Misthaven: The Complete Trilogy

by J Battle

  ‘Good day, sir,’ he said, and he had the sudden urge to bow, for the scholar was tall and gray-haired and held himself with an aristocratic air that suggested that a Giant sitting across his shoulders, chewing on a meatdeer’s carcass, couldn’t change his upright posture.

  Jeffry Lancett was his name, and he glanced at Cavour’s book as if it meant nothing to him.

  ‘Mr Lancett, will you take a look at this here book and tell me what it contains? I’d like to know if it is the genuine truth, or a collection of muddled nonsense, I would.’

  ‘Well, my man, perhaps I could take a look, in the next day or so, for I am a busy man, and my services are much in demand.’

  ‘That is good to hear, Mr Lancett, and I am pleased for you, but I have to be on my way soon, and, if it does not insult, I’d like to offer you coin to make your valuable time available to me now.’

  Lancett smiled, and gestured with one hand in a dismissive wave.

  ‘Now, I would say that it takes a little more effort on your part to offend me, my man, and certainly you wouldn’t start off by offering coin to me.’

  ‘So, you will take a look now for me, will you?’

  ‘Well, if that bag contains gold coins, or even silver, then I think we can start right now, if that suits your needs.’

  With the production of three silver coins and one gold coin, swiftly secreted about his person by Lancett, he was ready to open the book.

  He studied the first page for a moment and then he looked at Cavour, and studied him with the same intensity.

  ‘What is your intent with this book?’ he said, at last.

  ‘Depends what you find.’

  ‘Well,‘ Lancett replied, with his eyes back on the book, ‘the language appears genuine and the style is appropriate, with the expected awkward syntax. Obviously I am not a mage, so I cannot speak to the veracity of the…incantations contained within, but I would be cautious about who you show this book to.’

  ‘Will you be kind enough to read me one of the incantations?’

  ‘Per din est…’

  ‘In a language that I might be able to understand, if you please.’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ He smiled and then he took a deep breath, and he began to speak.

  When he was finished, Cavour thanked him and packed the book away.

  As he left the library, it occurred to him that he may just have been wasting his time and had, in fact, made his problem worse. If he was unsure of the book, it might have been easier for him to hand it over to Lydorth, and walk away and forget about it.

  Now that it seemed that the book was what it purported to be, that act would be much more difficult, if he wanted to live comfortably with his conscience.

  Chapter 46 Prince Torn

  ‘Yes!’ gasped the prince, with both hands on the doorframe and his head against the cool surface of the door.

  The crawl across the expanse of the modest room had taken an age, and left his limbs weak and insubordinate. But he’d imposed his will on his reluctant body, and here he was.

  ‘All that effort,’ he muttered to himself, for there was no-one else to hear, ’and it will be wasted if I can’t open this locked door.’

  He tried the handle, just to be sure, but the door was locked. He closed his eyes, and his lips moved as he silently practiced the necessary words.

  ‘A lot of use they’ll be if I can’t summon the Magic.’

  With his eyes still firmly closed, he sought within himself for the last fluttering flame. It was there, he was sure.

  ‘Come on! You can do it!’

  But the words didn’t help. He was still leaning against a locked door.

  He sensed the Magic, and it was a tiny flicker, but it was there. Hardly enough to move the teeth in a lock, made of unforgiving, inflexible iron. He could scatter the last of his Magic in the attempt and fail, and stay here and await the whim of Meldon.

  He opened his eyes and studied the door and its frame. A thought had occurred to him, and it may have been no more than spurious whimsy, for what need had he ever had before this to measure out how much Magic he would use?

  But, mayhap, yes, it might work, he pondered, for organic materials were always more subject to Magic than obdurate and inorganic metals.

  ‘Now,’ he said, and he pushed against the door with as much strength as he could muster, and that wasn’t much. When he felt he was set, he released the Magic.

  ‘Per id est derium,‘ he gasped. ‘Per id est derium del tey.’

