Needle Ash Book 1: Knives of Darkness

by David V. Stewart

  “The kingdom benefited.”

  “I suppose. Of course, the battle might have been won anyway.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Then who benefited? I say it was the companies of men we saved. They’re the ones indebted to me, but of course, they also saved me by… standing there. With their shields?”

  “Holding the line, or the shield wall, as we say,” Michael said. “You really did skip a bit of training, didn’t you?”

  “The captain. Sorry, I don’t remember his name-”

  “Lucido would have been your captain, under my father’s legion.”

  Sharona shrugged. “He said I was needed at the front lines immediately. That my talent was too high to bother putting me through a basic military education.”

  “That says something,” Michael said. “Lucido has judged many a mage in his time. You must be talented indeed.”

  “I know what I know, and that’s it.”

  “Same for all of us.”

  “Not quite for a mage. Do you know much about magic?”

  “Honestly, no, other than I can send a mage to make things burn and burst apart. They’re damn useful.”

  Sharona chuckled slightly. “You are like your brother a little bit. Not very much though, which is good. Well, since you know nothing of magic, it is good you have me to protect you.”

  Michael was silent for a moment.

  “Not going to deny it this time? Good,” Sharona said.

  “I hear tell that Queen Alanrae is a sorceress herself,” Michael said.

  “I hear that too. You expect me to protect you from her?”

  “I don’t know. You know about magic. Perhaps you can protect me, or my family, in the absence of Towler.”

  “I will protect you, Michael.”

  “What about my brother and father?”

  “I am powerful, according to some, but even I cannot be in three places at once.”

  “And yet you seem to hold dominion over more than one object at once.”

  “Ah, so you liked my little trick.”

  “I appreciate that you can do it,” Michael said.

  The next day, the rain increased, gradually getting worse as the day wore on, darker and filled with lightning. Sometime around sunset, Michael admitted defeat and had his retinue of servants begin making camp amid a cluster of old, high hardwoods that, if they did not keep much rain off of them, at least broke the incessant wind. Guissali, who had jumped at the opportunity to act as Michael’s retainer for the journey ordered the servants about vigorously, clapping his hands if he felt they were too slow in their purpose.

  “There’s a town and an inn not so further up the road,” Sharona said. “If I remember our journey to the capital.”

  “We need to take a fork before we reach Gabora Minor,” Michael said. “Since we are taking the swiftest route to Forgoroto, not retracing the armies steps into the hinterlands of Ferralla. With luck, we will be there in time."

  “There’s no such thing as luck,” Sharona said.

  “Then with the blessings of the gods.”

  Sharona smiled a little smile and nodded. She led Rabble-Rouser over to a nearby tree and kneeled down. Michael watched her light a few twigs on fire with a flick of her finger, then stack some more wood on it.

  “Dead handy, that is, sire,” said a nearby servant.

  “It is,” Michael said, watching her. She began to stack sticks up, not on the fire, but beside it, then tied them together, with a little tug, she bent the sticks and the oak above began to creak. Leaves shook in the wind as the branches bent over her, making a small roof.

  “What’s your name?” the prince said, grabbing the wrist of the servant as he moved to walk away. “I don’t know you.”

  “Langelo, sire,” the young man said, bowing while allowing the prince to handle his wrist. “I normally muck the stables, sire, but I was asked-”

  “Langelo. I want you to provide a good meal for my mage friend. And have a tent pitched for her. Her little house might be impressive, but it won’t keep this water out.”

  Michael walked over to Sharona, who sat beside the fire, gazing at it with eyes that were near glazed. Without speaking, he took a twig and put it in the fire. It sputtered for a moment as the water on it boiled off, then a small flame leapt up on it. Michael used it to light his pipe, a long-stemmed briarwood affair of striking artistry, which he had packed in the morning but neglected smoking due to the rain.

  “I’m having a tent set up for you, and some dinner prepared,” Michael said between draws.

