The War of Embers

by James Duvall

  For a moment Joshua dared to embrace some small sparkle of optimism, finishing his meal in silence while rehearsing what he might say to the mages that would help him get the focus crystals Ashcrest needed.

  Thacker sat down across from him, a grave expression on his face. “We lost a lot of good men last night.”

  Joshua nodded slowly. He hadn't known any of them personally but it was easy to see that Thacker clearly had. The soldier shook his head slowly, eyes focused on some distant memory. He blinked them slowly, then frowned at Joshua as though just noticing him for the first time.

  “Eh... told the captain what we found about you. We're checking your story out with the mages. Could be a few weeks before we hear back.”

  “Weeks?” Joshua felt his stomach lurch. What was he going to do sitting here for weeks? How long could Ashcrest hold out? In a panicked moment he imagined that the entire reason he'd been sent to this place was that the focus crystals had gone out entirely, leaving him Ashcrest's only hope of rescue.

  “Yeah, we're sending a letter. The mages have a lot of important things to do you know. Why, they've gotta drop all those starry-eyed students of theirs into the Cold, never to be seen again.”

  “And those golems to make,” Hoggs reminded.

  “Of course!” Thacker agreed, nodding in an exaggerated fashion. His fist opened and closed tightly as he shifted in his seat, then pounded the table hard enough to make the silverware jump. “Of course we can't forget the golems! Gonna need a lot more of those to replace the ones that went rogue and smashed up Ft Lockworth now don't we? So you'll have to forgive the mages, Joshua. They're very busy with very important business.”

  By then Thacker had built up to a full-throated, red-faced shout. Everyone else had stopped eating and for a moment all looked on in silence. Thacker cowed them all with a sweeping glare, then focused back on Joshua. “If you want my advice, Joshua. Stay away. Stay away from the mages. Enlist, find yourself an apprenticeship, or walk down to Mar Lupis for all I care, but you'll be better off with the blue-eyed beasties than with the mages of Camden.”

  Thacker didn't wait for a response, just turned and marched out without looking back.

  The next morning Hoggs retrieved Joshua from the inn, took him to a food preparation tent, and showed him how to peel a variety of vegetables that he did not recognize. The work was slow, tedious, and the pile never seemed to grow any smaller. On the fourth day of peeling it seemed the two of them had finally made a dent, only to return in the afternoon and find the pile had grown to twice the size.

  “It never ends...” Joshua bemoaned, plucking a not-radish from the pile. It had the right shape but he'd never seen a radish quite so orange and the smell wasn't quite right either. So it was a not-radish. There were kind-of carrots, faux-tatoes, and a green and yellow-striped root that was simply christened as a 'whatever.'

  “Workin' hard keeps you in the captain's good graces,” Hoggs reminded him. Joshua was tired of hearing this particular reminder as, if the captain was indeed in charge of as many men and tasks as Hoggs boasted, Joshua imagined he was a footnote in the man's day at best. This concept was further reinforced with each passing day as Joshua whittled away at the mountains of vegetables while seeing neither hide nor hair of the man. Even Thacker had kept his distance. Joshua had questioned Hoggs about this on the third morning. The usually gregarious Hoggs had responded with uncertainty and a muddled explanation of Thacker's feelings on magic that didn't truly explain anything about why it might be relevant.

  Joshua was walking home from his fourth day in the kitchens when he finally pieced it together. His arrival by magic and the subsequent destruction of Fort Lockworth had been viewed as some kind of dark omen. Joshua Woods was bad luck.

  At first he couldn't convince himself that this was the reason. It seemed absurd. But the looks the other men gave him, the strange little rituals he'd seen them perform. That quiet prayer they'd utter sometimes as he passed: “Keep us and Guide Us”

  Then again, why shouldn't he be considered bad luck? When he looked back at all that had conspired to bring him to this place he nearly started to believe it himself. Here was a man who had been teleported accidentally into a different world that despite knowing of its existence from an early age he never honestly had expected to see it. It was like the moon. Yes, astronauts had been there, but to the everyday person it was a place that could exist only in stories. The same was true of Ashcrest and the worlds that fed into its population.

