by Daniel Dydek
“It’s been a long journey for all of us,” Haydren said. “I think a dip in the stream would be refreshing for everyone; we can spend the evening here, and be on our way in the morning.” He glanced at Sarah. “One of us should be close by to keep watch, whoever you trust the most.”
“Probably Geoffrey,” she replied with a smile. “I don’t see him as the kind to steal unwanted glances; especially at a heathen like me.”
“Nor would I if you were a saint,” Geoffrey replied respectfully.
Sarah’s smile barely faltered, but her eyes glittered with poorly-hidden curiosity in the torchlight. They spent the evening bathing and eating; Haydren noticed that Corith sat quietly apart, and didn’t join in any of the conversation. At the end of the meal, as everyone began laying out their blankets, Haydren squatted beside him.
“You’ve been quiet this evening,” he said in a low whisper. “Anything on your mind?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you,” he said with a nervous laugh.
“You can try.”
“Well, I’ve never actually been to Haschina; and its location is an even thinner theory of mine than the Kalen are elves,” he said.
Haydren froze, still looking down at the blanket folded in his pack. He drew a deep breath, and glanced at Corith with a reassuring smile. “I had no idea what I was doing when I first entered the forest,” he said. “Not even a notion; I believe we’ll find the mage’s village, though.”
But by the end of the next day, they had not; according to Corith’s rough estimate, they should have. Haydren said nothing to the others, and Corith, too, held his peace, finding comfort in Haydren’s trust. But as the third day dragged on, even Corith’s hope began to fade.
Then, as night approached, in the distance they saw an orange glow in an arch-shape, as if a hill blocked their way. They continued forward, and scrambled up the rise; they burst out of the woods – there was no wall of brush as they had encountered everywhere else – and found themselves on a tall hill looking down into the village of Haschina.
Every building, as much as they could see, was engulfed by towering flames.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
FIRES
“One word from you and this is over.”
“It is not that simple.”
“This close, it isn’t simple yet?”
“A scene in a play, Teresh; yet still a play.”
5 Thriman 1320 – Summer
The party stood atop the hill, gazing speechlessly at the village below. But then, as time passed, they realized that though the flames towered over many of the buildings, still they did not burn down. Their shock and despair blending into salient curiosity, they made their way down the hill toward the nearest building.
Corith approached it, his sword drawn. Though the rush of the flames beat their ears, there was no crackling of wood; and even up close, no heat emanated from the fire. Corith poked at the flames, but his blade stopped just short. He stepped forward and pressed his palm against something solid, but invisible.
“I think someone else discovered your wind-trick, Sarah,” he said, still pushing with his hand. Sarah stepped forward, gingerly reaching out with a finger; when it struck the same invisible wall Corith encountered, she pulled it back.
“So it would seem,” she agreed. She stepped back, slowly looking around the village, and her stomach began to churn. “This is…far too much magic,” she said. It had to have been cast almost all at once, to stop the flames; solid air cast around an entire village – forget the village, to cast it on one home probably would have killed her.
Sarah wiped her mouth with a suddenly trembling hand.
“’Too much’?” Haydren echoed.
“I was telling Pladt this before,” Sarah said. “Fire needs fuel, even if its magical fire. But nothing is burning, which means all the fire, all the wind keeping the fire in, is feeding only off the energy of the one who cast it. Have you ever tried to start a fire just by rubbing your hands together? Because that’s what he’s doing. And whoever cast it – and we can guess who did – is still alive. I don’t know if you’ve ever had an entire mountain crash down on you with the speed of a thunderbolt, but Lasserain could do it. Because he’s a mage: if he can do something like this with one element, he can do it with them all.”
“Well, let’s see what we can find, if anything,” Haydren said, drawing his sword. “Spread out, but be wary.”
Sarah snorted; wariness would prevent nothing. What else might he be capable of? Distance took energy too; but he could rain lightning down on the village while he was safely tucked in Galessern and not feel a drain. Close by, he could uproot Haschina and throw it into the sea. No, they need not be wary; they needed to run away. Yet Sarah found herself walking forward, looking for something.
