“We’ve come far enough, I can’t feel any lessening of magic here.” Without waiting for comment from her companions, the Master Wizard stepped down the stone stars that sunk into the road before her.
Chapter 13
Kevon, Mirsa, and Bertus reached Navlia as the first snow of the season sputtered fitfully from a small patch of dark clouds overhead. Darkness was falling, but the three were eager to sleep in beds for the first time in nearly a season.
The Seeker’s appreciation of Mirsa’s magical abilities had only grown with time. The Master Wizard had done all of the preparations for shelters on the return trip, ranging from elaborate to stark depending on her mood. The two times they had encountered orcs, Mirsa had forced stairwells down, for escape, Kevon had thought at first. But moments later, with sufficient latent Earth magic gathered, Mirsa had drawn the beasts down into the ground, entombing them without a struggle. She still remained aloof, her greatest outward concern was for Bertus’s nearly fully-healed wound.
Guards at the western gate spotted the trio from a sizeable distance, and sent out a wagon to retrieve them as soon as they recognized Mirsa’s black robes.
“We’re expected, I trust?” Mirsa quipped as the wagon, flanked by riders, turned sharply in front of them.
“Mirsa Magus!” A herald cried from horseback, coughing as the dust of their swift approach washed over him. “Prince Alacrit requests an audience with you immediately!”
Mirsa continued walking until she was a few paces from the herald’s mount. “My friends and I,” she began, “Will bathe, change, and meet the Prince for a late supper.”
The herald’s eyes widened, but Mirsa’s narrowed, and he spun his horse around, lashed it with the reins, and galloped back toward the city gates. Attendants helped the three adventurers into the wagon, and followed the herald at a more reasonable pace. Torches flared to life on the city walls as darkness settled in. Archers and Mages were visible on the parapets, clustered together, watchful of the deepening night.
“The attacks have spread this far?” Bertus asked over the rumbling of the wagon. No one answered.
The city gates remained open wide until the wagon passed through, but began closing as soon as the escorted conveyance was clear. The wagon and surrounding riders sped up, the only traffic on the eerily empty streets.
The gates to the Palace lay open, the herald that had greeted them waited fretfully in the torchlight, neck craning to scan the sky. As they approached, he wheeled his mount around and led them through the outer courtyard, under raised portcullises and other layers of castle defenses.
The wagon circled as wide as it could in the innermost courtyard before the Palace, and stopped near the entrance. Servants spilled out of the palace gates, and jostled to help Mirsa down.
“Attend to these two, then bring them to me.” Mirsa ordered before marching into the palace, with several servants rushing after.
Kevon and Bertus helped themselves down from the vehicle, glad to be on solid ground after the wild ride over the cobbled streets. The royal attendants led them inside, up curling marble staircases to the guest quarters, where baths were drawn and waiting. They washed quickly, ignoring the cries of their travel-weary bodies to linger longer in the nearly scalding tubs.
Dressed in borrowed finery, they were shepherded down the hallways, deeper into the building, until they reached Mirsa’s quarters. The head attendant rapped knuckles on the silver-trimmed oaken door, and whispered to the servant who cracked open the door a moment later.
“Bring them in!” Mirsa snapped, already annoyed at the overprotective fawning of the servants. “If they were going to try anything, it would have been weeks ago, on the road, not here, surrounded by soldiers.”
The door opened and they were ushered into a large room lined with bookcases, filled with tables and sculptures, except for one corner near the fireplace, where a small bed, chair, and low table stacked with books huddled cozily together.
“Relax for a moment,” Mirsa called from the adjacent room. “I’ll be done shortly.”
Kevon scanned the bookshelves for interesting looking titles, noting that all of the books involving magic were confined to the shelf nearest Mirsa’s bed. Histories, almanacs, and exhaustive reports on all manner of subjects took up the bulk of the other shelves. Kevon plucked one at random, and opened it.
