“Carlo!” Bertus called, leveling his own loaded weapon at the Blademaster. “Don’t.”
“I would also advise against it,” Mirsa added, letting a glimmer of fire light above the tip of her readied staff.
“If you want to chase him around, that’s fine,” Bertus said, grinning. “We’d prefer you left the sword, but that’s up to you.”
“You’ve all known?”
“I nearly killed him myself,” Mirsa commented, “I would have, if not for Waine.”
“Waine knew?” Carlo scoffed. “That one couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.”
“He was the first to know,” Kevon said, sitting halfway along the side of the ramp opening, dangling his legs off the edge. “Right after we parted ways in the forest south of Eastport. If not for his acceptance of my situation, and his help in my training, I would have had no chance of defeating Gurlin.”
“Before the expedition West,” Carlo muttered, and sheathed his sword. “All three of you told me I wasn’t ready to know what was going on.” The Blademaster shook his head. “He did know.”
“He pushed me to become better at everything I was capable of,” Kevon said, no longer looking at Carlo, but gazing off into the distance. “He knew I would need to be at my best.”
“Make no mistake,” Carlo warned, “This is not right, it is an abomination. If things were different, if what we faced was in truth as simple as you claim it is, I would make you choose between the sword and the book. I will accept this heresy for now, but I do not like it.”
The Blademaster turned to his stallion and began affixing blinders to the harness. “What are you waiting for? Finish the accursed shelter!” he barked at Mirsa.
Kevon watched as Mirsa put away her staff, dismounted, and moved past Carlo, down the ramp. He stood and returned to the road to help Bertus with the rest of the horses, but could feel the magic working as Mirsa sculpted rooms and wrestled water sources into place to feed fountains.
Bertus led his horse alongside Mirsa’s down the ramp into the darkness as soon as the blinders were in place. Kevon moved to his steed, and worked while Carlo waited.
“After you,” Carlo gestured in an exaggerated fashion.
Kevon shrugged. “I didn’t know how close to the entrance you wanted to be when Mirsa closes it back up.”
Carlo’s eyes narrowed, but he held his ground, following only when Kevon was halfway down the entrance ramp.
Kevon led his stallion to a stall molded from subterranean granite. He tied the reins to a stone post near a small grain-filled depression near the front of the enclosure, where a trough of fresh water gurgled quietly by before sluicing back down into the earth.
“A bit more elaborate than we’re used to,” Kevon commented, peering around the corner, down a hallway to the other chamber Mirsa had fashioned. “Of course, last trip, we didn’t have the luxury of horses.”
Carlo grunted, his gaze more one of appraisal than appreciation. The Blademaster finished getting his stallion settled in, and joined Kevon at the beginning of the passage where Bertus and Mirsa had disappeared. “So, is she going to…”
He followed Carlo’s gaze back to the entrance, where the space above the ramp was closing noiselessly.
“Oh.” Carlo said, his tone betraying more concern than he would normally allow. “What happens to us if something happens to you? How would we get out?”
Kevon shrugged, and started down the stone passageway.
They emerged into a partial reconstruction of the common room area of the Warrior’s Guildhall in Navlia. Several stone tables and chairs sat near a sand-filled pit. Glowing orbs ensconced around the room threw eerie shadows as Kevon and Carlo moved about.
“Someone’s just showing off!” Kevon called into the other darkened hallway that led from the room. He ran his fingers over the surface of one of the tables, the patterns in the rock twisted to look like wood.
“I thought familiar surroundings would… help things,” Mirsa said, emerging from the passageway. “The rooms are ready, and Bertus is preparing supper in the kitchen.”
Carlo pulled a chair out and set about cleaning his sword. Kevon took a seat across the table and began to do the same.
“Boy,” Carlo rumbled, “Perhaps you’d best…”
“No.” Kevon answered quietly. “I am still the Warrior you helped train, helped inspire. You made me most of what I am today. I ran earlier because I knew you were acting out of surprise. I won’t avoid you just because I’m also a Mage.” Kevon sighed. “You didn’t try to kill me when you found out I’d taken up Blacksmithing. And in all fairness, I was a Mage before I even met you.”
