Hidden Magic

by Melinda Kucsera

  Muraheim looked at the child in stark confusion. “Ah, you wouldn’t know, of course. They made a deal with the Baron of Wings. Ten years of serving at the baron’s pleasure, and they would be granted the ability to have children, together.”

  “Ah,” said the boy in understanding. “But the baron serves Larashu, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So why have them help Wayfarers and not fellow Liberated?”

  Urk aimed both ears at the old gnome. It was a thought that had circled his head as well, but he had not asked the baron directly. One did not risk displeasing one of the Auvithia.

  “I suspect,” Muraheim began. He seemed to be taking great care with his words. “It is because of the relationship between Kurgen’Kahl …” At the mention of the god’s name, he aimed a finger at Urkjorman. Then he aimed the same finger at himself. “… and Mehrindai.”

  “Oh,” said the boy. “Because our gods are married.”

  The gnome answered with a steady silence. “Come inside, Eihn.”

  The boy, Eihn, rose but turned, half-seated in his chair to his master. “I don’t think it’s right that we eat inside, and our guards are out in the cold.”

  Muraheim nodded, a gentle, fatherly expression crossing his face as he waved the boy over. “That may be so, but there simply isn’t room for them inside. Not truly.”

  The boy nodded, lowering his head in defeat as he walked toward the gnome. Halfway there, his head snapped up as an epiphany lanced into his mind. “But we can fit out here.”

  Muraheim was left speechless.

  Eihn bounced in place excitedly. “If they can’t come in, we can come out.”

  “I suppose we could … though it’s terribly cold, and I think the others would prefer to be in where it’s warm.”

  “Well then, I’ll just stay out here,” answered Eihn with a nod.

  “But then you’ll get cold,” he protested.

  “No, it’s not so bad. It’s still warmer than the hills of home.” That seemed to settle it for Eihn, who triumphantly marched back over to the table and sat.

  Muraheim looked to the minotaur and then the centaur as though begging for help, but neither was in a giving mood. He turned to the door, hesitated, and walked back inside. Al and Urk waited a moment and burst into laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Eihn.

  Urk was only able to pause his laughter for a few seconds before answering. “Nothing, Een, nothing.”

  “Eihn,” he corrected.

  “Eihn,” said Urk, extending a hand for a shake. “Good on you, standing your ground for what you see as right.”

  “Master Muraheim taught me that.” Eihn beamed. “He says the best things we can do is the right thing, and failing that, the nice thing.”

  “Is that right?” asked Al aloud with a sly glance to her husband.

  The door opened, and Muraheim stepped back onto the porch with a large tankard whose contents steamed in the night air. He pulled up a stool next to Eihn and sat down.

  “Come to join us, Master?” asked Al.

  “I couldn’t well leave the boy out here alone.”

  “I’d be fine, Master.”

  “I’m sure you would be, my child, but I would be a poor steward of my flock if I didn’t make sure of it.”

  Eihn opened his mouth as though to speak but said nothing.

  Urk looked to his wife and shrugged. “We’d best eat this before it gets colder than the night.”

  The drink was thin and watery, the greens half-dry, and the meat drowned in juices to disguise its bland flavor and rubbery texture. Still, Urk devoured it all with enthusiasm. After weeks of grain, seed, and smoked meat, the minotaur would have probably consumed grass, beetles, and grog with equal relish, simply because it was different. He imagined the “Old Mansion” relied on that fact as well as the sparse competition to fill seats, despite the substandard fare. His wife was making idle chatter with Eihn between mouthfuls and warming to the boy. Children always put Al in a good mood and stoked her desire to have her own.

  The minotaur sucked the juices from his fingertips as he cast his gaze to the aged gnome. Muraheim was holding his own counsel, eyes fixated chiefly on Urk and uttering the occasional “tsk” of disapproval as Eihn and Al conversed. Urk picked up a chunk of meat that was more femur than muscle and eyed it suspiciously. The kitchen had obviously thrown the scraps into the pan to insult the two ‘demi-humans’ but he liked marrow. He bit the femur, filling the air with the sound of crushing bones and making both Eihn and Muraheim jump. Al just shook her head.