The party took different routes through the village, wandering among the buildings. Few could be seen clearly behind the flickering shield of fire. Soon, they reached the other side, where another hill rose above the village. They stopped there and regrouped; all reported no breaks in the solid walls of flames around the buildings.
Haydren sighed, and turned back to the village. As he gazed over it, however, he noticed a spot where the flames were much lower than anywhere else, at the back of one of the buildings. Still with sword drawn, he strode over to it; here, the fire was real and unbound by invisible walls of solid air, and it was set a pace away from a small door.
“Here!” he cried to the others. He took off his cloak and tried to stamp out the fire with it, but the flames continually regenerated.
“Let me try,” Sarah said, stepping forward. “I don’t know how I am with fire, but it might work. Loth, Loth; kiet fiol thoi!”
Immediately, the fire went out; Sarah glanced at Geoffrey with a large smile. He gazed back without expression. Seeing none of this, Haydren pushed on the door; it was locked. Taking his sword, he thrust it between the door and the jamb, and pried. With a groan of splintering wood, the door popped open.
Inside was a small room, furnished only by a table and chair of knotted pine, a bed with faded quilt, and a reed carpet in the middle of the floor. There were a few utensils hanging, and some bowls; when Corith inspected them, he found them clean as though they had been used and washed recently.
“If this is the mage’s house,” he said quietly, “then we must be cautious.”
“It also means there must be more to it,” Haydren replied in equally low tones, as though Lasserain himself might hear them from Galessern and come to kill them. “He would keep his things somewhere, surely.”
“Why wouldn’t he have them in Galessern?” Sarah asked.
“Because then he would have no reason whatsoever to come back,” Haydren replied, pointing at the bowls. “Yet he has.”
Geoffrey reached down and flipped over the rug; the floorboards beneath were uncut. “It was worth a try,” he whispered, putting the rug back in its place. When he stood, he and Haydren both looked at the bed, then at one another. They moved – Haydren to the headboard, Geoffrey to the footboard – and lifted the bed, then shifted it over several paces. Underneath was a small trapdoor, with a large iron ring embedded at one side.
“Do you think he sealed it somehow?” Haydren asked.
Geoffrey shrugged. He grasped the ring and pulled gently up; when nothing happened, he exhaled and opened the door fully. A dark mouth opened to him, with dimly lit stairs running downward.
“We won’t get down with our packs,” he said to the others, slipping his own off his shoulders. “Stack them by the door for now, but bring your torches.”
They did so, and descended the stairs with torches thrust before them. This led down into a dry cave; a narrow hall led backward from the stairs, with only small rooms to one side or the other. A torch thrust through the opening was enough to ensure the rooms were empty, and they continued down the hallway.
After walking back about thirty paces, Geoffrey held up a hand and turned to the others.
“Do you notice?” he asked, pointing upward. “The rush of the fire can still be heard, even down here.”
“That might not be magical,” Haydren said. “Sound can travel strange distances in certain circumstances.”
Geoffrey glanced to his right, then peered more closely at the wall; he reached out and grasped a handle-shaped bit of rock and pushed. The crack of a door appeared suddenly in the rock, and with a creak the door swung open. Geoffrey glanced at his companions with raised eyebrows; Haydren pushed forward and peered into the room.
Inside, a large desk faced the door; bookshelves lined the walls all around a room which was at least as large as the house above – roughly five paces square. Lamps and candles hung about the room and sat on the desk, unlit. Haydren approached the desk and opened some of its drawers; he found a taper, and blew gently on it. A flame sprang upward, and he lit some of the lanterns on the desk.
“If the taper is still hot, he must have been here very recently,” Haydren whispered. “Corith, keep watch at the door; Sarah, you as well. Geoffrey and I will search the room.”
Geoffrey immediately went to the bookshelves and began glancing over the spines. “He has an enormous collection of books translating languages into Rinc Nain and Cariste. I haven’t even heard of some of these languages! These are for you Sarah: he must have ten spell-books here.”
“He has others on the desk,” Haydren said from where he stood. “Some other papers concerning moving of goods.”