Carlo harrumphed, and continued the inspection of his weapon.
The Seeker’s gaze drifted past Carlo to the table where Mirsa sat, covering her mouth to hide the beginnings of a smile. The mannerism reminded him momentarily of Marelle, and his guts twisted in knots.
“There’s another matter we haven’t discussed,” Kevon began.
“What the blazes is it now?” Carlo growled, nostrils flaring.
Kevon hesitated, his throat tightening as he searched for the right words. “When we returned to Navlia, Waine, Bertus, and I, before the expedition West… We heard news… From Eastport.”
The Blademaster’s gaze swept over his sword, and he resheathed it without further inspection. “Rhulcan, and Marelle?”
The Warsmith nodded, and kept silent.
“Bertus told me,” Carlo explained, “Before we left. I didn’t want to mention it until you were ready.”
“I should know more when I return to Eastport.” Kevon closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there.”
Carlo said nothing, and Kevon missed the conflicted looks as the Blademaster wrestled with the fact that his student was going against one of the major tenets of the Warrior’s Guild, but still needed his guidance. He stood and moved to the sand pit, and began his nightly sword practice. Kevon watched, but did not move to join the older man. Mirsa switched seats to sit next to Kevon and get a better view of Carlo’s workout.
The Blade master’s brow glistened with sweat by the time Bertus entered with four stone bowls filled with steaming hot stew.
“Mirsa,” the boy whispered, “That fire…”
“Already out,” the Mage replied softly, the effort Kevon hadn’t noticed before draining from her face.
She Concealed it, Kevon thought, peering at her. She didn’t want me knowing, so that I wouldn’t try and help, and upset Carlo more. It made it twice as hard on her, instead.
“Thanks,” Kevon mouthed to Mirsa while Bertus wrangled another of the heavy stone chairs over to the table, and Carlo wiped down his blade again before putting it away.
The corners of Mirsa’s mouth turned up in a quick smile that only Kevon saw. “How did the cauldron work?” she asked Bertus. “Would it be better any thinner?”
Bertus shook his head. “Any thinner would burn the food under that much heat. Also… You might want to stay closer, there were a few times the fire burned larger and hotter than I’m sure you intended.”
Mirsa’s eyes widened. “Distractions,” she agreed. “I will be more careful.”
The Blademaster sat and inspected the stone spoon for a moment before digging into the bowl of stew. “What, no ale?” he asked Bertus.
Bertus chuckled, and started on his own meal.
When all four of them had finished and pushed their plates to the middle of the table, Mirsa stood, covering a yawn. She blinked a few times, and opening her eyes wider, held her hand out over the table, fingers spread, as she began working more Earth magic.
Kevon smiled, appreciating the dramatic, though wholly unnecessary gesture that served only to alert Carlo and Bertus of the impending magic.
The edges of the stone table folded upward like a Nightflower at dawn, enveloping the used stone dishes. The table legs slid inward, twining in to a stem that pulled down into th
e floor, taking the now-closed stone bud down into the cavern floor after it.
“I suggest we retire,” the Mage said, turning to the hallway that led deeper into the artificial cavern. “This is just the beginning of this journey, and we’ve no time to waste. Travel when we can, rest when we cannot. The wards we renewed should contain the Orclord until we arrive, but there is nothing to be gained by dallying.”
“And what better place to rest than a tomb?” Carlo asked, rising and collecting his belongings.
Mirsa stood and led the way out of the room, past the small kitchen, to an intersection that opened into two sleeping quarters. She gestured, and lit candles in the room to the right, waved the other, and orb torches flared to life in the room to the left.
Carlo snorted and turned, entering the room to the right, depositing his gear on one of the raised stone slabs that was about the size of a bed.
Kevon began to follow the Blademaster, but stopped when Mirsa spoke.
“Kevon,” the Mage said quietly, looking over to the other room, then back to the Warrior.
“I’ll be fine here,” Kevon answered, and turned to continue into the candlelit chamber.
The earth all around them hummed, and dust motes swirled in the flickering light.
