by Marc Secchia
Whisper had to pause just to work out how to breathe. The stench of this place was an olfactory Dragon trying to quarry her nostrils out from the inside.
Past the long workbench, on the far side of the room, was a miraculously clear area perhaps ten feet square, surrounded by arcane equipment, brass funnels connected by bamboo and metal pipes, clear bubbling vessels filled with brightly coloured liquids or occasionally animals like fish or miniature draconids, gently steaming metal grids and tall lamps on extensible arms, and several metal racks standing on wheels. These were stuffed with tools and probes that resembled nothing more than hideous implements of torture. A set of poles bounded this area, connected by a tinker’s toy chest of wires that ran to incomprehensible equipment Whisper took for monitoring of some nature.
“Very good, very good,” said Shivura, eyeing Whisper with a proprietary air. “Come along. No time to waste. Slack discipline is a sign of a lazy mind.”
She eyed the chaos in amazement. Really?
“Apprentice! A stool for our insanely magical guest, if you please.”
Hmm. Insane. Good word for a Mage.
Whisper mentally cracked all of her knuckles and pictured Ignothax shaking Mage Shivura in a magical cage. Oddly, the image only made her feel ashamed. Shivura, good? That would be the day Wyrms sailed the Brass Mirror!
Shivura hustled her past the benches into the open space. “No chains, locks, manacles, straps or miscellaneous maltreatment here,” he declared cheerfully. Whisper licked her arm-fur pensively. Human brushes hurt her skin, but her tongue did an excellent job. “This is magiscience, not the low, bumbling conjurations of Warlocks and Element Enchanters. The hallowed halls! The intellectual wizardry of the masters of magic, that’s what we deal in here. Magi grapple with the esoteric, the mysterious, the magical ambiguities that bamboozle lesser minds – such as yours, no offence …”
Whisper dared not laugh. To cheer herself up, she pictured Drex tapping this fool’s ridiculous blue hat with his choice hammer, Ping!
This thought satisfied.
Settling his floppy headpiece more firmly in place and pushing his sleeves up his skinny, ruddy arms, Mage Shivura said, “Apprentices, take notes. First, physical measures and parameters. We observe a female feline-humanoid animal standing erect on her hind paws with bone structures that indicate habitually upright positioning, but she could travel on all-fours, too. Four retractable talons on the forepaws, and one opposing. On the lower limbs, three retractable talons and two opposing. Total height –” he held up a stick carved and marked to measure “– thirty-three inches. Arm span – stretch out, you wretch – forty inches. We note the absence of a prehensile tail, recently severed by the Warlock Sanfuri, a pox and a bane upon him and his ancestors, but signs of regrowth are apparent. Current length, five and one-half inches. There is extensive feline structural patterning including upright motile ears, fangs and whiskers, russet-orange fur of approximately two inches length all over, shorter on the face and working appendages, and longer behind the skull. Wide eyes of a hunter or predator, colouration a jade … aye, jade green –”
“That colour’s malachite, Mage Shivura.”
Shivura glared daggers at the unfortunate apprentice, but when he spoke, his tone was soothing. “I demand precision at all times, Apprentice Stanu, but you just exceeded my expectations. Well done!”
“Five sisters, Mage Shivura,” mumbled the apprentice.
“Good!” Mage Shivura prodded Whisper with his measuring stick. “Malachite eyes adapted for low lighting conditions, but quasi-humanoid intelligence is apparently present, as posited by her communicative complexity and ability to recall messages without apparent error. Note, test the intelligence later.”
The Apprentices’ draconid-fang pens scratched away assiduously as the Mage, clearly enjoying being master of his squalid domain, strutted around Whisper making his remarks.
Next, he called in tests of her flexibility and strength, declaring himself surprised at her grip, which was stronger than the average man’s, and then further tests began with her identifying electrical, magical and kinetic shield types, fields and influences, her ability to distinguish scents, her hearing, sight, recall and what he called ‘animal perception’.
Whisper distrusted Mage Shivura, so she set herself to closely observe his methods and behaviour – always, in the back of her mind, was the question that plagued Princess Rhyme and her councillors. Who was the traitor? Who had poisoned the King?
If it was the Mage, she eventually concluded, he hid his purposes well. Too well for her to smell out.
