By Ways Unseen

by Daniel Dydek

  “Then how are we to know?”

  “That is a good question; many have sought that answer, with no results.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said, gazing across the waters once more. “I definitely feel happier now.”

  “Just remember this, young one: desire, born of rightful motivations, takes us to good things; desires born of selfish motivations take us blindly to destruction. Oftentimes, those who don’t share our selfish desires show us most easily how selfish they are.”

  “So you think I should listen to Geoffrey?” Sarah asked with a sigh.

  “I think you should listen to your heart,” Chlo said; her keen glance went to Sarah’s tunic. “Or whatever that is, that’s in your pocket,” she added with a smile.

  As Chlo leaned back, closing her eyes to the sun, Sarah’s hand went back to the book she had found in Haschina – the book that was Lasserain’s diary. She frowned as she picked habitually at the pages. Surely…I mean, not all magic-users went this way?

  True to Bomor’s word the companions walked onto the docks in Estwind five days after the Night Sky had picked them up. Haydren turned to the captain and offered his hand.

  “Thank you very much for the rescue, Captain,” he said. “I don’t know what we would have done if you had not picked us up. If you can find us again in a few hours, I can repay you…”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Bomor replied. “Bringing your fortunes aboard my ship, and getting us to Estwind two days ahead of schedule, is payment enough.”

  After they had left the docks, Geoffrey leaned toward Haydren. “Are we to walk all the way back to Jyunta then?” he asked. Haydren glanced at him with a smile, but said nothing. Instead he only led his friends to the Mercenary Inn; the bartender looked at him in surprise when he sat down.

  “Haydren!” he said. “I didn’t know you would be returning.”

  Haydren laughed. “You hoped I would not be returning, Losch,” he said. “But I need some money, for horses for myself and my companions. Would you be so kind as to get it for us? And something to eat, as well.”

  “Of course,” Losch replied, bowing low.

  When he had gone, Geoffrey looked at Haydren quizzically. “He owes you money?” he asked.

  “I didn’t need all the money from Paolound to buy the mercenaries,” Haydren explained. “I had Losch keep it for me; we’ll be well supplied on our journey south.”

  “What do you intend to do when we reach Frecksshire?” Sarah asked.

  “Given what we have accomplished for the Earl,” Haydren said, sitting back in his chair, “I intend to ask his permission to leave his service for a time. Then I will go to Galessern.”

  “I may come with you,” Sarah said. “After what he has done already, I intend to see him – see what he has to say.”

  “I’m sure he will say nothing interesting,” Haydren said with a glance at Geoffrey.

  “Of course I am with you,” Geoffrey said.

  “I may stay in Jyunta,” Corith said quietly. “My soldiers will need me; Lord Garoun will need me as well. Jyunta will still need to be rebuilt.”

  “As you wish, Corith,” Haydren replied.

  Just then, Losch arrived with a sack of jingling coins, and four mugs of ale which he set before the companions. Sarah sniffed it, then held it out to him.

  “I will just have water, thank you,” she said, shaking her head.

  When Losch returned, he brought their food as well. After they had eaten their fill, and paid for rooms for the night, they went into Estwind and supplied themselves for the journey to Frecksshire, securing four of the fastest horses they could find for sale. They went to sleep that night warm and full, and slept until the sun rose the next morning.

  They did not push their horses hard that day, and made camp that night about halfway between Jyunta and the Vilde River. The next day, however, they spurred their mounts to a gallop as they approached Jyunta. No one hailed them from the walls, and there was no sound from inside. The gates were torn from their great hinges and sat askew upon the walls. Their hearts in their throats, they rode into the city; their horses stopped as the companions gazed in despair, for inside Jyunta was the same landscape that they had found inside Quaran. The ground was charred, and all had been razed but a few buildings and blackened spars. The hall still stood near the center of the city, but the doors were gaping wide. They rode to the square, dismounted, and climbed the stairs, entering the destitute structure slowly. Bodies lay strewn everywhere; deep in the corner, Hrothgar sat against the wall, his lieutenant Logdthar beside him on his left, closer to the door. To Hrothgar’s right, furthest from the door and sheltered by the two mercenaries’ bodies, was the body of Lord Garoun.

