Madness and Magic- The Seers' War

by Greg Curtis

  “You jest!”

  “Never! Not about that!” His smile grew until it covered his entire face. “It is truly a wonder of the age!” And then a thought occurred to him. “If you're willing to wait until it warms up, I'll give you a ride. Then you can tell your future grandchildren about the day you rode a thunderstorm!”

  “A thunderstorm?!” She smiled dubiously at him. “Have you been drinking? I remember you telling me it was a family problem!”

  “It is – don't tell Nyri – but I'm as sober as a judge! I swear it by the Lady.”

  “Well Dear One, we shall see. And then we will talk about this spying of yours. It does sound a little unseemly.”

  “Of course, Caris.” But he didn't really care as he rushed off to start fuelling up the wheeler. In the end the only thing that mattered was that she was safe. She was family after all. And that he would scare the pants off her shortly!

  Chapter Seven

  The wheeler roared off across the grass with yet another passenger on the back, and Dariya stared at it in disbelief. Again. Something about it just seemed wrong. Fae on the backs of steam powered vehicles? It just wasn't proper! Still, they seemed to love it, and the wizard was enjoying driving them over the grassy fields. Perhaps also it was good that after all the pain they'd been through, they now had something to smile about.

  A wizard on a wheeler! She shook her head in disbelief. Even the bards had never told of such a thing! This world was turning strange. Then again, she thought as she watched one of the Fae giving chase on the back of a riding wolf the size of a pony, maybe it had always been strange. Certainly it seemed odd to her to see the Fae yelling and laughing like children. But who was she to judge?

  “You disapprove?” Nyri asked as she handed her another mug of the spiced tea.

  “No.” She thought about it for a moment. “Not really. I just don't understand. Your people are spoken of as refined and graceful. But here your wardens and their charges are laughing and yelling like children at a party as they ride off on that thing. And it's iron!”

  “It's steel and bronze. Iron is poisonous to us, but when it's bound into steel, it's safe. We don't know why. And why shouldn't they be happy? They have endured a lot.”

  “Then there's him.” She gestured at the wizard. “For all that he denies that he's a wizard, Baen is the most powerful of his kind that I've ever seen. All the tales of wizards that I know of refer to them as great and powerful old men. People of dignity and wisdom. And yet he's behaving just as childishly as the rest. We have serious matters to discuss.”

  “Like your uncle?”

  “Like him.” She admitted, then took a sip of her tea. It really was good.

  “And did you ever consider Girl, that sometimes life is just too serious?” Caris asked. “That maybe my ward for all his failings has the right idea. Sometimes you just have to have fun.”

  It might have been easier to accept her argument if Dariya couldn't see what her uncle's men had done. If there wasn't a ring of red around her neck. If there weren't prisoners bound with leather ties being taken off for trial. And if giant eagles weren't patrolling the skies, hunting for any brigands that had evaded capture. If they found one, Dariya expected his escape like his life would be short lived.

  “Your ward?” Dariya asked. It was an unexpected claim to make. She understood that the two of them were close, and that he was a thane – a favoured soul and honoured guest in their land. But that was something more. She was claiming the wizard as family.

  “When Baen came to us he was little more than a child. And one badly torn. Caught between two worlds. One a world of beauty, magic and wonder. And one of order, rules and the mundane. Ripped away by a gift that is far too powerful to be contained within a world of straight lines, and held there by a family who for all that they are built of straight lines and angles, love with a passion that few hearts can contain. His life was always bound to be difficult.”

  “But when he first entered the Hallows as you call our home, one more thing was revealed. He is of our blood. Not just Fae blood. My family's blood. It is distant and thin. Clearly the connection is ancient. Probably from before the Golden Concord. But it's there. He is family. My blood knows him. The trees know him. And even your world knows him. Others of his family in Grenland have the same gifts. It does not sing as loudly in them as it does in him. But it's there. They chose to walk away from their gift. Let it wither on the vine. And it has damaged them in some way.”

  “Baen told us of them, though he did not truly understand all that had happened to them. He knew that something of their spirit had died, but knew not why. But we knew. It was because they chose the path of straight lines and ignored their Fae heritage. We understood that. We watched him as he wandered through our realm. We saw. And finally a decision was made. He is family, even if the relationship is distant. And so he was brought to our Glade of Grace and a bond was made. One that would protect him. Help him to grow his gift even when he had to return to your world. So yes, he is my ward. And today we have seen that his gift has been nurtured even in the poor soil of your realm. He is growing straight and tall.”

  “But you,” her gaze turned hard, “are not so straight.”

  “Pardon?” Dariya unexpectedly felt alarm start growing in her chest.

  “You claim that you are a Friend of the Golden Concord.” Nyri took over. “But as far as we know, the last of the Friends died away centuries ago. And you claim to be cousin of King Richmond and niece to Duke Barnly. But neither we nor Baen recognise you. We do not know your name.”

