Welcome To The Age of Magic

by C M Raymond et al.

  “Very well,” Lungu said. “You meet the scout back here, then. I have a meeting with Protector Orvid. You need to keep this quiet. If the other Protectors get wind of this unrest, it will spell trouble for us on the borders.”

  “I’ll deliver the contract to Jank myself and make everything clear to him,” Clarence said.

  Lungu turned to him with raised eyebrows. “You’ve been itching for a fight for quite some time. Let me be clear. Don’t make this that fight. End this quietly. Make Argan submit. Pacify the Eastern District. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Entirely, Father Protector,” Clarence said with a bow, then swept out of the room.

  On the Road to Keep 52

  Clarence rode along behind the weary scout along the Toll Road. The late afternoon sun was shrouded by a low cloud cover.

  “We might get a nice fall storm,” Clarence observed, not caring whether or not the scout had anything to say.

  “Ah, maybe. Sure,” the uneasy scout said.

  “Not much of a student of the weather, are we?” Clarence mocked. He watched the scout’s shoulders rise a bit.

  That got him.

  “When I need to be, I am,” the scout replied. “To do my job.”

  “I see,” Clarence taunted. “I guess you don’t feel that’s part of your job right now, then.”

  The scout said nothing, which Clarence thought a wise move. “I love a good storm. Nothing like the wild elements to let you know you’re alive.”

  The scout pulled back on the reins and stopped short. He held up his fist to signal “stop.” Turning his horse in a circle, he scanned the woods. Clarence stopped his horse and listened. He heard a twig snap.

  “I know you’re in those woods,” Clarence shouted. “Please don’t be rude. Come on out and say hello.”

  The scout rode his horse closer to Clarence. “I hear at least five,” the scout said.

  Clarence just smiled back, dismounted, then handed the reins of his horse to the scout. He swept his short, black cape off his shoulders to reveal the hilt of his short sword.

  “Won’t you come out of your hiding places to play, little bandits?” Clarence said, moving closer to the treeline. He moved in the direction of the snapping twig.

  At the first hint of motion in the woods, Clarence crouched down and jumped. The scout gasped as Clarence sailed thirty feet into the woods and crashed down into the brush. A second later, a body flew back out into the road and tumbled across it.

  Clarence jumped again, sailing fifteen feet into the air. He landed near the female bandit’s head. She jumped up, leaving her bow and arrows behind and tried to escape back into the woods. Clarence reached out his hand, made a fist and pulled back his arm, grabbing nothing but air.

  The woman’s hair came straight out from the back of her head and snapped her neck back. A downward motion from Clarence’s hand brought the woman back down to the ground again.

  The woods exploded with motion as five bandits burst out onto the road. The scout jumped off his horse and drew his long daggers.

  Clarence took two steps to the bandit woman, then stomped on her ankle. She screamed. “Don’t go anywhere,” Clarence growled, then whirled to face the attackers.

  “We weren’t fixin’ to rob you,” one of the smaller bandits said. “Let us take her, and we’ll leave you alone.”

  “It’s far, far too late for that,” Clarence said. He swept his hand through the air, some ten feet from the bandit, and something invisible slammed into his head, knocking him down.

  The others screamed and charged. The scout ran in behind Clarence, but it was over in seconds. The Lieutenant drew his sword and nearly decapitated the closest bandit. He reached out with a telekinetic grasp and crushed the throat of the second. The rest fell to sword strikes nearly too fast for the scout to see.

  Clarence cleaned the blood off his sword on the clothes of the man whose throat he had crushed only moments before. The scout moved in to give mercy to the man who was slowly dying, but Clarence barked, “Leave him or I’ll do the same to you!”

  Clarence whirled back toward the bandit whose ankle he had broken. She was trying to run away on one leg. Clarence bellowed with delight.

  “You look like a fox that once escaped one of my traps,” he taunted, walking casually up to the woman. Once beside her, he pushed her to the ground, then put his boot on her neck. “Not so fast, my little living example. You have a job to do.”

  He lifted his foot off her neck, then kicked her in the face, knocking her out. “Tie her up and put her on your horse.”