The Griffin, once thought to be a myth, is now considered by some scholars to be a real, albeit extinct, creature. Kevon frowned and continued reading. Bones found in caves on the Spire Islands to the south of Kærtis are the primary evidence for this. Bones that appear to be from either large eagles or lions, but too large for either, have been found among other broken bones that would seem to be the creature’s prey.
Kevon closed the book and returned it to the shelf as Mirsa entered the room, and his breath caught as he saw her. She wore a simply cut dress of deep, shimmering violet, her Mage’s rank evident only in the mid-length black cape that hung off her shoulders. Her hair was a complex mixture of braids, ringlets, and unbound straight lengths that exposed most of her neckline.
Suddenly aware that both he and Bertus were staring, Kevon cleared his throat. “Shall we go?”
Mirsa nodded and swept past them. “We should have any resources we require by the end of dinner,” she commented demurely.
The Seeker followed, conflicted by his appreciation of Mirsa’s attire, and thoughts of Marelle and Waine.
The Mage’s retinue swarmed around and ushered them down to a large dining chamber, where Carlo and three other men sat at a long table laden with food. Mirsa walked over and sat across from Carlo, at the right hand of the man who could only be Alacrit ‘ip Kært . Kevon and Bertus were seated next to Carlo, across from two wizened older men, one who Kevon recognized as a royal advisor.
“Briltor Magus,” Mirsa whispered, clasping the hand of the remaining stranger. “It has been years. You must tell me what you have been about.”
Carlo blanched at the Wizard’s name, but shifted his attention to Kevon. “Where is Waine?” he asked. “I’d think he wouldn’t miss this for…”
Kevon shook his head. “He fell, at the heart of the blight. He and Mirsa helped us get there, and what we accomplished should stem the attacks.”
“The creatures have ranged this far, at least.” The Prince spoke for the first time. “Their incursions have been swift, and savage, but to hear the returned members of Carlo’s company, nothing like what they experienced on the road.”
Mirsa turned and addressed Alacrit. “The wisest course of action would be to send groups to seek out nests during the day. The source of the invasion has been stanched, but they may still breed here. The other matter still remains to be…”
“Need we spread alarm with this?” Kevon interrupted. “You said that it could be dealt with…”
“I shall have the Commander gather intelligence and send out patrols.” The Prince announced, nodding toward Carlo. “As to alarming news from the west, what could be so grievous? We already cower indoors at night, and are more watchful during the day than we ever were in wartime.”
“Perhaps it is best if this were handled quietly,” Mirsa agreed, glaring toward Kevon. “We ask only a day or two to rest and prepare, then we shall take our leave.”
“… And?” Alacrit asked, bewildered. “What troops will you require? What supplies? Surely…”
“I require nothing but my Art, and the company of my two friends,” Mirsa replied, placing her hand over the prince’s. “Together, we stopped the flow of demons into Kærtis. I trust them as no others.”
“If I might suggest,” Kevon interrupted, “Perhaps it would be best if we had more military experience with us. There may be a need for an extra sword,” he said, looking at Carlo.
“Commander, if you would assign a detail to…”
“Many pardons, my Prince,” Carlo interjected, “But I will not risk any more men on this foolishness. I’ll see these three back to whatever
light-forsaken task they wish, and will have answers for you when we return.”
“And who will direct our forces here?” the Prince asked, his gaze drifting back to Mirsa.
“Blademaster Marco arrived this past week, and has been staying at the Guild,” Carlo answered. “He came looking for adventure. He’s capable enough, and spoiling for a fight. Marco would enjoy organizing patrols and hunting parties, not as much as leading them, but I daresay he’ll be doing that too.”
The Blademaster cleared his throat. “Besides, I think I’m ready for this mission, ready for some real answers.”
Bertus fidgeted, looking away, but Kevon nodded in agreement.
“We would welcome the Blademaster, it’s more than we could have hoped for,” Kevon agreed. “Thank you, your highness, Commander.”
“Nonsense,” Alacrit countered. “It appears that we should be thanking you.”