  “Thank you. I shan’t need the tent,” Sharona said.

  “This roof is impressive, I will admit, but a tree cannot provide the shelter of a properly oiled and waxed piece of canvas, even if you have enchanted it so.”

  “With the fire, I think I’ll be fine.”

  “Allow me to extend my grace.”

  “No.”

  “Then indulge me.”

  Sharona laughed softly and finally looked up at Michael. “Fine.”

  Michael blew a smoke ring over the little fire, and watched it fly up into the branches on the draft. “So, how does magic work? How do you do it?”

  “Those are two different questions.”

  “Very well, the first.”

  Sharona said, “I wish I brought my pipe. I lost it a long time ago.”

  “It’s not usually considered polite for women to smoke.”

  Sharona shrugged. “Not so where I’m from. In the Dobo Wold, no such pleasure is made exclusive to one sex or the other."

  Michael smiled. “Well, I have an extra in my bag. Shall I fetch it for you?”

  “That’s alright,” Sharona said. “You’re already sitting here.”

  “Yes. Now about magic…” Michael raised his eyebrows.

  “Magic is when you bring a part of the eternal into the mundane. Here, when we are in this part of the world,” she gestured around her, “within the mundane, the spiritual world, which is the world of real things, is far away. If you are in touch with the eternal dream, as some of us are, those parts of the dream which you truly know and understand may be brought here, just as a man brings the memory of his dream into the waking world.”

  Michael laughed softly and puffed his pipe. “I can’t say I really understand.”

  “You can’t until you do. That’s the problem. Mages that are strong, or weak, are so because of how well they dream when they are awake. Or maybe, how well they remember the dream. Did I tell you I’ve been there? To the eternal dream?”

  “You said you’d been to the Fay Lands, if they exist.”

  “They exist more and less than the rest of the world.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It does, but like you said, you don’t understand.”

  “True.”

  "Most mages have never been there. It's dangerous because you can forget who you are in the waking world, and be lost inside it forever."

  “You said it made you go mad,” Michael said. “Or rather, some people thought it had made you mad.”

  “I did not return unchanged.”

  “So how do you do magic? Or maybe, how do you do so many different things? I only ever see other mages blasting things apart or lighting things on fire.”

  “That’s because most mages are quite weak with their connections to the world of true things. Most mages spend years studying a single concept with many different incantations before they are able to reliably call upon that thing. I had the idea to go to the Fay and find the original dreams myself. Alas, I found them, but did not fully understand them.”

  “But I have seen you do much magic.”

  Sharona nodded. “The fire is the easiest. Every mage understands fire, because it is so chaotic and yet simple. It always looks different, instant to instant, but is always itself. Consuming fuel, giving heat and light. I have a terrible time trying to understand the true nature of concepts past fire and other simple things.
” She looked up. “Once, mages could control the weather. I wouldn’t mind that, but…” She sighed.

  “How did you bend these tree-limbs, then?”

  “Well, I’m bad at understanding true things, but I’m very good at making comparisons and finding categories. I have found that if I have two objects and understand deeply their sameness, I can manipulate one through the other. A stick is the same as a tree limb, for example. The only difference is what they are attached to.”

  “I’ve never seen that talent before,” Michael said.

  Sharona put on a half smirk and stared at the fire again. “Nor are you likely to again. It is a unique gift, and, like I said, most mages are rubbish.”

  “Well, I’m glad to have your talents here, as I was glad to have them in my legion.”

  Sharona sighed.

  “What?” Michael said. “What’s that about?”

  She looked up at him again, her eyes sad. “I just…” She paused for a moment more, and her face went back to its placid slight smile. “I was thinking about the queen of Ferralla, Alanrae. She has a terrible reputation as a mage. And by that I mean she is very powerful. Very strong. Just wondering what I can do against her. Probably nothing. That’s what the sigh was about.”

  “Well, I don’t think we need engage her directly, merely defeat her plan.”

