They never put no food on my table, and they wouldn’t come when Mary was sick. That’s my wife mind you… lost her almost twenty years ago now. She was always a pious woman, but they din’t show their heads around here when she was ill. That wizard my son’s always goin’ on about, least he did something useful.”
“What did you say your name was?” I asked.
“I din’t, but my friends call me Buck, Buck Shadley,” he said amiably. “Anyways, that wizard, he fought off the armies o’ Gododdin’, an that was accordin’ to the old king, who didn’t seem to care much for him, so you can bet it was the truth. I dunno if I believe the stories about this road they’re buildin’, but if it’s true, it can’t help but be good.”
“How’s that?”
“If you’ve ever hauled your harvest to market, you’d understand. A road like that makes it better for everyone and easier to sell food where it’s needed, though ‘m sure the ones makin’ the biggest profits will be the merchants.”
“You think it will help you out?”
Buck laughed, “I’m too old to do much or gain much, but it’d be a blessin’ for my children who still have a lot of livin’ left to do.”
I coughed before standing up. “That might be true. It’s been a pleasure talking to
you, Buck. I don’t suppose you’d let me pay you for the clothes? I have to be on my way.”
“Nah, I wasn’t usin’ ‘em, and Sam’s got his own wife to sew and darn for him. My other kids are too far away to visit. You keep ‘em and I’ll be happy knowin’ they’re getting some use,” said old Buck. “Sides, I’m too old to spend it.”
I handed him a small pouch of coins. “Take this then,” I told him.
“I told you I din’t need any payment,” he protested.
“It’s a gift… for Sam,” I explained. “Thank you for talking to me.” Somehow the old man’s words had made me feel much better about things. I might not have a solution for all the world’s ills, but at least a few people thought I might be doing something good.
“Hmmph, alright then, though it don’t seem right to take a payment for simple hospitality.”
I smiled at him, “It was getting too heavy to carry anyway. Take care of yourself, Buck.” I picked up my staff and started walking back toward where I had left Roland. I didn’t turn back, but my magesight showed me that the old man was watching me until the trees obscured his vision.
I wondered how long it would be before he noticed that his eyesight had improved.
Chapter 35
“Good morning,” I said, as Roland stirred beside the small campfire. “Did you sleep well?”
He groaned, “My mouth tastes as if something crawled in and died. What did I drink?”
Obviously he hadn’t quite remembered the circumstances surrounding his last awakening. I handed him a cup containing watered wine, “Here rinse your mouth out.”
“Where are we?” he asked, looking around at the dark and empty landscape.
“The southern desert, a short distance from Agraden,” I replied.
Roland frowned. “How did I get here…? Oh you bastard!” he said, standing up with a loud exclamation. “You tried to kill me!”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I tried to make the trip as pleasant as possible,” I protested.
“Pleasant?! Is that what you call it? I woke up being thrown around inside your invisible box and nearly broke my nose, and then I discovered we’re miles in the air and falling to our deaths! That’s supposed to be pleasant?” he yelled.
I did my best to keep my features calm. Roland was quite upset and it wouldn’t do any good to laugh while he was still angry. He had actually been through a traumatic ordeal, especially for someone already deathly afraid of heights. “You’re right, but you did repay me a bit for your suffering,” I said blandly.
“Repay you?” he said, staring at me blankly. I plucked at my shirt to draw his attention to my clothes; his quick eyes took them in. “Are you wearing a peasant’s tunic?” he asked.
I nodded. “I couldn’t get the others to stop smelling, so I traded them to a kindly farmer.”
“Smelling? Oh! Well it serves you right! What you did was despicable!” he finished, and I could see he was struggling to keep an angry expression on his face, but eventually a smile crept across his lips. “You were covered in it weren’t you?”
“Mmm hmm,” I said in agreement. “It was hours before I found a place to set down and clean up,” I lied. As Marc might have said, ‘a little embellishment never hurt anyone,’ and in this case it served to make Roland feel a bit better about his inadvertent revenge.
He laughed and I joined him, letting the simple sound ease the tension between us. “How long did it take us to get here?” he asked, once he had finished snickering at me.
“Less than half a day,” I told him. I might have been able to manage it in less time, but after our near death experience I had restricted myself to more modest speeds.
Roland let out an appreciative whistle. “As impressive as that is, there is no way I’m letting you put me back in that flying deathtrap of yours,” he informed me.
“No need,” I replied. “We can walk to Agraden in a half an hour from here, once the sun comes up. I’ll make a circle to take us back to Lancaster or Castle Cameron after we…,” I paused as the realization of why we were there struck home, “…after we’re done,” I finished. Once your brother, my best friend, is dead, said my inner voice.
I slept fitfully that night, while Roland slept not at all. He had had a very restful day already, thanks to my sleep inducing spells. The next day we started walking early. My companion woke me at the first light of dawn, probably out of spite, but I couldn’t complain.