  With trembling hands, the scout did as he was commanded.

  12

  From Blue Creek to Argan

  They had lost the afternoon unloading the wagons, so Astrid decided to spend the night in Blue Creek. The village was far better off than Argan.

  Vinnie was very pleased that the townspeople brought out a hearty meal for Astrid and her crew.

  Astrid decided to post guards overnight in two shifts. Vinnie took first watch, as he claimed to be a night owl. Astrid herself took second shift so that she could see the sunrise. She stood, meditating as the town woke up and went about its day. When she finally opened her eyes, it was to see where the smell of cooking bacon came from.

  “I can’t let myself get too used to this,” she muttered to herself, heading toward the food.

  “Used to what?” Moxy’s voice startled her again.

  Astrid jumped away from the voice, and Moxy gave her her most disarming smile. Her pointed, childlike face made Astrid smile in spite of herself.

  “Not many people can sneak up on me like that,” Astrid said.

  “I think you’ve said that before. Also, I wasn’t sneaking. I’m just quiet,” Moxy said.

  “Not so quiet in a fight,” Astrid observed.

  “Only when needed,” Moxy replied. “That food smells good. I don’t usually eat human food.”

  Astrid stopped cold. “You’re telling me you’re not human?” She stared down at the petite figure, with her high cheekbones, long, pointed nose and ears that very nearly rose to a point.

  “You didn’t know?” Moxy said, her high-pitched voice rising even higher.

  “Not really,” Astrid replied. “I mean, I know that people have been… changing over the years. Back home, travelers brought stories of strange people living in the wilderness. I’ve heard of the rearick, but what are you?”

  Moxy shrugged. “We never thought to name ourselves. We just live in the forest like we have since the change.”

  “Is that what your people call it?”

  “That’s what I call it,” Moxy replied. “But I’m a bit strange among my kind.”

  “How so?” Astrid inquired.

  “Because I wear clothes and don’t hide from humans when I see them. We all travel, but I’m the only one of my kind who wants to know things.”

  “So, you’re an explorer,” Astrid observed.

  “I guess you could say that.” The wind shifted, carrying delicious scents, and Moxy ran off to follow it.

  Breakfast was served behind the communal village hall. Astrid didn’t have to tell anyone, they just knew to hurry with breakfast, so they could get going.

  Gormer was nowhere to be found until it was time to leave. He had stayed with Charlie, who felt shy around so many people. When Charlie finally came out to stand beside the wagons, those coming out to see them off fell silent. Charlie shifted around on his massive feet and tried to hide behind Gormer.

  Tolan cleared his throat and stepped forward. “They brought the giant with them before. Had him chained up. They made him load the wagons for them and told us they’d set him loose on us if we complained.”

  “Did you believe that bullshit?” Gormer sneered.

  “Not really,” Tolan replied. “Is it—”

  “He,” Gormer corrected. “We call him Charlie.”

  “Is he friendly?” Tolan asked.

  “Not really,” Gormer replied. �
�He doesn’t mean any harm, though, so I guess you might say that’s a kind of friendliness.”

  Tolan shook his head. “Well, best of luck to you all.”

  It was well past noon by the time they arrived back in Argan. They had to stay off the Toll Road to avoid anyone official. Tarkon rode ahead on his horse to make sure the way was clear, doubling back repeatedly to report the way was clear.

  Charlie ambled along easily beside the wagon, though his wounds still looked painful. When they neared the village, Gormer finally gave him the last stick of rock candy.

  When Tarkon galloped up this time, he shouted for them to stop. “The road is washed out ahead. We won’t get the wagon across it,” he reported.

  “Washed out? Huh,” Gormer said, pinching his chin. “That’s weird. There’s only one creek ahead, and it’s usually just a trickle.”

  “That’s because of us,” a voice called out from the woods. Everyone jumped.

  Gormer stood up and shouted. “Damn it, Woody. Come on out.”

  Woody appeared with three young archers—two girls and a boy. “You have to teach us how to hide like that,” Vinnie said.

