by Unknown
At last Windson signaled them to stop. Through the interlacing branches of the trees, Davida saw the clearing just beyond, and after that the rocky opening in the mountain.
The Cave of Almerzan, Arnolf had called it. Davida reflected on the name. An ancient form of her country's common tongue, literally meaning "the forgotten one." Probably some hermit had lived in the cave long ago.
At Arnolf's signal, they dismounted and tied their horses. "I can feel the power," Arnolf said. "There are five of them."
Davida nodded. Five blood mages in a cave. Not a small task, but she and Arnolf had faced much worse. She pushed back the memories of the times they had worked together. These days, she rarely went into the field, instead spending her time teaching at Wizards' Keep.
Leaving Windson with the horses, she and Arnolf strode into the clearing. As they walked, Davida saw Anolf's hands moving in a familiar pattern as he called the Blue power, the force that would make the base of the web. When he had firmly established the line, Davida raised her arms, opened her hands, and summoned the pulsing power of fire, holding the dangerous force closely in check and weaving her magic into the rope he had started. Whatever else had happened between them, their magic still blended perfectly.
Arnolf nodded. As one, they released. The web of power spun across the remaining space, sealing the mouth of the cave. She heard shouts, felt a push of opposing energy, but it was too late. The blood mages were trapped.
* * * *
They made swift work of finishing the binding. Coming closer, they pulled the web slowly tighter and tighter, until the five mages lay joined together on the cave floor, glaring at their captors. Windson joined them, bringing leather ties for the sorcerers' hands and feet.
Davida estimated that the five men ranged in age from early twenties to late fifties. They all work dark clothing, and had nothing in particular to distinguish them. She wondered what they were doing here in a setting unlike any she had seen blood mages use before.
The cave itself was wide, but not deep. At its back, a wall of crystal shimmered. Dark stains covered the crude stone altar that stood to one side. Arnolf rubbed his chin as he looked at it, made a noise of disgust, then flexed his hand and shot a lance of energy, cracking the evil thing into pieces.
Davida walked to the lip of the cave, using mage sight to study the land. Contaminated, all of it, the blood energy lying dangerously in store for other sorcerers to tap. "I will cleanse this land," she said. Arnolf nodded.
Fire arced from her spread fingers, a cleansing fire that would burn away the grass and work deep into the troubled soil. Her fire touched the ground, and the moment it did, she felt the trap. Something caught her energy and twisted it away from her, taking it she knew not where. She struggled to drop the forces, but she could not do that either. Paralyzed, she stood, feeling the energy drain from her. And then, mercifully, she regained control and made the flow of power stop.
"Look." Arnolf spoke, his voice low. Davida turned and saw that the crystal backdrop for the cave had vanished. An opening yawned. She sent a flare into it, illuminating a passage heading down. Water ran in rivulets down the underground path.
"Ice," Windson said. "That wall was enchanted ice, not crystal."
Now Davida understood where her power had gone.
Windson knelt once more beside the captive sorcerers. "What is the meaning of this?" The men smirked but did not respond.
Windson rose and pulled his sword from its sheath. Was he going to kill the mages? Davida wondered. That would be murder, no matter what they had done. But no, he turned and headed to the passage, sword held ready for battle.
At its opening, he turned to Arnolf. "Coming?"
Arnolf nodded.
Davida cast a glance at their prisoners. They were safe enough for a few minutes, doubly bound with magic and leather. "And I," she said. She cast light as she, Windson, and Arnolf moved along the passage. The path sloped steadily downward, its walls appearing carved, not natural. But who had carved them? And why and how had the entry been blocked with bespelled ice?
They had been walking about five minutes when the quality of the air changed, growing warmer. Davida's nose twitched, as she smelled traces of fire. She let the light spell drop and in the distance, she spotted a glow. The three of them picked up their paces, moving swiftly now, until they came to the source of the light.
