by J. T. Hartke
“Something is wrong,” Maddi said, dropping into a reflexive crouch. Her hand pressed against the unlatched door, and it swung inward, a foreboding creak in one hinge. “No…” she gasped, one hand to her mouth. “That bastard.”
“Who?” Tallen asked, apprehension rising within him. He could see furniture thrown about a small living room, and a broken bottle lying near the door. “What happened?”
“The Doctor. He’s finally made his move, and it’s a cowardly one at that. The scum!” She stepped around him and began to head back toward the campus. “He’s the only one who would have taken them.”
“Taken who?” he cried, grabbing her arm. “Maddi, stop and talk to me. What is going on?”
She halted and took his hand in hers, using the other to brush his cheek. “Please. So much has happened. I don’t have time to tell you everything. If you meant what you said in your letter, I need you to trust me.”
Damn it. Now she has me.
“Fine,” he replied at last, the word burning his tongue.
The cobblestone gave way to brick and marble as Maddi led him up the steps of the most lavish building on the quad. “Tallen…” She turned and looked at him. “You must promise me that you will let me handle this in my way. If I ask you to wait for me, you must.”
Tallen took her hand again. “I will follow your lead.” He squeezed her fingers. “But I will protect you from harm.”
“I know,” she said, squeezing back.
He trailed her up the stairs and through the iron-studded door of the building. The scent of pipe smoke and wood oil greeted his entry. On the fifth floor a wide double-door writ with an extended title spread before them. Maddi stormed through, and Tallen stayed close.
The outer office held a few chairs and couches. A prim woman with sharp eyes looked up from behind the desk in front of a second door. Though she acknowledged Maddi, the woman’s gaze settled on Tallen.
“I can feel the power within her, Maddi,” he said, his own magic leaping to his command. “She’s been trained as a mage.”
Maddi stopped, but held a calming hand in Tallen’s direction. “It figures. Don’t hurt her…yet.” She faced the secretary, who Tallen sensed had embraced her own power. “I’m going in to see him. I can sense that he is here.”
She’s a fully trained Doctor now. If Tomas is right, he could teach her to do even more.
The secretary’s pinched expression narrowed. “I do not know who you are, young man, but despite your raw power I have a great deal more experience with mine.” Tallen sensed the low thrum of the woman embracing Earth and Air. He opened himself to his own Aspects. “However, confrontation is not required today. The Lord Doctor said to admit you if you arrive.” She gestured toward the door. “You may enter – alone.”
Tallen drew in a quantity of Air and prepared to swipe the woman aside with one blow, but something slowed his efforts. He felt himself wrapped in a stifling envelope of the woman’s power, a web of Water and Earth. He could direct his own energies, but his Air moved slowly, as if he were swinging it against the current of a river.
“I will not allow her to go alone.” Tallen drew in more power, and he could feel the woman do the same. A single bead of sweat broke on her brow as it knit in concentration.
“Tallen, stop!” Maddi raised her hand, and he halted the swelling of his magic. “I do not want to fight them…not just yet. Just keep her busy and I will confront the Lord Doctor.”
Before he could respond, Maddi ducked into the inner office, latching the doors behind her. Tallen began to call her name, but the mage secretary lashed out with a sudden stab of Water-bound Earth that knocked him to his behind.
“You’ll stay there until the Lord Doctor decides what to do with you, apprentice,” she barked, a fierce glare on her face.
Tallen stayed seated, ignoring his pride’s demand that he leap to his feet in rage. He studied the other mage, trying to assess how close she was to her limit, or if she was preparing another surprise. Her hand shakes, but she has the corner of a smile on her lips. She is close, but she has more for me.
He sat there for some time, letting his own power roil about in the back of his mind while the woman fed more and more of hers into the web surrounding him. He studied it intently, seeking any holes or clues as to its specific nature, meanwhile forcing a look of nervous fear onto his face.
He explored the pattern of her magic, searching along its intertwining lines of power. Then he found its nexus, the point at which the Water and Earth met to form the web. There the two Aspects swirled about in a whirlpool of melding power. I must be fast, and I must be precise.