  “Just because you look like a cow doesn’t mean you have to eat like one,” muttered the gnome before taking a long swig of his warm drink.

  Urk closed his jaw, grinding the bone down over three long seconds. “Trust me, Wayfarer, cows don’t eat bones.”

  “Or gnomes,” replied Muraheim with mounting agitation.

  “Gnomes,” Eihn exclaimed. “Do minotaur eat gnomes?”

  “Of course, we do. We eat gnomes, elves, even little human boys.”

  Eihn’s eyes widened in shock, and Urk filled the air with laughter.

  “Anything?” pressed Eihn.

  “It’s hard to fill a belly this big.” He chuckled. “But you might be just the right size.”

  “It’s why you must always be careful around demis,” cautioned Muraheim.

  If the warning was supposed to stoke fear, it had the opposite effect. The child looked around, eyes darting between the plates of food and Urk. “What about centaur? Would you eat centaur?”

  Al spat up her drink, Urk thumped the table with one open palm, and Muraheim’s mouth hung agape in silence. Urk patted his wife on the back to help clear the drink from her lungs. “I like him. I want two just like him.”

  “Two, so it’s sons now?” His wife coughed.

  “Well?” pressed Eihn.

  “I’ve never had the pleasure.” Urk smiled. “Give me a moment, and I’ll tell you how they taste.”

  Al released a startled yelp as Urk pulled her closer, wrapping one massive arm around her shoulders and took one of her hands into his own. She laughed, playfully trying to pull away as he wrestled one of her comparatively tiny hands into his mouth and made a big show of biting. He followed with a peck on the cheek, a kiss to the throat, and would have followed with one to the lips had Eihn not spoken up.

  “So, what does she taste like?” he prodded around a broad smile. “Horse or human?”

  Urk bristled. “Neither. She tastes like centaur.”

  “I … ah know, I.” Eihn seemed equal parts confused and alarmed. “It’s just, she’s half and half, so I thought—”

  “I’m not half anything,” stressed Al. “Just centaur.”

  “We aren’t half anything,” said Urk.

  Eihn looked to his master, who held a thin smile but said nothing. “But I was taught you were half-human and half something else.”

  “Foolishness humans teach when they know not,” corrected Urk, letting the heat of the boy’s affront bleed away.

  “Then where did you come from?”

  “The same place as everyone else,” answered Al.

  “The gods,” added Urk. “We are children of Larashu.”

  “Yes,” agreed Muraheim. “Along with goblins, orcs, shape-shifters, and many, many monsters.”

  Urk nodded in agreement before turning his gaze to Eihn. “Yes, Larashu helped create many races, including man. The gnomes are one of the few she did not.”

  “Mehrindai be praised,” said the gnome, before lifting his cup in a toast.

  “Though I wonder,” continued Urk. “Were the gnomes born before or after Mehrindai was bed by Kurgen’Kahl?”

  “Before,” insisted the gnome.

  “Wayfarers always say before.”

  “Unfettered always say after.”

  “True,” conceded Urk. It was a hotly debated subject, both between and within their faiths. “Though, to see the storm brewing b
ehind your eyes, I would say the Unfettered got it right.”

  Muraheim attempted to drown his anger with a long draw of wine.

  It didn’t seem to work.

  The old gnome rose from his seat. “The final leg of the trip starts tomorrow and may be the worst. I’d best rest my old bones.” He turned to leave. “As should you, Eihn.”

  “But my bones aren’t old,” protested the child.

  “None of that, boy.”

  “Just a little longer, Master, please?”

  The gnome sighed. “Just a little. Don’t make me come back to get you.”

  “Yes, Master,” said Eihn emphatically.

  The gnome went inside, and like the passing of a winter storm, the air seemed to warm, and the dark night seemed brighter.

