by Kel Kade
Magdelay took a deep breath. She nibbled another knob of marmuck root as she prepared a few nasty spells. Raising her hands toward the doors, she threw them open with a burst of power. The other council members, a number of staff members, and even a few senior students were gathered in their usual places, the visitors addressing them from the podium in the center of the circular theater. Everyone turned toward her.
With surprise, Sorcerer Goltry, who was leading the meeting, said, “Greetings, High Sorceress.”
As soon as the visitors heard the pronouncement, one of them began summoning a spell to cast a fierce red javelin in her direction. Magdelay did not wait for its release. She thrust a bolt of sizzling power at the man. His javelin spell fizzled as he raised a shield in time to deflect the brunt of the attack, but he endured severe damage to his left side. Wooden debris blasted from the podium in every direction.
Shocked by the sudden violence, most of the attendees were slow to react. Magdelay released another attack as they recovered their wits. She summoned her familiar. Few had the power to bond with beings from the ether and even fewer with one possessing a hive mind. A swarm of black ice wasps dripped from the air upon her command, engulfing the five foreign magi in the center of the council hall. The injured magus and a second cast deflective wards, while the other three responded with attacks of their own. Multiple balls of fire whipped through the air, crashing into stone and causing the walls to shake as blocks were torn from their settings. Attendees near the aisle were thrown from their seats as their benches were ripped from beneath them. All the flying debris and power bursts were directed at Magdelay.
The black ice wasps burrowed through the deflective shields, while the councilors began casting protective wards and attacks of their own. Those nearest Magdelay doused enemy fireballs with conjured ice and water. Others weathered flying stones and wood to silt and dust in an instant. Multiple shields erupted around her as she directed her ice wasps through the invaders’ wards. Meanwhile, the masters of the council engaged the visiting magi in a destructive battle that nearly brought down the hall. As soon as the first wasp made it through the enemy’s protective ward, the others followed. They swarmed the visiting magi, blocking them further from their power with every sting. When the enemy magi could no longer maintain their wards, the council magi inundated them with ethereal webs and tethers. The magus Magdelay had injured in the initial attack shouted and slammed a vial onto the floor. Green smoke rose from the spot in puffs, surrounding the magi, then spreading outward. Crackles of lightning flickered within the fog as it expanded.
Magdelay shouted, “Shield them now!”
Every capable magus cast a shield ward toward the center of the room where the visitors were gathered, but their hasty efforts were insufficient to contain the explosion. People and debris were smashed against the walls, and Magdelay was propelled into the corridor just as the amber smoked glass of the domed ceiling crashed down onto the councilors.
Magdelay’s head spun and her stomach churned as she shakily pushed herself to her feet. Holding her ribs, she failed to suppress a painful cough. She limped toward the doorway, which was mostly blocked by debris, then turned to lean against the wall as voices she recognized shouted orders to help the injured and clear the way.
It took Magdelay a moment to recognize the first person to come stumbling out of the room. The filthy, disheveled figure covered in sticky goo and dust was Enchantress Wenthria. The woman blinked as she wiped mess from her eyes and then brightened when she saw Magdelay. Wenthria hurried over to grasp her in a hug, which ignited a pained wheeze deep in Magdelay’s chest.
“Oh, you’re alive!” said Wenthria. “I was worried you’d been crushed. Thank you for not being dead.”
Magdelay’s voice was rough with grit as she said, “You’re welcome. What of everyone else?”
Wenthria stepped back, her amber eyes still wide with shock. “I don’t know. I was closest to the door. A massive beam fell from the ceiling behind me. They’re still trying to move it.”
An audible pop vibrated up Magdelay’s neck and into her skull as she tilted her head. She exhaled in relief, not having realized the pain she had been enduring until it was released. She slumped farther against the wall and said, “Can you not enchant it to make it lighter?”
Wenthria blinked several times, then jumped as if stung by a bee. “Yes! Oh my, why did I not think of that?” The lithe woman, in what had once been a lovely peach day gown, turned back to the devastated room. “I’m just so rattled.”
