A History of Magic

by Scott J Robinson

  Eventually, he went through the pouches on his belt and pulled out the sheets of paper he’d found at Valo’s house. “What’s this? Do you know what it means?”

  Sylvia took the crumpled sheet, smoothing it out on the bed near Josey’s feet. She read for a moment, then looked up. “Where did you get this?”

  “Valo and Frixen had them. One each.”

  “It’s a spell. A very powerful spell.”

  “What does it do?”

  “I’m not sure. I would have to study it a bit more.”

  “Do you think it opens a portal?”

  The silence was answer enough.

  “Do you know any of the other names?”

  “No.”

  Rawk nodded. “Some of them might be fake names. Mistletowe was using a fake name.”

  “Mistletowe Oc?”

  “Yes. Frixen, Valo and Mistletowe are hardly powerful on their own, but how about together?”

  “If these people can complete this spell successfully as often as they seem to be, then together they are powerful indeed.” She turned the page and read on the back. “This seems to suggest that they would be able to control both ends with complete accuracy.”

  “So they deliberately put a portal in Maris’s kitchen?”

  Sylvia looked down at the paper and didn’t say anything.

  “You need to help me, Sylvia. Can’t you see that? It’s one thing for a sorcerer to open a portal and let some exots through. But to target someone like that?” To target someone that Rawk knew.

  “Why would they attack Maris and not you, if that was indeed what they did?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they thought it was easier to get me that way than to actually kill me.”

  Sylvia raised an eyebrow. And she was right; three unicorns in his room in the middle of the night would have killed him quick enough.

  He almost surged to his feet but managed to control himself. He wouldn’t have surged very impressively anyway. He relaxed his grip on the hilt of his Dabaneera. “Will you help me?”

  “You shouldn’t be doing anything, Rawk. You should be at home resting.”

  “But we both know that isn’t going to happen. Katamood is my city and I won’t lie around in bed while innocent people are dying.” He wasn’t sure he could save them, even on his feet, but he was going to try. He shouldn’t have left Maris where she was. Waydin was an idiot and... But Josey had been alive at the time. And those who were living were more important than those who had already died.

  “There are plenty of Heroes around.”

  “Yes, but they will just keep killing the exots as they turn up. They won’t go looking for the source.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Rawk. “

  “Did you use magic to cure me last night?”

  Sylvia looked down at the paper in her hands.

  “Thank you. I know that was a risk for you. But I guess that’s just the type of person you are.”

  “You won’t make me feel guilty.”

  “How about scared?” Rawk said coldly. “Weaver is going to start sending the Guard door to door soon, searching for sorcerers. I told him I’d try first, but he won’t wait long.”

  “I am safer hiding from a couple of soldiers than drawing attention to myself by helping you.”

  Rawk sighed. “Maris had a hole where her eye used to be, Sylvia. Her stomach was ripped open.”

  “Oh, all right. I’ll help. Just shut up, would you.”

  Rawk smiled. “Thank you.” But then he looked at Josey. “What happens now?”

  “Someone needs to send a form in to Weaver’s secretary.”

  “Weaver cares that much?”

  Sylvia almost laughed. “He just wants to know if he is owed money. But seeing I don’t want to draw attention to myself, I normally get Thacker to organize for another healer to do the form.”

  “And what happens if nobody knows what actually happened?” Rawk thought of the dwarf out in the forest. The little man had died saving him from the duen and now he was buried in a shallow grave next to Galad.

  Sylvia shrugged. “Nothing happens.”

  Rawk rubbed at his eyes.

  “You should be resting,” Sylvia said.

  “I need to talk to Thacker too; can you take me?”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes. People have died. More will die. There are more exots turning up every day, Sylvia. I don’t have time to rest.” He needed to rest. He felt tired down to his bones. “Look, taking me to see Thacker will be a lot less strenuous than anything other crazy adventures I might get myself involved in.”

