Mage Evolution (Book 3)

by Virginia G. McMorrow

  “I know. But, listen to me.” Maylen squeezed my arm. “If you lose faith, we are all lost.” When I gathered the courage to meet that young, vulnerable gaze, I found strength, too.

  “You’re right. I’ll be damned if I let them get the better of me.”

  “Thank the lords of the sea.” She grinned, sitting back on her haunches. “I was afraid you had become a changeling in the night.”

  Chapter Five

  “I never thought the great and esteemed, though no longer legendary, Crownmage of Tuldamoran,” —I paused to chuckle without mercy— “would be queasy on a riverboat sailing along on water that’s smooth as fine glass.”

  Poor Anders turned a deeper shade of nauseous green as he muttered a curse bare moments before bolting back to the tiny cabin below, which didn’t offer very much in the way of creature comforts or fresh air.

  “You are being cruel, Alex.”

  “I know.” I winked at Maylen, who made a feeble attempt to disapprove and failed, her own smile escaping. “For all the grief that man has given me over the last six years, surely you can’t blame me for taking advantage of a glaring weakness he kept hidden? All this time, I’ve had to listen to how all powerful and potent he is when the mere rocking of a tiny wave sends him scurrying to hang his prideful head over the side of the boat. I had no idea. But it explains all those lame excuses he’s invented to avoid going out on the bay with us.”

  “Dangerous for him to have you know this weakness.” Maylen settled back comfortably against the polished wood of the small craft and crossed her short legs. “Your brother complained just the other day that I pay too much attention to how you abuse Anders.”

  “Good.” I trailed a hand over the side through the cold waters of the Jendlan River. We sailed upstream toward the Keshtang Mountains, the source of the gems and minerals Spreebridge hoped to sell through the fledgling trade between our kingdoms. Meravan, our other major trade partner, couldn’t offer such goods, a fact that the crafty Spreebridge elders used in their negotiations. The Keshtang Mountains loomed closer in the distance, separating Tuldamoran from Spreebridge, just north of the Duchy of Ardsbrook. “I hope you demonstrate whatever you learn from me whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Always.” Maylen hid her grin behind a raised hand as Anders reappeared back on deck, wiping his slick brow with a wet cloth. “Feeling better?”

  “You think I don’t see that smirk, Maylen, don’t you? Everyone thinks you’re so shy and reserved, but there’s mischief in you. And you, woman,” Anders grumbled at me, taking a seat well apart from us, “you were raised in Port Alain, so you’re used to sailing with Jules and the family. Have pity.”

  “I’m used to sailing on rough seas out on the bay, not this smooth surface. But you were raised in Belbridge Cliffs. What’s your excuse?”

  “The village was well inland.”

  “Obviously.”

  Anders turned away in disgust and faced Maylen with an almost pleading look in his eyes. “How much longer do I have to suffer?”

  “As long as you remain married to Alex,” the young woman replied with a bright smile. “But if you are referring to this voyage, we are only a day’s journey from the north end of Ardsbrook.”

  Grunting, Anders shaded his eyes and squinted against the sunlight, tugging his cloak around his broad shoulders as a cold breeze swept across the deck. “I can see the Keshtang Mountains. Funny, in all the years I traveled for your mother, Alex, gathering information and spreading news, I never came this far north.”

  “You had no reason to.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Spreebridge always kept to itself until recently, so Elena’s father never interfered. The old king didn’t want to” —I bit my lip to hide a grin— “rock the boat, so to speak.”

  “Cute.”

  “I have never been across the border, but some of our scouts have traveled to Derbarry and beyond.” Maylen hugged her legs close to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. “Although the river continues through the mountain range, the boat cannot pass that way. The waters are too rough.” She covered a smile as Anders’s skin turned a pale shade of green. “Besides, border guards block the route, forcing all travelers to go by land through Coglan Pass. Even though the queen is negotiating trade now between our kingdoms, Spreebridge gets edgy every now and then and watches who comes and goes with more scrutiny. As they do now. But there have always been travelers between the two lands.”