  Haydren went to them and knelt down. “This was recent,” he said quietly. “Within a few days.” He pivoted on his heel and looked at his companions with watering eyes.

  “Then I am going with you to Galessern,” Corith said quietly. “After we bury these dead.”

  “I must report to the Earl,” Haydren said, rising and wiping his eyes. “Geoffrey will come with me; you two may join us when you have finished. If all goes well, we will be on our way south before autumn arrives. And if whatever has guided us to this point continues with us, Lasserain will not see another winter.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  LESSONS

  “You’re not going down?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But what if she—?”

  “I think she will not.”

  17 Thriman 1320 – Summer

  Corith entered the hall out of breath to find Sarah gazing at the bodies, chin on her knuckles in thought.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Trying to think of a spell…” Her voice trailed off.

  He gazed at her for several long moments, then moved to another body. “If you spent as much time thinking of spells as helping me, we’d be done by now,” he grunted as he positioned the mercenary leader across his shoulders.

  Sarah’s hand dropped. “I’m sorry Corith,” she said quietly. “I can’t move them like you, not fully armored. But I can’t…” She trailed off, looking at him pleadingly.

  “I know,” he said, staggering toward the door. “I hope these mercenaries don’t expect a certain ritual of burial.”

  “I’m sure they won’t know,” Sarah replied as the door slowly swung to. With a sigh, she went to Lord Garoun’s body, now clear of the two mercenaries guarding him. It seemed strange, to her, the way they were positioned. She squatted, trying to pull the former lord’s body forward though she barely wanted to touch it; she strained and grunted, but his bulk wouldn’t budge. She let out a frustrated grunt and stood back.

  She couldn’t do this; she’d made her life out of making the elements aide her, and now when she needed them perhaps the most personally, there was nothing to be done. Surely there was something. If she could make them carry themselves out, somehow: a bed of solid air? But how to make it travel…

  She folded her arms, and felt the press of Lasserain’s diary. Now, Paolound – there was a corpse that could move on its own. Furrowing her brow, Sarah pulled the diary out; did Lasserain ever discuss how he’d accomplished that? If she could have this room cleared within a few sentences…

  The script on the pages she read became more frenzied, and showed a mix of swift scratches and hesitant blots. She paused where a dense page had one Rinc Nain word – Bultum? was scratched near the middle; the rest was in magic language. She scanned till she recognized the word for shield, and moved on. Lasserain was approaching something profound, she could tell; another page – and there it was.

  Sarah bit her lip. She wouldn’t need the spell to last long; she wasn’t trying to bring them back to life, just get them to move on their own. She took a deep breath, reading over his words. Lasserain had even put accent and stress marks, so she knew the pronunciation would be accurate – but would she have the affinity to Life? She didn’t even know if sh
e needed it.

  She glanced backward at the door; Corith would be another several moments – it was something of a walk to the impromptu pyre they had constructed. She took a deep breath to try to calm herself, but the shaky exhale that followed seemed to bolster her doubt more than her faith.

  She focused on Garoun, and spoke the words.

  For a moment, nothing happened; then, just as his eyelids began to flutter, the energy fled from her body. I shouldn’t have done this, she realized as she sagged to her knees, her breath coming in fading gasps. Her eyes drifted down to the page, managed to focus and find what looked like the ceasing spell. As her eyeballs dragged back upward, Garoun was staring at his hands, at her, leveraging himself to his feet. She spoke the few words – again an agony as nothing happened.

  Then, as Garoun collapsed as if suddenly struck, Sarah’s breath gave out and blackness overtook her.

  *

  She came to, coughing, and Corith was hovering over her. He settled back on his heels and gazed at her in relief.

  “What happened?” she asked, pressing a hand to her chest.

  “You tell me,” Corith replied. “I came in and you were passed out on the floor; did you try to pick up Lord Garoun?”