  The dulcet tones of Al’s voice struggled to keep the anxious silence at bay. Several times Urk felt the boy’s gaze resting on him, only for it to race away a moment later. At last the minotaur rumbled, “Out with it, boy. Say what you feel, else you’ll lose the chance to before your master fetches you inside.”

  Eihn opened his mouth as though to protest but then seemed to think better of it and sat in thought a moment. “I just … I just wanted to apologize for Master Muraheim. He’s normally not so …”

  “Hateful,” offered Urk.

  “Mean,” decided Eihn.

  Urk sucked his teeth. “We get that a lot.”

  “Why?”

  It was Al who answered, “Because ignorance breeds contempt. And contempt is easy to feed with fear.”

  Eihn nodded slowly, if not understanding what she said entirely, at least seeming to understand enough to know the feel of it.

  “He lacks understanding,” agreed Urk, the heat of his anger abated.

  “I wish he understood,” lamented Eihn as he gazed at the doorway. “I wish I did.”

  Urk reached forward and took Eihn’s chin in his massive fingers. Turning the boy’s face toward his own, he gazed into the wide eyes. There was some fear in those eyes but wonder as well and curiosity. “Do you, child? Do you really want to understand?”

  Eihn nodded, as though too afraid to speak.

  “You will understand, when you can answer this riddle.”

  “Riddle?”

  “Yes, now listen carefully.” Urk paused, to lend gravitas to his words. “What has six legs, four arms, and one heart?”

  Eihn seemed to grasp some idea for just a moment and then lost it. His face twisted in confusion as Urk let him go. Idly Eihn began muttering the riddle to himself as a serving wench came outside with a tray to collect the dishes and mugs. “Excuse me,” she interrupted. “We, uh, don’t really have room for you, for the both of you upstairs…”

  The woman shrank back from Urk’s gaze as though he was about to strike her. When no attack came, she continued. “So, we made some room in the grain shed. It may be cramped, but it will keep the chill out and smells better than the stables.”

  Urk nodded. It was better than he expected. He waved the woman away. “Best you go on inside, Eihn. It will be a long day’s journey tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine, I don’t need much sleep.”

  “But we do,” reminded Al. “You’ll be sitting on a wagon drawn by horse and ox; we’ll be walking the whole way.”

  Eihn’s mouth fell agape for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Go on in then,” prompted Al. “And ask one of the servers, not the girl from before, to take us to this grain shed.”

  Eihn nodded and hurried for the door. Just before entering, he stopped, turned to them, and bowed. “Good eve, Ms. Al’rashal, Mr. Urkjorman. May your dreams be full of wonder and your rest undisturbed.”

  With that, the boy spirited within. Moments later, a server came outside to guide them around the back to the grain shed. As promised, it was clean, it kept the chill out, and a pile of blankets had been laid upon a few straw mats for them to sleep on. They thanked the wench, and in time, they slept.

  Chapter Four

  Home Stretch

  Al’rashal took a deep breath and coughed. She’d expected the air this early in the morning to be cool, refreshing, and help steady her system. But a hot, dry wind was sweeping in from the east that consumed the chill air and promised a long day of hard perspiration. She groaned, praying her stomachs would hold their contents. “Why is the sun so bright?”

  “So Sasarael may bathe us in her radiance,” answered her husband, throwing his arms wide to soak in the sun.

  She hissed at her lover under her breath. Even though they were equal in weight, he still held his liquor much better than she did. One of the universe’s great injustices. “What’s the god you pray to, to get rid of hangovers?”

  Urkjorman raised an eyebrow in thought. “I don’t think there is one.”

  “That is a glaring oversight on someone’s part. Someone should make one up.”

  “One does not ‘make up’ the gods,” rumbled Urk.

  Al’s ears lowered almost to her shoulders. She always forgot how important faith was to her husband when she was irritable. “At least the shed was warm.”

  “We made it warm,” he responded after a pause.

  She considered. “Well, it was insulated. It trapped the heat, just like they promised.”

  Urk nodded, the foul mood that had been brewing moving on like a storm cresting distant mountains.

