Swords and Magic

by F. E. Hubert

of his narrow lips.

  “Because I couldn’t save Wolfour. But I really -”

  The old man’s cackle interrupted Dun’s stammering. He turned serious when he looked back up at Dun, still standing in the middle of the room, clutching the pile of firewood to his chest.

  “There was nothing you could have done to save him. I seriously suspect Solis had him poisoned – ” He held up a hand to stop Dun’s confused outcry. “And even if you’d given him the antidote, there was little chance of him surviving long before meeting a dagger or something of the like, to finish the job.”

  “But… Then -”

  Dun already had one foot out the door when the old man’s voice stopped him.

  “She’s safe don’t worry -”

  “You don’t know that!”

  Dun tossed down the wood to highlight his frustration. The logs thudded on the packed earth floor, lifting the thin cover of rushes where they landed.

  “Until Spring fest, I believe she’s perfectly safe, if maybe not entirely comfortable at the prospect of marrying the man who murdered her father.”

  “What!? She’d never...” Dun faltered as he sat down on one of the rickety stools. It groaned under his weight.

  “She’s smart enough to at least pretend she will, if we’re talking about the same girl,” The wizard closed the book on the table in front of him with a sigh. “No, it’s you I worry about.”

  “I’m not the one locked up in Dungarr.”

  “Try to keep it that way, my boy. That man’s a petty little tyrant, and there are few things more dangerous to be around.”

  New moon

  Darkness still reigned when Dun reached the edge of the valley. New moon made the night even darker still, but he could not wait for day to come.

  He watched Vera from a distance, walking along the keep’s crenelated walls for an afternoon stroll. A dot of bright blue, her favourite colour, against the slate of storm clouds fat with snow. It only served to make him ache for her more. The thought of the dark gloss of her hair and the rosebud shape of her lips kept popping into his mind.

  The snow fell from the sky in thick clumps of crystal, hiding the world beyond twice his arm’s reach. It would hide their tracks within an hour. In his mind he thanked Mother Winter for her assistance. The old wizard might be right to believe that Vera was safe until spring, but any risk to her was too much for Dun to bear. He briefly touched his chest, where Vera’s note rested, safely tucked inside a wooden amulet.

  In his pack he carried all the supplies he dared take from the wizard’s stores. Vera would come on one of her horses, she might even have though to bring a spare, but he could walk as she rode. One of her necklaces alone would support them for a good while, once they reached the city. Images of the great island city of the Isles, glimpsed in the old wizard’s books, rolled before his eyes. They would have to travel across the plains of Io to reach it, but once they did, the pleasures of city-life awaited them. They said the city never slept, that a man could walk an entire day in a straight line and not reach the end.

  Bent over against the wind, he pulled his feet and legs through the resisting blanket of snow. He didn’t see the horses, or the men, until it was too late. A voice from behind him called out.

  “That’s far enough,” The edge of something hard poked his lower back. “Hands out to the sides, and drop that pack.”

  “That sounds like a difficult combination,” Dun said, not moving a muscle and looking at the men standing around him. “What brings you to my valley?”

  He knew three of the four men from when he still lived in the keep, the one on his left he didn’t recognize.

  “Our lorft’s falley, piefe of filth,” The man Dun didn’t know spoke with a strong lisp and he suspected that he would have felt him speak, as much as heard him, if he stood any nearer. “Binf him.”

  The lisp jerked his chin toward the man in front of Dun, Jeddu. The dark-browed man frowned, but walked down the small rise toward Dun. He held up a rope.

  “Sorry kid,” He spoke so that only Dun could hear him. “Nothing I can do.”

  Dun gave a short nod and held his clenched hands out in front of him, the insides of his wrists touching each other. Jeddu bound him and took a step back.

  “Now what?” He asked the man with the lisp.

  “Now, fwe kill him.” The lisp said with a grin that showed what was left of his teeth. He drew his sword out of its scabbard as he closed on Dun. With a sharp kick to the hollow of his knee, he forced Dun down on the ground. He brought his sword up over his head. Dun reached for the long knife on his hip. The rope cut into the skin of his wrists, straining to get to it. He leaned as far back as he could, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the blade that hovered above his head. The sword swung down, towards his neck.