Tallen kept the lance of Psoul magic short and sharp. He had it fashioned before the woman had any idea he had touched his power. He hurtled it into the nexus of her spell, and the entire web shattered in a violent burst of energy. Books and papers flew against the walls of the outer office, while the chandelier tinkled loudly. The woman crashed into her chair, which shattered as her ribcage slammed into it. One snap Tallen recognized as bone rather than wood.
With a swift motion of his hand, Tallen spun up a web of Water and Earth similar to the one the woman had used, only this one was stronger and tighter. Once it settled around her wheezing form, he inverted the spell with a great deal of reserve power, so it would continue to hold her long after he left.
He knelt down where she cradled her broken rib. “Lucky for you, I’m no fan of killing.” Her eyes lolled about, the pain in them the only thing keeping them open. “In your state, I doubt you’d be much threat to me any longer. I suggest you stay here and contemplate how an ‘apprentice’ took you out so easily.” He patted her side and she winced in pain, almost swooning into unconsciousness. “Next time I might not be so nice.”
Wagging his finger a final time, Tallen rose to his feet. Two steps took him to the inner office and swept the mage from his concerns. He threw the doors open and charged in, readying his power to come to Maddi’s aid.
No one remained inside. A wide desk sat under a fanlight window that looked out on the main quad. Hundreds of old books and medical devices lay scattered about. Deep, dark leather chairs stood around the room, but not a single person sat in them. Tallen saw no other exits.
“Maddi!”
Those who have not seen the trees of the Bloodwood would be justified in believing that they are not real. Some are almost one hundred and fifty yards in height, and their bark and flesh are a blood red. Needle and cone bearing, their branches remain green even in the harshest northern winter. Bloodwood is rare, but still used as castle timber in the Free Cities and the frontier parts of the Western Realm of Gannon. – The Wilde of Tarmor by Yahn Applebear
Jaerd flung the oiled canvas back against a cut-sapling post. Pale, gray light hung in the sky. Fresh snow flew about in icy shards, and the wind slipped up under his blue cloak, ripping away the last warmth of their shelter.
“Damn,” he whispered, pulling the welcome wool more tightly about himself.
A moan emerged from under the thick blankets behind him. Dawne tugged their shared cover up over her face.
“Just as well get up,” he whispered again, careful of how sound carried on new snow. “I assume the mage will have hot tea ready, even if we can’t have a fire.”
Dawne sat up, rubbing bleary eyes. She mumbled something in the affirmative and waved for him to go ahead. Jaerd stood there until she threw the blanket off and began to stuff her stockinged feet into boots.
A few steps away, Magus Joslyn Britt knelt over a pot of swiftly melting ice. It sat on a cleared stone, and Earl Boris Mourne scooped another handful of clean snow into it. The Hadoner captain, Khalem Shadar, ducked his head in Jaerd’s direction. He returned the greeting.
“Captain.” Boris shoveled more snow into the pot. “We should cross the Lond today. It is quite narrow within the Bloodwood. Gael and Til
li scout our approach.”
A wooly nudge brushed Jaerd’s hand and he scratched Brawny’s ear in return. “Hey, old boy. Smell anything bad lately?” The wolfhound just pushed his head further into Jaerd’s gauntlet. He responded by scratching the beast a little longer.
Earl Boris handed over a cup of hot, weak tea, followed by some jerky and a few dried berries. “Force it down and let’s get moving. Both Gael and I are certain scouting parties follow our trail.”
Not ten minutes later, they all rode out of the little hollow that had hidden them through most of the night. The gray sky hung close overhead, threatening more snow.
Before long, Tilli joined them on her pony. The dwarf pointed briefly at Boris. “Gael said that you and I are to lead the way to the Lond. He has been there and back in the night. He will cover our tracks and watch for enemies at our rear.”
The earl rubbed his black mustache, which had quickly spread to a nearly full beard. “If we get more weather, we will be slowed.”
Tilli nodded, a golden curl slipping out from her thick hood. “It’s coming.”