There was no doubt she could learn much from him. As his apprentices set up and tested her with different magical fields, flavours, techniques and probes within their circle of poles and wires, there was very much to imbibe, to sense and to scent. Magical pushes and pulls. Sneaky defences that she had to describe with her eyes closed. Magiscience, she understood, was closely linked to the esoteric nature of objects and powers, sometimes contained in wands, staffs, stones or orbs of power, or sometimes produced by the Magician. Mostly through Shivura’s non-stop grumbling, she learned that although the magical disciplines shared some commonality of practice, Warlocks specialised in conjuration and binding, both of the animate and the inanimate realm – hence Sanfuri’s flying manacle which had arrested her tail, she deduced. Element Enchanters worked more closely with earth and fire, but struggled to control wind and air, unlike the Draco-Mages, who could manipulate all of the elements, including the fifth and most perilous element called mana, or raw magic.
Eventually, after four hours of intense labour, Mage Shivura stepped back and said, unexpectedly, “Thank you, Whisper. You have been a most helpful subject. We have much to ponder – and I hope this was useful to you, too?”
She must have been staring, nonplussed, because he laughed and scratched her behind the ears. Whisper suppressed a shudder.
“Aye, I am ambitious, little one,” he said. “Very ambitious. I want to be the greatest Mage that ever lived. I’ll make no secret of the fact that I’d almost sell my soul for power, and I see a fabled magical creature as one avenue to grasping that power – but the odd thing is, my ambitions don’t extend much further than this room. Sanfuri and I represent opposite ends of the spectrum. I know the Princess or Drex would rather see my laboratory cracked off the bottom of Arbor and tumbled into the canyon, but I assure you, you can trust me.”
“I do.” However, her voice cracked. Her ears grew toasty with embarrassment.
Again, he laughed. “Don’t think I can’t read your mannerisms like an open scroll, Whisper. You’re smarter than you pretend. You’re a learning machine. All those hyper-sensitive inputs from your senses, and the additional magical senses!” Then, just as suddenly, his narrow face took on a sinister cast. “Don’t ever cross me, because I will make good on my threat to pickle your brain, just like my Apprentices have pickled those other brains for study – over there!” Whisper’s eyes leaped. Ugh! “They’re taken from fresh cadavers, you’ll be pleased to know. Anyways. Continue to co-operate, as you have done, and you’ll discover I can be enormously helpful to you on your path to discovering your identity, your past and your purpose.”
Whisper trembled, unable to speak.
Stroking his beard with the air of smug dragonet chin-deep in tasty intestines, Shivura said, “Here is my offering for today. In the lore, we discovered references to unique Whisper-powers, such as what you described to me, the ability to scent out Arbor even though you had never been here. Did you somehow lift that information from Sanfuri’s mind, or Ignothax, his Dragon, I wonder? Despite their wards and protections? If that ability exists, that makes you an extreme danger to this Kingdom. Therefore, I have advised the Warleader not only to hide any talk of strategy from you, but also to avoid your presence. Secondly, you have Whisper-powers in the physical range, for example, a chameleon-draconid ability to blend into your surrounds, to fade, to exercise stealth in the physical, audibl
e, emotional, psychic and magical spectra. I assure you, you will require every one of those skills if you wish to live long in the world of Yanzorda, our strangely fractured homeland.”
She croaked, “Thank you, Mage.”
“One last thing. Bring me magical knowledge, and I will see that you are well rewarded.” The Mage’s dark eyes glittered above his hands, clenched near his throat. “We will speak much, little Whisper. Of that you should have no doubt.”
With that, clearly dismissed, Whisper fled the laboratory.
Aye, she had much to think about. A self-declared ally, yet one who spoke with a forked tongue. Those dark hints of ambition that ruled his mind. Such a man could be twisted, could he not? Yet he seemed to care little for politics and a great deal, almost to the exclusion of all else, for the advancement of his craft. Single-mindedness could be a strength.
In which case, why did a man of his ilk serve Arbor?
She did not understand all of the nuances and currents in this place. Nonetheless, it was time to travel on. Some matters in her world were simple indeed. The treacherous Warlock must be opposed. Arbor must be saved. And, she chuckled behind her paw, she must see if Princess Rhyme’s blushes might somehow be reciprocated over in Azarinthe City.