  Clang, skkkringg.

  He rolled over his shoulder in a desperate attempt to get out of reach. When he looked up, he saw Jeddu and the lisp facing each other, swords locked.

  “Since when do we cut down bound kids?”

  Jeddu grunted with the effort of keeping his sword in position. The two other guards stood looking at the scene. One of them had his sword out of his scabbard, but kept it pointed at the ground.

  “Lord’s orders.” The other man lisped, his gaze locked on Jeddu’s. After a moment, Dun realized what he was doing.

  “Jed... -”

  Too late. The dagger in the lisping man’s left hand stuck the soft flesh of his opponent’s throat. Jeddu sagged to his knees. Then toppled slowly. He landed face-first into the snow. It covered his face, hiding his final expression of surprise.

  For a moment the other guards stood, watching the red stain around their friend grow as blood got sucked into the snow. Then, with a double roar, they turned on the lisping man, hacking at him with their swords.

  Dun rolled a short distance to get out underfoot, before he started sawing at his bonds. They used poor quality rope and he kept his dagger sharp, but it still took him several tries and a slice of skin to free himself. He snapped the final threads by force, then rose to his feet with his dagger ready to use.

  The lisping man lay dead a short distance away, sword sticking up from his chest like a single porcupine pen. Next to him was the owner of that sword, also dead. He didn’t see the last man, but a faint moaning rose up beyond in an abrupt break in the snow’s surface. He must have fallen down into the creek bed. Dun approached the edge carefully, more weary of crumbling edges, than of the man crying below.

  When he found a spot that would support his weight, he climbed down. It was clear the man down on the ice wasn’t going to live past the day. He held his gut, trying to keep his insides in, but an inordinate amount of his blood was already freezing on the ice in a large circle.

  “Here,” Dune folded one of his scarves and put it between the man’s head and the ice. “I’m afraid that’s about all I can do for you.”

  After a moment, he unslung the pack that was still on his back and untied one of the blankets rolled on top. It was a good wool blanket, but he could do without. He spread it over the shivering man, tucking it in over his shoulders and around his feet.

  “Y-you s-s-hould,” The man grunted with the effort it cost him to speak and fell silent. Just when Dun got up to leave, he continued, seemingly without effort now. “Take the horses. Don’t go back home, Silas know where it is. He will be there by no..-”

  Dun frowned, reaching down to take the man by the shoulders and ask for further explanation, but as he bent over, he saw it was too late for that now. He pulled one of the corners, so the blanket covered the man’s face.

  The horses were tied in the entrance of the cave. They greeted him with their horse huffs and puffs. He didn’t like horses, at least not to ride, and for a moment he was tempted to just cut them loose and go by foot.

  He looked back toward the mouth of the valley, hoping against hope to see Vera ride down. The snow stopped sometime during t
heir struggle. A distinct grey plume of forest on fire marred the clear sky. It came from the direction of the old man’s house.

  He was lucky patrol horses are used to poor riders. The one he picked, rode in the direction he wanted to go without complaint, if at its own chosen speed. Not as fast as Dun would have liked to go, but faster than he could have run himself. The other horses followed them out of the valley a moment later, confused, but preferring to stay together.

  By the time they neared the wizard’s cottage, the snows started to fall again, thicker and faster than before. When he reached the small clearing in front of the house, the snows had already doused most of the fire.

  The house and the trees around it were reduced to their black skeletons. A stake stood in the middle of the clearing. Dun reached down to pick up the old man’s ring from the ground beneath it. He looked at the smooth wood, soft against his skin as he turned it around between his fingers.

  He couldn’t make himself look up at his friend and teacher. He stared at the snow that fell on his feet as the tears froze on his cheeks. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but at some point he sensed a presence in the clearing. He looked up to see a skinny rabbit hopping along the edge.

  “Bit early in the year for you, little friend,”

  He automatically checked the way it moved, to see if it might be hurt. The wizard treated woodland creatures when he found them ill or wounded, and they somehow seemed to know to seek him out for help.