  “Of course,” Sharona said. “And you won’t be getting rid of me by bringing up Alanrae, you know. I intend to do…” She hesitated and bit her lip, “to protect you.”

  Michael forced a smile. “Let me see if I can get us some food.”

  “If the servants don’t bring it first.”

  “Yes, of course,” Michael said, and sat back down. He tapped on his boot for a few moments, then said, “Wait, I saw you make those bandits keel over in pain with bee stings.”

  Sharona’s eyes lit up and her face regained part of her painted smirk.“I understand the pain of bee stings very well, when I can remember them, which isn’t always, oddly, but when I can remember them, I can put them on, sometimes, a few people at a time.”

  “So you’ve been attacked by a swarm of bees?”

  “Oh yes, they stung me horribly as a girl. They scarred me very badly, and when I think of the scars, I can feel the pain. You can see it’s a weapon I prefer not to use.”

  “I see no scars,” Michael said. “You look perfectly comely to me.”

  “Thank you,” Sharona said without inflection.

  Chapter 5: Ferralla

  The sun was shining brightly on the plain as Michael, Sharona, and the handful of servants and guards they had brought worked their way slowly down from the rocky pass separating Ferralla and Artalland. The sparse dry oaks on the leeward side of the mountain were little shelter, and soon everyone in the party was loosening collars and removing jackets to cool off.

  Langelo came riding awkwardly toward them from up the road, his horse (borrowed from one of Michael’s retainers, who slept happily in the wagon) second-guessing his commands and turning this way and that in its gait.

  “Sire! There is a detachment of soldiers up ahead. Ferrallese soldiers,” Langelo said, the horse drifting past them and rearing its head against the tight hold on the reins.

  “I see,” Michael said, reaching out a hand to calm the snorting destrier upon which Langelo was perched. “How large a group?”

  “Fifty, maybe sixty men.”

  “We need not be afraid, my lord,” said Guissali. “You are the victorious prince!”

  “Ferralla hasn’t surrendered just yet, Gui,” Michael said. “These soldiers are obviously stationed here to guard the border. Insurgency is a problem in times of war, and more so as a conflict resolves, and remember that we are not far from Structania, who has never forgiven Ferralla for the rift during the old war. I predict they will be unwilling to just let us pass on. Hold up here.”

  “What do you have in mind, my lord?” Guissali said. “Shall we work our way around, or have your mage give them a good fright?”

  “I should have anticipated this,” Michael said. “Trying to avoid them may prove difficult. If they are guarding the border here, they likely will have scouts around these parts for such an occurrence. It is likely we have already been seen and are being tracked.”

  “You’ve become such a pessimist lately,” Sharona said. “If they did see us they will think us merchants with our guard. Nobody is wearing anything fancy. We’ll just tell them we’re out to sell something in Ferralla.”

  “I guess they might think that,” Michael said. “Of course, we carry no goods.”

  "We could be traveling to buy, not to sell," Sharona said.

  “Then they’ll want to rob us,” Guissali said. “Soldiers without a solid command quickly turn brigand, your highness.”

  “Well, if you have a better idea, I’d like to hear it,” Michael said.

  Guissali scratched his chin. “I say we turn around and head back through the hinterlands, in the path of the army. Nobody will bother us on that road.”

  Michael shook his head. “You don’t know that, and we don’t have the time. I’d be willing to play dice with what Sharona said… but if they find out who I am, they’ll capture me with a mind to ransom me in the upcoming negotiations.”

  “Well, sounds like it will be on me to do the legwork,” Sharona said. “I’ll be hard pressed, but-”

  “I have another idea,” Michael said. “That will put us all at less risk. Langelo, are you a good liar?”

  “Sire?” said Langelo.

  “Are you a good liar? Can you tell a lie convincingly?”

  “He’s no noble, I’m sure,” Sharona said.

  “I think so, sire,” said Langelo.