We hadn’t brought anything in the way of supplies for camping or traveling, and there was very little food for breakfast. That might sound foolish, but I’d had no intention of making a long trip, and if we had run into serious problems securing food, we always had the option of creating a circle and returning home.
True to my word, I had put us close enough to the desert city that it was a short walk to reach the outer limits within a half an hour. While most of the landscape for many miles in most directions was barren, the city itself was situated in a lush oasis created by a natural system of springs that rose to the surface there.
From what Marc had told me previously, the home he and Marissa had settled into was located near the northern part of the city, in a district that also housed several of her relatives. Much to my confusion though, the city was an elongated elliptical in shape, with the longer distance stretching in an east-west direction. That meant ‘northern’ encompassed a lot of potential areas.
“I never imagined it would be so big,” commented Roland, as we walked down one of the bigger thoroughfares. The buildings on either side of us were constructed of some sort of tan bricks, as almost everything we had seen was. The predominant color was a sandy brown, from the buildings to the road, and it might have been monotonous if not for the large palm trees and lush vegetation surrounding and infusing the city with a sense of vitality.
Remembering my geography lessons I replied, “I have heard that nearly a hundred thousand people live in or near Agraden.”
“Do you intend to pay a visit to the Shah?” asked Roland suddenly.
The thought had not occurred to me. As a landed noble of Lothion, it would be considered mildly rude for me not to pay a courtesy visit… for the crown prince, Roland, it would be a diplomatic insult to ignore the Shah. None of that mattered though, if our presence went unreported. “I’m really not dressed for it anymore,” I answered, plucking at my shirt. “But we should keep our identities to ourselves for now, just to be safe.”
After asking directions several more times we eventually arrived at our destination. The house standing before us was one of the larger ones in the neighborhood, and I could tell from the front that it probably had a large inner courtyard as well as side buildings. I wonder what I paid for this, I thought silently. Marcus had used an open letter of credit I had given him to purchase whatever he needed. I wasn’t surprised though; he had never been one to do anything by halves.
A servant answered the gate at our knock, and we were ushered into a pleasantly decorated courtyard. Several varieties of small palm decorated the perimeter, along with some broad leafed plants I didn’t recognize at all. A large archway led into what I presumed was an area to stable horses, while the other side of the courtyard boasted a highly carved and ornamented set of wooden doors… the main entrance to the house itself. The center of it all was completed by a three tiered fountain, which strengthened the impression that we had arrived at a place of sanctuary and refuge.
Our wait was short. Only moments after the servant left, Marissa appeared, obviously glad to see us. Her features were composed, though her eyes seemed slightly swollen… a sure sign that she had been crying recently. What worried me far more than that was her choice in clothing; she was covered from head to toe in black, the near universal color for mourning.
She embraced Roland first, as was proper, and while I stood watching, I saw her face clench in unspoken grief. The scene was surreal, and it almost felt as if I stood outside of it looking in, watching the drama unfold while not really
being a part of it. A moment later her arms were around me, and I embraced her calmly, my mind blank.
The first thing I noticed was the clean smell of her hair, even as her arms gripped me with a strength I would not have expected from her slender frame. Still I felt nothing, but I held onto her nonetheless, afraid for some reason to let go. Her body shook and the sound of loud, ungainly sobs reached my ears. I wanted to cry, yet I was helpless to reach the torrential core of my sorrow.
I was there… twisting my inner-self into an agony of turmoil, but a veneer of numbness seemed to be shielding me from experiencing it directly. I still held Marissa, but finally I found my voice, “When?”
“Early this morning, not long after midnight,” she replied, squeezing me tighter.
If we hadn’t stopped we probably would have been here, the unbidden thought rose in my mind. We should have continued into the city and gotten directions, even though it had been well past dark when we arrived. I had missed my last chance to say goodbye.
Marissa, now a widow, led us into the house and bade the servants to bring us tea. She offered breakfast as well, but none of us had an appetite. We sat in a silence that was fearful to contemplate.
“Where is he now?” asked Roland.
I had found him already with my magesight, but Marissa answered readily, “He’s still in his bed. I’ve called for the undertaker, but he hasn’t arrived to take him away yet. Would you like to see him?”
Roland politely declined, but after a minute or two I was unable to help myself, and I spoke up, “I think I’d like to see him, if that’s alright.”
“Of course it is,” said Marissa, with wet eyes, “You were as much a brother to him as Roland.”
I glanced at Roland, and he nodded as well, “I’ll wait here, go ahead,” he told me.
Entering the bedroom, the first thing I noticed was his color, his skin was unusually pale, almost grey. The muscles in his face had gone slack and he looked gaunt. I gazed on him for only a minute before I looked away. Instead I began taking in the details of his bedroom, not in a desire to pry, but curious about his recent life. Aside from a few books, and a lot of hastily written notes, there was little to see. On his writing desk I found a heavy leather-bound journal entitled, ‘On the Nature of Faith and Magic’. I knew immediately it must contain the primary focus of his scholarly work on magic over the past few years, but reading his papers would be a task for another day.
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