  A lot of them would be making that trip in vain the coming seasons. The thought of them, left without the help of the old man, chocked his throat. They lured him away from the house, and for what? So they could kill a kindly man that did nothing but help. He didn’t understand how that could be any good to anyone.

  The bunny sat on its hindquarters, looking at him curiously. He lowered his pack slowly, not to scare it, and pulled out a wrinkled, chubby parsnip. Crouching, he offered it to the rabbit. Its nose twitched with excitement, as it came forward in hesitant hops. When it bounded off with its prize, Dun could see its tail bobbing up and down, a white ghost dancing between the trees.

  While he cut the slender figure down from the pole, his anger turned into something solid. He would make them pay for this, if he had to burn the entire world to do it.

  He left the old man’s swaddled body out on a large rock nearby for the animals to find. The wizard was a firm believer in circles, and now he would be part of another circle, provide the material for new life to start. The though made Dun feel a little better, but not much.

  He went back to the burnt out shell of the house and dug at the edge of the grounds, where the kitchen garden would have been coming spring. An arm’s length down in the frozen ground, he found the flat stone that covered what he was looking for. He took out a small parcel of oiled cloth and hid it down in his pack.

  After he refilled the hole, he looked at the smouldering timber and cracked stones one last time. He would not be back here.

  Spring fest

  The snows had returned in full force and even now, one day before Spring fest, the last remains of a coat of snow clung to the trees. Dun approached the keep from the river’s side. The sound of preparations for the fest floated down to the forest edge. The keep was on higher ground than the rest of the village that had grown up around it over the years. The houses straggled down the incline, like goslings running after a parent.

  The large triangular body of the keep covered the top of the hill, just clear of the edge where the cliff fell steeply away. From where he stood, the wall added extra layers of stone and wood to the cliffs’ height.

  The river thundered past the keep. Its path eroded down through the cliff from long years of water running down. It was the best defensible position for leagues around. Dun felt a grin twist at the corners of his mouth upwards. It might be defensible against an army, but one man would enter easily. He intended to leave nothing more than an empty shell. A blown egg, testament to his vengeance. He wrapped himself closer in his cloak and settled in to watch and wait.

  Spring fest morning came with the pale blue brightness that promised a cold but radiant day. Green and blue pennants were raised at the keeps three corners, the breeze just strong enough to lift their edges up in a gay flutter, but keeping the new lord’s sigil hidden in the folds.

  Stall holders were out and about and their voices carried down on the breeze in snatches. A little shy of midday, the market was in full swing and Dun strolled up. At least a hand taller than most of the people that thronged between the displays of goods and the tents of fortune tellers, he should have stuck out like a sore thumb. This was one of the first things the old wizard had noticed about him: Nobody noticed him.

  At least, not unless he wanted them to. It wasn’t magic in the ways of wizards, but a magic nonetheless. And the more people were there to ignore him, the stronger the illusion became. In a crowd like this, he was a good as invisible.

  Dun recognized Filas behind one of the stalls that sold pies, walked around the cloth that covered the back and took the vendor’s own lunch packet from the cart. It was bound to be better than the mystery-meat pastries the fat man was selling at the front. Dun sat on a fence rail to eat it.

  A black-and-sand-coloured stray sidled up, wagging a bony tail. He scratched her ears, handing bites down while he ate. The apple core went to the scruffy horse that nuzzled his back.

  He strolled past the stalls, on his way up to the three-sided fort. The gate was set into the wall where two of the sides met in a point. The creaking of iron against wooden rollers warned everyone that the portcullis was opening.

  A gaunt youth appeared, dressed in the green and blue of Solis. He blew on a piece of metal pipe and in a voice that jumped up and down the tone scales, announced that that lord Solis was ready to give audience.

  A cluster of people were waiting near the gate and they walked into the short tunnel that led inside. A number of people who had been browsing the stalls near the gates, went in after them. Too proud to be seen waiting, but wanting an audience, or to witness someone else’s, nonetheless.