“By river?” Geoffrey asked, recalling the raft materials they had found in the bandit camp south of Werine. Haydren glanced up at him and nodded. “So he’s responsible for the bandits, at least,” Geoffrey concluded.
“He must be supplying Galessern for a war,” Haydren agreed. He pulled out a small chest from one of the bookshelves near the desk; he found a key in one of the drawers and tried it on the lock. With a click and a snap, the chest opened, and he began flipping through the loose parchments inside. “He has a lot of articles in here,” he muttered, glancing over the titles. “The Colonization of Burieng; On Dragons; The Discovery of the World; On Magic; the list goes on, but there’s not much useful to us.”
“Over here!” Geoffrey called. He was wrestling with a large chest of ornate design. Haydren went over to him and helped him pull it to the middle of the room. There was no keyhole, and there was only a faint crack discernible where a lid should have been. Geoffrey pulled a small knife from his belt and tried to insert it into the crack to pry, but he could not force it in.
They sat back, studying the chest; Haydren reached forward to reposition it in the dim lamplight, and when he grasped it they heard a faint click from within the chest, though nothing else happened. Haydren glanced at the side where his hand had fallen; there was a carving of a map of the world. The rest of the continents and islands were in myriad colors against a blue ocean. When Haydren pushed on a continent, the wood gave way a little, and a click sounded within the chest. But no matter how he pressed them, nothing happened except the noise. He sat back once more.
“Who settled which continents?” he asked, something tickling the back of his mind.
“Rinc Na settled North Pal Isan, the Clanaso Islands, Andelen, and West Burieng,” Geoffrey replied. “Carist settled South Pal Isan, Gintanos, and East Burieng.”
Haydren pushed the continents in order of their settling countries, but still nothing happened. Suddenly, he leapt to his feet and returned to the desk; he grabbed a parchment from its top, then returned and sat down with it next to the chest. Scanning the paper on the settling of the world, he pushed each continent in the order it was settled chronologically; this time, a deeper thunk sounded from within the chest, and the lid popped open.
Inside were more stacks of papers, all in Rinc Nain. Geoffrey and Haydren each took out a stack, and began reading. As they read, their hearts fell.
“He has been responsible for everything,” Haydren breathed. “The beasts, the attacks against Quaran, the bandits; he’s coordinated everything. By the God!” he gasped. “He even made the Forest grow! But how—?”
He trailed off, continuing to read; but the parchment did not answer his question. Sarah came over from where she had moved to the desk and stood beside them. “And Jyunta?”
Geoffrey looked up somberly and nodded. “According to this,” he said, turning the parchment briefly toward her, “each species of beast has something like a king over them. Lasserain captured all of the beast-kings, and subjected them. Through the beast-kings, he was able to coordinate attacks against the cities.”
“On the Triumvirate, this one is called,” Haydren said, his brows knit as he read a parchment. “There is a group of three men, former wizards, who allege to be in communion with the God of All. Their job, it seems, is to attempt to maintain peace and order in the world. They are able to travel throughout the world and manipulate men, including putting thoughts into their heads.” He glanced up at Geoffrey briefly, then returned to the parchment. “Their true names are Melnor Firelien, Kanala Withewon, and Teresh Gretsblood; though they do not give their names to those to whom they appear. Most often they manipulate men only through thoughts; but when they must appear to them they often use the name Godfrind.”
Geoffrey’s head snapped up. “Godfrind?” he declared, sitting bolt upright. “Godfrind came to me just after we left the Northern Forest!”
“Why didn’t you say so before?” Haydren demanded.
“Because I didn’t remember until you said the name,” Geoffrey replied. “He told me I wouldn’t be able to, that I would only remember my thoughts as if they were my own. It’s all coming back to me now! Whoever this Godfrind is, he knows all about you Haydren; he said he had been watching you long before you came to Burieng.”
“What did he look like?” Haydren asked, scanning the parchment. Geoffrey gave him the description as Haydren read. “He was Melnor, a former wizard of Fire,” Haydren said. “Their appearance is determined mostly by what element they were.”
“You keep saying ‘former,’” Sarah said. “What are they?”