Davida stared in wonder. A being stood chained to the cave wall. Its form was that of a beautiful young man, his hair made of fire, and his eyes gleaming like flame points. He stood entirely naked, with muscles rippling in his arms and thighs and bright flames dancing along his skin. Shimmering bonds, like captured rainbows, encircled his arms and legs, holding him to the walls of the cave.
Davida had seen this image in an old tapestry that hung on the wall of the Keep's library. The binding of Solovar, one-time God of the many lands. A dangerous being who sought to rob humans of free will, he had been cast into prison by his brother, the sky-god, Fram, who had tied him with pieces of the rainbow.
"Greetings." The being spoke in the old tongue, seeming to look only at Windson, not at her or Arnolf. "Have you come to free me at last?"
"I know who you are," Windson spoke slowly. "Solovar, the Forgotten God. Why have you lured us here?"
"My five priests have done well," the being said, speaking now in the modern vernacular. "They knew you would send for a fire mage to help capture them. I needed powerful fire to break my prison. But now it is you I want, young mage. Even in my prison I have learned of you, followed you in my thoughts. You have unusual power, and you alone of all Alowryn's wizards carry a sword. With that sword and your power, you could cut my bonds. Do this and I will grant you everything you wish. I would make you a king. Those who scorn you now will bow to you when I am free."
Windson stood silent, his sword in his hands.
Davida's heart lurched, seeing the fate of the world spin. It had all been a trap, and she had fallen into it, casting the fire that broke the first wall of this prison. She tried to summon power, to stop Windson from releasing this dread god from his chains, but no energy flowed. All the Red power within her reach was gone. The god commanded it.
She shot a glance at Arnolf, who stood seemingly transfixed. Would Arnolf stop his friend? Would he try? Could he overmaster the other man alone? The minutes ticked.
"I will not undo what Fram has done," Windson finally said. He sheathed his sword.
The being roared. Flames sparked and flew along the wall, pulsing in light of red and gold. A terrible heat flowed with it. Davida reached for the wild energy, using all her strength to push it back before it burned them. Windson raised his hands and a flux of Blue power shimmered. As she struggled to control the cascade of flames that came closer and closer, she saw Arnolf join him.
Ice. Windson and Arnolf were casting ice. Steam rose and sizzled as the god's bright orange flames touched it, blinding her in white mist. She pushed against the wall of fire, feeling a dangerous tension in the opposing force. It sought to suck out her life. She would not be able to hold the fire long. Flames licked at her robe, caught at her hair. She willed them out.
"Run!" She heard Windson shout. "Solovar is killing you."
She knew the man spoke to Arnolf, but he could have said the same to her. Her life force ebbed as she struggled to buy the Blue mages a little more time, but her power sputtered and lagged and she felt the flames advance, the heat so intense she nearly fainted. Footsteps came toward her in the mist.
"Run, Davida." Garrin's voice again, hard and grim. "You must leave now."
A second more and she knew she would be dead. She dropped the lines and did what he said, running blind up the long corridor full of vapor, the heat of untamed fire dogging her steps.
She emerged into the wider opening of the cave, coughing. A few seconds later Windson staggered into sight. Her heart froze as she saw he carried Arnolf. Windson laid the man gently on the floor and then faced the opening at the
back of the cave. She felt a pull on the force lines as Windson continued to summon power, much stronger now that he had left the god's presence. He filled the tunnel with ice.
Davida knelt beside Arnolf. His hands and arms were badly burned, the flesh a mash of red and black. His eyes were dazed with pain, his breathing harsh.
"Sleep," she said, waving a hand over him. His eyes closed and his breathing calmed.
Windson strode toward her. His hair had come unbound, she noticed, and his clothing was singed. Angry red welts rose along his cheeks and the back of his hands.
He dropped beside Arnolf, cast his gaze along the man's arms. "The spell I cast will not hold long against a god's power. We need to get away from here as fast as we can."