For that mission alone, she would run.
I am resolute!
* * * *
At dawn two days later, the outer doors of Arbor cracked open. Whisper faced the gap, hesitating. Already, the oath burned into her mind by Mage Shivura at the Princess’ command, shrieked, Run, run, never stop running … but what shocked her was how she felt about the city she was leaving. She had made friends here. Discovered secrets. Taken on a new charge in their service. A willing charge, in stark contrast to her previously hapless terror – how she burned at the memory! Now, the burden of thousands of souls rested upon one rather petite pair of shoulders. On her ability to cross an uncrossable ravine, to find a way passable by an Azarinthine army, and then to convince King Xaryiza-das-Azarin to commit his people to an uncertain war, all in time to return and spit in Warlock Sanfuri’s eye.
That bit, she planned to enjoy.
As in, spit the Warlock’s eye with her longest talon.
Again, the force of her emotions shocked her. Was it right to nurse such a bonfire of hatred in her chest? She must focus on the mission.
Turning, she startled to find Drex had sunk onto one knee beside her. He said, “Since yar pinched my daggers in thar battle as thar hopped ’round my knees like some crazed dracohopper, I done prepared for yar thar’n blades, with forearm-sheaths sized right-like. Aye, thar’n armoured too, but no chattin’ with thar’n draconids. Yar skewer ’em good or run real fast.”
Pensively, Whisper allowed Drex to buckle the sheaths onto her arms, even though his thick fingers were really too clumsy for such a delicate task. Each sheath held a long dagger, spring-loaded for a fast draw, and a shorter throwing knife. He must have noticed how she had refused a belt for tools, afraid it would preclude her skin-flare from opening out to save her from a dangerous fall. That man-mountain must have a heart softer than sparrow-down … clambering quickly up onto his knee, she stretched upward to deposit a shy kiss on his cheek.
“See you in a week or two, Drex.”
“Aye,” he rumbled, appearing somewhat taken aback. He rubbed the spot absently. “When yar back, yar kin polish my hammers. Alright?”
“Deal.”
Princess Rhyme, the only other person allowed to come to see her off, also knelt as Drex lumbered to his feet and stepped away. “Remember the messages?”
Whisper tapped her head. “Eidetic recall engaged. Magic is handy, isn’t it?”
She glanced down, and checked a second time as Rhyme pressed a ring-shaped stone of shimmering mistorialite into her paw. The Princess said, “Xan once gave me this. Show this to him, and tell him our need is urgent. Tell him … tell him … o Whisper, I don’t know what else to say!”
Whisper replied, “I will suggest he had better return this token in person, or you’ll let your axes do the talking?”
“Diplomatically!” spluttered Rhyme, her blue cheeks taking on a suspicious shade of pink.
“I will speak for Arbor,” she said.
Both of their eyes widened at the sudden formality. Another oath? Whisper swayed as a not-unpleasant burning sensation briefly manifested in her tail. Oh? A tail-sense? At last, after her prevarications and self-doubts, there was a knowing within her tail that she took for destiny’s call. The world of Yanzorda did not demand the whisper of her paws upon this particular mission, but now that she had determined to set out, a powerful frisson of pleasure fizzed from her tail up her spine to the base of her skull.
She wanted to leap for joy! Instead, Whisper bowed formally to the Princess, not trusting herself to say more. Then, she set her paws to the trail, slipping between the thirty-foot tall outer gates.
Quick, Whisper away!
* * * *
The trail led at first past the outlying settlements of Arbor, the city serving a Human community numbering an estimated thirty-two thousand souls. As kingdoms went, it was apparently Whisper-sized – but it was by ten thousand canyons and the entire Brass Mirror, the very best, she told herself fiercely. Her paws tapped along a well-marked, level ledge that led for fifteen miles along the canyon’s edge, until she came to a place where Arbor’s relatively narrow canyon intersected with a far larger, more spectacular canyon spanned by the first bridge. For protection against direct sunstrike, engineers had suspended the bridge beneath the buttress on thick metal hawsers driven into the living stone above – a clever solution, she decided. Three-quarters of a mile across and eight miles deep, she would not have imagined a canyon could thus be crossed, but it was clearly more than possible. After showing the garrison leader of Arborite troops the Princess’ seal upon a small scroll of introduction she carried in her pouch, the soldiers waved her through to the entry area, separated from Arbor’s canyon by a narrow stele, and onto the bridge itself. Ten feet wide and floored with wooden planks, it appeared to be very well maintained despite the lack of trade, nowadays, with Azarinthe.
