Eolyn

by Karin Rita Gastreich

  “It is not safe.” Echior’s tone became serious. “Especially for a young woman traveling alone. I would counsel you to stay in the village tonight. I can assist you in finding a bed.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I must continue.” Eolyn bowed and took her leave, skirting the edge of the celebration as much as she could. Despite her attempts at invisibility, her passing did not go unnoticed.

  “Now there’s a pretty one,” a man said.

  “Where ye be goin’, m’lady?”

  “A dance, love?”

  “Now, why are ye in such a hurry?”

  She felt pursued by a pack of dogs. When at last she cleared the crowd, her heart was racing. She walked away from the village as quickly as she could.

  “Dhana!”

  Eolyn clenched her fists and fought the impulse to run. She turned to see Mage Echior hurrying toward her. He moved much faster than she would have expected for a man of his age and build.

  “Yes, Mage Echior?” She replied with forced calm.

  “If you are going to Moehn, you should ask after Corey’s Circle.”

  “Corey’s Circle?”

  Mage Echior wheezed and clutched at his ribs. “Corey is a mage, and the Circle is a spectacle that travels around the kingdom. They are often in Moehn this time of year.”

  “A spectacle?” The word was unfamiliar to Eolyn.

  “Performers. They dance, sing, do stage illusions. Anyway, it is said he offers employment to women and…” Echior took a deep breath. “…that he treats his people well.”

  “Thank you very much, Mage Echior. I will look for Corey’s Circle as you suggest.” In truth, she had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but the sooner she appeased this man, the sooner she could be on her way.

  Echior laid a heavy hand on Eolyn’s shoulder. It was all she could do not to flinch.

  “May the Gods protect you, Dhana,” he said.

  Night fell too soon, forcing Eolyn to make camp long before she had reached a comfortable distance from Echior’s village. She settled well off the road, next to a small stream. After gathering dry wood, she lit a fire and prepared a dinner of hot tea and nut bread.

  “The food is getting monotonous,” she confessed to the crackling flames. “I should have asked Mage Echior for some stew.”

  The fire hissed a cheery response. Overhead soft blue clouds floated against a half moon. The tension of the encounter with Mage Echior began to fade. Eolyn hummed a quiet tune, adding her melody to the songs of frogs and the rhythm of the stream.

  The air felt cool and promised a sleep of meaningful dreams. Eolyn would have prepared her bed right then, had not the smell of an intruder assaulted her senses. A twig snapped in the darkness. Eolyn stood and pressed her feet firmly against the ground. Her hand sought the hilt of her knife.

  “Show yourself,” she demanded.

  The intruders—Eolyn detected at least two—paused. The scent of their hesitation wafted toward her. With a measured crunching of grass, two young men appeared at the edge of the firelight.

  Eolyn recognized them from the village, a pair of boys whose auras were tinged with malevolence. She had not liked the oily feel of their gaze then, and she did not care for the predatory nature of their approach now.

  “Are you lost?” she asked.

  “Nah, m’lady.” The one who responded was tall and lanky, with narrow eyes and numerous freckles on his long boorish face. He puffed himself up like a simp lizard on the first day of courtship. “But it seems ye might be.”

  He sauntered over to the fire and sat down, exchanging a repulsive grin with his partner.

  Eolyn despised them both. “I am not lost, and I have not invited you to sit at my fire. You and your friend may leave now.”

  The boy found a rock and threw it idly into the flames. “Don’t think we’ll be goin’ m’lady. Not ‘til you show us some courtesy.”

  With that, they sprang on her.

  Eolyn had no chance to think. She felt a soft mass of flesh give way to the strike of her knee, heard a bone crack under her fist. Her blade assumed a life of its own, hissing through the air and coming back into focus stained with blood. At the sudden release from their rough grasp, she stumbled back.

  One of the boys lay on the ground moaning with an injured groin and a broken nose. The other stood in front of her, his eyes wide with shock, one hand pressed against his cheek. When he lowered his fingers they were slick with blood. Eolyn’s knife had left a long gash.