A moment later, a crash reverberated down the corridor, and Magdelay winced. The council hall had been a powerful room, a place of unification, a chamber dedicated to the celebration and proliferation of magic, regardless of bloodline or principle. It had been reduced to rubble in a matter of minutes. Magi began pouring into the outer corridor, and Magdelay was heartened that so many had survived.
Sorcerer Goltry, her greatest rival and most avid supporter, passed the wizardess he was assisting to another, then joined her. “How are you, Mags? You look terrible.” His gaze fell on the bite and claw marks on her shoulder and arm. “You did not get those during this attack. What has happened?”
Magdelay glanced at the others, who had all turned to stare, their expressions a mixture of fear, curiosity, and anger. Wizardess Nomina stepped out of the crowd.
“Why did you attack our guests? They were invited to the hall under the assurance and assumption of hospitality. How many have we lost due to your recklessness?”
Magdelay gritted her teeth as she straightened. She hardened her gaze as she met the woman’s accusations. “Do not forget, Nomina, that I am the high sorceress, and it is my responsibility to engage hostiles in our citadel … as it is yours.”
The woman sputtered with indignation. “What hostiles? We were holding a peaceful introduction. They proposed an exchange of knowledge. All five of them were stronger than any of us. They obviously knew something we don’t.”
“Nomina, you are a senior master. I will not excuse your disrespect as a product of this devastation. If you cannot contain yourself during difficult times and hold to the traditions of this council, then you should not be permitted to lead.”
Nomina pursed her lips, then begrudgingly said, “I apologize, High Sorceress. I am certain you had good reason for your attack on the visitors who had shown no signs of aggression.”
Magdelay narrowed her eyes at the woman. “We will discuss your attitude later.” She then turned her gaze toward the others. “I have traveled for weeks, hoping to arrive in time to deliver the news before you heard it from other sources.” She met Nomina’s gaze. “I was delayed because our visitors destroyed the seventh evergate and the sixth was under siege.” Turning to Goltry, she said, “We must begin preparations at once.” She took a deep breath, clutching her side and immediately regretting it. “The Mark of Aldrea is dead.”
CHAPTER 8
In the midst of the open expanse of Uyan was a hill, the remnants of an extinct volcano, according to the scholars. Atop the hill stood Tyellí, a robust bastion of culture and wealth, a testament to the gracious rule of a powerful line of kings and queens—or so Aaslo heard, repeatedly, as he was inundated with such declarations by criers at every crossroads within a few hours’ ride of the city. He could again hear the calls from the road ahead as Dolt plodded over a short bridge that crossed a stream at the bottom of a gully. The horse huffed as he tackled the slope on the other side before resuming his steady pace at road level.
Shortly ahead, two men were on opposite sides of a convergence in the road. Aaslo might have been concerned for an ambush except that a large caravan of travelers was heading toward the capital city, joining his route from the other road. The man on the left side of the road stood on a wooden box holding a sign that professed the glory of Tyellí. Aaslo briefly wondered how much the crown paid for the service. The second man was sprawled on the ground to the right emitting giant guffaws as he taunted the first.
Aaslo fully intended to ignore the men and join the caravan, but as soon as he reached the two, Dolt stopped. Aaslo dug his heels into the willful gelding’s sides and shook the reins while shouting, “Heeyah! Go! Get moving, you damnable beast.”
“Are you looking to make new friends, Aaslo?”
“Maybe y-e-e-u-u sh-sh-should s-s-speak sweetly to ’im,” said the raggedy man on the ground. “Ya know, flies an’ honey and a-a-all dat.” The man fell over in a fit of giggles that were interrupted by heavy coughs that ended in a gurgling wheeze. Alcohol tinged with body odor lingered heavily in the air.
“Silence, drunkard!” said the crier. Turning to Aaslo, the man bowed and said, “Fear not, fair traveler, for naught but an hour ahead, the mighty city of Tyellí towers in the light of Bayalin, god of our luminous sun.” The man scowled at the old drunkard and said, “It is a stronghold in the fight against the shadows of intemperance, pestilence, and vagrancy.”