They pressed on through the day, a few scattered flakes falling from time to time. Jaerd turned to look behind them. “Just enough to soften our tracks, but not enough yet to slow us.”
Not long after he said those words, the wind whipped heavy flakes into their cheeks, and Dawne scowled at him. A dusting gathered on their horses’ ears and caught in the beasts’ eyelids. Boris dismounted and led the way on foot. Brawny bounced around the short column unfazed by the snow, his nose searching the westerly wind.
The party stopped in the lee of a fallen Bloodwood, on its side still thrice Jaerd’s height. Snow sifted constantly from the clouds, but the wind had slowed, and Magus Britt melted the gathered whiteness for another batch of tea.
“Here.” Jaerd handed a cup to Dawne. “It will make the cold easier to bear.”
Dawne snorted, but still took the cup. “I wonder if he could do that with my boots.”
Nodding his head in agreement, Jaerd looked over to where Boris stood on a broken branch of the fallen Bloodwood. The earl gazed westward, his gauntleted hand sheltering his sight from the snowfall. Looking close, Jaerd noticed how Boris worked the muscles in his jaw. He’s been more on edge than any of us since we left Highspur…‘abandoned’ it as he said last night.
The earl jumped down from his perch. “Come. We must keep moving.” He stared upward, where Jaerd guessed the sun hid behind a gray, cloudy ceiling. “I fear we may spend one more night on this side of the River Lond.” Jaerd thought he heard a muttered curse.
Magus Britt finished securing the teapot back onto his saddle. “We will make it. Gael will warn us if our pursuers close in.”
A fiery red color rose in Boris’ cheeks as he threw one boot into the stirrup and flung his other leg over. The black stallion danced in apprehension at his master’s mood. “I told Magdon to get out at the end. Where are the survivors of Highspur?”
The mage furrowed his graying brow. “There may well be some, but that does not mean that we can wait for them. We must get through to Kirath and Gavanor as fast as we possibly can.”
Boris’ face pinched in frustrated agony. “But I deserted them, Joz!” He took a deep breath and sat back to steady his stamping horse. “If I had stayed…if we had made a barricade up the mountain…”
“Then we would all be dead too.” The Battlemage pointed at Boris. “And then, even if the kingdom stopped the orc horde, there would be no one left to lead it after Arathan passes.” He clenched his hand into a fist. “No one except for Chancellor Vyce and that fat High Elder. I’d bet fresh-minted gold Vonstrass has his fingers in the pie with them. Ever since Queen Demeta died, Duke Ferric has dreamed of putting an heir of his upon the throne.”
Earl Boris paused at that. Jaerd watched some of the color fade from his face.
“Very well,” the earl said, his voice strained but under control. “You are correct. We should be moving.”
A few hours’ slow progress later, the minimal light began to fade from the leaden sky. Tiny snowflakes trickled downward, and Jaerd’s fingers approached numbness. In the far distance, he heard a rushing sound.
“How close do you think we are to the river?” he whispered to Khalem Shadar, who rode just ahead.
The Hadoner shrugged. “These lands are very different from where I learned to track. The very idea of ice falling from the sky would be laughed at by many of my people.” He shrugged in a noncommittal way. “But I have lived here for several years now and have learned a few new things. I would guess we are within a mile.”
As the long night closed in, Khalem’s guess was proven right. The rocky bed of the Lond River spread in front of the small party. A babbling course of clear, cold water ran fast down its center, broken by boulders and fallen pine trunks.
“The river is still narrow this far north..” Boris splashed his stallion through a shallow patch. “We can make a few more miles on the far side before we find shelter to camp.”
The horses followed Boris and Balthar. The water never rose above Jaerd’s stirrup, yet he still shivered at the froth around his steed’s knees. Tilli put her legs up on her pony’s neck to keep them dry, and Brawny churned through the icy water. The wolfhound shook himself several times on the far bank before dashing off into the trees.
Earl Boris set a quick pace east from the river, stopping only once he found a large Bloodwood stump with an overhang. There they built a camp, and Magus Britt set about heating a pot to make a simple stew.