  “Good. And are you loyal to a fault?” Michael said.

  “To a fault?” Langelo said.

  “Sire, I am loyal to a fault,” Guissali said.

  “I know, but you’re also a terrible liar, hence why I appreciate you, and also why you have been stuck as a palace retainer for twenty years.”

  “Sire… I don’t understand,” Guissali said, creasing his dark face with a deep frown.

  “Never change, Gui,” Michael said, smiling. He turned back to Langelo. “You’re going to deliver a little message for me to the Ferrallese commanding officer.”

  Langelo rode to the assembly of cavalry flanking the men on the road, who were armored lightly but bore stout shields. They had a number of wagons set up, easily movable to create a quick barricade, but presently they were sitting off on the grassy shoulders of the road. Langelo did his best to hold the great destrier steady, holding up his hand as he rode forward in a symbol of peace.

  Several men with crossbows lowered their aim as he approached, at a signal from a knight armored with a coat of plates over tarnished mail. His face was gaunt and creased into a permanent frown over a thin beard of black.

  “Who goes there?” said the soldier, his voice high and sharp.

  “Messenger, sir,” Langelo said, and pointed to a bag at his hip. “Looking to pass through to Ferralla and bear news to the court of Alanrae.”

  “What news?” The knight said. “Give it to me and I will see it safely sent.”

  “I was… um, instructed to share it only with the queen’s court.”

  “He’s lying, cap’n Philo,” said one of the soldiers. “String him up and see what letters he’s got, and what coin.”

  “No! Don’t do that!” Langelo said. “I… I’ll give the message to you, sir,” he nodded to the first knight to speak, “if you will assure me you will send it on properly, and that you are in command, of course. I’m not paid to die.”

  Philo looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Very well, give me the letter.”

  “I… I can’t sir. It’s an oral message, in case I was, erm, intercepted.”

  The knight frowned and looked to one of the other soldiers.

  “The why the bag?” said Philo.

  Langelo coughed and nearly choked. “Vittles
and such. I will, uh… share the message with you in private. Yes, private only.”

  Philo chewed his cheek for a moment and said, “Very well, come to my command tent.”

  Langelo nodded carefully and dismounted, following the knight past the soldiers and into a small camp. They halted outside a small and shabby canvas tent, just high enough for a man to stand when inside. The knight held back the flap and allowed Langelo to enter. The interior was sparsely furnished and dimly lit by two ports cut into the cloth overhead.

  “Well, spit it out, if you don’t want to be put on a spit,” the knight said, drawing his sword.

  Langelo gulped and nodded. “Let me show you…” He reached for a pouch at his belt and felt the tip of the knight’s sword touch his shoulder.

  “It’s not a weapon, my lord,” Langelo said, his voice shaking. He took the pouch and held it forward to the knight, opening the top slightly. Inside was the unmistakable glint of gold.

  “Where’d you get this?” The knight said, taking the pouch.

  “There’s more where that came from, if you can hold command of your troops.”

  “Of course I can hold command. What is your proposal?”

  “Nothing substantial. Just move your men off the road and a few miles to the west, where the river runs. You can say you gained information from me regarding an incursion. Once I’m through, you collect another payment at the place I will tell you of.”

  The knight shook the heavy bag for a moment. “How about I collect the rest right now?”

  “I don’t have it on me.”

  “So I’ll just wait for you to come back with it.”

  “I won’t be back with it if you don’t move your men.”

  “You know what? I think you’re lying. I think you’re just going to run off and I’ll never get the rest. I have a mind to keep this and have you hanged. At least then I’ll be doing my duty to my queen by preventing any spies through.”

  “Don’t you know you’ve lost the war?” Langelo said. He swallowed hard. He wasn’t supposed to say that.

  “We’ll see. The queen still sits upon the throne and Forgoroto has yet to be breached.” The knight smiled. “And now I know you’re not Ferrallese as well.”