  Her eyes were no longer dilating painfully, and she could see the wash of blue chasing the darkness out of the sky and erasing the stars. In the distance, some desert bird or another cried to the dying dark, and another hot breeze pulled at her mane. “I don’t suppose we have time for a bath?”

  “We can make time,” answered Urk. “But such a luxury out here would be costly.”

  “Especially for us.” No doubt, whatever the fair price was, it would be tripled for them. “That figurine you gave over.”

  “The Pilgrims’ Fare?”

  “Yeah, does it include breakfast?”

  Urk smiled in the way that said I’m lying. “Of course.”

  She stifled a bit of laughter. “Get me some nuts or grain, salted and roasted, if they have it.”

  Urkjorman cradled her chin in one of his massive, powerful hands and pulled her into a soft kiss. It always amazed her how gentle he could be, that control as much as his strength swelled her breast with love. He gave her a squeeze on the shoulder and lumbered inside. For all his bluster about being treated like a monster, Al’rashal was certain Urk enjoyed the easy intimidation of it all. She turned to the ruin of their “bedroom” and collected their things. Getting the wagon ready should keep her mind off troublesome things like the way other races treated ‘demi-humans’ and the work might help ease her throbbing head and roiling stomachs.

  The nuts helped a little, and the work helped a little more, but it was running that really got Al’rashal feeling like herself again. When they got out of the desert, she would spend a week washing the sand out of her coat and the black feathers about her hooves, but for now, running across the rolling dunes of sand with the wind tangling her mane and the sun warming her skin felt amazing. Sweat coated her flanks and ran like rivers to be cast into the air, but it all just felt magnificent. If the remaining days to Karden were like this, then she would endure the sand and the sweat all the way and back without complaint.

  She stopped at what remained of a traveler shrine. Karden had once been the home of the area’s largest oasis, so the roads leading to it had been littered with shrines, short stops, and oddities. Most were gone or on the way to being reclaimed by the sands like Waytown, so the half-broken dome and dried well were not too unusual. Still, it presented a good place to lay an ambush, so she approached carefully. Idly she cursed wearing her lighter leathers and using the man-catcher instead of her preferred tools of combat, but as long as she kept a clear path to run, she should be safe.

  The interior was cool, much cooler than it should have been. Some artifice of the stonework
must have drawn off the heat, so much so that the shadows gave her shivers. It was certainly the ideal place to weather the worst of the day’s heat. Still, the wind seemed to have coated the floor in a fine layer of sand, and all looked untouched by the hand of intellect. She had finally relaxed when she caught it the faint odor of something tangy and salty. “Urine.”

  Not inside; it would have been strong were it inside. She followed outside, tracing the curve of the damaged dome, paused, and went with the wind until she found a spot sheltered from its gale and, as expected, this was where it was strongest. Though even at its strongest it was barely noticeable. Someone had passed here long ago, or tried very hard to cover their presence. Her ears twitched, shifting up and down, fore and back but she heard nothing but the wind. How long ago then? In this wind and sun, not long. Half a day, one at best. Who else is on a pilgrimage here?

  Days passed, and she’d almost forgotten the evidence she’d found, when she noticed a dark smudge on the horizon and a barely noticeable shimmer in the heat haze. She fell back to Urkjorman’s side and gestured for her husband to bring his head near.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “We’re being watched, probably stalked.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “There was the evidence of a camp a few days back, and now I’m sure someone watches us from far off, probably using a scope of some kind. I can see its lens glinting in the sun.”

  Her husband snorted derisively. “And we’re just a short way from Karden.”

  “We could try going around.”

  “No sense in that if they’re following us.”

  She agreed, but the Wayfarers were far from warriors, and she knew not what lay ahead. “Turn back?”

  “Muraheim would never agree to that, especially not so close to the shrine.”

  “Then we need to prepare them, at least.”

  Urk seemed to mull that over some and assented with a nod.

  Al fell back to the lead wagon. “Muraheim we need to talk. Bring the wagons to a stop.”