Kevon lowered his gaze. “There are others who have given far more to this cause than I…”
The Prince raised his goblet. “Here’s to them, that have given their all, in service to the Realm, and to Men. Please, no more business. Feast, celebrate, enjoy the rewards that honorable service affords.”
I’m not sure how cleaning up a mess I helped make counts as ‘honorable service’, Kevon thought as he speared a slice of roasted pheasant to put on his plate. But I am hungry. The low conversation and bustle of the hovering servants reminded him of the last time he’d feasted with Carlo, before he’d met Waine. Kevon’s world had only begun becoming complicated then, he’d had only a vague notion of the evil that lurked ahead. Unlike that night so long ago, there was no singing, and Kevon drank sparingly, wanting nothing to dull the proper mourning he finally allowed himself for Waine, and to some extent, for Marelle and Rhulcan.
Mirsa chatted with Briltor Magus, the younger Master seemed to enjoy being considered an equal to her former mentor. Not wanting to appear too interested in the conversation between the Wizards, Kevon turned to Carlo.
“How did the Company fare after we left?” he asked the Blademaster
“We lost two more men the following night,” Carlo answered, “And a third died of his wounds a week later. It seemed that we outran them, then the attacks started in the city five days ago.” Carlo’s eyes narrowed. “How did you three make it through?”
“Underground. It…” Kevon chuckled at Carlo’s puzzled look. “You’ll see. It’ll be easier that way.”
Kevon focused on his food for a while as Bertus chatted over him to Carlo. He could tell from the Commander’s attitude that he had not read the letter that he’d been given before they parted. I wonder what made him change his mind.
“A Blademaster, a Master Wizard, and you two…” The Prince said, looking at Kevon and Bertus. “How do you two fit into this?”
The talk around the table murmured to a halt.
Kevon cleared his throat. “Bertus is an excellent cook… And me?” He struggled for words. “Things… just happen to me. I deal with them.”
“Ahh… Like the hero Adnoros, from the fables…” Prince Alacrit mused.
Kevon shook his head, frowning. “I’m not familiar with it.”
“An average man, he brought together the mighty and the wise to accomplish great deeds.” the Prince pronounced, raising his goblet to Kevon. “May you fare… better than he.”
Kevon raised his cup and drank. “This Adnoros sounds interesting. What befell him?”
“Having neither great strength, nor dealings in the ways of the wise, he only managed to garner their cooperation in times of extreme need…” Alacrit said, eyes twinkling. “At all other times, they conspired against each other, and against him. His death marked the beginning of the Wars of Man.”
With the other races subdued, Men turned on each other, Kevon thought. They may turn on me before I have the chance to make things right. “I shall do my best to gather my own strength, and listen closely to the counsel of all, to avoid such a fate.”
“Spoken like royalty,” the Prince murmured. “I look forward to your return.”
Taking one last draught of his wine, the Prince pushed back his chair and stood. “Stay, eat, be refreshed. I must retire, but will see you off as you leave.” With that, he turned and strode away, deeper into the palace, guards appearing in the hallway to escort him away.
Bertus elbowed Kevon in the ribs. “Average…” he whispered, grinning.
Kevon shot Bertus a chilling glance, and the youth turned his attention back to his plate. He ate his fill, and pushed his plate away. Bertus finished minutes later.
“If you will excuse us,” Carlo said, standing and addressing the Magi and the other remaining Advisor.
Mirsa nodded, and resumed her chat with Briltor Magus.
The Blademaster led Kevon and Bertus down through the labyrinthine stairs and halls to the barracks, and showed them to a room where their belongings were already waiting. “If we can make arrangements quick enough, we’ll leave morning after tomorrow,” he commented as he started to leave.
“The letter…” Kevon asked, sticking his foot out to stop the closing door.
“The last man to read one of your letters… ended badly.” The Blademaster shrugged. “I threw it in the fire.”
Chapter 14
Kevon woke later than usual, and lingered in bed until his conscience overrode his weary bones. The borrowed clothing from the previous night was nowhere to be seen, and a uniform much like the one Carlo was wearing lay folded neatly on the table. Kevon dressed, taking his time to make sure the uniform was presentable, before he opened the door.
