A Bitter Brew

by Greg Curtis

  Then again though most of the other gifted weren't complaining, Marnie and his mother certainly were. But Marnie complained about everything he did, and his mother was only worried that he looked like a freak and would embarrass the family name. She didn't understand that he didn't care about the family name. It was of less worth to him than a bent styne.

  But he did care about his family. He had seen his brother Myka the other day in the market as they'd both been shopping. He'd even thought about wandering over to greet him. But in the end he'd decided against it. Even if they were both princes of the realm, Myka was dressed as one and accompanied by an advisor and a pair of guards, while he was dressed as a commoner and walked alone. It would have looked bad. So, he'd remained at the stall from where he’d spied him and watched his older brother wandering through the markets. One day he hoped he would get to meet them. Especially his nieces and nephews. Maybe one day after he'd managed to find some better clothes and not have them torn and dirty in a matter of days. World walking was hard on clothes.

  Hendrick did his best to put those thoughts out of his mind as he concentrated on his next spell, the dimensional blade. He didn't need distractions. He needed to concentrate. So he put everything else out of his mind and began focusing on the spell. Feeling it in his mind. Feeling the weight and shape of it in his thoughts. Pushing the spell until he almost had the blade in his hand, and then stopping himself at the very last instant.

  Over and over again he worked on bringing the blade spell to the very edge of reality. Holding it, weighing it, feeling the magic. Understanding how it worked. This was the key to making the magic his. Or maybe making him a part of the magic. The distinction wasn't completely clear to him. But that was probably as it should be. He wasn't binding the spell to him. He wasn't a wizard. He was something else. Something that cast magic not by knowing magic, but by being it.

  “Taking a nap?”

  A woman's voice unexpectedly intruded on Hendrick's focus, pulling him out of his focus. But what really brought him back to the world wasn't the mockery in the words, nor even the menacing tone. It was recognition. In an instant his eyes flew open.

  “Sana?” It really was her. Alive and standing right in front of him when she was supposed to be dead. He’d seen the fireball. All that had been left had been ash. And yet it was her. She still bore the scars of their last encounter. Her arm and her leg were still missing. But in their place there was now a ghostly arm and leg. Scaled, lizard like limbs that seemed to emerge straight from her stumps. He realised that they were the limbs of her unborn monstrous baby.

  An instant later he felt something smash into his shoulder and was sent flying.

  Hendrick cried out, shocked by the pain and the suddenness of it. He knew he had been badly hurt. He could feel the bones in his shoulder grinding against each other. The pain was incandescent. Then he hit the ground and tumbled out of control, screaming in agony every time he touched the grass. And over it all he could hear Sana's mocking laughter.

  Finally he came to a stop, and he knew a moment of relief as he lay there on the ground, staring up at the clear blue sky. But only a moment as between one breath and the next he watched a figure descend from on high. Sana plummeting toward him, screaming like a mad woman.

  Desperation and fear guided him, and somehow he managed to raise a dimensional shield in time to see her bounce off the invisible shimmering barrier and tumble away.

  Sana screamed in fury. But a heartbeat later he watched as a gigantic dragon head came out of nowhere to smash into his shield, and it was his turn to scream – in terror. Instinctively he tried to cover his head with his arms. But one arm was out of action and the fire that streamed through his broken shoulder was straight from the underworlds. Fortunately that massive head full of broken, transparent teeth, bounced off the invisible shield just as Sana had before.

  Hendrick laughed – a little hysterically – as he watched the creature pull its head back in surprise. It didn't understand what it had just hit and he could almost see the cogs behind its eyes spinning as it tried to make sense of things. But in the end there was only one thing it understood – violence – and so it struck at the shield again, it's head lunging at him even faster than before.

  Hendrick cried out again as he saw the head streak for him a second time. Because despite everything he kept forgetting that he had a shield raised the instant he saw that ghostly maw of broken teeth streaking for him. The shield though held again and he gasped with relief. But while for the moment he was safe, he realised he had to concentrate on maintaining the spell. He had to hold that shield tight no matter what. If it failed – he died.

  After that Hendrick just lay there, focusing on the shield while gasping for breath through the pain and trying to make sense of what was happening. But there was no sense to be found. Especially when more ghostly dragon heads appeared above him, and then one after another smashed down at him from above. Striking at him with terrible fury. They wanted him dead. They wanted to eat him. And the thought of those teeth tearing into his flesh was too much for him. Each time they struck he found himself screaming, closed his eyes and raised his arms instinctively. Then he screamed in pain.

  Eventually Hendrick managed to find some calm. Enough to start thinking again. It didn't matter if Sana was somehow alive when she should be dead. It didn't matter if his entire shoulder was now a solid mass of burning pain. It didn't even matter if the ghostly dragons were trying to eat him. The only thing that mattered was stopping them. Because he couldn't lie here forever. He had to strike back with all the strength he had. He had to kill them. And there was only one spell he could use.