  “For legitimate purposes?” I asked, intrigued at this version of neighborly relations that only a sneaky Glynnswood scout would know.

  “Some, but most not. Although formal trade has never existed,” the scout explained, stifling a yawn with polite motion, “Marain Valley wine has been known to grace the tables of some Spreebridge elders.”

  “Well, at least they have good taste. Maybe we can steal a bottle or two for our time and trouble.”

  “That’s unethical,” Anders scolded, eying the deck with alarm as a small fishing boat passed by, causing us to rock. “Assuming that this boat doesn’t sink. Since it can’t travel as far north as we’d like to go, we’ll have to make other arrangements.”

  “Alex and I thought it best to—”

  “When did you two have time to decide anything?” Anders interrupted Maylen with a suspicious glance at me.

  “We’ve had a number of hours alone while you were, ah, plunging your head over the railing.” I smirked, jerking my hand from the water as a fish swam by.

  Anders turned a darker shade of green. “Don’t remind me.” Narrowing his eyes to slits, he stared at Maylen. “Well? You said you had a plan.”

  Forgiving his nausea-induced curtness, the scout shrugged slender shoulders and wrapped her cloak tighter around her body to keep out the chill breeze that seemed to increase every mile we sailed north. “We thought it best to leave the boat before we reach the border and avoid Coglan Pass. There’s a small dock a few miles south of the mountains, where some, ah, shady and disreputable characters often disembark.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I am a Glynnswood scout.”

  “No offense” —Anders wiped his brow again— “but you’re a forest scout. Besides, you just said you haven’t traveled this far north.”

  “I have not crossed the border, but I have traveled this far north. Many times,” Maylen added, her smile mischievous. “How else could Glynnswood scouts uphold our reputation and be of such use to our people and the queen?”

  Anders digested her words for a moment. “Then what? Do you propose we walk across the border?”

  “Yes.” I eyed Anders with skepticism, judging his condition. “You should be all right once you’re on land.”

  “Alex, that is not the only worry. You—” Maylen’s voice, as her words faded, held just the right amount of hesitation to make me suspicious.

  Drying my fingers on the edge of my cloak, I folded my arms across my chest and glared. “I what?”

  “There is a way to avoid border inspection at Coglan Pass and possible trouble if anyone should recognize you or Anders.”

  “I see.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Anders grumbled.

  Maylen cleared her throat with great delicacy and studied the smooth, worn planks beneath her feet, tracing the grain of the wood with one sun-browned finger.

  “I’m waiting with admirable patience,” I said, tapping a swift rhythm with my fingers against my arm, as I locked gazes with our evasive scout, instinct in an utter uproar over what she would admit.

  “There is a, well, a—” Her smile was feeble. “A smaller, little-known pass exists through the Keshtang Mountains.”

  “How little-known?”

  “Very.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t even have a name.”

  Maylen’s eyes went very wide. “Oh, but it does.” When I continued tapping, she shot me a wry apologetic grin. “Lunatic’s Crossing.”

  “How very
reassuring.”

  “Your father said—”

  “My father?” With that addition, I practically jumped down Maylen’s throat. “My father said something about this pass?” When Maylen nodded, eyes wide, likely wondering whether I’d throttle her in my father’s absence, I threw up my hands in disgust. “He couldn’t take the civilized route? I’ll even wager he carved out the hidden passage himself. In fact—”

  “Calm down, please, Alex. Have pity.” Anders’s eyes pleaded as his face changed colors. “You’re rocking the boat. Besides, you don’t even know why it’s called that.”

  “I can well imagine, considering how hesitant our secretive young scout has been to even mention this little change of scenery until now.” I stared at Maylen, whose face turned bright crimson with guilt. “Well?”

  “There are narrow passages and cliffs and— Alex, it might be best if you could see for yourself.”

  “Bridges?” I demanded, when the poor woman couldn’t force the word past her lips. “I know there has to be a perilous bridge somewhere, or my father wouldn’t have sworn you to secrecy. And if there’s one that’s anything like that bridge in Edgecliff—” My threat to Anders faded as I shuddered, remembering the terror I’d felt, “I’ll—”

  What would I do? What could I do?

