The Pogrom of Mages: The Healers of Glastamear: Volume One

by Charles Williamson

  Captain Eric said, “You sir are no normal healer. You don’t look like an elf, but you must be one in a magic human-like disguise. This is like something from the ancient fables of the Old Kingdom.”

  “I assure you, Eric, I was born to two ordinary human parents in Hearthshire Province. I’m just a human who learned some extra spells, and I’ve never seen an elf in my life.”

  Soon after the gas bag was replaced with the storm topsail, a huge flash of lightning illuminated the northern sky, and they could see the black wall of the killer storm moving toward them at a frightening speed. Soon outside the reach of the still water spell, the sea was lifted into giant waves ten paces high. The waves seemed to just lie down when they got within the radius of the spell, but the frigid spray was driven onto the deck. Soon the ferocious wind, blowing directly from the north, brought sleet and then fist-sized hail. Captain Eric took the first turn at the rudder while the others huddled with Michael in the aft cabin. Storm shutters blocked the windows and hid the fury of the Great Northern Blast, but they didn’t stop the roar of the wind and the creaking of the wooden ship.

  When the watch changed two hours after the storm began, Eric entered the cabin, and Michael got his first view of the storm in the dim dawn light. The boat seemed to be below water as waves twenty paces high slammed into the edge of the spell and crashed over it as if it were a rocky beach. They blasted water into the air higher than the mast, and it came crashing down onto the deck even though no actual waves rocked the boat.

  Eric sat next to Michael so he could speak right into his right ear to be heard over the storm. “We’d have been dead in the first few minutes of this storm without your magic.”

  “What of the other boats?” Michael mouthed the words so Eric could read his lips.

  “We were close enough to see their lanterns for the first hour, but I don’t know how they fare now. It’s for Father God to decide. On the positive side, if any of those knight protectors tried to follow us, they’re dead.”

  “How long do you think it will last?” Michael mouthed.

  Eric held up eight fingers to indicate eight more hours of hell.

  The storm lasted all that day. No one had a chance to eat or sleep, and everyone was exhausted when the main body of the storm was passed about ten hours later.

  “You three are exhausted. I don’t know much about sailing, but I can wake you if I see land or the other boats. Get some sleep, but first, show me what to do.”

  Michael manned the tiller throughout the night while the three sailors slept. At dawn the storm was well astern and the sky was clear to the north. Eric came on deck.

  Michael explained, “I think that is William’s Hope to starboard. I’ve tried to steer toward her.”

  Eric took the glass, and scanned the horizon. “You’re right; William’s Hope to the starboard and dead ahead I see the top of a mast that could only be the Naiad. We all made it.”

  By late afternoon the three boats were lashed together and a plank table was set up on the Diana for a meal of celebration for the ten survivors of a Great Northern Blast. As far as they knew, they were the only sailors to have survived one in the two thousand years since the settlement of the town of Snowport.

  They drank tankards of ale and ate the best provisions onboard, all the while telling stories about the terror of the great storm they’d survived.

  The meal was over, and it was time to get underway when Eric proposed a toast. “To Michael of Hearthshire, we owe you more than our lives, for our family members at Snow Troll Fiord would have perished this winter if we’d been sunk.”

  Michael nodded his gratitude and proposed a final toast himself. “To the finest ship builders in Glastamear and to the naiads of Black Sand Beach whose spells saved all of us.”

  There was a cheer and the shaking of hands and slapping of back before everyone went about the business of getting the three ships underway.

  Chapter 21

  The rescue ships sailed north for three more days. The weather got even colder, and they could see the seawater along the coast freeze into blue ice along the shore and even on floating logs, which looked like they were made of glass. The sky was a vivid cobalt blue, and a cold wind continued to blow from the north, requiring them to tack back and forth to make slow progress. They also had to steer around many small icebergs. As their progress slowed, the sailors grew anxious lest they reach the fiord after it had frozen shut for the winter.