  “Leave me now or I will kill you both.” She had never heard that tone in her voice, low and fierce. Everything went silent except the rhythm of their breath. The two men watched her like hawks.

  The surest cut is across the throat, Achim had once said. But in a direct confrontation you may not get an opportunity to do that.

  He had stuffed burlap sacks with dry leaves and tied them to trees. Then he had mapped out sternum, ribs and abdomen. Send the knife in low, angling upward. If you aim too high, the blade will skip off the ribs. Put the weight of your body into the thrust. Don’t depend on the strength of your arm. That’s it. Now twist the blade, or draw it across the gut to finish the job. Never leave an opponent half dead, Eolyn, or he’ll come back at you like an injured boar.

  Of course, it was one thing to send her knife into a sack of dry leaves. The thought of plunging her blade into the quivering stomach of one of these boys sickened her. But she would kill them. By the Gods, she would kill them both if they took so much as one step toward her.

  A scuffle against dirt broke the silence. The boy with the injured groin scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the darkness. The other spat into the fire.

  “Witch!” he said. “We’ll come fer y’ soon enough. You’ll be on th’ pyre by morn’!”

  Then he turned and fled.

  Only when the sound of their running faded did Eolyn let down her guard.

  Violent shivers coursed through her body. The knife slipped from her fingers. She pulled her cloak tight about her, trying to warm the chill in her veins. She was not sure what upset her more, their perverse attack or the daunting power of her instinct to kill.

  I cannot stay here.

  She had perhaps an hour—at most two—before whatever story they invented reached Mage Echior and the search for her began.

  Grounding her shaken spirit into the earth, Eolyn called the night air back to her lungs. She lifted her hand toward the shadows and sang a quiet invocation. In a matter of moments she heard the voice of a nearby fir. The tree was young, but its branches held enough strength to be endowed with flight.

  Returning to the fire, Eolyn retrieved the requisite herbs from her belt and steamed the branch as long as she dared. By the time it began to pull toward the sky, her keen ears picked up shouts in the distance. She doused the flames, gathered her things, and concealed the evidence of her campsite.

  Then she took off in a low and desperate flight, pushing as far toward the north as she could.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Corey’s Circle

  Eolyn did not intend to linger in the Town of Moehn, but curiosity detained her, and the swirl of noise and activity lent a comforting sense of invisibility.

  Bright shop signs hung from houses of heavy timber and white plaster. Farmers lined the narrow alleyways, their stalls filled with the first harvests of the season. The people conversed in jovial voices and greeted each other with broad smiles. Children ran rosy-cheeked and capricious through cobblestone streets. Eolyn found herself mesmerized by pungent aromas of smoked meat and rotting fruit, by the ear-piercing laughter of children, and by the thundering clatter of horses and wagons.

  The sun already floated high in the midday sky when a new sound caught Eolyn’s attention, a low pulsing resonance that seemed to carry her name. People around her stopped their labors. Many started toward the source of the strange music. Children ran ahead of the gathering crowd.

  Eolyn followed them toward the town center, w
here she caught sight of an elegant procession. Rhythmic drums interwove with the seductive refrains of flutes, bells, and other instruments unknown. Women in fine gowns lent rich voices to the music, while others danced in graceful circles marked by flowing veils. Several members of the procession passed on horseback and one of them, a beautiful woman with dark flowing hair and sun-warmed skin, spoke words in a strange tongue, her voice swaying with the cadence of the drums.

  In the midst of their slow march, one man stood out. He wore robes of charcoal gray and carried a false staff that appeared to move with a will of its own. He stood as tall as Achim, but was much leaner in build. His movements were quick and nimble, and his coloring unusual, with fine hair cropped short and silver-green eyes set in a pale face. He brought to mind images of Dragon: the translucence of her scales, the creamy line that stretched down her throat toward her underbelly.

