by D. H. Aire
Highmage
D.H. Aire
A Novel of the Highmage’s Plight
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.
Copyright © 2014 by D.H. Aire
Cover Copyright © by Christina Yoder
Edited by Karen MacLeod
ISBN-10: 1500147664
ISBN-13: 978-1500147662
FIRST EDITION
Highmage’s Plight Series
by D.H. Aire
Highmage’s Plight (published by Malachite Quills)
Merchant and Mages
Human Mage (published by Spectacular Publishing)
Highmage
Well Armed Brides* (forthcoming)
Highmage’s Plight, Human Mage, and parts of Highmage appeared in serialized form in Separate Worlds (published by Spectacular Publishing) from 2010 through 2014.
An excerpted story from Merchants and Mage (Elemental) appeared in Separate Worlds in 2012.
Also by D.H. Aire
Flights of Fantasy, Volume 1 (published by Spectacular Publishing), also featuring short stories by Barry Nove.
This novel and the series
are dedicated to Sarah.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my copyeditor, Karen MacLeod, for all her help with this volume. Any errors are my fault for disagreeing with her, a very rare occurrence.
I must also thank Christina Yoder, who did a magnificent job on the cover art for this book. She’s a real find and has been a joy to work with. She’s brought my characters to life and hopefully enticed you to buy this novel and enter the world of the Plight.
Finally to you, my friends and readers, who have purchased this book. This story was originally written over fifteen years ago. Thank you for buying this book and letting my characters into your lives. They have been members of my family for a very long time.
Dare to believe.
D.H. Aire
www.dhr2believe.net
September 2014
Prologue
“Well, well,” reverberated the voice out of the darkness of the Gate’s antechamber, a place outside of time, as George stepped out of reality into this ether realm. Momentarily, he thought himself in almost stygian darkness, then saw the pair of lurid red eyes poised before him.
The staff in his hand flared, which was followed by a grim chuckle. Laughter echoed around him. “Oh, you have no need of that. Welcome, human.”
“Demon.”
“So formal… and I was beginning to think us, if not friends, at least respected enemies.”
“I think not,” he replied.
“Well, at least you are ready to return to your distant Earth.” The veil of darkness pulled back and stars appeared, one distant star in particularly drew his attention.
“Have no fear. I will do nothing to stop your leaving this world.”
George Bradley, the archeologist who had fallen across the universe and fought to achieve this opportunity to return home, gripped his computer staff, his knuckles white with strain. :If you are willing to abandon all you now hold dear,: Staff whispered through their rapport.
The Gate whirled, opening the way as a portal across the galaxy opened, beckoning.
“Go home, human, or do you wish to join me? After all, there are already those calling you demon…” the Demonlord said, laughing.
Part One: Urchins & Mages
Chapter
1
Waving his hand over the scrying bowl, the master chanted the spell. The water rippled; an image formed. "There. See what I mean?" the elfblooded scryer said to his associate.
An urchin boy hung around the river docks. Two brown robed figures disembarked from an arriving ship. The lad walked toward the Seventh Tier’s harbor gate. Sailors, local merchants, dockworkers, even the Imperial Guards on patrol all carefully looked away— all that is except the urchin, who watched the pair ever so carefully.
By caravan, ship, or the simpler expedient of walking, hundreds of mages from throughout the Aqwaine Empire were descending upon the Imperial Capital. The Requiem for Highmage Alrex had been held; now the mourning period was drawing to an end. Soon the Grand Conclave would convene to choose a successor.
The lad sighed, knowing his daily tally had now risen to sixteen mages by river. All this activity just to decide between two candidates, he thought. Only two now since Lord Senason's murder weeks before, that is. Crossing the pier, the waif approached the newly arrived ship.
"Come far?" he asked, looking wide-eyed and innocent up at the sailors above.
"Get that kid away from there!" shouted a ragged looking sailor upon the deck of the ship that in other days might be called a barge.
The urchin skittered back as the man dumped the contents of a bucket splattering where he had been standing. "Me't no harm, Ser! Just wonderin'!"
"Oh, for the Empress's Sake, Petie… the lad's just curious," the nearest sailor on deck said.
"Move off!" the man shouted as the lad turned a hurt gaze to the kindly sailor.
"We've come from Llewellyn proper," the other offered.
"Wow!" the urchin muttered, eyes glistening. He was quick to note the grim sailor heft another bucket and take aim.
He raced away, grinning. Well, two more mages come for the Conclave, he thought, and this time from Llewellyn proper. There were few enough of those in the tally so far.
The scene at the dock faded from the rippling water of the scrying bowl. The mage glared at his associate. "Everywhere it's the same, urchins watching the gates, docks, even the Caravan Road. The urchins are allied to the human mage."