  Sylvia shook her head. “I will look at your wounds first, then I will take you. But we need to be quick for I have appointments later.”

  She considered stitches for the wound on Rawk’s chest, but in the end just bound it tightly like she did the rest. “I suspect you will just pop the stitches anyway.”

  “Thank you.”

  When she was done Sylvia tied up her hair. She then took a green scarf from under the counter and wrapped it around her head and face in an elaborate, intricate design. “You draw attention everywhere you go,” she said in answer to his unasked question. “It is attention I would prefer to avoid.”

  Rawk stayed on his stool as Sylvia locked the front door. He finally heaved himself to his feet when she led the way out to the back room. Collecting a cloak from a hook on the wall she continued out into the alley behind the shop as she dressed.

  “Not too fast.” Rawk struggled to keep up as the elf headed up the hill. His legs were aching by the time they reached the main street and he stopped to rest for a moment, rubbing his knee and looking around.

  “Are you applying the cream?”

  Rawk stopped rubbing. “Of course.”

  “It is cumulative, Rawk. Using it every now and then is useless.”

  “It isn’t that bad, anyway,” he said. “And I’ve been busy.” The last bit was true. Too true. He tried not to think about all the things he’d been doing. Or, at least, he tried not to think about the things he hadn’t managed to do in the last hour.

  “Come. It is not far.”

  Rawk got himself vertical and followed again. At the next intersection they turned towards the top of the hill. At first there were steps every ten yards but soon they were on a flight of stairs that led up the side of the mountain. And at the very top, where the stairs met the cliff, was a passage.

  Rawk stopped to look. The opening was about two yards wide and a frame of twisting vines was carved around the edge in startling detail.

  Sylvia was looking at him. “Are you coming?”

  “Thacker lives in a cave?”

  Sylvia started to walk. “No.”

  Lamps lined the wall, hissing quietly and creating multiple shadows on the smooth, patterned walls. There was a bend ten yards beyond the opening, sharp to the left then back the other way.

  “Who is he keeping out?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Bends in the passage like that are there to stymie the charge of attacking forces.”

  “Oh. Yes, I knew that, I suppose.” She was looking at the passage as if seeing it for the first time.

  At the far end was daylight and Rawk stepped out into a deep, steep sided valley that was filled to overflowing with a town the like of which he had never seen before. He looked back the way he had come, as if he might see the ohoga portal that had taken him away from Katamood. But there was nothing, just the mouth of the tunnel with a new carving decorating the rock around it.

  “What is this place?”

  Sylvia gave an exasperated sigh. “It is Katamood, Rawk. The suburb is called Caldera.” She started unwrapping her scarf.

  “I’ve heard of Caldera. I just thought it was around the far side of the mountain or something.”

  “No, that is still Mount Grace.” She pushed a lock of loose hair behind her ear.

  “But...” Rawk looked around. The town seemed to
have been carved from the red stone of the mountain itself. The buildings blended into each other, flowing along the edges of curving, circuitous streets. “How come nobody knows about this?”

  “How come nobody knows about the town where lots of people live? Perhaps you mean how come you do not know about this?”

  Rawk shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “It isn’t a secret, Rawk. But the people who know about it don’t feel the need to talk about something that is just a part of their lives. And the people who do not know generally do not want to know. It’s just dwarves and elves living up here, after all.”

  “It’s not a secret?”

  “How could this be a secret? I told you once before, you— and most humans— walk through life seeing what you want to see.”

  “I’m sure Weaver doesn’t know about it.”

  “Possibly he doesn’t know the details. Thacker pretty much runs everything south of the river. It is only when there is a problem that Weaver lowers himself to take an interest.”

  “Like when taxes aren’t being paid.”

  “Exactly. But Thacker makes sure things like that don’t happen because he really doesn’t want Weaver taking an interest in anything down here.”

  Rawk followed as Sylvia started to walk again.

