Hidden Magic

by Melinda Kucsera

  Her jailer said something in his silken native tongue and laughed.

  “What?”

  He seemed to ponder answering. “Do not come close to the rope. It will wrap anything it can and never let go.”

  Was he lying? “Why warn me?”

  He spat in irritation and then smiled derisively. “Because your body is only valuable while you breathe.”

  The sound of sand shifting underfoot caused one of her long ears to rotate and aim at the west wall. It was footfalls, but they came slow and gentle; someone was approaching who didn’t want to be noticed. With concentration she aimed both her ears down, though if the slaver had noticed, he gave no indication. He seemed to wax and wane between irritation at his posting and leering at her bust. With effort she quieted the anger building in her breast and let herself think of her husband pulled into the sands. Immediately, tears welled in her eyes, and her breathing lost the controlled rhythm she’d been maintaining. It took some effort to do so subtly, but she worked the tattered fabric of her shirt aside, exposing one breast to the air of the cooling afternoon.

  Her captor hissed something derogatory into the air. She responded by hesitantly casting her gaze to him and then looking away in weak defiance.

  “It finally happen, eh?”

  She aimed one ear at him, taking furtive glances while using the other ear to track the footsteps prowling behind the rear wall. “What, what do you mean?”

  “You see now. You have no escape; you ours now. And bad times come for you.”

  Was that a gasp of exertion on the other side? Al cantered left and right, kicking up dirt as though shuffling in agitation or worry. “What’s … what’s going to happen to me now?”

  “That depends.” He smiled.

  She looked away, then to him, then away again, and very slowly to him, though never looking him in the eyes. “On?”

  He came closer now, the tension of a man ready to defend himself bleeding away. “On how good you are.”

  She shuddered and slowly lowered to the ground, resting on her belly with her legs folded. He was a little more than head and shoulders taller than her now. “How good … do I have to be?”

  A hand tilted her chin up so he could look down on her. “You show me how good you are, and I tell you how much you need.”

  There was a grinding crack as some piece of stone broke away from the wall behind her and fell to the ground.

  “What the sylaress sisenthiss sa …” began the raider as anger filled his eyes. Whatever he saw over her shoulder had made him forget the Tongue of Human Kings, and more importantly forget her. As he lowered a hand to grasp his sword, Al raised her arms and looped them over his head. As expected, the rope wound around the raider’s throat, constricting immediately as it found purchase.

  Sword forgotten, the man reached for his throat, trying to pry the rope away, only for it to pull tighter as it met resistance. Al rose, grasped either side of the rope about the slaver’s neck, and lifted him into the air. The added resistance of his full weight on the rope made it pull tighter, and soon he was kicking at the air in horror as his skin paled, then blued, and his eyes rolled up with the absence of consciousness. She lowered the body to the ground and snapped his neck; best to be certain. “Good enough?”

  Al turned about to see Eihn and Muraheim watching in mute silence from the far corner. “You are bad at stealth,” she began then she felt self-conscious about the body on the ground. “I know we swore not to take lives…”

  The gnome lifted a quieting hand and shook his head. “The path of peace is ours, but even the shepherd knows sometimes you must use the rod to protect the flock. Consider that limitation lifted.”

  Al nodded and looked between the two; she aimed a finger at the boy and then at her face. “Eyes up, boy, or down if you can’t think straight.”

  Eihn flushed and cast his eyes down issuing an apology. “How did you get out? What are you doing here?”

  “There are many pilgrims, and we gnomes look similar to most humans. My daughter poses as me now,” answered Muraheim.

  “Iilna?”

  He nodded.

  “You were half-dead when we got here, and now you’re full of energy.”

  “It was the shrine,” interjected Eihn, bubbling with excitement. “When we touched Se’aræles, it invigorated us. Mehrindai’s strength flowed into us, and Master, gained the most.”

  The boy no longer had difficulty keeping his focus on her face, so she fixed her shirt. “Good, but what did you intend to do here?”

