One Hundredth Magic

by Jeffrey Turner

  “You don't find it possible that our yet-unfound warlock is working through the boy?” asked Sheldon. “The Addamantians attack us with bugs from the forest, why not lower themselves to fighting us with our own children."

  Nikkolynda sighed. “I think not, Sheldon. I'll admit to the possibility, but I'm more of the mind that Adam has brought us to the brink of a great discovery. Perhaps the most vital since we deciphered the first Halonic phrases."

  “I'm not so convinced,” said Sheldon, “but I've not much else to offer. What would you have us do, Nikkolynda?"

  The Prime Wizard gazed into a flickering torch for a moment before answering. “Keep teaching him,” he said. “Continue as though nothing has happened. When his strength has returned I'll explore today's events with him more fully, and in the meantime, I'll satisfy your paranoia by guarding against the warlock's touch. I'm already watching day and night for the Weirdling. Protecting Adam won't require much more effort."

  “One hundred magics,” said Pellorin. “The key to infinite possibility."

  Nikkolynda's uncommon energy finally seemed to disappear. He reached for his cane and nodded to the two wizards once before heading for the door. “Sheldon, if you will, please extinguish the torches."

  Sheldon obliged, chanting a few arcane sentences while tracing a quick pattern in the air with outstretched hands. As the gust of wind blew through the long lecture hall and the flames guttered beneath it, Nikkolynda wondered just how necessary the short ritual truly was.

  * * * * *

  Alexander watched a patrol of four soldiers march past from the shadows of the alley. After waiting for an hour outside Burrel Tarlsman's warehouse he and Kandys had followed Stamovan for the remainder of the afternoon. The dwarf wandered a seemingly aimless course through the city, stopping here and there to speak with the city guard or disappear for a moment into a shop. By the time Stamovan returned to the keep Alexander suspected the dwarf knew he was being followed and wanted to waste the pursuers’ time. On the other hand, perhaps Stamovan had simply been enjoying the rare soldier's day off.

  The latter seemed unlikely, however, given the rapid mobilization of troops around Hurst. At the Barking Troll Pub they'd eaten sausage soup for dinner and been happily informed by the proprietor that two thousand more infantry had been dispatched to the hill country. Alexander had then checked his original room for messages from Adriana and found that she'd indeed found a way for him to reach the Sandlanders. Now, with Kandys hidden safely in the new inn, he hoped his help would arrive before he was found and had to produce identification.

  Another patrol passed before the mouth of the alley was abruptly filled with a massive shadow. It completely eclipsed the lamp on the opposite side of the street and Alexander could smell the stale odor of sweat under heavily oiled armor.

  “You here, Huntsman?” asked a deep voice.

  “Sergeant Sirgar?"

  “Just ‘Sirgar’ will do, and if it weren't me, you'd probably be dead by now. Come on out."

  Alexander followed the sergeant onto the street, blinking as the light shone in his eyes. Three columns of five men each stood in the middle of the street. They spoke quietly among one another and a few glanced at Alexander. Each wore the lion insignia on his tabard and was armed with either sword or spear. Though they appeared ready to battle in a heartbeat, they seemed equally at ease.

  “Put this on,” said Sirgar. He handed Alexander a bundle of cloth, which turned out to be a city guard's tabard. “Can't do anything about the nose ring, but just start rubbing your face when we get near anyone else. They won't notice, if you're smart enough to look away."

  “I think I can manage that.” He draped the tabard over his head and rearranged his sword belt such that the scabbard slipped through the slit in one side. Sirgar nodded approval, then the giant soldier ordered his men forward. He stepped into place at the front of the pack, motioning Alexander to his side.

  “I arranged for outside sentry on the third watch tonight,” Sirgar said. “You'll have four hours to talk with the Burning Men and get back to us. Take any longer and you may not be comin’ inside."

  “That should be plenty of time."

  They walked in silence for some distance. A smaller patrol approached and passed on the opposite side of the road, greeting Sirgar with upraised hands. Alexander coughed into his palm until they were safely out of sight.

  “Do you want to know what I'm doing?” he asked.