  Dun followed them inside. A platform faced the gate, it was still in the shade, but in a couple of hours it would be lit by the sun. On it were two chairs. One large, one small. Solis sat in the largest, conferring with a hooded figure that stood at his shoulder.

  Dun watched as people were called forward by the pale youth that had announced at the gate earlier.

  All audiences seemed to follow the same pattern; Congratulations were offered and a gift was presented to celebrate the oncoming union between Solis and Wolfour’s daughter. A rambling story explained the importance of the request to come. A boon was asked. The boon was granted, maybe in some revised manner.

  After a while he ducked between the two men that guarded the door into the keep. A short flight of stairs led him to the end of the first floor hallway, where lord Wolfour had his study. Vera’s rooms could be reached by the steps hidden behind a curtain that seemingly covered the bare stone wall next to the study door.

  Dun looked around before he slipped behind the thick fabric. The hall was empty. At the top of the stairs he stood and listened. The rooms beyond were silent. Too silent. He frowned. There should be chatter of maids, music played while Vera got ready to go downstairs. Did they move her bedroom? Or maybe she fled by herself. If she did, the guards would find her within a day. He smiled. He would make sure they didn’t. He opened the door just enough to slip his large body into the room. A gasp welcomed him.

  “Dun...”

  She didn’t sound happy. It took a moment for his beaming mind to register this, but by then it was too late. A heavy hand dropped down on his shoulder as darkness fell over his face.

  Solis lounged in Wolfour’s study, his legs stretched on the antique wooden desk. Hunting scenes decorated the side panels, their carved edges rounded by time and a thousand cleaning cloths and oils.

  “An intruder? At my
party?”

  He shook his head in a slow mockery of disappointment. Dun said nothing. The man made his skin crawl. In anyone else he might have admired the skill with which his hair was cut and oiled, the taste with which the expensive-looking doublet and shoes were chosen, the care with which the nails were manicured. On Solis, it made him shudder.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Solis took his feet from the leather sheet that covered the desk and put them in front of his chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Or should I say, dead wizard’s got your tongue?”

  He roared with laughter at his own joke. Dun waited for him to be done with his show, looking around the room looking for a way to escape, or at least something he could use to smash Solis’ face in.

  “You know, wizards running loose are dangerous,” Solis got up from behind the desk and poked Dun’s chest. It was level with his face, but the aura of unbalanced danger emanating from the shorter man prevented the gesture from looking ridiculous. Dun looked down at him and waited.

  “But, no worries!” Solis grinned a grin wide enough to show a golden gleam where one of his molars used to be. “I have a good place to put you.”

  Wild magic

  Back in the dank chill of the stone cellar, Dun swung back and forward. Small sways at first, getting larger as he gained momentum. He spread his large arms out to his sides, flapping them like wings on the rhythm of his moves.

  Up on the surface, the day’s activities tapered to an end. Only the stalls that sold food and drink still doing any business. In the keep, the servants bustled, carrying out plank tables, benches and other supplies for that evening’s main event.

  Boys ran up and down the field with the makings of a bonfire. It was piled in a marked area on the field next to the keep. The major domo stood nearby to keep a strict eye on it, making sure the pile didn’t creep any closer to the vulnerable dry wood of the keep’s upper stories.

  A row of smaller cooking fires and grilling pits sat at the edge of the field, spreading an intoxicating aroma of wood smoke and roasting meat. The podium in the courtyard now stood on the field, this time draped with blue cloth and decorated with small spring flowers.

  Under their feet, Dun thanked lady luck for small favours. Getting enough speed into his swing was hard work, but at least he was facing the right way.

  Up, and down again. He stretched his fingers. Almost. Up again. This time he could feel his fingers glide over the metal of the wall sconce. And down again. He grimaced at the dark mouth of the hole below him, as he swung past it. It was easy to imagine falling into it. With a final grunt of effort, he swooped back up.

  His fingers closed on the bracket. He pulled it straight out of the wall. The flaming heat of the torch burned his hands as he swung back over the pit. He couldn’t drop it now. Thick blisters appeared