Filled with purpose and fire, Whisper trotted halfway across before she remembered to gawk. Oh, by her paws! This canyon was definitely gawk-worthy.
So tall and wide was the space, that sunstrike illuminated the brassy waters far, far below. She wondered if the acid would boil at midday. The sheer sides were verdant where protected by the light green sentikor overgrowth and barren and blasted where not, so she could see petrified giant fungi lower down, with new growth developing in the shade of death. To the openside, the mighty canyon walls soared to a jaw-dropping height of eighteen miles above the oceanic inlet. It was rare to gain such an unbroken view, and Whisper decided that to catch insects and a few succulent flying drakkids in her open mouth for a minute or two was definitely worth the price. Flavoursome, too. The canyon curved away long before she could see the Brass Mirror itself, broken by a waterfall rushing miles and miles down the cliffs in a dazzling series of leaps and plunges over rock ledges fringed with lush ferns and greenery, dropping over perhaps a hundred or more different steps before it pounded into the ocean in a white, frothing rage. The river leading from Arbor joined this waterfall in a five-and-a-half mile drop into the inlet. In the near distance, she saw a flight of Tamarind Wyverns, with their characteristic mottling of hot orange colours in the upper parts and white underbellies, flying lazily toward her position. Tens of thousands of Wyvern nests lined both sides of the canyon.
Walking on, Whisper took a few moments to look to her right paw, to the strongside or mainland, so very many leagues away. Her Whisper-knowledge ended not far from here, but did cover the trail much of the way to Azarinthe, such as it had been before. The Ocean ended almost below the bridge and the canyon wound away into the distance, growing slightly narrower but no less majestic in its sheer scale and glory. She spied further dragonet and draconid nests on the edges, high up, and noted how
even the Dragonkind sheltered from sunstrike. How did the swarms survive on the topside?
Draconids. That reminded her. Whisper’s paws padded nimbly across the bridge, rapidly and competently traversing the terrain she had mapped together with the Cartographers.
For two days, the trail plunged through tunnels, cracks between canyons and crossed over three smaller buttresses, growing progressively less well-maintained as she travelled onward. Her fixation on Azarinthe was relentless, eclipsing all else. Beyond the Arborite hamlet of Sunidar, home to two hundred and fifty persons, Whisper entered the true wilderness once more. The trail vanished in places, overgrown, covered in landslides and crumbled by unprotected sunstrike. Whisper threaded her way through piled-up boulders each larger than Sunidar itself, sniffing out the trail with an eye for returning this way with an army of clumsy Humans. Running high on adrenaline and need, she pressed on for sixty hours straight without eating or drinking before taking refuge from a flight of Tamarind Wyverns maddened for no reason she could discern. She slept briefly but deeply in an abandoned dragonet’s nest she found in the bole of a jentiko tree.
Whisper dreamed of whippet-draconids.
Were they on her trail once more? Would the Warlock learn that she sought help from Azarinthe, and adjust his strategy accordingly? How did one lift such a magical trace from her flesh? Perhaps she would have to kill all of the draconids which carried her scent in their nostrils.
She paused just a couple of minutes to fill up on tasty jingi-nuts and a pawful of white magisberries, before unearthing an unexpected treasure, a rotten log which was home to an exciting variety of grubs and peppery crawling insects. Sampling a few drakkid worms, she found them distasteful. Whisper sated her trail-hunger until her stomach was a tight little drum. She would regret her excess later.
Her paws pattered along a rising and falling crosswise crack that entire day, as she threaded her way through a jungle formed by what appeared to be a single Bracer-giant variant, this one furnished with mauve blossoms that her sensitive nostrils warned her were highly poisonous. She jogged around so many trunks, she began to feel vertiginous. Time to pause. The idea was not to kill herself, but to come through quickly. Unscathed would be a bonus, but probably too much to hope for. This land was perilous, even for a fast-running Whisper.