  Michael used his time to study the fire mage book from Northport. To practice, he rode in the skiff, which they towed behind the Diana. He didn’t want his inexperience to set the ship on fire. He practiced on ice covered logs and small icebergs. He found that it took an especially long time for a fire spell to melt even a small iceberg; there would be no hope of melting a whole fiord. Since they had no dog sleds, it would be a long walk to the cave where Eric expected to find the healers of Snowport.

  By the time they sailed near the opening to Snow Troll Fiord, Michael had learned every spell in the fire mage’s book. He couldn’t see how he would ever need to use more than a couple of them, but being diligent in his studies was part of his personality.

  “See the troll?” Captain Eric asked at dawn on the fourth day after the storm.

  Michael saw exactly the formation Eric pointed out. It truly looked like a troll from a children’s picture book that had been turned to stone. It was a hundred paces above the water, and to be so visible it must be huge, maybe twenty paces high.

  The captain pointed at the mouth of the fiord, “It looks like it’s frozen already.”

  “Can you anchor here? We can take the skiff, you can show me the cave, and we can evacuate the healers together.”

  “You’re a brave man Michael, but the risk to everyone is that the ice may be too thin in some places. Falling through would be a quick death and a sure one. There is no path along the shore, so it’s our only choice, but even if we make it, we have over thirty people to bring out over thin ice. I’ve seen you practice with fire ball; can you melt a path through the ice for us?”

  “I’ll try, but its best to anchor the other ship so that only the Diana is in danger of being locked in the ice. Maybe the gold coin nailed to the mast will help. We’ll find a way. How will you navigate through the narrow canyon?”

  “Two of us will row the skiff, towing the Diana behind, while you stand in the front of the skiff and melt the ice. It’s only about six thousand paces; we can do it if you keep the ice at bay.”

  Six thousand paces of melting ice, Michael knew his manna was not completely inexhaustible, but since the ice was probably only a finger or two thick, he was willing to give the attempt everything he had.

  The progress was slow, and Michael was exhausted by late afternoon and felt he couldn’t make another fireball if his life depended on it. He felt dizzy and worried he would faint. Eric noticed and suggested they quit for the day. They rowed back to the Diana for the night as the sun fell behind the steep, hundred-paces-high cliffs of the fiord and the temperature began to drop. They still had about two thousand paces to go, but they expected to rescue the healers of Snowport before noon the following day.

  In the morning, the ice had closed around the Diana except for the range of the winter blanket spell, about five feet beyond the hull.

  “Well my friend, I think you just about killed yourself getting us this far yesterday. Save the rest of your fire magic to get us out of here. The ice is thick enough to walk on safely this far from the open sea. You and I can go to the cave and bring my mother and the other healers back on foot. Once they’re in the warmth of the ship with plenty of food, we can slowly get back to open water.”

  “Good plan, Eric; lead the way.” He cast manna detection spell and saw the manna of many healers in the distance around the nearby bend in the fiord.

  They rowed the skiff to the ice ledge and pulled it up out of the water so it wouldn’t freeze in place, and started their walk. Michael went first sinc
e his float spell would keep him from getting wet if they ran across a spot that wouldn’t support his weight. They found the ice was quite solid and the evacuation risk was even lower than expected.

  It was about three hours after dawn when they reached the point on the ice nearest the cave. Nothing could be seen from sea level, and only his manna spell told Michael they were there. He could tell one person was waiting outside behind a massive boulder directly above them; the rest were far inside the mountain keeping warm.

  “There is someone watching from behind that gray basalt boulder about fifteen paces up this cliff,” Michael said.

  “Hello! It’s Eric Goodfriend, Lady Marsha’s son. We came to get you out of here.”

  A strikingly beautiful young woman of Michael’s age stood up. She was wrapped in a hooded woolen blue coat, but shaking from the cold of her lookout duties.

  “Captain Eric! Thank God. We thought anyone coming to rescue us would have perished in that Great Northern Blast that came though a few days ago. The path up to the cave is over to your right; there’s a boulder we rolled over it blocking it from view.”