  With a satisfying tearing sound, the doorframe came away from its moorings and fell into the corridor outside.

  The prince would have laughed, but he was falling also, and was soon sprawled across a tangle of broken wood, with barely the strength to lift his head.

  ‘Did anyone hear?’ he whispered, as he listened for running feet.

  He lay there for a while, trying to gather his strength for the next move. If they come now, he thought, then I don’t have the strength to fight, or the strength to care.

  When he was ready, he rolled off the remains of the door and frame, and fortune favoured him this once, for he landed on his hands and knees.

  And still no-one came.

  ‘I’m not waiting,’ he said, as he set off for the end of the corridor. ‘If they want me, they’ll have to come and get me.’

  He kept his head down as he worked his way slowly along, for he did not wish to see what was at the end of the corridor before it was absolutely necessary for him to rest his eyes on it.

  There were stairs; of course there were stairs, for he was on the ground floor, and he needed to be on the next floor, and how else would he get there?

  He sat on the first stair, and tried to gather his strength. He looked back at the broken door, and was appalled to see that it was no more than 30 yards away. Surely the journey between there and here must have been measured in miles, he thought.

  The trip upstairs and the expedition across the 50 or so yards of the corridor he conquered would surely be an appropriate subject for a song of heroism and danger, but mayhap that should be kept for another time.

  At last he reached the door to his most secret chamber.

  He need only walk through into the room beyond, fall to his knees and subject himself to unspeakable agony, and then he’d be ready to deal with that insufferable upstart, Meldon.

  ‘I won’t crawl,‘ he said, as his fingers clawed at the wall. ’I’ll walk into that room like the prince I am, or I will expire on this hard floor.’

  It wasn’t easy, but he was a hard man, and he would not allow himself to give up.

  At last, he was standing, supporting himself with one hand against the wall, but he was standing.

  Now all he had to do was walk. Easy; he’d been doing it without thought for years; since he was a child. But it’s not quite so easy when you have to think about each step, when you have no strength in your legs, and one mistake will be your last.

  At last he was at the door, and it fell open at his touch, and he staggered into the room, already on his way down to his knees.

  ‘No!’ he cried, and there were tears in his eyes, blurring his vision. ‘It can’t be!’

  But it was.

  The old, golden table that had held the Wellstone all these years, now bore nothing but the scars of its role. The Wellstone was gone.

  Book IV

  And we, so close

  Chapter 47 Rootheart

  It may have been later that same night or perhaps noon the next day, when their journey ended. Rootheart was just pleased that they were standing still in a chamber where he could raise his head. His neck ached from having to keep his head bowed, and his elbows were sore from constant contact with the sides of the tunnel.

  ‘Can you see it? Can you smell it?’ whispered Anders, his eyes flashing in the light of the lamp.

  ‘What am I looking at? Can’t see nothing but rock.’

  ‘Exactly, Rootheart, exactly.’ Anders rushed forwar
d to the far side of the chamber. Rootheart was forced to join him as he carried the light.

  ‘There it is, my friend. Can you see it alone and separate? For it will not brook contact with lesser stone. No, not at all.’

  Rootheart looked over his shoulder. ‘It looks just like a lump of rock,’ he said.

  ‘Of course it does, to your untrained eye. That is why it is so hard to find, and the reason the whole world believes that the time of Magic is over. Well, it isn’t, and here’s the proof.’

  ‘Still looks like a lump of rock to me.’

  ‘If you look close you will see that the stone is separate from the rest of the floor, and if you look closer, you will see that it does not even touch the floor. Look, it is floating just a fraction of an inch above the floor.’

  Rootheart bent as close as he could. ‘Well, maybe you’re right, and maybe you’re not. But I can’t see in this light. I’ll just take a closer look and…’

  He reached one massive hand to touch the stone.

  ‘No!’ cried Anders, grabbing his wrist in both hands, ‘don’t touch it; not yet. There are words to be spoken yet. Words of age and puissance; words of wisdom and power; words to bend the strength of the Stone to the will of the mage.’