  The town was a thing of beauty. The red stone— polished and shot through with patterns of quartz and another, yellow stone— was decorated with brightly colored panels of silk and timber. Colorful curtains flapped in the windows, gardens overflowed from rooftops, spilling down walls, merging with dooryards and parks. Smoke billowed from dozens of chimneys and the sound of industry could be heard above the general clamor of city life.

  At the next intersection, Sylvia stepped up onto a raised platform, like a dock beside the road. Rawk stopped beside her.

  “What are we waiting for?” He sat down on the top of a post.

  “A tram.”

  “A what?”

  “A tram. It is similar to a train, though I am not actually sure of the differences.”

  “I’ve heard of a train...” But he still had no idea of what one was. Comparing it to a tram didn’t help at all.

  A whistle blew. Rawk turned and watched as something swung around a bend just down the road. The contraption clanked and rattled up the slight slope, sending out billows of smoke as it came closer. Rawk rose to his feet and stepped back. He almost fell. His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword.

  “Do not be afraid, Rawk. That is the tram.”

  Rawk cleared his throat. “I’m not scared.” It was obvious that the thing was a common sight in Caldera. Nobody else paid it any mind, apart from making sure they weren’t in the way. They parted before it as if it was second nature. So Rawk set his shoulders and watched; if a bunch of dwarves weren’t scared, he wouldn’t be either. There were people inside, dwarves and elves, some humans and others, looking out the open windows, and standing on the steps that ran along both sides.

  When the contraption finally came to a noisy, smoke filled stop, a lot of the people piled out, and Rawk nervously stepped in. He considered staying on his feet, but an opportunity to surreptitiously take the weight off his knee and to rest again was too good to pass up. So he drew Dabaneera to keep it out of the way and sat next to an old dwarf who had his head buried in a newspaper.

  There was one of the all-too-accurate pictures of Rawk on the front. He was arguing with Ramaner, looking old and tired. He gave a grunt and shook his head.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Thacker’s office is around the far side of the valley; it is about two miles, but won’t take long on the tram.”

  And once the contraption got up to speed Rawk could well believe it. It stopped fairly regularly but was still much quicker than walking. And much better on his aching body. Bitter smoke drifted around the cabin. It dried his mouth and made his nose itch.

  He watched the buildings trundling by. Some were as much as three stories high with grand, broad windows letting in the light and the breeze. There was a blacksmiths shop. A dwarf, hairy, muscled back bathed in sunshine, worked at an anvil with the calm steady precision of a man who knew exactly what he wanted to do and exactly how he was going to do it. Not far away, two boys turned a handle to power a lathe for a dwarf.

  “Surely if the dwarves are smart enough to have a machine like this tram they could work out a machine to turn a lathe.”

  Sylvia nodded. “They could, but the noise and the expense would be horrendous for a small business.”

  “Oh.” Rawk admitted the tram was very noisy, but hadn’t really considered the cost. “So, who pays for the trams?”

  “Thacker organizes it. We’re getting off here.”

  The tram stopped across the street for a building that backed up against the wall of the valley. It was tall and wide, but only went a couple of yards back from the footpath, so Rawk guessed it also went back into the mountain.

  The front doors were swung wide and inside was a small foyer with various paintings of Katamood on all four walls. Talented artists had done the pictures, but there was nothing to suggest that the place was of any importance at all. They went through another door at the rear of the room then up carpet lined stairs to the second floor.

  There, finally, two dwarf guards flanked a door. They looked like boys standing there, both with axes almost as big as they were, but Rawk didn’t doubt they would be able to handle themselves. Dwarves weren’t a warlike people, but when they set their mind to do something, they usually did it properly. He wondered how much that trait added to humans’ distrust of them. A large number of humans were willing to get through life with the least effort possible and perhaps they felt threatened by that commitment to perfection.

  Sylvia nodded to one of the dwarves. “Rake, is Thacker in?”