He bent to pick up the other man, carrying him against his chest. Davida rose and tugged on the force lines that held the captives. "Out," she said. "Or you'll die here with your god." They shuffled sullenly to their feet, and she led them into the clearing.
"Stop," she commanded. Windson shot her a look and laid Arnolf gently on the grass.
"He needs a healer," Windson said. She looked again at Arnolf's scorched arms. Her failure, she thought, her fault.
"We cannot leave this cave open," she said.
Windson scowled. "What do you plan to do? Call Fram from the skies?"
"Merge with me," Davida said. The thought of such an intimate connection with this man made her nearly ill, and once they linked, she would be open to him. He could steal her power if he wished. But she could not leave this site unprotected. "If you link with me, I can seal this horror."
He shot her a look but said nothing as he summoned power. Surprise ran through her to find she merged with him almost as well as with Arnolf. The flow of his power was like nothing she had experience before, vast and nearly unlimited.
Water was the base of Blue magic, mutable, but strong as the tide. She took his strength to fuel her fire as she started to melt the mountain. Through the link, she became aware of his thoughts; he remembered every turn of the tunnel, every bend in the floor of the cave. With his gift for spatial things, he could do this more easily than she. She lent the power to him, letting him have control. He took her fire and melted the stone, collapsing the tunnel upon itself, sealing the mouth of the cave. Then he used a water spell to cool the molten rock. He let go of the link, releasing her.
She stared at the transformed hillside that showed no trace of a cave.
"That will hold," Windson said.
She nodded, knowing it would.
* * * *
Two days later, she entered the healing hall in the town of Mereth, where Windson had said he would bring Arnolf and also get his own burns tended. In the intervening time, she had taken charge of the prisoners, now on their way to Worhold for trial.
The healer pointed to a room along the hall, apparently guessing from a glance at her scarlet robe which patients she sought. Arnolf lay in a bed in the small room, his eyes closed. Windson sat in a chair in the corner, looking tired and strained. The burns on his face and hands had healed completely, leaving not so much as a trace.
"How is he?" she asked.
Windson shrugged. "They have done what they can."
Arnolf's arms lay exposed above the covers. The burns had healed, but scars roped from his elbows to his wrist. And his hands. She bit back a cry. His hands were constricted, like claws.
Davida put a hand to her mouth, willing herself not to scream. Arnolf opened his eyes, looked up at her.
"Hello, Davida," he said.
She could not stop her tears. Tears not just for his ruined hands, but for the ruin of the life they had once shared. "I'm sorry," she said, hoping he would understand the full scope of her sorrow. "Sorry that in the cave I could not hold the fire long enough. Sorry for your hands. Sorry that I gave you up to marry the wealth I needed to save my family's home. I know you have hated me, and now you must hate me more."
His face twisted. "I never hated you, Davida. I could not stop loving you. That was ever the problem between us. I love you still."
Pledged to another, bound as his wife, she could not in honor return the words.
Arnolf lifted his arms, twisting them from the elbow, but his fingers did not move. "I cannot call power with these hands. In time perhaps, I will learn a new way to summon it. But I will not see you again. We both made our choices, you to marry a man you didn't love, I to stay too long to fight a god. I should have listened to Garrin when he bade me run. Pride kept me there. And a stubbornness to prove I was strong enough to hold the god. This is not your fault. If not for you, Garrin and I would both be dead and the murderous god's prison left unsealed."
She had forgotten Windson was in the room. Heat rose in her cheeks as she realized what he'd overheard. Careful not to turn and face that man, she dabbed tears from her eyes and knelt beside Arnolf's bed. Cradling his face in her hands, she placed a kiss upon his brow. "Goodbye, Arnolf," she said.
* * * *
As she stood at the door of the healing hall, struggling for composure before leaving for Wizards' Keep, she heard steps approaching. Garrin Windson reached her side. He looked down on her, his odd blue eyes holding an expression of such sadness it almost took her breath.