  ‘Who’s this mage, then? When’s he coming?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake man, do you understand nothing? I’m the Mage of course. Well, I’m the sur-mage at the moment, but when we emerge in triumph with the power of the Wellstone in our hands, then all will bow before us, and the old mage will be pleased to be relieved of the burden of Magic.’

  ‘I thought you’d be selling it, or something. You never said nothing about being a mage. Is that like a sort of wizard or something?’

  ‘No, it’s nothing like being a wizard; charlatans the lot of them, believe me. Nothing but smoke and piffle! No, a mage is at one with the Magic, and he bonds with the Wellstone to channel its power to his will.’

  ‘Nope; I hear your words, but I don’t see the difference. Sounds like a Wizard to me. Should I call you Wizard Anders? Or maybe Anders the Great Wizard?’

  Anders pushed him away from the Wellstone. Well, to be honest, he pushed at the half-giant and he moved away of his own accord.

  Carefully, Anders placed a narrow strip of Mage’s Beneficence across the top of the stone, making sure that his fingers did not come into contact with its smooth surface.

  With the narrow strip of cloth in place, sparkling silver even in the dim light, he was ready. The words he’d been rehearsing for years came easily to his tongue; rich, eldritch words in a language dead these thousands of years.

  Rootheart observed him quietly mouthing the nonsense words for a couple of moments, thinking that it surely must end soon. When it became clear to him that that was not the case, he moved over to the shadows at the edge of the chamber and planted his backside on the ground.

  ‘There must be something left to eat in this bag,’ he muttered as he moved his hands around inside the sack he’d been carrying tied to his waist. ‘Can’t have eaten everything, surely.’

  But he was wrong; he had eaten everything, and now he was hungry. There was only one course of action for a hungry half-giant, and that was to take a nap, in the hope that he’d dream of food.

  ‘Wake up man, it’s time.’

  ‘What…what? Oh yeah. Righto. I’ll just get meself up and, if I’m awake by then, we can start.’

  ‘Quickly, quickly, man. The words of control have been spoken and the timing is appropriate, and we must make haste before they wear off.’

  ‘Sounds like a Wizard’s spell to me.’

  ‘Listen carefully, now. I want you to kneel down before the Wellstone and take it in both hands.’

  ‘Why do you need me to do it? It don’t look very heavy. You could pick it up easy.’

  ‘You are right. It isn’t heavy, but it will need your strength to move it.’

  Anders frowned at the puzzled expression on his face.

  ‘Let me try to explain. Have you heard of something called inertia?’

  ‘In Ertia? Where’s that then?’

  ‘It’s not a place, it’s a …quality of matter, I suppose you’d say. The ancients spent a lot of time studying this, before they discovered Magic and no longer had the need. Let’s just say that the Wellstone has a lot of inertia, which is why it needs a Giant’s strength to move it. Is that clear enough for you?’

  ‘Clear as a cloud break on a dark night.’

  Anders smiled. His lies were overdone a little, he knew, but there was no harm before a buffoon such as this.

  Rootheart took up his position and reached out for the Stone, to the sound of more muttering from Anders.

  His hands gripped the Stone on both sides and he gave it a little tug. It came away so easily that it almost slipped from his hands.

  ‘It must have lost all that nertia, waiting for you to stop talking at it,’ he said, and he might have said more, but the Stone began to change.

  Its grey brown exterior began to lighten in colour as it took on a red glow, and he could feel the warmth, as if it was returning his own body heat to him.

  ‘What’s happening here?’ he whispered.

  The Wellstone began to glow bright red and it became hot; too hot to hold.

  Rootheart tried to put it back where it had come from, and found that he couldn’t let go. It was as though his hands were bonded to the Stone.

  ‘Help! It’s burning my hands! Do something!’

  ‘Don’t worry, my friend. This is all as expected. No permanent harm will be done. All you need do is endure the moment. The Stone will not harm you, but it does require a sacrifice from you.’