  “I already know,” Moxy said. “Nothing to it.”

  Woody peered at Moxy for a moment, then his eyes went wide and his jaw slack. “A pixie,” he stammered. “In the flesh.”

  “I always thought they were one of your stories,” the archer boy said, stepping forward.

  “No. I told you they were real,” Woody said.

  “Looks like you’re a celebrity,” Astrid said, turning to Moxy.

  “Nah,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “My name is Moxy.” She turned to Woody and his young archers and lowered her hood. Her pale face, surrounded by her long, flowing, nearly-white hair, brought oohs and aahs from the three. Moxy beamed down at them from her horse and tossed her hair.

  “Yah,” Astrid said with a wry grin and a chuckle. “You’re not into it at all… ”

  Moxy giggled in reply.

  “So, you went out on a raid and brought back a stolen wagon, a pixie, and a giant,” Woody said.

  “And bonus,” Gormer said. “These psychos killed seventeen men.”

  “Killed… ” Woody said. “That’s bad news, Astrid. Very bad.”

  “They had it coming,” Astrid replied.

  “Yeah, no doubt,” Woody replied. “But the response is sure to be big for something like this.”

  “Woody,” Gormer said. “You know they’re always looking for any excuse to squeeze the villages. If it wasn’t Astrid, it would be something else.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Woody replied, “But I hope you’re ready for what comes next, Astrid.”

  “I’m a Knight of the Well,” Astrid replied. “I’m always ready for what comes next.”

  “Come on then,” Woody said, eyes lingering on Moxy as he hopped on the wagon. “You need to take the fork in the road up ahead.”

  “Did you have something to do with the road?” Gormer asked.

  “Yeah, we pissed off some beavers, but it had to be done,” Woody replied.

  Astrid perked up at the sounds of wood being sawed. They rode past a tree that had just been cleared, a place where the road emptied into a small clearing. Some bandits were busy dismantling a small wagon.

  “What the hell, Woody?” Gormer said, astonished. “Is that one of Jank’s wagons? I recognize that symbol.”

  “It was,” Woody replied. “I think I’ll use some of those boards for my house. The steel leaf springs will make excellent swords, don’t you think?”

  Gormer laughed heartily and slapped Woody on the back. “You just need a blacksmith for that. I thought you didn’t run a forge in the woods. Too much smoke.”

  Woody considered this for a moment. “I’ll have to think about that one,” Woody said. “Townies usually don’t like to make weapons for bandits.”

  “Woods people,” Astrid corrected.

  “You can call us bandits, OK,” Woody said. “I think your score has earned you that right.”

  Astrid shook her head and smiled as they took the road through the forest again and up to Argan. The whole village ran to greet them, including Popova.

  “We didn’t think you were coming back!” the Elder exclaimed.

  “Sorry,” Astrid said. “It took longer than expected. We had some… developments.”

  “I can see that,” Popova replied. “One of them included a giant, apparently. Who is this large fellow?” Popova was the only villager who didn’t seem apprehensive at the ten-feet-tall Charlie. “He’s wounded?” Popova said, eyeing the cuts and burns. Her voice turned angry then. “Who did this to him?”

  “Don’t worry,” Astrid said. “They paid in full and then some.”

  “Well,” Popova said. “He looks like he eats a lot, but we’ll see what we can do. Are you hungry, ah… ”

  “We call him Charlie,” Gormer said. “He’s says he’s not hungry. He’s just tired.”

  Popova cocked her head. “I didn’t hear him say anything.”

  Gormer tapped his temple with his index finger.

  “Oh… ” Popova said.

  Charlie started walking toward the field, the townspeople parting in his wake.

  “Where’s he going?” Popova asked.

  “Not sure,” Gormer replied. “I’m only getting images of plants and bees and shit like that.”

  “We need to work on your language, young man,” Popova said.

  “Ah, fuck, sorry,” Gormer said without irony.

  Charlie eventually collapsed in the middle of the field. He curled up in a ball, and they heard him snoring even in the distance.

  “That was weird,” Gormer said. “I’m not getting anything from him anymore. Maybe we should try dressing his wounds while he’s out.”