  With a resounding voice, he invited everyone to the show, a show for young and old, a spectacle of illusions created especially for the fine people of Moehn.

  “That’s him!” A child next to Eolyn bounced up and down, clapping his hands. “That’s Mage Corey! Quick now, maybe he’ll give us some sweets!”

  Led by the boy, a pack of children charged into the parade. Their rambunctious courage was rewarded with a shower of candy from Mage Corey’s sleeve. In this moment, Eolyn realized how close the mage had wandered. She stepped aside to disappear in the crowd, but it was too late. Mage Corey caught her movement and set his silver-green gaze on her.

  Eolyn tensed under his focus.

  His face filled with a disarming smile.

  He strode forward and improvised a fool’s dance around her, finishing with an exaggerated bow. When she responded with laughter, Mage Corey produced a lily from his sleeve.

  “My personal invitation to a beautiful woman,” he said. “Present this at the entrance, and you pay half price, five pence instead of ten. A fine bargain for a show you will not forget.”

  “But I don’t have any—” Before Eolyn could finish, Mage Corey moved on.

  Money.

  With a disappointed sigh, Eolyn tucked the flower into her belt. Ghemena had warned her about money, strange metal objects that appeared when people exchanged goods or services. Eolyn had never touched a coin and therefore could not visualize one. For this reason, she wanted to secure employment, but employment would not come soon enough to pay her way into Corey’s Circle. And she dearly wished to have more knowledge of this ‘spectacle’.

  The heat and heavy step of a large animal interrupted Eolyn’s thoughts. One of the pageant horses paused next to her, its rider a handsome man with thick black hair secured loosely at the nape of his neck. A curious expression passed over him, as if he recognized her, though Eolyn knew they had not met before this moment.

  “What is your name, my lady?” He pronounced his words carefully, with a melodious accent that inspired images of wind moving across open plains.

  “I am Sarah of South Moehn.”

  He smiled as if she had let him in on an important secret. “I am Tahmir of the Syrnte.”

  Tahmir reached forward. His fingers passed over her temple and descended in a gentle arc behind her ear. The gesture sent a shiver of sparks through Eolyn. She would have jumped back were it not for the tranquilizing effect of his touch.

  “Will you come to the show this evening?” he asked.

  “I would like to, but I can’t. Not until I…” She stopped short when Tahmir produced a single coin from behind her ear. He tossed the five pence into the air, compelling her to catch it.

  “I cannot accept this,” she said instinctively. Ghemena had warned her about accepting gifts from men, though at the moment she could not for the life of her remember why.

  “Nor can I give it,” Tahmir replied. “How can I give that which is not mine? And by the same token, how can you accept something as a gift if it is already yours?”

  Eolyn closed her hand over the coin and studied the hazel eyes of her benefactor, trying to assess his intentions.

  “So we will see you at the Circle then?” he asked.

  “Yes. I suppose you will.”

  With a pleased nod, Tahmir of the Syrnte continued on his way.

  Corey’s Circle was set up just outside the town walls, a cluster of benches and galleries surrounding a central open space. Eolyn arrived as the sun hung low over the horizon. Already the place was overcrowded. Boisterous children elbowed each other for a spot in front. Others climbed onto the shoulders of their parents.

  Just as Eolyn managed to find a place on one of the hard wooden seats, Mage Corey opened the show. He cast a circle and invoked the blessing of the Gods. As soon as he finish, acrobats bounded into the space with all manner of leaps and jumps, warming the crowd into smiles and applause. Syrnte riders followed, brandishing flame tipped swords and inspiring cries of wonder and delight.

  As twilight gathered, Mage Corey reappeared for an act of illusions, skillfully delivered, though Eolyn could not help but notice he tended to cheat with real magic. Corey went from one trick to the next with bold jokes and parodies of grim old mages, evoking roars of laughter from his audience.