  Muraheim came forward and grasped the rope connecting her arms to the raider’s throat. With a gentle whisper, the rope fell away, completely inert. “Mehrindai is the goddess of freedom. Nothing can long hold her or her Wayfarers.”

  Al smiled as Eihn touched the rope about her neck and uttered the same word. He said it louder; perhaps he needed to because he was younger or had less power, but the rope fell away just the same.

  “I do not know what you can do for us,” began the old gnome. “But I know only you can help us now. Please, do what you can.”

  Al pulled the sword from the corpse and considered its craftsmanship as she weighed her options. “My leather lies on the sands along with my weapons. I can fight and kill some of them, but …”

  She imagined their wagon, broken and left behind. “If only I could get back to our supplies, we’d have a fighting chance.”

  “We can get you there,” prompted Muraheim.

  “The Trade of Toe and Hoof!” exclaimed Eihn.

  “Exactly, and if I only have to help her, I can do more.”

  “I thought that didn’t work on people like us,” she reminded him.

  Muraheim looked down and then bowed. “I have been most unkind to you and your husband, though you have always acted with respect to me and my flock. All my apologies.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. A sincere apology was more than she ever expected, though certainly deserved. “Water under the bridge. But if I escape with you, your people will suffer.”

  “But if you escape with Eihn, they may not suspect our intervention, at least for a time.”

  “Me?” asked Eihn, shocked.

  “Yes, even filled with Mehrindai’s radiance, I could not suffer the Trade again so soon. But you are young and full of life and perhaps the fourth or fifth most learned in the miracles of Mehrindai. Yes, Eihn, this will fall to you, you and Al’rashal.”

  Eihn took a moment to compose himself and then puffed up his chest. “You can count on me, Master.”

  “And I,” assured Al. “By the day’s end, your flock will be free and the slavers dead, or they will curse ever taking them.”

  Muraheim smiled and took up some hay left on the ground. He shook it off, removing the worst of the grime, and held it between Al and Eihn. “Quickly, you two must eat of the same food as I perform the ritual. We must be done before they notice my absence.”

  Al sighed. She hated hay.

  She could still taste the hay as though strands were stuck between her molars, but the benefit was astounding. Muraheim seemed to have layered two or three of Mehrindai’s blessings on her. Her muscles galvanized; her footfalls were assured, losing no traction to the sands, nor did her legs ache from the strength of her stride. However, most of all was the Trade. Running was almost effortless; she felt as though she could run forever. “You alright Eihn?”

  “Yes,” he shouted back; hands twisted into her mane as he huddled against her back.

  “You sure? The Trade almost killed Muraheim.”

  “Yes! I’m young so this is easier for me!”

  She could hear the strain in his voice, but he was trying to put on a brave face for her, and she didn’t want to insult his pride or sacrifice. “Then hold on; it shouldn’t be much longer now!”

  It had taken them close to two hours to reach Karden, but that had been walking, with most dragging their feet and the raiders stopping occasionally to assault the pilgrims for their
resistance. Racing back now, the miles evaporated.

  “Do you think they’re following us?”

  She considered. “No, by the time they round up the animals and realize I’m gone, they’ll know I have too large a lead. Even without your magic, they would never be able to catch me, especially with tired horses weighed down with riders and weapons. No, they’ll cut their losses.”

  “Good!”

  She shook her head and released a sigh. “Not good.”

  “Why not?”

  Al’rashal was certain she saw the discarded bodies of Wayfarers who had died during the trek to Karden ahead. They weren’t far now. “The Waytown is only a few days back. They’ll have to pack up and move fast if they’re worried about reprisal. And …”

  “And?”

  “And even if they don’t think the Wayfarers helped my escape, they’ll be mad and probably take it out on them. Small men always abuse others for their faults.”

  Eihn answered with silence, and she could feel his fingers tighten in her mane. The gentle warmth emanating from his body increased as he poured more of the God-given radiance into her muscles and lungs. “Then we must hurry.”