“I wish Tallen were here,” Jaerd sighed. “He certainly knows how to handle a camp stew.”
Dawne nodded emphatically, while Earl Boris grumbled his agreement.
The Battlemage shrugged his shoulders. “I’d be glad to have someone else take over, especially if one of you knew of a way to heat the pot without a campfire to draw attention.” He drew down his eyebrows on Jaerd and the others. “I thought not.”
An hour later, Jaerd wrapped himself in blankets, his baby sister curled up next to him, their bellies full, and a makeshift shelter over their heads. Soon sleep overtook him.
A strong, supple hand shook Jaerd to consciousness. A single bright eye stared at him from the darkness.
“A scouting party closes.” Gael’s soft voice carried to Jaerd’s ear. “I cannot lead them away.”
Jaerd snapped awake, his heart pounding adrenaline directly to his brain. Dawne jerked up next to him as he slipped his sword from its sheath.
“Stay here,” he whispered to his sister.
Night still hung thick about the forest when Jaerd left their little canvas shelter, but the cloud cover had blown away to reveal a nearly full moon peeking through the wide trunks of Bloodwood trees. The shadowy forms of Boris, Joslyn, and Khalem Shadar stood ready, while the moonlight glinted off the steel tip of one of Tilli’s arrows.
Gael disappeared into the darkness of the forest. Jaerd took position on flat ground just in front of where Dawne hid. He heard her whisper a swift prayer for the protection of the Waters.
“Better to pray to steel,” he muttered, tightening his grip on Shar’leen.
Magus Britt spoke low, and Jaerd recognized the odd hum of a magically channeled whisper. “I’m going to try to blind them. Close your eyes until the flash goes off.”
Jaerd did as he was told, and in the absolute blackness, his ears reached out for the tiniest pinprick of sound. The great trees above him creaked and sighed in a slight breeze. Dawne shifted where she huddled behind him. Leather squeaked as Boris tightened his grip on his longsword.
A soft crunch floated to Jaerd’s ears, followed by a snap. He heard a hiss and a harsh whisper. The words did not entirely resolve, but they held the tone of an angry command. Then he heard a heavy sniff, followed by a terse voice.
“I smell wolf too, I think, not just horse a
nd human. I don’t…”
Brightness echoed beyond Jaerd’s eyelids. The moment it faded, he threw them open to behold a half dozen orcs covering their faces in the dim echo of Joslyn’s flare. Before Jaerd could even lift Shar’leen above his shoulder, a snarling shape darted from the cover of a short pine. Brawny’s white teeth glistened in the half-light, as they ripped through the neck of an orc in the lead.
Jaerd followed the wolfhound, his heart lifted by the beast’s courage. The first two orcs he killed offered no resistance, blinded as they were by Joslyn’s initial burst. But once Jaerd turned from the collapsing body of the second orc, a dozen more appeared from behind a Bloodwood, unblinded by the light.
He threw himself at them, a scream of feigned courage bursting from his throat. Shar’leen flew about at his command, parrying where she needed and slicing where she could. He took a blow on the side of his arm, but the old Highspur mail he had barely removed for days held firm against the glancing strike, and he returned the attack with a vengeful shout. Shar’leen tasted orc blood once more.
A brimstone smell cut through the blood and metal in Jaerd’s nostrils. Another flare shot out from Joslyn Britt, this one more orange than argent. A small clutch of orcs burst into flame, screaming in agony. The two who could still run did so, shouts of fear in their voices. Tilli took one in the neck with an arrow, while Gael appeared in front of the other, his twin longknives ending the orc’s shouts.
The elf trotted toward Earl Boris and Magus Britt. Jaerd watched them between controlled breaths. He had grown used to the sudden quiet at the end of a fight, when the enemy could do little more than moan at his feet. He looked about with a pang of fear, making certain that was the case. Other than the involuntary twitching of orc nerves coming to grips with their new situation, nothing moved, barely even among the Highspur survivors. Save Gael.