  Hendrick opened his eyes and began summoning his spectral hawks, one after another. They appeared high in the sky, far above the ghost dragons who were still on the ground striking at him. Once he had summoned enough of them he sent them into the attack.

  They streaked down at impossible speeds, digging their talons and beaks into the necks of the ghost dragons, before they could strike back. But the ghost dragons did strike back. Even if they couldn't tear the hawks from their own necks, they could tear them from those of the other two.

  It was a terrible battle. Hawks fell out of the sky, as did chunks of ghostly dragon flesh. It rained bodies. And somehow the fact that he couldn’t hear any of it because of the shield made it even more frightening. But he thought the silence was a blessing. Because he was sure the ghost dragons were shrieking their devastating war cry. And if he could have heard it, he would have been dead by now. Even if the cry hadn't killed him, being paralysed by it would have left him helpless before them and they would have bitten him in half.

  The hawks had numbers and speed on their side, the ghost dragons had their sheer size and the sinuous flexibility of those long necks. But every time they killed one of the hawks he was able to summon three more to take its place, and soon it looked as though they were swarming the great ghostly beasts. Biting out great chunks of scaled ghostly dragon flesh and letting them fall to the ground.

  When the first of the beasts' heads finally came free of its neck he cheered as it tumbled to the ground beside him, thinking the battle was his. One down, two to go. But even if it was, he was in a bad way, and his cheer gave way to agony when he moved. It wasn't just his shoulder that was broken he realised. Even if he won through this battle he probably couldn't call it a triumph. The only reason he was still in the fight was because he was lying perfectly still. If he moved, it was torture and threatened his concentration. Losing it would be a death sentence.

  So he lay there like a cripple, alive behind his dimensional shield, and watched the silent battle rage all around him. Most of all, when he was finally able to tear his eyes away from the ghostly monsters, he watched Sana. Or whatever it was she had become. Not only did she now have a ghostly dragon arm and leg sticking out of her stumps, but also a tail. A long scaled lizard tail that stood out a dozen feet behind her. A tail that swished around angrily as she
stood there watching the battle.

  How could she be alive? He didn’t understand the how but guessed it had something to do with her unborn child or parasite. The monster was still alive despite having had its head bitten off by his panthers. How? It seemed to kill the other ones, but not the creature inside her. Why?

  And what in all the hells was she wearing? Red leather and coarse cotton with straps and buckles everywhere. All of it specifically cut to expose her stumps and tailored to fit her tightly like a courtesan's dress. It was just so bizarre.

  But as much as he was filled with questions, he still had work to do. It was time that he put an end to her as well as her pets. With scarcely a thought he summoned a panther, and then several more, and had them take her down. They might not be able to do a lot of damage to her. But they could hold her for later.

  They weren't enough. She was stronger than before, and they didn't seem to be able to hurt her. So he summoned half a dozen more, and watched as they got her on the ground and started slowly ripping into her ghostly appendages. Then he had to return to the ghost dragons as they kept striking at him and he started summoning more hawks.

  Soon Sana was just a dark smudge in the middle of a mass of spectral panthers that were tearing into her like a pack of wolves over a kill. And the ghost dragons were having their own problems, losing so much flesh that he could now see the ghostly bones of their necks exposed. They were still fighting, but he knew they wouldn't last much longer.

  Twenty seconds later he was proved correct as he watched a second dragon head and at least ten feet of long, sinuous neck, fall to the ground. The rest of the beast followed it shortly after. It was dead and the third beast wasn't far behind it.

  When it finally died he celebrated – quietly. He risked a smile and a small prayer of thanks to Vitanna, but no more. And then he turned his attention back to his stepmother. It was time to send in the parrots to take her head off. But even as he was thinking that there was an explosion. A huge glorious fireball that somehow started in her and then sent a full dozen panthers flying in all directions. A blast so bright that it burned his eyes.

  When he could see once again, he looked to where Sana had been but saw nothing. She had gone, leaving only a ring of burnt grass and some ash to mark where she had been. The same as before. Somehow she’d survived and gotten away again. He was also pretty sure that she'd be back again. Stronger than before.

  For the moment it didn't matter. What did was that he was in pain. And now that the danger had passed the pain seemed to have ratcheted up several notches. Hendrick needed the care of the physicians. Probably the healers too. For the moment though he decided, all he could do was lie there perfectly still and wait for the others to come and find him.

  Hendrick let the shield lapse and allowed those beasts that had survived to return to their world. The physicians weren't going to come near him with them around after all. With the shield down Hendrick could once again hear the sound of the world around him, and he tried to enjoy sun and birdsong while he waited for help to arrive.