The dark cloaked figure leaned back, "Then it is time we put an end to it, don't you agree?"
The scryer grinned wickedly, "Aye, Milord."
The dwarf frowned. "But, Mistress, this is not right."
"Truly?" the dark cloaked woman replied. "I thought your family liked the rooms set aside for them?"
The sandy haired dwarf Geofrei swallowed and said, "Lady Se’and, you and your lord husband, the dwarf-friend, have been most gracious. But that is not the point."
Se'and, who had long dealt with disputes in her Sire's House, merely looked saddened. "We will regret losing you. However, if that is your decision…"
Eyes wide, "Please, don't misunderstand, my lady!"
"Hmm, misunderstand? I have little doubt you are capable of managing this establishment. Yet you must admit that the Imperials are
rather provincial. A merchant house run by dwarves, particularly in this Tier, will take getting used to."
Nodding fervently, Geofrei replied, "Upon that we well agree. The Elders have long been waiting for an opportunity to display our wares… through an appropriate middleman. I have no qualms with the, uh, elf Lucian, managing the place. But living here with us… an elf?! It's unnatural!"
Se'and struggled to keep her temper. "They seem well settled, Geofrei."
"I mind not the girl, she's human. But the elf, Lady?"
"She's his wife."
Geofrei harrumphed. "She's almost our size."
"Irin’s a tad short, but she’s not a child. I've been told there are not really any children from this city’s ramshackle Seventh Tier. Apparently they either grow up quickly or die. Few enough in that Tier ever reach old age, in any case. And, Irin and Lucian are newlyweds, after all. This arrangement is our gift to them." The dwarf threw up his hands as Se'and averred, "Lucian and Irin shall serve as our House's representatives to the Merchant Guild. This is their new home… just as it is yours. There is plenty of room. They're upstairs. Your quarters are down here. I don't see any problem."
"But he's a bloomin' elf?!"
Se'and, long used to the stubbornness of another individual of her acquaintance, laughed. "Too bad. Get used to it."
The taproom in the Seventh Tier was crowded tonight. Since the Highmage's death, people were being drawn to the Capital on errands best left undisclosed. Yet in Rolf's business the presence of so many almost cheered him; he would make a profit this month.
Yet all the money he could scrimp and save did not make his struggle any easier. He was merely human, after all. Being human left him with few prospects for bettering himself. It pained him to realize that he might never leave the Seventh. Here he was born, here he might die. His one scheme to break free of this place, move his business up but a single Tier, had come to naught. It had taken him years and had seemed such a good plan.
What real harm could it have caused? He would have gotten his family out of this hellhole. They almost had enough money to invest in a business in the Sixth Tier, but he had lost his means. Lost the crippled elf Lucian and his own daughter, his true hope. And, as he had always told his wife and daughter, he was doing this all for them.
But he could no longer lie to himself. He had wanted it more than anything.
The new serving wench took a tumble after a rough grip latched her thigh. A look of utter fright filled her eyes as she struggled to free herself from the drunken guest. Rolf gritted his teeth. Lucian’s loss was terrible in more ways than one; this kind of thing was beginning to happen all too frequently with him gone.
Rolf drew his dagger and threw it thudding into the table in front of the lout. The man's eyes widened as he hastily backed off the girl. "No harm intended, Master Rolf!"
With a thin smile, Rolf gestured him to the door as the serving girl raced out of sight into the kitchen, where Cook stood poised with a butcher knife. The lout had sense enough to make a hasty retreat.
Rolf sighed, ignoring the girl's muffled whimpers as Cook dealt with her. With a glance at the keg beside him, Rolf wondered if he had watered the ale down enough.
Profit could never be driven completely from Rolf's greedy mind. Yet, he shook his head and poured himself a drink. He missed Irin. Though she still looked much a girl still, she had looked lovely at the marriage altar. He had taken pains that she not note his presence, knowing he wasn’t even supposed to be aware of the event.
It was to his shame. He still could not believe she had out-schemed him. A crooked smile curled his lip. He had only learned of his daughter's marriage after being drawn by the faint sound of scratching at the shuttered kitchen window after they had closed for the night. His wife had gone over and leaned close and answered in a hushed tone, which made him suspicious enough to stay in the shadows of the darkened taproom. What he faintly overheard astonished him, yet he mentioned not a thing of the incident to his wife.
Thus it came as no surprise the next morning when she commented that she was going to the market with Cook. Rolf had waved her out, feigning disinterest. She looked faintly relieved as they left. Rolf quickly donned his cloak and followed them to the rundown Temple near the closest gate up-tier to the Sixth.