  The following miles elapsed in silence, Eihn focused on lessening her burden and Al focused on the coming tasks. Soon she could see the familiar dunes of the ambush site. More than a dozen bodies and that again in horses and animals were strewn across the sands. She slowed as she reached the nearest rise, as the smell of water drifted into the air. At the top of the dune, she could see where the sand dropped away almost like a cliff.

  Below was a large patch of earth darker than the rest, the mud like sand that had sucked her lover into darkness. It wasn’t as large as it had been before, the sun having burned half of it away, but she still gave it a wide berth on the way to her wagon. Reaching it, she began searching through the piles of goods left behind. The raiders had taken most of the food and some of the water, and of course everything shiny and easy to sell. However, a lot of the mundane things had been left alone. With a sigh of relief, she found what she was looking for and withdrew a long length of rope. “Eihn, I’m going to need you to be brave.”

  “What, what do you mean?” asked the boy as she raced back to the pool of quicksand.

  “The quicksand, it’s like water or mud, sucks you down, but you can basically swim in it if you’re light or strong.”

  “You, you want me to swim in it?” he cried with alarm.

  Al found a wheel still attached to a broken axle pinned beneath some rubble and threaded the rope around one of the spokes. “No, I need you to dive.”

  “Dive? Are you crazy? For what?”

  “Urkjorman! Please, Eihn, I need you to help me save my husband.”

  “He’s dead! I’m sorry, Ms. Al’rashal. But he’s dead, drowned in the mud.”

  “Servants of Mehrindai can’t be held. Servants of Kurgen’Kahl can’t be drowned.”

  “You … you don’t really believe that, do you?”

  She didn’t. She didn’t really believe in the gods. She knew they were real; she knew they affected the world, but she didn’t believe in them. But Urk did. “I have to.”

  She pulled Eihn from her back and set him down. The moment she lost contact with him, she was hit with a wave of vertigo and could feel her muscles warm with effort. “Listen, Eihn, I’m strong enough to pull him out, strong enough to pull you both out, but I can’t go down there and swim out. So, I need you to dive in. I need you to find him so I can pull him out before the sand dries, and he’s buried alive.”

  Eihn looked at the pool of dark sand, fear and determination at war on his face. “And … and if he’s not alive? If I only find a still corpse?”

  “He’s alive, Eihn, he has to be I … I couldn’t stand it if he wasn’t.”

  “But you don’t know,” admitted Eihn, even as he offered his hand to take the rope.

  “I don’t, but I have faith. Maybe … maybe not in Kurgen, but I have faith in my husband. I believe … I believe in my husband’s belief in his god, and I’m asking you to do that too.”

  Eihn nodded and tied the end of the rope around his waist. Slowly at first, then with growing speed and confidence, he waded into the quicksand. He slipped once, then twice, and soon he was half-paddling half-bouncing, then swimming, and then he went under. Al wound her end of the rope tightly about her arm and waited.

  And waited.

  “Come on, come on, let your faith be justified. Please.”

  And waited.

  The rope seemed to move, shifting a little to one side and then the other. Then it was still, and then it was violently pulled taut with such force that it dragged Al two feet closer to the wagon wheel. She smiled, gritted her teeth, and pulled, walking backward and dragging what felt like an anchor out of the ocean. Soggy foot after soggy foot of rope exited the pool, and then came a fist almost as large as her head, followed by a thick, hairy arm, and at last the bovine head of Urk as he was brought to the surface. A moment later, the minotaur lifted Eihn into the air with his opposite arm. He looked at the boy, blinking sand from his eyes as though he hadn’t seen him in years. Urk laughed as the boy vomited. The minotaur smiled at the boy. “Eihn? Ha! Great to see you!”

  Eihn waved weakly as his lungs struggled to find air.

  Al dragged the two close enough to shore for Urkjorman to solidly plant his hooves and stride the remaining feet to dry land. He dropped the boy on his rump and wrapped her in his arms.

  Sweaty, hairy, covered in sand, caked in dried blood, and looking like he’d lost a fight with both of his brothers, he still looked absolutely beautiful to Al’rashal. Tears fell from her eyes like rain as she took her husband’s head between her hands and kissed him.