  “The Friends still live – but we are few,” Dariya replied defensively. “A dozen of us remain of the original hundreds. Another score of apprentices. A single outpost remaining near Helmsford. Still, we hold to the traditions and the cause. And I am who I say I am.” She took a deep breath. “But my mother and hence my name is best forgotten.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Amberlee of Astoria. Once Amberlee Featherstone, daughter of Reagan Featherstone. Sister to Barnly and Andris Featherstone.” She squeezed the words out without giving into her need to let her head fall in shame. But it wasn't easy.

  “Your mother is sister to the Duke?” Nyri looked surprised.

  And well she should look surprised. Horrified too, Dariya thought. Because her mother wasn't just sister to her uncle; they were lovers. It was an open secret. A family shame. And the worst of it for her was that she could not be certain that her father was actually the late Lord Hardy Tomkins of Astoria. Her mother had claimed he was. But the scuttlebutt around the castle when she had been growing up was that the illicit affair had been going on for far longer than was thought. Right throughout her short lived and tragic marriage to Hardy Tomkins. Some even claimed that her uncle had killed Lord Hardy out of jealousy and that the two of them had then concealed the truth. She didn't know the truth of that. But she did know that her uncle had started making unwanted advances on her when she was still a child.

  Was it any wonder then that she had run away as soon as she was able and taken the name Morningstar? What else could she have done? Had she used either the name Featherstone or Tomkins people would have known who she was immediately and her shame would have been exposed. Worse, her mother and uncle would have sought her out, sent out men to drag her back, and she could never go back to that.

  “Sister to both the Duke and the late King Andris. A Featherstone by birth and tragedy.”

  “Then you know the Duke well?”

  “Too well. After Lord Hardy was killed, I was raised in Castle Alldrake. From the age of six and up until I escaped ten years ago at fourteen and was taken in by the Friends. I know many of his secrets.”

  “And I would tell you this one now,” she added. “He too has the gift. But it was not his by birth. He stole it. He still steals it. Long ago he had a Fae tutor named Estor. A woman who had left her home because of a dispute with the priests. She taught him of all things including your people's magic
. Sadly for her, at some point he became a disciple of the Reaver and through her learned of a way to steal the magic of another. My uncle killed Estor long ago and made a potion of her blood. That potion granted him power. Now he obviously wants more. I suspect his supply is running low.”

  “He told you this?” Nyri seemed surprised.

  “Proudly! And many times! He would boast of it at the dinner table. Tell us all of his greatness. How he could wrest magic from your people. In time he claimed he would take it from the very gods themselves.”

  She didn't understand why he'd told them about it. Neither she nor her mother had asked. But perhaps a part of it had been that he had expected their applause and praise when he told them of his abilities. Of course, that had been after his attempt to steal the throne of Grenland had failed and he had been banished to his castle. Maybe he had said it because he needed to bolster his pride after failing so badly? She didn't know. And some days she'd had the thought that he wasn't even talking to them. That he was talking to someone else in the room. All she did know was that her monster for an uncle had bragged many nights of his coming ascension and touched her mother as he shouldn't have while she sat at the table, and was forced to watch.

  “Six months ago he started hiring mercenaries,” she continued, telling them the part of the story they needed to know. “One at a time – a necessity since ever since his failed attempt to take the throne he has been watched closely.” The King might have spared his life, if only because he could not be known as one who killed his kin. And the King might be short on wisdom as some claimed. But he was not a complete fool. He knew that the desire for power that had burned in his uncle's heart and led to his attempt a coup and kill his family, still burned deep. It was for that reason that the King had made Castle Alldrake not just his new home but also his prison. Should her uncle ever put a single foot outside of its grounds he would be killed.

  “So one mercenary at a time he amassed his army, barracking them outside of the castle grounds so no one would know what he was doing, and when the time was right, he sent them forth. Unfortunately, our agents were slow to discover what he was doing. And I found out that they had marched too late.”

  “Make no mistake. You may have driven the Duke's men back this time, but he will not stop. He will try again.” And no doubt her mother would be by his side, holding his hand and wearing her most regal dress.

  How could she do that? It was something Dariya would never understand. How could she let such a loathsome creature touch her? Her own brother? It was just awful. And yet she somehow accepted it. Even worse, when her uncle had turned his attentions to her, Dariya's mother had believed him over her. That had been beyond awful. It was what had made her run.

  There was more she could have told them. Things too disgusting to speak of. And the most terrible of them was that it was not just her uncle who fouled the world with his very existence. Her cousin did the same. She had learned that when she had run from the castle. Her first thought had been to take shelter with her cousin the King. But he had then shown the exact same designs on her fourteen year old body as her uncle. He was married with children, and yet still he had placed his hands on her, stopping only when she had struck him with a morningstar grabbed from a standing suit of armour.