  Sarah sat up, rubbing her head. “I was trying to drag him,” she said. “But then…something…”

  She had tried to cast Life magic, something forbidden in Carist and in her own mind for as long as she was alive and trying to become a wizard, and it had nearly killed her. But the details were still fuzzy.

  She looked up slowly, her eyes resting unfocused at the floor near Garoun’s feet.

  Not all magic-users have to go this way, do they?

  Does that matter? I’m going this way. Again. Trying to extend my power beyond where it should go.

  Sarah closed her eyes; when she opened them, she saw the diary on the floor near her. She picked it up, noticing as if for the first time the feverish scrawl of a mage losing control. Corith nodded at it. “What is that?” he asked.

  She stood, with Corith’s help, and cast the diary aside. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m okay now; thanks, for whatever part you played in reviving me. Would you mind helping me with this?”

  She stepped forward once more, grasping a hold of her former lord and tugging. She gasped and grunted, as Corith reached for another body; finally the former lord’s corpulent body toppled sideways and his head thumped sickeningly onto the wooden boards.

  There was the sound of a muffled cry, and something shifting.

  Sarah stood, her body turning for her mace; but nothing moved that she could see. She stepped closer, and suddenly noticed the square cut around the boards where Garoun had once sat. “There’s a trapdoor under Garoun!” she said.

  Corith was quickly by her side, wrestling the body aside. As Corith drew his sword, Sarah yanked open the trapdoor; a woman’s terrified face below turned quickly to surprise and joy.

  “It’s you! Are we safe then!” she cried.

  “Come out, mother,” Corith said to the woman he didn’t know, lowering his sword and extending his hand. The woman came out, and others swiftly followed. The women shielded their children’s eyes from the carnage around them; the men, most old, had seen as much before and looked about grimly.

  “What happened? Why is Lord Garoun out here?” Corith asked one of the men.

  “Was his idea,” came the reply from an older man who had been master blacksmith until a year ago. “He thought if the enemy found him out here, they would take it to mean everyone was here. Surely the lord would be best protected, aye?” The man shook his head slowly. “Saved over fifty of us, sitting right on top of us.”

  “How is the city?” someone else asked.

  Corith shook his head. “There’s little left but the walls,” he said quietly. There were gasps, and the occasional sob; the former master blacksmith straightened his back.

  “It matters little,” he said. “We’ve got strong men here; we can rebuild.”

  “You’re a fool Keyeth,” someone said. “You heard Corith; rebuild from what?”

  “There’s still lumber outside the walls, isn’t there?” Keyeth replied. “Are the crops damaged?”

  “Little,” Corith replied. “It will be ample, though, for—” he faltered, glancing around what few folk remained of his once-proud city.

  “And who’ll lead us then, aye? Garoun is dead.”

  “I will,” Corith said quietly.

  Keyeth’s eyes gleamed as he smiled. “I’ll follow ye,” he said firmly. There was silence for a breath, then others began pledging their allegiance until the room resounded with oaths. Corith finally raised his hands to silence them.

  “Then,” he said, eyes glistening. “Let’s set straight what we can for tonight, beginning by making this hall proper to sleep in. We will have a hard road ahead of us.”

  *

  The next morning, Corith arose and went outside to find Sarah saddling her horse.

  “You’re going, then?” he asked.

  Sarah glanced at him briefly, then returned to tightening the girth. “Yes,” she replied. “Haydren is going to need help, and I need to see that Lasserain pays for what he’s done here, and everywhere.”

  Corith folded his arms and gazed out over the scarred landscape. “His magic has caused much destruction,” he said quietly. “I wonder what makes men thirst for such power?”

  Sarah’s fingers faltered, and she swallowed. “It’s easier to get what you want, I suppose.”

  “Perhaps,” Corith allowed. He gazed compassionately at the sorceress. “The God go with you, Sarah,” he said.

  She squinted at him, and managed a small smile. “Thank you. You as well.”