  Just as twilight faded into darkness, a singer they called the Mountain Queen appeared. She was a tall woman with striking features and snowy blond hair cropped short. As the townspeople cheered, she beckoned to her companions, the beautiful dark-haired woman who rode in the procession and nine female dancers. A small group of musicians took their place at the edge of the Circle.

  When the enthusiastic welcome of the audience melted into anticipatory silence, one of the musicians intoned a single note. Upon this, the Mountain Queen layered her full voice, calling forth the other instruments. She took the hand of the dark-haired woman, whose song wove deeply into her own. Together they brought the music into a crescendo that set the dancers in motion.

  Eolyn caught her breath. During the years of her apprenticeship with Ghemena, she had studied Primitive Magic and applied its principles to sacred holidays and spells. Yet it was not until this moment that she understood the true power of this most ancient and least understood form of magic. The performers captured the spirits of wind and forest and transformed them into something even more sublime.

  The people of Moehn connected their hands. Voices and bodies swayed in a single whole. Three times the Mountain Queen led them through the melody, each reiteration more intense than the last, until the harmonies hit an impassioned climax and then diminished, leaving a hushed and reverent crowd in their wake.

  A moment of rich silence passed before the people burst into thunderous applause.

  Eolyn recalled Ghemena’s words. You will recognize them by their unique magic. They are hiding in visible places.

  Could these be the friends her tutor had promised?

  She dared to hope they were.

  After the crowd dispersed, Eolyn ventured into the cluster of tents where Corey’s people had retired. Calling on Fox for stealth, she moved in silence among the shadows.

  A vibrant energy hummed about the place as equipment was cleaned and stored, and costumes exchanged for simpler robes. Easy chatter filled the air. Somewhere just beyond the tents, the musicians had regrouped to improvise lighthearted tunes with the help of a few pints of ale.

  Eolyn’s careful ear located Mage Corey’s voice, sharp and agitated, in one of the larger tents. She slipped through the entrance and saw him seated at a small table. In front of him stood a sour-faced man wearing the brown robes of a Middle Mage. The fabric was of a finer make than Mage Echior’s, and trimmed in gold. Upon seeing them, Eolyn hesitated.

  “I assure you, Mage Melk,” Corey insisted, “there was no unauthorized magic in tonight’s show.”

  “But those women—”

  “Dancers and singers, nothing more.”

  “And the lights!”

  “All managed mechanically or with the intervention of my own magic,” Corey assured him.

  “
But the music, Mage Corey! No music like that has been heard in this land, not even in the time of the magas. Surely you realize it was far too powerful for a humble audience such as ours.”

  “We have already discussed this, Mage Melk. My musicians come from all corners of the known world, from places you have probably never heard of. I brought them together to craft entirely new kinds of melodies. Am I to disband them now for having met my expectations?”

  “If their work inspires subversive magic? Yes.”

  “There are no magas in this show.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “Because the magas were destroyed, my friend.” Corey spoke as if explaining to a small child. “There are none left.”

  “Master Tzeremond does not share your optimism.”

  “Well perhaps he should. It might help him relax a bit.”

  “I must also object, Mage Corey, to the very vulgar jokes you made in reference to our most revered Master.”

  “Oh, for the sake of the Gods!” Corey threw his hands in the air. “Are you so incapable of understanding humor?”

  “When it comes to matters of serious importance, yes. You must understand I will send a full report to the King’s City tomorrow.”

  “Send your report. The Council will judge it a waste of their time, much as this conversation has been a waste of mine.”

  The Mountain Queen swept into the tent just then. She strode past Eolyn without as much as a sideways glance. During the performance, she had worn a stunning winter blue gown that sparkled with silver embroidery. Now she was dressed as a man, with a simple tunic and a plain colored cloak.

  “Hello, Corey,” she said warmly. “I see you have a visitor.”

  “This is the Magistrate of Moehn. Mage Melk, I present to you the Mountain Queen. You may question her directly if you like.”

  Mage Melk responded with a curt nod and exited the tent in silence.

  “He’s a friendly one.” The Mountain Queen spoke with a curious lilt.