  It was the use of that weapon that had led to her taking up her new name. And then a servant who had helped her escape Castle Gren had told her of the Friends. He had shown her the way to a new home. Because she could never go back to either Alldrake Castle or Greenfields. Her family truly were monsters.

  But she could never speak of the crimes of her cousin. Because monster or not he was still the rightful king of the realm, and the one they had to have some faith in. Faith at least that he had played no part in this attack.

  Silence greeted her story, broken only by the distant sound of the wheeler racing up and down the rolling grasslands and the occasional shout of excitement from those on it. But what else could she expect? Her story was a grim one. Too dark a tale for a sunny afternoon.

  Today was not the day to dwell on such things. Not just then anyway. Dariya sipped at her drink and let the silence linger as the wheeler vanished into the distance. There was peace to be found in silence.

  Soon, she would mount up and return to the outpost to report to the other Friends of what had happened here. They needed to know. They would then send a message to the King, telling him of what had transpired. He too had to know that his uncle had not finished scheming.

  But for the moment there was a victory to savour. Relief to be welcomed and of course some tears to be shed. The sun was still shining brightly in the sky. The wind gently blowing. And she could almost imagine that things were right with the world once more.

  Chapter Eight

  It was good to be home again. The battle had been won – that was if it could be said there were any winners when it came to battle. Life was returning to its normal, calm pace and Baen was once more back behind his counter, staring at the people of Cedar Heights walking past his window. He was glad that things had mostly worked out and he had managed to save his friends.

  Eleven days had passed since the initial attack by his count. Caris should be by now back in her home by the Glade of Grace, safe in the arms of her family. And though the people of the Glade had suffered some terrible losses, he was lucky enough not to know any of those who had passed from the world.

  He had managed to escape without too great a punishment for his crimes. Nyri had been upset with him – she probably still was – but there had been no reckoning for his spying. Caris had clearly spoken to her and whatever she had said had been enough. Not that she had been happy about that. The look she had given him before he'd left, could have chilled ice! His enchanted stone no longer worked – probably because its mate by the shimmering silver lake in the heart of the glade had been found and destroyed – but he had expected that.

  The Duke was now presumably sitting in Castle Alldrake on his throne – and yes Dariya had confirmed that the tales were true and he really did sit on a throne – fuming with impotent rage. His plans had been ruined. He had gained naught for his troubles. Baen was also sure that if the Duke tried again the Fae would be ready for him. Whatever he had hoped to gain from them – this potion that Dariya had told the others about – he would not get.

  For his part he had lost his songs, but gained a new toy to play with – and the wheeler was nearly as good. And he had got to spend some time with Caris. His week and a bit away had not been too terrible. Now he just needed some more sales to make his return home worth it. Alas business had been slow. Even for the middle of the week.

  The cheery ringing of the small brass bell at the front of the store though unexpectedly promised him some hope of better business ahead as it signalled that someone had pushed open the front door, and he looked up to see a customer walking in. Make that customers. But even as he laid eyes on them, he felt a hint of disappointment as he realised they probably weren't here to buy. Because they weren't dressed like his normal customers. They were dressed like monks.

  Monks? That surprised him. In all the years that he'd owned his store, he couldn't remember ever seeing a monk in it. In fact, he couldn't remember seeing any of them in the city. The nearest monastery to the Lady was many leagues away. And if there were others to the other gods and goddesses, they were further away still. Then he saw their faces peeking out from under the shadows of their hoods and his jaw dropped.

  Fae! There were Fae in his store!

  Baen stood there, shocked, as they walked towards him, wondering if he had lost his wits. If his eyes were deceiving him. But no matter how many times he asked himself that question, their faces and especially their piercing green eyes, told him they truly were Fae. They were also heading toward him rather than the rows of book covered shelves on either side.

  “Greetings.” He smiled politely just as they reached him, more than a little uncertain as to why they were here. Not that he didn't
want them there.

  “And to you Thane,” the older one of the pair returned his greeting. “It is a good day to meet.” Unexpectedly he didn't speak in Darish. He spoke in Swalini, the tongue of the Fae.

  That seemed wrong to Baen. Not that he spoke the Fae tongue, Baen was used to it, only that the man was speaking it here, in Grenland. Of course, there were others here who spoke other tongues of other realms. There were island nations to the east and west and a realm to the north as well. All had their own tongues and traders from those realms sometimes visited and spoke them. But Swalini wasn't just a strange tongue to the people of Grenland; it was an alien one, belonging as it did to another people. It sounded very different to anything else that was spoken. In fact the language sounded much like a song, with many of the words spoken with a musical lilt. It would be noticed.

  Fortunately, he remembered as he looked around the store, they were alone. There was no one to hear.

  “I am J'bel Tar and my companion is Amaru Parca. We are with the Taris Fora.”