“Ha! It’s Tyellí that casts the sh-shadow,” called the drunkard. “If your mighty city’s s-so gr-r-reat, why am I layin’ out ’ere in the dirt?”
“Because you’re a lazy lout, you sot,” said the crier.
“He has a point.”
The man cackled and coughed. “That’s t-true, but you’d th-think the bastion of a mighty god could f-fix a man like me, eh? Nay, your fancy magi an’ nobles jus’ want us to dishappear. Kill ’em all! Let ’em die. Get rid of w-what we don’t like, and all dat’s left is beautif-skul.”
“That’s a valid claim, too. I don’t know. Aaslo. I’m torn. Can they both be right?”
“I don’t care,” Aaslo mumbled. Frustrated with his horse, he dismounted and pulled on the reins. His struggles were in vain, and he was glad the two men were preoccupied with what seemed to be a well-worn argument between them.
“You wouldn’t know something beautiful if it slapped you in the face,” said the crier.
The drunkard donned a toothless grin. “I know a beautif-skul woman when I shees one. What say we asks the purdy lady, eh? I’d rather be talkin’ to her anyhow.”
Aaslo glanced down the road in each direction. The entire caravan had passed, and no one else was in sight. He and the crier shared their confusion with a glance and then looked back toward the drunkard. The man was gazing up at Dolt, his eyes filled with admiration. The crier chuckled and then began to laugh in earnest. Dolt bobbed his head, then started walking as if he had been all along.
Aaslo paused when the drunkard’s eyes rolled back into his head. The man fell over with that silly grin frozen on his face. Aaslo tried to pull the horse to a stop, but Dolt yanked the reins from his fingers and continued clomping down the path. The crier stepped down from his box and hesitantly shuffled over to check on the man. Aaslo glanced behind him to see Dolt steadily plodding up the road. If he didn’t catch up with the horse soon, he doubted he would ever find him.
The crier said, “He’s dead!” The man blinked at Aaslo in shock. “We were just talking to him, and now he’s dead.”
“Yup, that’s dead. Maybe you should take his head, too.”
“That’s not funny,” said Aaslo.
The crier looked up at him with disgust. “I didn’t say it was.”
Aaslo searched again for Dolt. He said, “When I get to the city, I’ll let the guard know to send someone to collect him.”
Shaking his head, the crier said, “No one will come. The patrol will pass through here at dusk. They’ll take care of it—probably just bury him off the road somewhere.”
Feeling guilty for leaving, Aaslo bid the crier farewell, then hurried to catch up with Dolt, who was ambling along without concern.
“He wasn’t your responsibility.”
“I know that.”
“Then why are you moping?”
“I’m not moping,” Aaslo grumbled, “but I could have at least helped bury him.”
“What if someone came looking for him? They wouldn’t be able to find him because you buried him.”
“You heard the crier. He was a lonely drunkard.”
“Even drunkards have family.”
“You’re probably right, as usual. I just think I should have done more.”
“You are doing more.”
Mathias was blessedly silent for a while. Closer to the city, the roads were wide and paved and occupied by merchants and travelers from all over Uyan and beyond. Annual pilgrimages to the capital city were encouraged. The monarchy claimed it stimulated optimism and unity within a people who were strongly segmented by distance and topography.
Aaslo gazed up at the city that crowned a barren, rocky hill.
“Look, it’s a thousand forests all stuffed onto the hilltop.”
Few trees stood upon the hill, only those contained within carefully manicured gardens, so Aaslo knew that was not what Mathias had meant. He surveyed the houses and buildings constructed of wood and stone, some topped with wooden shingles, the more affluent with clay tiles. Fences, benches, sheds, stables, carts, stairs, and hitching posts were all composed of the trees that he and his brethren had nurtured.
“They’re not forests—only memories. I don’t begrudge them taking the wood, so long as they replace it.”
“A life lost can never be replaced.”
“Are you trying to make me miserable?”
“Only making a point.”