“I don’t know,” Haydren said, shaking his head. “But they aren’t as living people anymore; something more spirit, I assume. Lasserain isn’t clear.”
“Haydren,” Geoffrey said quietly, glancing up from the parchment he was reading.
Haydren looked at him, and recognizing the expression said: “Read it.”
“’I have just received splendid news of a caravan leaving Westide for Hewolucs with a very precious cargo aboard: a sword of Bultum and Cretal fire. How fortunate that I had the bandits already in place! I have sent word to them to be extra violent, and to bring me this kingly gift.’ Then, a little lower, it says: ‘So much for the bandits! They cannot obtain a simple sword when I ask them. No matter: the people of the envoy are dead. Perhaps they will find the sword eventually.’ I’m sorry, Haydren.”
“So, there it is,” Haydren said, nodding slowly. “When we couldn’t find Lintasur in Frecksshire, I had begun to suspect. That letter probably was created by Guntsen to try to get me away from him, and it probably was Dillion who came to me telling me of Guntsen’s plan to kill me.” He paused, looking down at the parchment in front of him; Sarah laid a hand gently on his shoulder, but he paid it little attention. “But what if it was this Melnor?” Haydren asked suddenly, looking up. “If he has been watching me since before I arrived in Burieng, maybe he sent the letter, and warned me at night, and has been ‘watching’ me ever since, trying to get me to do his will. Just like we talked about before, Geoffrey.”
“What are you going to do?” Geoffrey asked with a shrug.
Haydren laughed bitterly. “What can I do? Lasserain killed my parents, he destroyed Quaran and tried to destroy Jyunta, and he’s swallowed up all but Coberan Province. And every step I’ve taken has brought me here. Do I actually have a choice? Apparently I have to try to kill him.”
But behind his laugh, another thought gnawed deeply at him: if the Tri
umvirate were true – and with Geoffrey’s vision it seemed certain they were – then the God of All was most likely real, as well. Or was he? Haydren glanced across the parchment again; whether the God was real or not, Haydren’s choices were being manipulated as if he did. Confidence: the side of the coin he must accept. If the parchment told the truth, there was much that Haydren must accept – with no choice. His eyes fell, and his hands sagged toward the floor.
“Killing Lasserain is not going to be easy,” Sarah said. “If he’s powerful enough to do everything you say he did, what can one person do?”
“Wait a moment,” Geoffrey said, glancing down a new parchment. “Unbelievable,” he said, letting the parchment fall. “There’s one more thing he did.”
“Geoffrey, I would find nothing unbelievable now,” Haydren muttered.
“What did he do?” Sarah asked.
“He killed Paolound,” Geoffrey said, showing them the parchment he was reading. “Fifteen years ago, when he was trying to convince the dragon to ally itself with him.”
“But if he killed it…” Haydren said, eyes up again, alert, looking at the parchment curiously.
“He reanimated it,” Geoffrey replied. “He learned how to cast spells of Life. But it puts him in control of the dragon. Paolound’s spirit would no longer have been in it, but Lasserain’s would have.”
“But, wait…” Haydren began; something was itching the back of his mind again.
“He’s not allowed to do that!” Sarah said. “Life, Time, and Shape are dead magics; Tamecal outlawed them centuries ago.”
“Shape?” Haydren asked. He glanced at his sword, and his mouth dropped open. “Corith!” he shouted, leaping to his feet. “Where’s Tagnier?”
Corith turned from the doorway, his eyes wide. “I don’t think he came down here with us.”
Just then, they recognized that the sound of the flames echoing down the hall of the cave had changed: wood now cracked and popped as it burned. Dropping everything, the party dashed for the stairway. When they came out into the house, the roof was burning above them and smoke filled their lungs. They scrambled for the door. Haydren burst through it, the flames searing his face. He collapsed onto the cool grass beyond as the others tumbled out behind him. Corith came last, screaming as his cloak caught fire. Haydren leapt over to him, quickly putting out the flames with his own cloak. Grabbing Corith by the arms, Haydren pulled him upright and the four companions scrambled to the top of the hill. Coughing and catching their breath, they turned and watched as Haschina began burning to the ground.