He concealed himself behind a column far in the back and watched his only child wed. The old priest of Unity officiated. The pews were filled with urchins and mages no less. There had even sat the elf Rolf recognized as the one Lucian had not appeared afraid of. There were others, of course. His wife and Cook sat beside a number of women in black livery, which puzzled Rolf a moment until he realized just who they must be. The Cathartan bodyguards of the finely dressed man beside them along with his elvin companion, the healer Balfour, meant the human mage had come to his daughter's wedding.
As an elf Lucian looked nowhere close to a human’s age. He looked to be in his youth even as his half-breed son Aaprin stood as witness at his father's side while the Priest of Unity intoned the marriage vows... His Irin had looked so beautiful.
Rolf shook his head, and then half heard an excited conversation. "I tell you, there's a bounty being offered!"
"For urchins?!" a grizzled man muttered.
"Two Golds for everyone, but not just any urchins. Heard they want Gallen's Pack."
"Gold?"
"Bonus to the one brings in Gallen hisself!" the fellow's scarred companion asserted.
"What did he say?" someone asked at the next table. Soon the whole taproom was bestirred in conversation centered on the bounty. Rolf was frowning in consternation as he hurried to pour more ale for each of the thirsting connivers, hankering for their means to acquiring some of that gold.
But all Rolf could think about was that someone was after Gallen and his bunch… his daughter Irin's friends. He scowled trying to understand his own feelings as his new serving wench fumbled the drinks she was hurriedly serving.
Talk of the bounty was not limited in the Seventh Tier to the local taprooms and taverns. A young lady had her arm draped across the blushing man's shoulder. His hand gently squeezed her thigh. She responded by nuzzling his cheek and poured him another drink.
The other customers of what had once been termed Melane's House of Harlotry were carefully choosing partners for the eve. The new madame welcomed to the establishment an elegantly dressed pair, who looked around them appraisingly.
"Heard Melane's no longer has a special menu," one stated dejectedly.
The madame chuckled and responded, "Yes, lords. We're apparently a respectable establishment now."
"Glad to hear it," his companion replied with a smile.
"Ordering was always quite, uh, an experience."
"Yes," the Madame replied wistfully. "But things happen. Madame Melane chose to leave us, taking her most choice items with her."
Noting how disinterested they seemed to be with the women in the room, the Madame wondered where this conversation was truly leading. The older of the pair grinned broadly. "Mayhap, we can speak with you candidly? You see, we may be able to help you fix that."
With a frozen smile Harlequin gestured for them to accompany her into the next room.
The argument was quite loud as the brown haired dwarf Spiro opened the front door for Se'and. She glanced upstairs, then looked at the stout bard shrugged. "I take it Balfour's not yet returned."
"No, Lady. He's still at the Healer's Hall."
She nodded, then ascended the stairs. The shouting was all too clear, currently revolving about Fri'il's sudden penchant at feeling unattractive in her unwieldy, gravid state… and obvious worries.
When Se'and entered the room, the tension was thick. Fri'il blushed in chagrin and quietly drew closed her dark robe, concealing her advancing pregnancy. Yet Je'orj stood there pale, hurt, and confused while the staff in his hand glowed for the merest instant.
He took a step back upon Se'and's entrance and asked her, "Was I really away for three weeks?
"
She nodded, "Twenty-four days this time. Should we expect it to get worse, Husband?"
The staff in George's hand glistened as his eyes flared with an old haunted look of frustration. The words he next spoke were in a voice clearly not his own, "Time runs differently in the Guild Hall, Se'and. The debating seems to only last a few hours before a recess is called. However, it appears that the more elvin mages in attendance the greater the time dilation that occurs."
"Which is still subjective hypothesis," George replied in his normal voice. "Staff has been unable to record the passage of 'time' within the Guild. Archmage Abernathy thinks I'm quite mad to be disturbed by it, in any case."
Se'and chuckled. "He may be the Faeryn archmage, but he's still an elf… such things are no doubt natural to him."
Fri'il looked at him miserably. "Can't you just stay here and forget his whole candidacy business?"
The look George gave her was so pained that even Se'and felt constrained to withhold comment. "Fri'il, this is my only chance… or so Alex promised me. Only by becoming Highmage will I be able to use the Gate to return to my world, the place I truly belong."
Sitting down carefully on the bed, Fri'il placed her hands upon her stomach. "M'lord, your home is here with us."
Se'and watched the warring emotions cross George's face as he slowly sat down beside Fri'il and put his arm around across her shoulders. "I am not of this world, Fri'il. What skills I have are not those of magic nor am I truly your husband." At her look of protest, he quickly stated, "Sire Ryff, perhaps, by your laws can award a man wives with a wave of his hand, but I had no say, and am not bound by such an agreement by the laws that govern my people."
"You saved Vyss Secondson's life," the young woman offered stubbornly. "And now I shall bear your child."