  With that she mounted and was soon through the gate and on her way to Frecksshire. As she rode, she still pondered the events of the previous day. She had remembered more, as she lay awake; remembered trying to cease the spell before she fainted. Always – always, when a caster ceases a spell some energy returns. Except yesterday, when the Life spell ceased, it had taken even more energy from her; she remembered feeling the energy leave her.

  Was that why is was an outlawed magic? Did Time, Life, and Shape take energy when it was cast, and again when it stopped? A caster would then have to know the energy to cast the spell, and have enough in reserve for when the spell stopped operating.

  Sarah sat upright suddenly. That was why Lasserain – as Tagnier – didn’t do anything to them in the Forest: they had just killed Paolound, and forced him to cease being Faschek. That was why he he could do no more than appear in slightly different form, and alter Time in Haydren’s mind.

  And then they destroyed an entire Forest grown from what must have been a Life spell.

  Sarah shouted to her horse, galloping hard for Frecksshire. Haydren had to know; Lasserain would be weakened from what they had done.

  This changed everything; but it had to last until they made it to Galessern.

  *

  “Did you mean what you said back at Jyunta?” Geoffrey asked. “About the one who guides us?”

  They sat in their room at the Dancing Piper, having arrived at Frecksshire that morning, and were waiting to have an audience with the Earl that evening. As they waited, and after much thought, Geoffrey decided to broach the topic that had been nagging at him since they had left Jyunta five days earlier.

  Haydren looked at him and sighed. “Whether I like it or not,” he replied. “It seems to be the case.”

  “So do you believe in the God of All now?”

  “That document seems to prove it.”

  “A lot of documents speak about the God, Haydren,” Geoffrey said. “That has never meant anything to you before.”

  “Then perhaps I just hope he does,” Haydren exclaimed in exasperation. “Lasserain has destroyed two cities, and killed a dragon; and now I go to try to kill him. I’m not prideful enough to think I can do it alone. But hopefully, as you say Geoffrey, the wind wi
ll be in the treetops.”

  “I believe it will, Haydren,” Geoffrey replied quietly. “I believe you have been called to this purpose.”

  “So it would seem,” Haydren said. He smiled tiredly, and repeated: “whether I like it or not.”

  Later that evening, they stood before the Earl. “What did you discover?” he asked when the doors had shut behind the guards.

  Darkness descended outside the windows of the keep long before Haydren finished, and even longer before Durdamon was done questioning him further. Water and food was brought, and they sat at table.

  “This is such mixed news, Haydren,” Durdamon said wearily, leaning back in his chair. “Though you have accomplished much, I cannot gauge how effective it might be.”

  “There was one more thing,” Haydren said. “Before we left, I recognized a man from Hewolucs here, a magic-user.”

  “Semmelle?” Durdamon asked.

  Haydren’s head notched a little sideways. “Yes, Excellency.”

  “That was another victory, whose effects are not yet fully realized,” Durdamon said. “Semmelle was sent to Quaran by your Earl to see what might be done about the Forest. Apparently, Junei did not yet know what Lasserain was planning to do with his province after he’d handed it over. But even after Semmelle reported back, Junei did nothing; so Semmelle made his way here. He defected.”

  Haydren nodded once, remembering Sarah’s rebuke on the hill in Haschina. “May I ask His Grace a question?”

  “Of course – Lintasur Guinad?”

  Haydren nodded.

  “I have found little to help you, except perhaps the letter did not originate with a man by that name,” the Earl said. “It was commissioned and sent by a man named Jeyetna, who claimed to be working on the orders of a man named Godfrind.” The Earl shook his head. “My men could find out nothing more.”

  “They did not hurt him?” Haydren asked in alarm.

  “Of course not,” Durdamon said scornfully. “The information was not that important. Do you know him?”

  “My father knew him; Jeyetna that is, Excellency,” Haydren replied with a glance at Geoffrey. “It does help to clear up some of the mystery, Excellency. I beg leave for one more request,” he said with another hesitant glance. The Earl gestured for him to continue. “I would ask, Excellency, to be released from your services for a period of time which I cannot define, but it should not be more than a few months.”