  When that help arrived though, it wasn't quite what he'd expected. For a start his three rescuers were wearing strange sashed dresses that hung off one shoulder and had little crystals attached to leather cords around their necks. Even the man did. The two women both had their hair up in elegant knots. But their faces were far too thin and straight for them to be from this world. It seemed that the visitors he had previously thought of as the bronze people had arrived. In the flesh.

  But at least they weren't bronze any more he thought. Their skin was more gold than bronze. And their strange clothes were a riot of colour though they all looked to be of similar style and cut. One of the women was wearing what looked like a rainbow painted across her chest. And though the clothes of the other two weren't painted quite like hers, they weren't plain either. The man had some sort of geometric writing scrawled down one side of his mostly white garment, and the second woman had a strange collection of pale smudges of colour everywhere. She looked as though she'd been standing still while children had thrown small pottles of paint at her and the whole lot had then run together. What had happened to the simple browns of good homespun?

  Still, he realised as he lay there, hurting, there were more important things to discuss. And he was in no position to discuss them.

  “Great! Now you decide to show yourselves! And I suppose you came to talk?!” It seemed like the very worst time they could have chosen.

  “We thought it was time,” the man answered him.

  “You've come to congratulate me on my mighty victory? Killing three dragons?” He was feeling a little strange by then. Giddy. And the thought made him laugh – but not enough to do something as dim witted as move. He knew better than that.

  “Mighty victory?!” The man stared at him as if worried he'd taken too many hits to the head. “A child could do better, Mage.”

  “Well maybe next time I'll ask one to help!” He laughed at his own feeble joke. No one else did he noticed. But he didn't care. At least he thought it funny. But then again, everything seemed funny to him just then – as long as he didn't move.

  “That would be for the best. Your spellcraft is very poor!”

  “And you smell!” One of the women added. “Also, what you fought weren’t dragons!”

  “You know, no matter how many times you say it, I just can't hear enough of you telling me how inadequate I am!” Did they understand sarcasm he wondered? Somehow he doubted it. But he didn't care. It felt good to say it. And things were starting to swim a little in front of him by then. But what did she mean when she said they weren't dragons? They looked like dragons. Uglier than he'd imagined. A bit more ghostly too. But what else could they be?

  “Anyway, it's lovely that you've come calling – and learned how to speak my native tongue – but I'm really much too busy to see you now.” Hendrick hoped they’d take the hint and go away, because the world was beginning to spin and he was feeling somewhat ill.

  “You don't look busy,” one of the women retorted, sounding a little annoyed.

  “Appearances can be deceiving as they say. And right now I'm overdue for my afternoon nap. If you want to talk to someone go and speak to Marnie and Tyrollan.”

  And with that he let his eyes close. He had been struggling to keep them open anyway. And if they complained or said something about it, he didn't hear them. Hopefully someone who actually intended to help him would turn up soon he thought.

  In the mean time sleep beckoned.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  It was a strange thing to be going to the Council Chambers. Strange because Marnie had never done it before. Not even the Council Chambers in Combury. First because as a simple farmer's daughter who spent her days tilling fields and raising crops, she had no business with the Council. But perhaps more importantly, she was afflicted. As such she was not allowed to enter any Council Chambers. Just as she had never been allowed to enter Styrion Might. Nor had she even been allowed any contact with the rulers of the realm.

  Yet here she was. One of the afflicted, a churl, hedge born, walking toward the Council Chambers of not Combury but of Styrion Hold, with the King's fifth wife escorting her, destined for a meeting with King Oster Mountforth himself. What a difference a war could make!

  No doubt Tyrollan was feeling the same. Maybe more strongly than her. He was after all, nearly twenty years older than her. He had lived with the strictures placed on their people for much longer.

  It should be Hendrick doing this she thought. He was not only one of their people, but also the King's son. And he had saved his father's life. If anyone could be trusted around the King it was surely him. But he was still unconscious after the attack from the previous day and the healers had said he would remain that way for a few days yet. His shoulder bones had been fractured and they would need time to heal. The swelling would also need time to subside. He had other injuries too. A lot of them. It was going to be a while before he was up
and running around.

  Sana had really hit him. One swing of that ghostly tail of hers and he had been knocked a hundred yards or more. He was actually lucky to have survived it. The soldiers on patrol on the walls had all said the same thing. Some of them had thought he was actually dead until the battle had begun. She understood that. Not though how Sana was now suddenly sporting a ghostly tail and two new limbs. Or for that matter how Sana was still alive. Those things didn't make any sense to her. In fact she had wondered for a time if the soldiers had been drinking on duty. Except that they had all said the same thing almost word for word.

  Nor did she understand why the bronze people had finally decided to visit in the flesh or were now wanting to talk to them. Naturally they had refused to say. They hadn't even given them their names. Instead they’d just continued wandering around the city, much as they had before save that they were now asking questions. A lot of questions, and mostly of the afflicted. It might have been easier to accept if they'd answered some questions in return. But that they didn't do.