“You will not,” Mirsa responded, raising her voice. Kevon could feel her wrestling the earth magic back under control.
“Listen to the witch, boy,” Carlo taunted. “She’s afraid for you.”
“I am afraid for us all,” Mirsa hissed at the Commander. “Your actions earlier could have ruined our chance at destroying the Orclord, and I will not have it. I value your sword, and your experience, but his life is far more important to our cause than yours. If separating the two of you increases the chances of us undoing the wrong I helped perpetuate…”
Kevon could see the magic in his mind, moving currents of earth far below them, he could feel the ground shuddering from the stress.
“Now GO!” she shouted, flinging an arm to point at the other room, where the orbs shone almost painfully bright.
Kevon nodded, and walked into the room, casting a glance over his shoulder at a smirking Carlo.
Appeased, Mirsa focused the sympathetic magic coursing through her, sealing the entrance to the room as she followed Kevon inside.
Chapter 16
“Two days now, three at the outside,” Kevon remarked, calling forth the energy that surrounded him to reopen the passage to the surface. The ceiling above flowed apart with a bare minimum of sound, marking a vast improvement of his skill over the past few weeks.
The horses, now no longer blindered at night, showed no surprise at the now common event, but instead an eagerness to get back on the road.
Kevon led the way out, scanning the landscape through puffs of frozen breath. Before opening the shelter, he had tapped into the latent earth power to sense the surrounding miles, as was his morning ritual. He had felt nothing that could be a threat to them, but as near as they were to the tower and the corrupted area of magic, he was particularly watchful throughout the day. As he turned his gaze toward their destination, a thin column of smoke glinted in the morning sun.
“There,” Kevon pointed, “What is there?”
Mirsa led her stallion up alongside Kevon’s, and peered toward the west. “Marson and Tamika’s farmstead. Their daughter worked in the tower kitchen. Could that be chimney smoke?’
“Too dark, and the column’s too thick,” Carlo commented, leading his warhorse around the others. “If there were no breeze, and it was overcast, I would say there was a chance it was not the farmhouse burning. As it is…” Carlo shrugged.
“We dare not risk ourselves to find out,” Mirsa sighed. “Not when we’re this close…”
“Agreed,” Carlo grumbled, cinching his horse’s saddle tighter. “We should make straight for that tower, as fast as we can. Make a shelter as close as we dare, and hope it’s within walking distance. I’ve no intention of leaving any of us behind to watch the horses while the others tromp around in the dark.”
Kevon nodded. He hadn’t thought about it, but their mounts would only be a liability once they reached the tower. “We’ll need to leave before dawn, when the dark beasts are already seeking shelter from the sun.” He handed his reins to Bertus, and walked partway back down the ramp that led back to their shelter. He relaxed, and took in the earth magic that pressed in around him.
Kevon drew shafts of soil and stone up into the chambers of the shelter, filling most of the space, so that they would not cause sinkholes later. Air displaced by the drawn earth breezed past him, smelling of dust and horses. At last, the ramp shifted, levering Kevon up to ground level, and settling evenly with the surrounding area.
Kevon took the reins from Bertus and climbed into his saddle. “Let’s see if we can reach the edge of the corruption before nightfall.”
* * *
The miles fell away as the four pushed their steeds along the track that skirted the stream they had followed, more or less, since they entered this section of the valley. A brief stop to water and graze the horses, and Carlo goaded the others back onto the road, before they had finished eating their midday rations.
“Wait!” Mirsa called, urging her stallion forward to overtake Carlo, who led the column. “I can feel the elemental magic weakening,” she gasped, as she reined her mount in to match speed with the Blademaster’s slowing steed. “The tower is a few hours distant, overland. We should be close enough to attempt…” she trailed off.
“Are you sure we can’t get closer?” Carlo asked, squinting at the sun that still rode a hand’s-breadth above the mountains to the west.
“Not if we are to attempt what I plan,” Mirsa replied, stepping down from her horse and handing her reins to Bertus. “I’ll need help, for this,” she added, looking up at Kevon.