  “Nope,” said Sirgar. “Adriana said you need to get out there, an’ that's all I need to know. The rest is your business.” He glanced briefly at Alexander and tapped the hilt of his sword. “She's a smart one, but I figure if you've got her duped somehow, I can take care of you."

  Alexander decided that the sergeant most likely wasn't interested in reassurances. Instead, he asked, “Can you tell me anything about the dwarf named Stamovan?"

  Again, Sirgar looked at Alexander before replying. “I can tell you he's a damned good fighting man, and if you're thinking about crossing blades with him you'd best think again. If you're too stupid to take that bit of advice, though, you'd best aim for his feet. Dwarves never think a man'll hit ’em in the feet."

  “I'm more interested in knowing about his loyalties."

  Sirgar snorted. “Adriana said you'd be full of questions. Stam's usually guarding Prince Darien, but he's Fenric's man, you can be sure.” Sirgar led the small company around a corner and the lights of the southern gate appeared.

  “What about you?"

  This time, Sirgar's flat gaze lingered much longer on Alexander's face. Alexander wondered privately what Adriana saw in the broken, scarred visage before him. “I'm the Emperor's man, Huntsman, sword and spirit. It doesn't matter to me whether we're at war with Addamantia or at peace with the whole damned realm. Theodoric's my liege, and Adriana's as well.

  “Now, pay attention. When we get outside, wait until five minutes after the gates close. The treeline's closest on the western side of the road. Walk in there like you've gotta piss, then just keep walkin'. Stay quiet until you're a good half-mile out, then you can run. Don't take to the road, though. The archers can see down the straightaway for four miles. They tell me the Sandlanders have those lamps going all night long, so you'll know when you're at their camp. From there you're on your own."

  “And back in four hours.”

  “Right. Yell to us if you see another one of them spiders coming."

  “I'll keep it in mind,” said Alexander, and the sergeant chuckled.

  The men on duty outside the gate were eager to return to their barracks and began filing in the moment the massive doors opened. Alexander scratched at his nose as he passed the interior guards but their attention was devoted to the gear house operation. As Sirgar's men took up positions on the road outside the sergeant directed Alexander to the proper spot. He waited there until he thought the directed time had elapsed then walked into the woods, forcing himself to take unhurried steps for the benefit of the archers above. Another man entered a few paces behind him, probably sent by Sirgar for camouflage. Alexander resisted the temptation to look up at the helmets lining the outer wall, not wanting to draw attention.

  He stole through the underbrush as quietly as he could, flinching every time a branch snapped or an animal scurried away. After an agonizing quarter of an hour he spotted the subdued glow of the sand lamps. Finding the Sandlanders was even easier—a dark form stepped out from behind a large oak and grasped him by both arms. He cursed and pulled away, but he may as well have been chained to a stone wall.

  “Carefully, Westerner,” said a raspy voice. “I don't want to break your bones. Have you wandered from the road?"

  A sentry, thought Alexander. His soldier's tabard may have saved him from an unfortunate mistake. “I'm here to see your fandyiha,” he said.

  His captor laughed. “A western soldier sneaking about the woods to pay us a midnight visit? This should amuse Mezzino greatly. Follow me."

  Al
exander found himself more propelled than led by the sentry, as the Burning Man's iron grip never left his upper arm. They passed a tall pole from which hung a jar full of glowing sand, and he finally got a good, if shadowed, look at his captor. The Sandlander's shoulder was at height with Alexander's head and his black robe caused him to melt against the nightscape of the woods. Even in the poor light Alexander could make out the deep red skin and the strange color of the Sandlander's eyes. He noted the oblatt scimitar, dangling naked from the sentry's belt. Despite its size he got the impression the weapon would feel light in his grip.

  The sentry brought him to a small table, where another Burning Man sat and read from a roll of parchment. This one wore the same black robe, but with intricately embroidered designs of gold.

  “He wants to see Mezzino,” the sentry said.

  “I'm Shinvai, a feyrhakin of Clan Vysthuk.” The seated man rose and motioned with his head, and the sentry released Alexander. “You may leave your message with me."