  “No,” Moxy said beneath her hood that she had slipped on again. “Let him be. It’s his way.”

  “I’m afraid he won’t have a way if those wounds get infected,” Vinnie said.

  “Trust me,” Moxy said. She slipped off the wagon and ran into the woods, green silk billowing behind her.

  “Who was that?” Popova asked.

  “She calls herself Moxy. She’s a pixie, apparently,” Astrid said.

  “Pixies… Giants… ” Popova mused. “The world is so strange since you arrived, Astrid.”

  “What can I say?” Astrid replied with a shrug.

  They unloaded the wagons and found bushels of carrots, cabbage, rye, wild rice, and cured pork. The pork was Blue Creek’s specialty.

  “I didn't know they put that meat in there,” Vinnie said. “Look, they left a note: ‘To our neighbors. Our good fortune is also yours. Enjoy.’”

  “This right here,” Popova said. “If we are careful—this is our winter reserve!”

  “Reserve?” Woody exclaimed. “You have a bounty here. Why not feast?” He licked his lips looking at the barrels of pork.

  Popova put fists to hips and shook her head. “That is not our way,” Popova said. “Maybe if the woods people did more planning, they’d have—”

  “Elder?” Astrid interrupted, holding up her hand. “Can we please not start that again?”

  Woody fumed, turning red under his beard.

  Popova cleared her throat. “Well, I suppose we could have a small celebration tonight with some of this.”

  “Feast!” Woody exclaimed. He hurried off with his young archers in tow.

  The townspeople unpacked the wagon while everyone else spoke. Astrid was surprised at the short work they made of it. But the afternoon was getting away from them. The trip from Blue Creek took far longer than expected.

  Over Popova’s objections to sit and relax, Astrid pitched in preparing what was indeed turning out to be a feast for the village. Woody came out of the forest with his hunters and two fully dressed deer.

  “I told you I’d do some hunting for the village,” he announced proudly.

  “Ehem,” one of the hunters said, leaning on h
er longbow. “I did the hunting. You just gave the order.”

  “Same difference!” Woody responded, and the two went off arguing, following the deer to an open kitchen just off the small village square.

  Astrid did take a moment then to sit on the back of the empty wagon. As she did, she looked around for Moxy, who had an unsettling habit of sidling up to her when she least expected it. Instead of the pixie, Tarkon ambled over.

  “What’s on your mind?” Astrid started upon seeing the extra broodiness on his face.

  “Our next set of moves. I’ve been in the territories for months now, mostly in the Eastern Region. This crew we just neutralized—”

  “Great word for it,” Astrid said, semi-sarcastically.

  “They speak of more to come. Sending men like that signals that Lungu is already trying to tighten his control. This is a system that has zero tolerance for disobedience.”

  “What makes me think you are very familiar with places like that?”

  “Because it is obvious,” Tarkon replied. “Do you want to hear what I have to say, or not?”

  Astrid grew serious. It might also be a good time to ask Tarkon directly about his story. “I’m listening,” she said.

  “A system like this is very brittle. Break any part of it, and the pieces will cut you by design.”

  Astrid paused. Tarkon remained silent. “Don’t say it in metaphor. Tell me what you think is about to happen,” Astrid sighed.

  “This is only the beginning. The response to this will be severe and it will happen across the region. The effects will spread.”

  Astrid thought of this all the way through dinner. They feasted as the sun set and jugs of wine were passed around.

  “Wait!” the village scribe shouted when he saw the jugs. “That is the protector’s wine! Pleth ordered that brewed specially for him.”

  “You call this wine?” Tarkon scoffed after taking a swig. “It tastes like beets.”

  “It’s beet wine,” Jordane the scribe replied. “Grapes have not grown here since the world ended. Wine from this region is loved throughout the Protectorates.”

  Tarkon shrugged and muttered something, sniffed at his cup, then drank the rest. “It’s growing on me. The beets must be… ” He paused, trying to repair his insult. “… very special here.” It didn’t really work, but the surrounding faces looked forgiving.