  “I’ll carry you across.” Anders winked at Maylen. “And she makes fun of me being queasy on a riverboat.”

  “All you do is throw up. My heart can stop on a bridge. What if these crazy northerners have a different interpretation of the word ‘bridge’?” I continued ranting, already feeling cold sweat trickle down my back. “I’m doomed.”

  “A bridge is a bridge. You’ll see.”

  * * * *

  “I’ll wait here.”

  It was obviously that a bridge in Port Alain, or even Edgecliff, was not a bridge in the sparsely populated Keshtang Mountains. My heart dropped to my feet in clear horror when I saw the northern version of a bridge. Far, far worse than the bridge in Edgecliff…which still haunted my dreams every now and then.

  How could I possibly cross this abomination?

  We’d left the boat quietly at Plymborne-on-Jendlan, just south of the border in the Duchy of Ardsbrook, and trudged up through the rough foothills of the Keshtang Mountains without a single problem, until this point. Crossing the pass to reach Derbarry by this circuitous route and find Kimmer Frehan was impossible. No sane person could have conceived the suicidal, intricate, zig-zagged rope bridges that spanned the chasm.

  Only a lunatic, indeed.

  The bridge over Jendlan Falls, north of Port Alain, was a breeze, a short swift gallop, compared to this nightmare. The bridge at Edgecliff, though terrifying, at least offered a plunge into the river and a scant chance of survival. But the bridge in the Keshtang Mountains, appropriately named Lunatic’s Crossing, offered a plunge into a black, bottomless ravine, annihilation, and a painful death. My vivid imagination painted the scene in my mind in excruciating detail.

  “I’ll wait here,” I repeated, when neither Anders nor Maylen responded to my earlier comment.

  Anders stood at my back, hands resting on my shoulders. “Unlike my poor judgment in Edgecliff,” he said quietly, running a hand along the back of my neck, “I’ll change the rope here to stone and you’ll be able to cross without worry the bridges will sway.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I’m the great and esteemed Crownmage, Alex, and I’m on solid ground. No more puking. Of course, I can.”

  “You can’t.”

  Anders peered around my shoulder to stare at me, hearing in my voice indisputable fact. “Why not?”

  “The rope isn’t natural. It’s made of some peculiar fiber.”

  Cool seagray eyes, filled with skepticism, didn’t blink. “How can you tell?”

  “I was raised in Port Alain,” I said evenly, fighting the urge to flee. “I’ve tied more sailors’ knots than you could ever dream about. Trust me.”

  “Well,” Anders began, sounding unconvinced, “At least, let me try.” With confidence, though knowing full well my fear wasn’t imagined, Anders faced the nearest span and concentrated on nudging his mage talent awake. I watched my husband’s rugged face as his calm features transformed from confidence to confusion and, finally, to defeat, his shoulders slumping in resignation. Sending Maylen a sidelong glance, Anders turned a somber gaze in my direction. “We’ll take each span very slowly. Maylen and I won’t let you cross alone.”

  I set my pack down on the ledge. “I’ll take my chances by boat. I should be able to bribe a local to cross the border.”

  “Fine.” Another glance at Maylen. “Then we’ll meet you at the dock in Derbarry. Be careful, and don’t trust anyone. Let’s go, Maylen. We’re wasting time. I want to reach the end of the passage before dark.”

  Without another word, Anders blew me a kiss as though he were heading into Port Alain for the day, tested the narrow span for steadiness, and began to cross. Maylen followed him in silent concentration, her pretty face neutral, guilty eyes avoiding mine. Envious and yet appalled that Anders would leave me behind to take a separate route, I watched them inch their way over the first span, testing each one before and after crossing. Anders never looked back, didn’t see my wet cheeks or clenched fists, or hear my angry, terrified, whispered curses. I lost sight of them as the chasm veered westward. By that time, my sight was so blurry from tears, I wouldn’t have noticed Anders if he stood on my toes. Forlorn, I leaned back against the cool cliff face, lonelier than I’d been in a long, long time.

  Lonely and lost and sorry for myself.