“Good morning, Sir,” a young cadet greeted Kevon, saluting sharply. “If you will follow me, the ceremony at the Guild will begin shortly.”
Unsure of what the guardsman meant, but sure it was something Carlo had planned, Kevon nodded and fell into step without question. They marched down the narrow hallways and out to the stables, where two saddled horses waited. Moments later, they were outside the palace compound, slowing their mounts to a canter to compensate for the bustle of the midmorning streets.
After a brief ride, the two dismounted in front of the Warrior’s Guild, and handed the horses over to waiting grooms. The young guardsmen rapped on the door, and he and Kevon were ushered inside.
The common room was filled, nearly every seat was taken, and groups stood in the open spaces, talking quietly. As raucous as Kevon had seen this bunch, the lack of noise was more unsettling than the unusual number gathered. The guardsman Kevon followed headed toward the back corner of the room, where a small stage rose no more than a foot above the rest of the floor.
Through the crowd, Kevon spotted Carlo as they neared the stage. Carlo saw him a few seconds later, grabbed a nearby subordinate by the shoulder, pointed first at Kevon, and then toward a nearby hallway. A hush seemed to spread throughout the already subdued room, and Carlo cleared his voice to speak.
“We are here today to honor a brother,” the Blademaster began, pausing for murmurs of assent. “A welcome addition to any Guildhall he happened to find himself in, not one for ceremony or fuss, but always eager to share his ale, or yours, over a story or two.”
“Waine, like several others recently, gave his life in the attempt to stop the tide of evil that washes over our land from the West.” Carlo paused, until Kevon reached the front of the crowd. “I have it on good authority that he came closest to succeeding in that attempt. The demons have been cut off, their numbers dwindle. Marco will organize and no doubt lead hunts to destroy those still living, while I return to make sure the threat is no more.”
Murmurs ran through the gathered Warriors, and Carlo nodded, raising his hands to them.
“I know you want to know more. As do I. I’ll have the answers when I return. For now…”
The Warrior Carlo had directed out of the room returned with a large wooden chest, and placed it on the platform in front of Carlo.
“I turn this gathering over to the last Gu
ildsman to see Waine, to dispense with his belongings. Kevon?” Carlo stepped away, and sat down in a chair near the back wall.
The occupants of the room shifted to focus their attention on Kevon. The Seeker stepped up onto the raised stage and circled around the wooden box. He stood, staring at it for a moment before speaking.
“Waine was…” Kevon began, scratching his head. “Arrogant. Reckless. Many things that were important to others were a joke to him.”
The murmurs that had quieted moments ago, returned, darker.
“But when it really mattered, he was there.” Kevon continued, speaking over the mob. “There was no one I would rather have at my side if the fate of Ærth was at stake. He was there. He made a difference. I’ll miss him as much as anyone.”
“I’ve been fortunate enough to not attend one of these before,” Kevon added, “So I’m at a loss for what to do.”
“Open the box!” came a shout from somewhere in the middle of the room.
Kevon nodded and slid the nameplate free to undo the catches behind it. He took a deep breath and lifted the lid.
The sword that lay from corner to corner across the top of the rest of the contents caught and held Kevon’s attention. He lifted it out, the touch of the cool steel evoking memories of times he practiced against it. He pulled the blade halfway clear of its sheath. “I know I’ll never forget Waine, but carrying this would surely help me remember more clearly.”
“It’s your right,” rumbled Carlo from behind Kevon.
Kevon set the sword aside for himself, and the skinning knife he saved for Bertus. The top few articles of clothing that lay beneath them he assigned to others in the crowd who called out when they were raised into view.
Closing the box on the remainder of Waine’s belongings, Kevon announced he was placing the garments, coins, and assorted supplies into the care of the Guild quartermaster, who could determine their best use. He picked up the sword and knife, nodded to Carlo, and threaded his way through the crowd to the exit.
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