The Warrior-Mage dismounted, taking care to avoid the touch of steel. He dropped his reins and his horse snuffled at the grasses on the side of the track toward the stream. “I can feel the lessening of the magic here, too. It’s not so much that it should really interfere with…”
Mirsa knelt and connected with the earth magic beneath them, and the usual ramp burrowed down into the ground before them. The Master Mage walked slowly down the ramp, fingers training the smooth stone wall that she’d shaped moments before.
Kevon formed an Aid rune, coupled it with an Earth rune, and began steadying the frayed edges of Mirsa’s concentration. He felt the rooms opening up, as normal, waterways wrestled into service, encased in stone tubs and basins. He remained above, less pressured by the influx of magic from below, but still linked to the working through Mirsa, lending support as she needed.
Assuming that the Master Mage was finished, Kevon prepared to release the runes in his mind. Just as he began to relax his concentration, the Earth rune in his mind’s eye sprang into stony solidity. The grassy expanse before him sank down, rolling out into the distance like a mammoth ocean swell. Where patches of the runes had shown rough edges before, Kevon felt his mind raked by sharp spikes of obsidian. Crying out, he refocused, pouring magic frantically into the spell to stabilize it.
Slabs of stone groaned as they slid from the sides of the newly formed valley, to cover it over. Kevon fought with the magic a few moments longer, then shifted his focus to drawing the leaking energy from Mirsa, filling his own Earth rune, pulling columns up from below for the massive stone sheets to rest upon. As the movement stretched further out into the distance approaching the mountains to the North, Kevon required more magic to keep up with Mirsa’s manipulation of the landscape. He drew it more swiftly from the imperfections in her spell, rather than pull it straight from the Aid rune that linked them, afraid of the toll it would inflict on her. When the work was nearly complete, Kevon labored to turn to Carlo.
“Go… get… her…” Kevon commanded between strained breaths. He could feel Mirsa frantically channeling the inflowing energy into strengthening the pillars he had raised, bu
t it would not last. He siphoned magic from her as fast as he dared, but without anything to do with it, the power saturated his very being. Afraid of releasing too much at once , and endangering those around him, he held it in, until it felt as if his bones were stone, his flesh earth, and dust swirled through his veins.
Just when he thought he would burst from the raw power, or turn to stone because of it, Kevon felt an emptiness, a void that encircled him, that he thought might take the power that infused him. Almost faster than thought, the Journeyman Mage focused the runaway Earth magic into the void.
His senses began to return to him as the excess magic drained away, and Kevon realized that the void encircling him, the receptacle for the unreasonable amounts of magic, was the simple iron ring he wore on his finger.
The Blademaster hastened up the ramp, carrying an almost unconscious Mirsa like a rag doll.
Kevon waited until Carlo was clear of the entrance, and the shaken Mage’s connection to the earth was nearly severed before siphoning all of Mirsa’s available magic and dumping it into the waiting void.
The Master Mage gasped softly and slipped into unconsciousness.
Carlo frowned. “Too much for her?”
The Warsmith stared dumbly at Carlo for a few moments before realizing that he and Bertus had seen nothing more than an impressive display of magic and a small show of concern for Mirsa. “Quite,” the exasperated Mage sighed. “We all almost died.”
The Commander scowled, depositing Mirsa on the ground considerably less gently than he was able. “Mages.”
Kevon approached the jumbled pile of sleeping Mage, and arranged her more comfortably, watching her limp form for signs of distress. After a few minutes of quiet observation, he helped Bertus load Mirsa onto her stallion, and together they descended into the shelter.
Walling himself off from the earth power that surrounded him, Kevon crafted an Earth rune and closed the entrance, relying on only his own magical reserves.
Kevon hauled Mirsa down from her horse and slung her over his shoulder to carry into the living quarters of the cavern, while Bertus turned the horses loose in the vast, grassy chamber to the north. The Mage walked through the dimly lit hall to the main chamber, where Carlo sat, sharpening his sword. He called forth a glowing orb, turned down another hallway, and deposited Mirsa carefully on a stone pallet already piled with blankets.
Journeyman Warsmith Page 13