  Chapter Nine

  Reckoning

  Urkjorman had never loved to his wife more than he did at this moment, save perhaps on their wedding night. But there was a boy watching and vengeance to be had. Reluctantly he pulled his lips from hers and looked to the child. “Eihn,” he said, offering his hand. “Thank you.”

  The boy took his hand, shaking it and accepting the help to his feet. “You’re welcome, but I don’t think I did much.”

  Urk laughed as he squeezed his wife’s shoulder while she snuggled against his chest. “Pulls me out of the dark and doesn’t think he did much? Wayfarers sure are humble.”

  “Well, you can’t drown, so you woulda just climbed out, right?”

  Urk shook his head. “Maybe, but I think not. The Miracle of Breath will only last so long, and it’s for water. The quicksand was water enough for Kurgen’Kahl but, when it dries, maybe not. Then it’s just dirt and I’m just buried, not drowned. Or maybe exhaustion drags me into sleep, and I suffocate while I dream. No, boy, without you and my wife, I would have died buried in the sand. So, you have my thanks.”

  The boy beamed up at him, almost outshining the radiance of faith pouring through his skin. Urk was certain even his wife could tell the boy was overflowing with divine strength, though it likely wasn’t visible to her. “What happened to you, boy? You glow as the sun.”

  “The shrine, Se’aræles. It poured power into all of us, and then Master Muraheim poured his power into me. Most of this is his.”

  Urk nodded. Someone less practiced would have had a hard time containing so much radiance; no wonder it was bleeding away so quickly. “So, you made it to Karden?”

  “But that’s where the slavers are,” answered Al. “The slavers and the pilgrims.”

  Urk began striding toward their wagon, Al easily falling in step and the boy hurrying to keep up. “You escaped?”

  “With the help of Eihn and Muraheim.”

  That meant he owed the gnome a lot. If they lived through what was coming, he would have to do something to show his appreciation. “How many made it?”

  “Most of us,” answered Eihn as Urk began dumping things from their wagon.

  “Held together or split up?” he asked while rummaging in an opened t
runk.

  “Together, a mile or so into the city. Six or seven guards around us. Most of the raiders were just kinda milling about, counting the coin and such and talkin’ about sellin’ us off soon.”

  “Soon,” wondered Urk. It could have just been idle chatter to scare prisoners, but if they routinely attacked pilgrims, then maybe someone routinely comes by to see what they have. The minotaur dragged one of the large gleaming plates of his wife’s armor out of the wagon and smiled. As expected, the armor and weapons were simply too large and heavy to bother dragging back to Karden. Not only would a weapon designed for a minotaur be incredibly heavy, it would be nearly worthless, as only something as large as a minotaur would buy it.

  “Urkjorman,” said Al as he continued to hand her pieces of her armor.

  “Yes?”

  “Muraheim says we are free of our restraints.”

  Urk smiled. “Good. I was going to kill every one of those bastards anyway. Now I can do it with a clear conscience.”

  The minotaur looked to Eihn. “Does that upset you, boy?”

  Eihn looked down in thought for a long moment. “No,” he said, meeting the minotaur’s gaze without flinching. “It should, but it doesn’t.”

  They’d debated trying to sneak up to Karden but neither Urkjorman nor his wife was particularly good at moving unnoticed, especially across the relatively flat plains of the desert and in their heaviest armor. Better, they reasoned, to draw the attention of the guards and allow Eihn an opportunity to sneak back in and perhaps free the other pilgrims as Urk and his wife dealt with the slavers. As such, it was no surprise to the minotaur when the first scattering of arrows landed about them. Shots that found mostly sand and skittered along the broad stone road they traversed, only one came close, ricocheting from one of his horns. Another cloud of dark shafts soared through the air, this one much more tightly grouped though several still sailed past. A few though found their mark, one sticking into a shoulder pad, two deflecting off his chest, and one shattering as it struck his brow.