"I know why you did it," he said.
She raised a brow.
"I know why you married Ferhandor."
She braced for an onslaught of his contempt, too sick at heart to bid him quiet, telling herself she didn't care what this man thought of her.
"Duty," he said, "is a heartless master. It will pull the joy from your life and leave you an empty shell. I know that well. Take care, Lady, and the gods grant you peace."
She stared after him as he strode away. For years she had despised him. She distrusted him still, and yet she could no longer see him as less than human. He had done brilliant work at the Cave of Almerzan, and he was not without feeling. That much she now knew.
* * * *
Shortly after her return to Wizards' Keep, Davida entered the Council chamber. Eight masters ringed the long table: Fen and Antonia, masters of the White way, Harran and Torvel, Blue masters, Derrick and Lurreen of the Gray path, and lastly Bryce and Moira, in their scarlet silk. She shared their rank, but she, the youngest of them, still felt intimidated by these older members of her Order, most of whom had been her teachers when she was a girl. Only Bryce, appointed to the Council a year before, was close to her own age.
She stood at one end of the narrow room, her mouth going dry as she sought to form the words she must speak. For three years she had protested the decision the Council had made regarding Windson, demanding they rescind the pronouncement that had given him a journeyman's robe. But after she gave her account, they would be forced to give him so much more.
The chamber was over-warm and over-bright, an unneeded fire on the hearth and a scattering of mage globes sending their unnatural light to shine on the polished surface of the mahogany table. Through the leaded glass of the room's tall windows, she saw the sun shining on the soft spring grass, and longed to run outside, to flee the task before her.
She knew the rules of her Order. To become adept, a journeyman wizard need only demonstrate a certain set of skills before a master. Windson had done that and more. With all her heart, she wished she could shade her telling, to deny him this thing he had earned. But her sense of honor compelled her to give the Council the truth.
When she had relayed her tale of everything that had transpired in the Cave of Almerzan and Windson's part in it, she surveyed the Council members, reading the emotions on their faces. Clearly, they understood the implications and would not thank her for them. She saw the downcast eyes of Derrick and Harran, the tensed jaws of Torvel and Bryce, Moira's blank expression. Fen alone looked openly pleased. Antonia and Lurreen exchanged glances, but it was Antonia who spoke.
An old woman with a kind face and hair as white as lily blooms, she too had seemed fond of Windson once, although not in these later
years.
"Garrin Windson is Adept of the Blue Way, with all the privileges the rank entails," Antonia said. "I name him so on the testimony of Master Davida. Will anyone speak to the contrary?"
To speak to the contrary, Davida knew, meant calling her a liar. In this hall, none would dare, no matter how much they disliked the outcome.
Lurreen folded her hands. Her silk robe shimmered in shades of silver gray. "That was well done, Davida," she said softly. "I know it was not easy for you."
Davida inclined her head. None of them had any idea what it had cost. She bowed and took her leave.
Outside, she made her way to the garden, and sat on a stone bench that was warm from the sun. Azaleas bloomed in a profusion of shades, red, gold, and orange, all the colors of flame.
Fen had told her Arnolf had gone to the country of Drith, which boasted healers more skilled than their own. There was some small hope he would regain the use of his hands. Davida offered a prayer for him, not only for his body, but for his soul, that he might find the peace that had so long eluded them both.
She considered the choices she had made. As a child she had been taught that following her conscience would eventually lead to happiness. Why then did her heart ache so that she thought it would burst? She had given up the man she loved. She had granted glory to the man she despised. Other wiser souls might understand the proper balance of love and duty, of honor and the thirst for revenge, but she knew she did not. She prayed someday she would.
The Raw and the Cooked
by Michael H. Payne
The first story about Cluny, the student mage, who just happens to be a squirrel, and her human familiar Crocker appeared in Sword & Sorceress 19. They've been getting into trouble together ever since, and this year is no exception.