  ‘Aaarghh!’ Was all Rootheart could say as the Wellstone began to draw the vitality from him. He turned his head towards Anders, his weeping eyes pleading for help, unaware of the light in Anders’ eyes.

  Anders watched him carefully, but he was a half-giant and his body was bursting with the life force that the Wellstone required.

  When the moment was right; when Rootheart seemed on the cusp of failure, Anders leapt forward and slashed his sharp blade twice down the massive back of the weakening half-giant. Then he pushed his hands through the gaps in the tunic his knife had created and planted his hands on Rootheart’s back; flesh to flesh.

  He could feel his heart beating at a dangerous rate, and his chest heaving as he desperately tried to draw breath into his lungs. Most of all, he could feel the hunger of the Wellstone as it fed on Rootheart's life.

  Swiftly he spoke the eldritch words of denial and control, memorised over years of study, but never yet used. Immediately he felt a withdrawal as the ancient Stone obeyed his words, and the half-giant slumped to one side, almost breaking connection.

  If he was given to exposition and wild hyperbole, Anders would have roared his triumph to the world and laughed at the joy of possessing the power of the Wellstone without the need to pay the price. However, that was not yet his way, so he quietly leaned over the supine body of his victim and, for the very first time, laid his hand on the stone. It was dull and drab and cool again, with no hint at the power it contained.

  Chapter 48 Fleur

  ‘How long will they kneel to you?’ she asked, with a hint of flirtation in her voice.

  He laughed at her question. ‘As long as I require them to, I think,’ he replied, as he glared at the multitude of bowed heads, daring one of them to be lifted.

  She sipped her wine for a moment.

  ‘The musicians are not playing. There should be music at a party, don’t you think? Else, how can a person dance?’

  ‘They can’t play when they are on their knees, with their foreheads touching the floor, can they?’

  ‘Make them play. I love to dance. Do you like to dance, dear Regent of Fairisle? Now, there’s a title for you.’

  ‘I do not dance, my dear, but I’d be more than happy to watch you dance, but perhaps in a more intimate setting. Come along with me now, and we
shall find a suitable place.’

  He took her arm, and she giggled, and then he began to guide her towards the door.

  At the exit, he paused for a moment. ‘Count to 500, and then you may stand and continue with the party,’ he called over his shoulder.

  As they started along the corridor, he was gratified to hear the murmur of 40 sophisticated voices counting out their numbers.

  Fleur hugged his arm to show that she thought that he was the best of all possible men.

  His gratification didn’t last long, as he soon saw one of the white-uniformed generals bustling along the corridor towards them, his ridiculously large and elaborate epaulettes brushing each wall as he passed.

  ‘Meldon there, good fellow. Good timing and all that. What’s this nonsense about a locked door that cannot be opened?'

  ‘If it can be opened, then it cannot be locked, if you don’t mind me pointing out the obvious to you, sir.’

  ‘What? I’ve never understood your accent, Meldon. Never.’

  ‘My accent, such as it is, sir, is local. Perhaps that is why you struggle to understand, sir.’

  ‘Struggle? I don’t ‘struggle,’ I just ignore you. Now, hand over the key and explain who is inside, there’s a good fellow.’

  ‘How do you know there’s anyone inside? It could be just an empty room.’

  ‘Well now, Meldon, tell me this, if you are as clever as you think. How does an empty room request freedom?’ The general clapped his hands together, as if he just won a battle of wits.

  ‘He called out? I told the guard not to leave the door, to be sure that it remains locked.’

  ‘So he told me, Meldon, but you are merely a steward, and you have no authority over the guards. So, give me the key, and then you can run along and make us all a nice cup of tealeaf, what do you say, young lady?’

  His eyes had just found Fleur standing behind Meldon, and they very much liked what they saw.

  ‘Are you new to court, my dear? I don’t believe,‘ he licked his lips, and his pink tongue lingered for a moment before he continued. ‘No, I don’t believe I have seen you before; not at all, I would hardly have forgotten you, my dear.’