  Don't forget the golems...

  Thacker's impassioned speech came to mind, another in a surreal string of disaster and misfortune. Yes, nearly getting smashed to death not once, but twice in the same day seemed particularly unfortunate.

  Joshua reached his room on the inn's second floor, privately wondering if the floor might collapse and dump him and everyone else into the tavern below. His nightly bowl of stew, paid for by his meager earnings peeling vegetables, waited for him in the tavern. He laid down on the bed for a few minutes, clearing his mind. There was that prayer again, carved into his door over a simple etching of a pair of dragons facing outward from each other. While to others it represented some sort of hope, to Joshua it was another reminder of his isolation here. It was the whispered prayer uttered in the wake of his passing to ward off the evil magics that haunted him.

  Mostly eager to be away from the quiet solitude of his private thoughts, Joshua put his boots back on and went to fetch his dinner. At the top of the stairs he wondered when his luck might change and idly turned one of his father's coins between two fingers. As he rounded the first landing he met someone else, something else, coming up; a cobalt blue dragon. It barely fit on the stone staircase, its wings pinned to its side.

  Eyes like bright sapphires regarded him with curiosity, searching him up and down. The clamor of the tavern faded into the backdrop as Joshua stared, mesmerized, into the bright blue orbs looking back at him. His next breath came in a quiet gasp when he finally remembered to breath again. He felt distant from his body, as though his consciousness had taken a step back from reality in order not to fully experience the violent death poised to embrace him. Then the coin slipped from his unfeeling fingers. It dropped to the stonework like an arrow, landing with a thunk as loud as a dropped hammer. The dragon's eyes narrowed, nose pointing toward it like a bloodhound on the scent.

  It had been hard for Joshua, right up to that moment, to not think of the dragon as a simple-minded animal. It was barely larger than a horse, save for the wings, but the sharp attentiveness of its gaze belied a far greater intelligence. Then there were the claws. No matter how hard he tried to look away he found his attention drawn back to the dragon's claws. Dark sapphire scales gave way to onyx talons, each as long and sharp as a reaper's sickle.

  “You have something...” the dragon said, pointing with a claw at where the coin had landed. “I can see the magic on it. Her magic! Talya's!”

  The dragon lowered his head to look at it closer, then raised up to Joshua's level. Joshua could see dangerous sapphire flames dancing in those eyes.

  “It-It's part of an anchor stone,” Joshua stammered.

  The dragon's eyes lit up, his teeth showing in a savage smile. Joshua took a frantic step back as the dragon reached for the coin and deftly plucked it from the step. He held it up, delicately pinched between two talons that glowed with the same subtle light that radiated from the coin.

  “This is connected to her. This is...” the dragon held it up above his head, shielding his eyes from its glow as he searched the empty air beneath it. “...you?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Joshua said, taking another step back.

  “This artifact... it is linked to you,” the dragon said. He narrowed his eyes, scanning Joshua up and down as though seeing him for the first time in a new light.

  “...you are not a magus,” he concluded, sounding disappointed. In fact, his wings seemed to droop against his sides. The words came out stran
gely accented, the sounds unfamiliar to his tongue. “You are bonded to this...? this anchor piece?”

  It was only then that Joshua noticed the deep blue amulet hanging from the dragon's neck. It pulsed with a subtle light when he spoke.

  “I think it brought me here, from another... another place?” Joshua said, voice uncertain. It occurred to him that he should probably not be volunteering information like that. This suspicion was confirmed when the words brought a savage grin to the dragon's face, his eyes glowing bright with those deep sapphire flames.

  “You will come with Cabor,” the dragon said, reaching for Joshua.

  “Who is Cabor?” Joshua asked, brushing away the dragon's grasping claws.

  “This one is Cabor. Come, come quickly.”