  No mage talent. No courage. Not a drop of self-respect.

  With a rough move, I wiped my eyes and cheeks with the back of my hand. I’d come this far to find my enemy. I didn’t need to be one to myself.

  Shouldering my heavy pack and strapping it firmly in place, I took a deep breath and a tentative, shaky step toward the first bridge. Clutching the rope tight, knuckles stretched white with strain, I refused to look down or even think about looking down. I put one foot cautiously on the span, and whimpered as the bridge swayed, though it steadied swiftly. The lunatic who built the bridge wasn’t a complete fool. Stronger than it looked, the span held firm. Shutting out the void below, the cliffs to either side of me, and the never-ending sway of the rope, I lost count of my steps and the spans, focusing only on my boots, setting one foot in front of the other for what seemed a lifetime.

  Until I bumped my head into Anders’s chest as he caught me at the last span, holding me close without a word.

  * * * *

  “Be honest. Was this border crossing my father’s idea of a jest or was he exacting vengeance for all those years I was angry at him?”

  Maylen, usually ready with an answer, was at a complete and utter loss.

  “Leave the girl alone,” Anders scolded, as he sat by my side, outstretched hand holding a chunk of raisin bread and soft cheese.

  “When we get back—” My words faded as an uneasy thought penetrated my head, a thought I had tried to deny.

  “What?” Anders peered at me, though I had the distinct impression he knew what was on my mind. He hadn’t said a word all the previous night, just tucked me into my coarse bedroll and held me close until I stopped shivering and banished the fear to murky dreams.

  “Do we have to go back that way?”

  “Depends on what we find in Derbarry.”

  “Hmm.” Considering his vague answer, I stared past Maylen, lost in thought, and suddenly grinned. “I suppose,” I drawled, batting my eyelashes at my husband, “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  As Anders shoved me over, Maylen smiled in obvious relief. She’d been worried, keeping it well hidden from me. Now that the mischief had returned, I indulged a perverse urge to rattle the girl. “Well?” I demanded.

  Confused, Maylen stared at me, wariness in her eyes. “Well what?”

  “Was it a jest or vengeance?”

 
; “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that.”

  Toying with the end of her braid, she avoided looking at me, and then snapped her head up. “Alex, you know it was neither. Sernyn was very worried about you.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “He was.”

  “You could have told me about the crossing before we left Port Alain.”

  “I wanted to,” she admitted, and I didn’t doubt her intent. “But Sernyn made me promise not to say a word. He knew you would fret from the moment you left Glynnswood.”

  “I’m so pleased to know that everyone has the highest confidence in me. I— Oh, forget it.” The truth was that everyone’s fierce overprotectiveness stung. Irrational maybe, but I’d managed well enough for most of my life without the whole Keltie tribe worrying about me. Having only the Barlows and Elena fret was more than enough to handle.

  “Lady Barlow,” Anders smoothly cut into my thoughts, “will be interested to hear you’re feeling sorry for yourself again.” I sent Anders a black look, which he ignored. “Whenever you’re ready to move on—” He brushed a lock of gray-streaked hair from his face and kissed the tip of my nose.

  “Why don’t you go first,” I growled, “so I can shove you headfirst down the slope.”

  “Maylen is our scout.” Anders kissed my lips this time. “And I’m rear guard.”

  “Then guard my rear.”

  “That’s my plan.”

  * * * *

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but Derbarry was no different than any medium-sized inland town in Tuldamoran, except it was colder. We stopped to catch our breath not far from the loading docks and to make discreet inquiries for decent lodging.

  Anders shaded his eyes against the late afternoon glare, searching the busy dock for a harmless bystander to interrogate. Scanning the crowd, his body stiffened as he lowered his arm and stepped backward, out of sight.

  “What is it?” I whispered, alert to danger. When he muttered inaudible words, I persisted, “Anders, what—”

  “Hush.” He gripped my arm, eyes fixed across the calm water to the parallel dock. My stomach lurched as though I were on board a ship in rough seas when I recognized what held his rapt attention. Across the short space of water, an earnest conversation between a weathered seaman and an anxious young man was taking place.