Dark thoughts swirled in his mind as Aaslo rode through the streets toward the palace at the city’s center, taking care to avoid the crowds near the market. He wondered what Mathias had meant but couldn’t find the answer.
Aaslo was surprised by the number of tents and rugged shanties that had been erected near the road at the edge of town and in the alleys. Whispers and a few shouted castigations led him to believe most of the people were refugees of some sort from the south. He wondered if the prophecy was already coming to pass. If that was the case, he needed to hurry.
Once he was past the outermost perimeter, he realized that Tyellí was indeed beautiful—for a city. He was certain magi had helped build the soaring structures of white, pink, and grey stone. Each building reflected either one of the unique environments of Uyan or the building’s particular function. A grey monstrosity had the appearance of a cave in the stark cliffs of the eastern mountains, while another structure resembled images he had seen in paintings of the sea to the west—a tide of blue marble with sea serpents, mermaids, and other sea life in bas-relief. He passed a white hall with tall pillars and striking geometric designs trimmed in gold. The massive placard proudly declared it to be the Ministry of Finance. The boulevard was lined with pergolas and fountains, but few people made use of them. He wondered at this, then realized that despite the efforts of the city planners, shade was at a minimum. The sun grew hot at midday this far south. If only they hadn’t cut down all the trees, he thought. He was inclined to remove his jacket but needed it to cover Mathias’s eye-catching sword and the patched burlap sack at his waist.
His gaze danced across the tips of two tall spires. He squinted, unable to make out the symbols that graced the flickering flags atop the pinnacles. He blinked several times to clear his vision, then dropped his focus to the building in front of him, only to be met with a surprise. A narrow tower was nestled in the crook of the larger structure to which the spires belonged. The smaller tower, carved to look like bark on a tree trunk, twisted in a spiral around an arched doorway. It widened into branches that looked like wood and leaves entwined around a central sphere resembling a giant seedpod. A sign over the door read FORESTER’S HAVEN.
After dismounting, Aaslo studied the building for a moment. Suddenly, it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders—or, rather, his waist. His heart thudded in his chest, and he reached down for the sack. Only a tuft of burlap remained where the bag had been cut from the rope securing it. He glanced up just in time to see a ragged figure fleeing down an alley.
Aaslo dropped his reins and took off after the culprit. He knew that his horse and p
ossessions would probably have disappeared by the time he returned, but nothing else mattered if he couldn’t retrieve the chosen one’s head. He ran down the empty alley and caught a glimpse of fabric slipping around the next corner. Skidding through a pile of muck, Aaslo rounded the building in time to see his prey scaling a rope toward a rooftop. Two others began hastily pulling the rope to the top as Aaslo closed the distance. The thief slipped over the ledge, and all three men ran toward the opposite end of the roof. Unable to follow them, Aaslo turned down the next street, colliding with a laundry cart and spilling the entire load onto the street. Ignoring the angry shouts, he quickened his pace, able to pick up speed on the downhill side of the street. He glanced down each alley and finally spied someone tumbling onto a lower rooftop on the other side.
Knowing he needed to get to the roof, Aaslo dashed into the next open doorway. He took the stairs of the apartment building three at a time, then ran through the first flat he found that had access to a balcony. He sped across the room, startling the elderly woman who was knitting beside a window. Upon entering, he could see another balcony beneath a low overhang on the other side of the alley. With that as his target, Aaslo jumped onto the banister and propelled himself with all his might. The fasteners on the iron railing broke under his weight, though, and he fell far short of his goal. He collided with an awning and then crashed into a pile of crates filled with fruit.
Gasping for breath, he struggled to his feet, his back and side aching from the fall. The stall owner shouted, then cracked him in the head with a board broken from a crate. His vision swam as his feet slipped across the paving stones. Aaslo stumbled down the street and barely avoided being trampled by a horse at the next intersection. The street tilted as he ran, and he was no longer certain he was going in the right direction.
“Mathias!” he called between labored breaths. “Mathias, where are you?”
Mathias was silent.
“You wouldn’t shut up the entire trip here. Now, when I need you, you say nothing.”