  “I- I have to stay here,” Joshua protested. He had nearly retreated up half the stairs by then, the dragon's body entirely filling the landing. The words landed on Cabor like a hammer blow to the side of the head. His eyes widened in distress, frosty breath puffing from his nostrils. He thought for a moment, then shook his head vigorously.

  “No, you will come with Cabor,” he demanded, his words trailing off into a low growl of frustration.”

  Chapter 8

  The Dragon’s Duty

  Nobri, Arcamyn

  While sinking into the Cold is surely the fear most well-known to all junior mages, far more are injured and killed every year by the occurrence of spellstorms. For this reason, all first year students must be instructed on the danger of concentration of excesses of magic, particularly in close proximity to established portals.

  From A memo to all Emberfall Order mages of the Third Order

  Rickthicket's pacing echoed in the vacuous silence of the study. He had been wearing circles in the carpet for the better part of the morning, desperate to burn off some, any, of his nervous energy. There were few niches for a magical rodent, even among the Silverwind Society. If Marreth died...

  Rickthicket could feel Grimlohr's watchful eyes from the chair in the corner. The dragon's silence was starting to wear on the old mouse's already frazzled nerves.

  “How long has the surgeon been with him?” Grimlohr asked after a while.

  “All morning. They’ve got him on an elixir to dull the pain, keeps him out cold, and you never told me why you are here,” Rickthicket turned, jabbing a finger at him. His circular journey stopped abruptly at the dragon’s feet with his chest puffed up and his tiny fists clenched white-knuckle tight. If the mouse had been much, much taller it might have been intimidating, but it still would not have shaken a soul like Grimlohr.

  “I came to speak with him,” Grimlohr answered plainly and without pretense.

  “It could be several days more before the burns are healed enough to wake him up,” Rickthicket warned. He hoped the idea would encourage the shapeshifting dragon to leave, but instead Grimlohr plucked a book from the multitude available on the study walls and began to read. Before he finished the first chapter the surgeon came with Sil’krath, Marreth's majordomo.

  “He is awake!” Sil’krath announced joyfully. Despite years of practice maintaining a stoic expression regardless of circumstance, a grin had crept into the corner's of the old drakorian's mouth. This was Marreth's majordomo and had been his friend since even before Rickthicket had known him. The drakorian stood almost seven feet high. He wore the proper uniform for a gentleman of the house, dark loose trousers with a navy coat and bright brassy buttons. His bright golden eyes were wide and soft today. On other days they would be hard set and the pupils slit to tight columns. Today he was even pleased to see Rickthicket, which was enough to tell the mouse just how close Marreth's brush with death had been. Normally when Rickthicket called upon his master, Sil'krath could be found in one of two places: wherever it was Rickthicket was least likely to be found, or right by his side, quietly urging him to leave.

  Grimlohr closed his book with a sharp snap and dropped it in the chair behind him. He stopped in the doorway just long enough to place a heavy golden coin into the surgeon's hand. It fit neatly into his satchel between two vials of medicine whose labels were marked with dragons' runes.

  “Now where is he going?” Rickthicket asked, stamping his foot. “That dragon never explains anything!”

  “To see Master Marreth, I assume,” Sil'krath answered. “Marreth asked for him as soon as we told him he was here”

  Rickthicket bristled. “He asked for the dragon?”

  Amusement lit up Sil'krath's scaly face, prompting a sneer from Rickthicket.

  Rickthicket sneered back. He crossed his arms and huffed. “Is he doing much better? I suppose he must be if he's seeing guests.”

  “Better than I had hoped,” said the surgeon. “Keep him on his medication and send a boy if anything changes. I’ll be back by in the morning.”

  The surgeon shook Sil’krath’s gnarled hand and showed himself out.

  ***

  The soft click of the bedroom door woke Marreth from a shallow and dreamless sleep. The shutters were closed and the lamps had all been dimmed, probably by Sil'krath. The figure of a man filled the gloomy doorway, pausing as he entered to survey the darkened chambers.

  “You’re the night slayer Rickthicket ran into,” Marreth said, his voice cracking from the dryness of his throat. “I had a feeling you’d be dropping by. How is your hunting? Not well if you’re here, I suppose.”