  “I have information about your grimoire,” Alexander said. He'd decided the blunt approach would likely produce the fastest results, and it appeared he was right.

  “Get Mezzino, Kalnai and Ravasakh,” Shinvai said.

  In short order Alexander was surrounded by the leaders of Crag Vysthuk. He wished abruptly that he knew more about these people; their expressions were completely unreadable to him, though he guessed they were anything but happy.

  “How is it that a common soldier knows the location of our grimoire?” asked Mezzino.

  “I'm not a soldier,” said Alexander. “I'm not from Hurst at all, in fact. Also, I don't actually know where your grimoire is. I know the thief who stole it and I've got an idea of where it is now."

  The Burning Men listened without interruption while he explained his Huntsman's position and the killings that had brought him to Hurst. He described the mine at Selmer Ridge and the scene of the bard's demise, as well as Ferd the ratter's description of events that night.

  When he finished Mezzino said, “This is interesting, but it doesn't seem that your slayings are related to Clan Vysthuk's grimoire. If you require a reward for leading us to—"

  “That's not all. Is it possible the grimoire could be used to bring a statue to life?"

  “I don't understand,” began Mezzino, but Ravasakh stepped forward eagerly and raised a hand.

  “Bring to life how?” the thaumaluk asked.

  “I'm not sure.” Alexander fished through a pouch and produced the talon he'd broken off Jantaru's sculpture. “I think that somehow statues of creatures from the Imperial museum have been animated and sent after these victims, then destroyed when the mission was over. It sounds crazy, but the ratter's description matched the things in the museum. Also, the killer left traces of stone that matched this.” He handed the talon to Ravasakh.

  “Perhaps not so farfetched,” said the thaumaluk.

  “You jest,” said Kalnai. “Is this truly possible?"

  “A bayyalis could be used to provide life to such a golem,” Ravasakh said. “The mage would need some other magic to control and direct the creature, but I believe it would work."

  “A what?” asked Alexander.

  “Bayyalis,” said Ravasakh. “In your terms, a spirit. The life force necessary for existence. Someone in this city has used our clan grimoire to summon and dismiss the bayyalis multiple times."

  “The same number of times these killings have occurred,” said Mezzino.

  “This is it,” Alexander said. “The deviant conjures the spirit of one of your ancestors, plants it in Jantaru's statues and sends the resulting creature out to assassinate de Niron, Postwick, Rominfeld and the men at Selmer Ridge."

  “Not our ancestors,” said Ravasakh. “Individuality does not exist within the life force. When we say ‘bayyalis’ we simply refer to a portion of the energy being drawn from the whole."

  “This is terrible,” said Shinvai. “The lore of the clan is being twisted into a tool of assassination for some water-soaked westerner?"

  “What is the purpose of these murders?” asked Mezzino. “Are these the cause of the upcoming war between your cities?"

  “They are,” said Alexander, “but they weren't precipitated by Addamantia. Someone in Hurst wants to force the Emperor into declaring war. Killing a handful of prominent men was just the way they chose to do so."

  Kalnai shook his head. “Why go to so much trouble to accomplish a few murders? Surely there are easier ways to kill a westerner."

  “Is it difficult to control a bayyalis?” Alexander asked.

  “No more difficult than wrestling a pack of sand tigers,” said Ravasakh.

  “Yes,” said Mezzino.

  Alexander turned and took a few steps toward one of the glowing jars. He imagined he could feel the weight of the Sandlanders’ collective gaze settling on his back. “In the case of Samuel de Niron it makes sense,” he said. “The general was killed inside his locked quarters—the statue was probably placed there while he was gone and animated when he settled in for the night. But why bother going through all that for the others?"

  “How many of these statues does the Imperial museum hold?” asked Mezzino.

  The fandyiha's question triggered a connection in Alexander's mind and he turned back to the Sandlanders with a horrified expression.

  “Nearly a hundred of Jantaru's alone,” he said. “Plus five times that many from other artists. The warlock used the assassinations as practice for controlling your bayyalis."