  Eric and Michael rolled the boulder out of the way. The path was treacherous. A four-inch coating of ice made it nearly impassable, so Michael used a few fireballs to clear the path. They slowly made their way up to the cave mouth.

  Eric introduced the gorgeous fair-haired girl as Christy of the White Mountains. Michael thought she seemed reserved and apprehensive, probably because of the fear that she might have been stranded.

  “Pleased to meet you Christy. If you’ll lead us to the others, we may be able to get back to our ship before it gets dark.” Michael smiled; if he weren’t completely committed to Diana, Christy might be someone he wanted to know much better.

  She nodded in greeting and said, “I’ll stay on guard, go on in.”

  When Michael turned to follow Eric into the cave, he saw the shadow of the motion of the rock as Christy brought it down on his skull. Then he remembered only slumping to the ground in total surprise before he passed out.

  Chapter 22

  “But mother, he’s here to rescue you,” Michael heard Captain Eric say.

  Michael could feel the hands of a healer on the back of his skull, using the anti-concussion spell. His hands and feet were bound. He kept his eyes closed and listened.

  “He fooled you my son. He’s a fire mage; he must be a knight protector in disguise.”

  “I saw him cast fire balls to melt the ice on the path. No healer can do that,” Christy said. “He’s here to murder us.”

  Christy was using healing spells on him at the same time she condemned him as a knight protector. That was the true nature of healers Michael thought; even if he really were an enemy, they would do everything possible to heal him.

  Eric’s voice indicated some doubt. “It’s true he used fire magic to get us this far into the ice-blocked fiord, but he can also still the waves of a Great Northern Blast. He saved us from a cold and watery death using a spell he said he learned from the naiad at Black Sand Beach. He healed hundreds of people in Snowport while we were waiting for the boats to be ready. There’s no way he faked that. The man is a healer even though he claimed to be a pearl merchant. He’s a healer and more.”

  Michael opened his eyes. He was not in a true cave; the square room had glass-smooth black walls and a dimpled black floor with shelves of stone for sleeping along one wall. The ceiling glowed uniformly with an unnatural pale blue light. It was just like all the dwarf homes he knew from ancient tales. He cast tiny fire spells to break his bonds and sat up.

  “Lady Marsha, I’m Michael, the apprentice of William of Hearthshire Town. I’m no priest or knight protector. I’m a healer like you.”

  Lady Marsha gasped, “Then you truly are the elf-blood of Gripton’s promise; thank Father God you’ve finally come and at the time of our greatest need. The members of the council knew about you when you joined the guild, but your elf-blood nature was merely a hope. We knew of the strength of your manna, but not if you could do other forms of magic like fire, water, and earth.”

  “The naiads taught me water magic, and I found an ancient tome of fire magic when I broke into the dungeon below the temple in Northport to rescue Lady Agnes and the other mages they were holding.”

  “You broke into the temple dungeon, impossible!” Christy said.

  “The naiads taught me transparency and submerge manna making me invisible to the guards. I enchanted rings with submerge manna so the five of us couldn’t be detected. Lady Agnes and three other healers, actually maybe six healers by now, are waiting at Black Sand Beach. There is a safe place where Lord Hampton, Bursar Childes and Arthur of Westport Hospital are waiting for all of you to join them.”

  “And William, did he reach safety?” Lady Marsha asked.

  “They got him before I met the naiads; I’m told he used heart stop, so they didn’t learn anything from him.”

  “I’m very sorry; I know you were close.”

  “Thank you. He was a wonderful teacher and friend.” Michael withdrew his bag of enchanted rings. “These rings will hide your manna; you must all wear them continuously until we reach the safe place where Guild Master Hampton is waiting.”

  Lady Marsha looked concerned. “No human has been able to enchant rings and amulets since the Legends Times. The church will have every knight protector in Glastamear searching for you if they ever learn you can do this as well as fire and water magic.”

  “Michael, do you know this place?” Lady Marsha asked.