  “Well enough, it will be resolved soon,” Grimlohr offered. Sitting by the bed allowed him a surreptitious glance at the burns. Marreth was a scorched mess, covered in bruises and wearing a disheveled robe. Ashes still clung to his unkempt hair here and there. Try as he might, Sil'krath had not quite been able to get all the burnt flakes out.

  “Why have you come?”

  “Your man, Rickthicket, insists you finished your spell. I would like to know if that is true.”

  “I did. Right to the last,” Marreth said. He could vividly recall the energetic pulse in the air as the spell had charged. Thunder rumbled around him as he released the power into the rune. He heard the crack of lightning, but never really saw it. There was a brightness that swallowed his world. After that there was the smell of burnt flesh and then only pain and darkness.

  “Then it will cheer you to know that I have found your stray magic. It’s in Tavyn. A wanderer. From Earth, judging by his attire.”

  “You’re certain?” Marreth asked, turning his head to look at Grimlohr.

  “They arrived at the proper time and place. One of our own is with him. He’s found a link between Talya and the wanderer. Something established by your experimental summoning spell.”

  “If that’s so, why are you here instead of there to claim your glory?”

  Grimlohr frowned. “You misjudge me, Marreth Stormwood. My duty was to expeditiously recover my charge. I have seen this done. My presence is not needed. A host of dragons rallies to her aid. When they arrive, there will be no force in all Ryvarra that could withstand their assault. I am here because certain facts have come to light in the course of my investigation. I have reason to believe that a general who is very close to King Isaac was responsible for Talya’s disappearance. Charles Tamlin. He’s been communicating discretely with a ralian man, Draggus Morphial.”

  At this, Marreth began to set up, but Grimlohr urged him down.

  “I do not make such an accusation lightly, Marreth,” the dragon promised. “I know of your history in the War of Ashes. Tamlin is a hero to my people as well as your own. It has been seven long years though, and much has changed in Arcamyn since King Isaac came into power. He is not so great a man as his father.”

  “Draggus is an unsavory sort of man,” Grimlohr continued. “No different than the rest of the bloodthirsty lot. His involvement is puzzling. I believe he may be a warlock, but he has, so far, not done anything of particular note. All I could find on him was the suggestion that he might have died in the War of Ashes when the Temple of Sasherai was burned.”

  “Where are you
going with this?” Marreth asked.

  “Sorry, I should stay on point. In my studies I came across a small-time con artist taking his first steps into a much larger venture than his usual fare. He’d found his way into politics in the service of a low-level diplomat. Said diplomat met with an unfortunate end on his last trip to the capitol.”

  “Murdered?” Marreth asked, reaching for a glass of water. He winced in pain and sank back into the bed.

  “He was a consumptive, actually,” Grimlohr explained, handing Marreth the water. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “No, do go on,” Marreth said, motioning for him to continue as he sipped gingerly at the cold drink. It felt good to wet his dry throat.

  “The con artist paid off the undertaker to list the body as name unknown and stole away with his identity. I saw through his ruse and since then he’s slipped me information from time to time in exchange for my silence and a bit of coin when the information warranted. He was found dead last week. Killed by a poison the ralians are fond of. It comes from a flower that only grows at high elevations in the mountains they live in.”

  “So a few days before Talya goes missing, Draggus finds out that your spy is onto General Tamlin and has him killed. To what end?”

  “To silence him of course. However, his death simply provides different information to us than his word might have. It was not a well-kept secret that this man was a spy. He eventually became too eager for coin and too loose with his secrets. Too much information around him seemed to end up in the hands of others. For the past year he's been used as an agent of deception and counter intelligence between rival houses. Killing him must mean he found out something too great to allow him to live. We now have validation. What of, is a harder matter, but I believe I have made a breakthrough in that area. There have been further developments while you slept. It should interest you to know that an army of golems marched into the southern reaches of the kingdom and killed nearly half the garrison stationed along the south edge of Naveria forest at Fort Lockworth.”