  “Of course.” The little man hardly moved.

  Sylvia went through the door without slowing and Rawk had no choice but to follow.

  Inside was... An office. It was much more impressive than Rawk’s office. Wide, glazed windows looked out over the red and green patchwork of the valley. An ancient map of Katamood dominated one wall and the others were lined with shelves. And each shelf was full to overflowing with books and scrolls. And so was a table in the corner. And a couch near the windows. Rawk didn’t know what he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. Apart from the books, it was clean and tidy and smelled of mint.

  The dwarf behind the desk wasn’t what he had expected either. Thacker was barely forty. His beard was neatly combed and tied with a dozen ribbons that signified guild affiliations and qualifications, as far as Rawk knew. He’d never seen so many before. In fact, most dwarves didn’t bother, seeing a dwarf making a barrel was obviously a qualified cooper, otherwise he wouldn’t be doing the job.

  “Sylvia, good to see you. It’s been a while.”

  “I have been busy.”

  “It seems to be like that for healers these days. And Rawk! I didn’t think to ever see you here. What can I do for you?”

  Now that he was here, Rawk was wondering if it was really a good idea.

  “Come on, out with it then. You’re here now.”

  Rawk grunted. He chewed his bottom lip. He cleared his throat. “I was being followed someone from the newspaper a while ago, when the exots first started coming.”

  For a moment, Thacker said nothing. Then he nodded. “Jargo. He hasn’t been seen for quite a while.”

  Rawk looked at his hands. “He’s dead.”

  Thacker straightened some papers on his desk. He nodded slowly. “How do you know this?”

  “I saw him die.”

  Thacker didn’t say anything.

  “I was fighting a duen.” Rawk looked at Sylvia. “I slipped and Jargo saved me. He attacked the duen with a dagger. He gave me time to get on my feet again.”

  “He saved you?”

  Rawk nodded. “I slipped.”

  “I will need to tell his wife.”

 
“He was married?”

  “Has a young daughter, too. She’s barely two years old, I think.”

  “Why would he risk his life? The duen was twice his size. More. It was crazy.” Rawk’s hand was gripping the hilt of Dabaneera so tightly it hurt. He wanted to go back and change what had happened, but it was the sword that had caused all the problems in the first place. If he hadn’t gone out into the forest looking for the duen...

  “Do you want to see Biki?”

  “What?”

  “Do you want to talk to Jargo’s wife?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Path, no.”

  “Very well. So, is there anything else I can do for you?” He divided his glance between Rawk and Sylvia. “I have to say, I never thought I’d see you two in the same room.”

  Rawk didn’t really want to talk about it. “You know who she is?”

  “Of course. I know who everyone is. And I would’ve thought after the last couple of days that Sylvia would be keeping a low profile.”

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “Sorcerers dying everywhere.”

  Rawk shared a glance with Sylvia. The elf shrugged. “Who?”

  “Well, there was Valo yesterday morning.”

  “That was a heart attack,” Rawk said. “That hardly counts.”

  “I’ll let him know next time I see him. And last night, Mistletowe Oc died in slightly more unusual circumstances.”

  “Mistletowe died?”

  “Died. Was killed. It’s a fine line in the end, but a very distinct line none-the-less.” Thacker checked a sheet of paper on his desk. “She was found in an alley down near the harbor with her heart in her hand and no injuries.”

  Rawk grunted. “Apart from the hole in her chest, you mean.”

  “No. There were no injuries.”

  “Then how do you know it was her heart?”

  “I had a surgeon cut her open, obviously.”

  “And she had no heart?”

  “Apart from the one in her hand.”

  “So...”

  Thacker shrugged. “Magic is the only explanation I can think of.” He glanced at Sylvia.

  Sylvia was looking pale. “It is possible,” she said, “but it would take tremendous power. And precision.”

  Rawk sighed. “Either way, we’ve lost that lead.”