  Mezzino nodded. “When the war begins, he desires an army of these golems to attack Addamantia. An excellent strategy."

  “It's a terrible strategy!” said Alexander. “If one of these things can accomplish what I saw at Selmer Ridge...” His voice trailed away into the dim night.

  “It seems your interests lie even more heavily in helping us regain the grimoire,” said Mezzino. “Where is the warlock you speak of?"

  Alexander shook his head. “I don't know. I hope to find out tomorrow."

  “The time grows short, Westerner,” said Mezzino. “If Hurst marches on Addamantia you can be sure they'll order us away. Bring us the thief and we'll find her employer quickly."

  “She doesn't know the employer,” Alexander said. “She was hired blind to prevent exactly what you're suggesting. However, the warlock is part of a conspiracy, and I'm certain I've identified two other members. By tomorrow night I'll know much more about them."

  He outlined the day's work following Stamovan to Burrel Tarlsman's warehouse but omitted any mention of Kandys.

  “Add to your list a renegade thaumarekh,” said Shinvai. “Only he could have given the thief the knowledge needed to steal our grimoire."

  “His name is Soto,” said Kalnai, “and you should stay well away from him. A thaumarekh is far more dangerous than your dwarf."

  The Burning Men began speaking to one another in their own language. Kalnai and Shinvai appeared to argue briefly, but Mezzino cut them off with a few terse words. He consulted Ravasakh, who nodded and motioned to Alexander with his head. When the thaumaluk fell silent Mezzino turned once more to the Huntsman.

  “We expect to be ordered from your realm within a week, Westerner. Your plan to search the dwarf's warehouse is sound; thus, we'll wait for you to do so before acting. Should that produce nothing, however, we will brace Stamovan and Tarlsman ourselves. Will you meet with us two mornings hence and share your findings?"

  “Of course,” said Alexander. “I doubt I can defeat this bunch myself."

  Ravasakh smiled. “You're a very wise man,” he said, “for a westerner."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  By midmorning Governor's Way was lined with people. Merchants and vendors arriving at Shipman's Plaza had been warned hours earlier not to set up their stalls. The news that the cavalry would be marching spread quickly from the criers to the breakfast tables, eliciting cheers in many inns and a general stampede toward the parade route. Children perched on their paren
ts’ shoulders and faces dotted nearly all the upstairs windows and balconies. Enterprising men and women stalked the crowds with trays of fruit and sausage or jugs of cold water and tea, calling out prices that were met eagerly by those who'd rushed out for the spectacle. Alexander and Kandys found places in the second rank of the crowd outside their inn. They chewed on green apples and spit the seeds into a bucket next to the door.

  “We're never going to find Stamovan today,” Kandys said.

  “I don't think it matters,” Alexander replied. “He's not going to give us anything more useful than what we already know. The best answers we'll get are probably waiting in Tarlsman's warehouse."

  “It's just as well to me. Next time I see that disgusting little rodent I hope he's squirming on the end of someone's sword."

  “That's not very ladylike,” said Alexander, grinning.

  “So my sister tells me. Which reminds me, don't let her fool you. She'll leave you shouldering your own stones if it'll help her career. The gods forbid she should care for anyone else."

  “Oh, I haven't found her to be quite that bad."

  Kandys made a spitting sound deep in her throat. “You haven't been in town that long, Huntsman."

  Shouts from farther down the street saved Alexander from further discussion on the topic. A general buzz of excitement washed through the crowd, originating in the general direction of the keep. A second wave followed, this one comprised mainly of cheers and whistles. The spectators pushed one another back toward the buildings as a pair of rickshaws rolled past. The drivers trotted along with a straight-backed gait that made Alexander's spine ache in sympathy. The seats, at least, were devoid of passengers. Instead, each vehicle carried a long pole topped by a rippling standard. On the left was Prince Fenric's two-headed wolf, a crimson-eyed creature with raised gray hackles against a white background. The other standard displayed a gold horizontal crescent crossed by a sword, above which floated three gold stars. Alexander asked Kandys about the unfamiliar insignia.