  “It is clearly dwarf construction and probably ancient. Are there dwarves still here?”

  “No dwarves have lived her for at least two thousand years. It’s mentioned in the guild’s ancient history texts; it’s called Gripton’s hole or Gripton’s refuge in old elfish. We came here because we knew it was warm no matter what the weather outside and because no priests know about it or would think of looking for us this far north.”

  “It’s a wonder to see it in perfect shape after twenty centuries. They truly build to last, my lady. Please take this bag of rings and distribute them to hide our healers’ manna. We’d best get started back to the boat.”

  “No Michael. There’s something you must see first, even if it forces us to wait for tomorrow to evacuate. There is a chamber at the end of this passage that no one can enter, except perhaps you. Please follow me. Christy, distribute those rings and let our friends know help has arrived.”

  Lady Marsha and Michael walked along a corridor lined with reliefs of dwarves in battle with mythical beasts, or engaged in other heroic tasks. Each figure had jewels for eyes but otherwise was the same black obsidian as the walls and floors. A series of vacant rooms opened from the corridor in what once had been a substantial community of several hundred. After about twenty minutes they reached the end of the hallway. It ended in a single door of shinny metal, maybe steel, Michael thought.

  On either side of the door, stood enormous metal effigies, each reaching five paces high, almost to the ceiling. One was a dwarf in full armor that held a giant hammer. The other was a male elf warrior with a two-handed sword of the ancient fighting style of the Lana swordsmen of the dawn of history.

  On the door’s lentil was written in flowing elfish script, Gripton’s Refuge. Lady Marsha motioned to him to stand back, and she took two steps forward. The statues moved, abruptly crossing the hammer and the sword in front of the door, and Lady Marsha quickly jumped back and grinned at Michael.

  “I thought that with your transparency spell they might let you pass. Our ancient lore holds that Gripton left this place for the elf-blood who would be born someday.”

  Michael removed the ring he’d enchanted with submerge manna and handed it to Lady Marsha and took two cautious steps forward. The golems stepped back to their rest position recognizing elf-like manna in him.

  He saw the elfish words for a powerful healing spell used to knit bones. It took tremendous manna to perfectly align b
roken bones and knit them together. He could cast it even though normally only masters with many decades of experience knew it. He cast knit bones and reached for the beam that blocked the door. It slid easily and soundlessly out of the way.

  The door opened to reveal a second room with a red door at the end. A red stone dragon’s head protruded from each sidewall. A stream of smoke rose from their stone nostrils. The lintel above the coppery red door had the elfish words,“Fire Trap, BEWARE!”

  The door was blocked with a beam that had the words of a spell that Michael had read about but never tried even in practice. Michael was uncertain what the words asbestos robe meant, but the spell book from the Northport temple described it as protection from fire. He took off his fine fox-lined coat and tossed it back to Lady Marsha, incongruously not wanting it not to be burned in case he was immolated. He cast asbestos robe and walked forward through a sea of fire that blasted from the mouths of the stone dragons and rose from holes in the floor. He didn’t even feel its warmth.

  When the fire stopped he heard screaming from behind. He turned and saw Lady Marsha with her hand to her face. He called out, “I’m OK. Don’t worry.” He opened the red door.

  Ahead was no room, just a rectangular pool of frigid water. He cast water breath and warm blanket, and jumped into the fifteen-paces deep pool. It was a long ten-minute swim through the airless corridor to the ladder that led up to the next door.

  It was a stone door with the word WELCOME carved on the lintel. It opened easily to his push, and revealed things that might change the world.

  Chapter 23

  The room Michael entered was about twenty paces by forty paces, and every surface including the ceiling was covered with astonishingly beautiful elfish paintings of some fantasyland of ancient times. Dwarfish statues stood on either side of the entrance holding huge ebony war hammers. Michael understood they would bring instant death to a thief who did not belong in this sacred room. There was a huge golden chest in the center, four paces by three paces. Behind the chest was a reading stand with a single book. A magic light, bright enough to read by, glowed in the air above the book.