Here Escarion paused, looking around and Cristal quickly signalled Mendle to pour cafke for the Mage. He received the cup gladly and raised it to Cristal.
“I see you read minds also. Thank you; it was a long trip here. But I digress. Back to the tale. The finder did not know the jewel contained my spirit and it was sold on, eventually being mounted on a chain and offered as a gift to Empress Martine from her Draakonian allies. It was my fault for not taking proper precautions. I didn’t expect my battle with the Evil Mage to last so long.
A Mage can only exist for so long separated from his true spirit, so when I eventually tracked mine down, I was forced to appear in front of Martine and ask if I could purchase the jewel from her. Martine asked an outrageous price for it and when I agreed she suspected there was something more going on. She realised the power of her position and offered me no choice. I had to comply or my body would have faded from existence without the spark of spirit to keep it going. I was thankful she didn’t realise my full potential as she formulated her silly plan. I’m in your debt for rescuing me. So how may I repay it?”
Arwhon was still struggling with the casual display of power he had just witnessed. Never in his wildest dreams did he think to meet a Mage so knowledgeable or powerful in the field of magic.
“Just who, or what, are you?”
“Let’s just say, this is not my normal appearance, I use it among Man the same way Shiri uses her glamour to disguise both you and herself. I’m a member of the Kin of S’Ria.”
He looked around the puzzled faces of the group standing at the table.
“You are all people Fate has kissed and it would be better if you had some knowledge to assist you. Let me give you a quick history lesson but before I do, is there any wine? May we sit?”
Cristal suddenly realised they had all been standing while Escarion addressed them and apologising profusely before ducking her head out of the alcove to call for a small cask of Myseline red to be broached. It was duly delivered a few minutes later. Realising the alcove was too small for all of them to fit in comfortably, Cristal suggested they move to sit at the large dining table.
Putting down his glass of the fine wine, Escarion took a pouch from his coat pocket and a strange bowl-on-a-tube which he filled with a crumbly brown substance. After tamping it, a flame from the end of his finger lit the stuff as he sucked on the tube. No one around the table could understand why anyone would want to breathe in smoke but it smelt pleasantly aromatic and the Mage seemed to enjoy it. He caught them observing his little performance and breathing out smoke in little rings, muttered.
“Tabac, filthy habit but I enjoy it now and again.”
Taking a sip of wine, Escarion sat back and began his history lesson.
“What I’m about to relate is the best history our lore keepers at the library could assemble. Its part myth and legend, part verifiable fact. It does however, answer a lot of questions. So until we find a better story to tell, this is what our children learn.
Once upon a time there were two main races in this world, the Hirondae and the Dwarves. They both lived separate lives, one above ground and one below. The magic of the Hirondae was strong and each individual was able to control fire, earth, air and water magics. As all races do eventually, various among them gravitated to one type of magic only and started to live in groups with others of similar ability. Over a long, long period of time, what were once one people, the Hirondae, eventually became four. The M’Herindar, some of who became Q’Herindam, are practitioners of Earthmagic, the Wyalonians specialised in Watermagic and the Kin of S’Ria use the power of the Air.
We choose to live on the southern continent, high up in the mountains, where it’s warmer than here and the air is pure. We’re named the Kin as we all claim descent from the same bloodline. Our main town, Lynbrook, on a high plateau at the base of the mountain, Farseer, has become a centre of learning. We horde books and have compiled a huge library over the millennia. Our lives are somewhat similar to the M’Herindar. With one exception. We have devoted our lives to making sure Man is not ill used by those with the power to do so.”
Escarion paused to light his smoking device again and refill his glass. Noting the attentive postures of his listeners, he further warmed to his historian’s role and relaxed back into his chair, legs crossed at the ankles. Before he could continue, Arwhon asked the question each of them was thinking.
“What about the practitioners of Firemagic? Where did they go?”
Escarion’s reply was matter of fact.
“No one knows. They haven’t been seen for thousands of years. They may have all died out. It’s rare to find a natural Fire user these days.”
Arwhon seemed a little crestfallen at this response and failed to notice Escarion scrutinising him closely for a moment.
“Now, where was I? Oh yes. Those who follow the path of magic above all else are known as Mages. The M’Herindar never bothered with the deeper study of magic and there are no real Mages amongst them but the Q’Herindam did, as did the Wyalonians and the Kin of S’Ria. However, in all societies there is good and bad, even among those with magic. Some Mages turned to evil ways, though not many, and preyed on their own kind, as well as Man, who had recently arrived in these lands. The Kin of S’Ria vowed to combat those Evil Ones and some of us dedicate our lives to it.”
Escarion looked at Arwhon and Shiri.
“You should come and visit us sometime. You might like it.”
Kuiran put his tankard down on the table, a glass being too small for him, and addressed Escarion.
“Tell me, where did Man come from originally?”
“We believe Man came from the far side of the world by ship, crossing the Wyalonian Ocean, as there is a record of habitation on the island of Wyalon before the first record of Man on this land mass. However, it all occurred so long ago we are unsure of the truth of that particular piece of writing.”
Cristal appeared puzzled by something and asked her own question of Escarion.
“How is it that the M’Herindar possess eyes like Arwhon and Shiri while you and Kuiran do not?”
“Man blood. Because the M’Herindar retreated to the Darkwood and rarely coupled with Man, their eyes remained true to their Hirondae heritage. The remainder of the Elder race lost the distinctive eyes as the blood was diluted. Unfortunately the magic was diluted too. Only some of us in the Kin of S’Ria are as powerful as of old, the rest have lesser abilities with the magic. But who is strong or who is weak in magic doesn’t matter to those of the Kin. We are one. Some time in the future there may be no magic in the world. Until that time, someone has to defend Man against the Evil Ones whose strength comes from Chaos, the arch enemy of Fate.”
Escarion rose and went to the fireplace to tap his smoking tube against the empty grate. He came back to the table and refilled the device before lighting it again. It seemed the right time for a break so Cristal organised a little food to be brought in, bread and cheese to accompany the wine. When everyone was settled once more, the wine glasses and tankards recharged, Escarion eyes swept the group, stopping to rest on Chalc.
“Why did you summon me Chalc?”
Chalc nodded toward Arwhon.
“My Master will tell you.”
What Arwhon uttered next seemed almost trivial compared to the scope of Escarion’s world and the information he had just imparted to them.
“I used my Dagger recently. This one.”
He withdrew it from its sheath to hand to Escarion but the Mage started as he saw the design on the blade and waved it away, saying he could not touch it. Curious.
Arwhon continued.
“It channelled back down a link to a sorcerer using powerful magic. I feel he is Q’Herindam. He’s aiding the Empress Martine and I believe the two are allied. If that is the case, magic may soon be used against this City or those who dwell here. It could easily turn the tide of the war and give Martine a victory.”
Escarion seemed unperturbe
d.
“We can’t have that, can we? The Q’Herindam may then get their wish and Man will be wiped from the face of this land. I’ll help but I cannot use magic against Martine, only block magic aimed at this City or its inhabitants. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes, it’s all we ask, no more. If we cannot fight with honour we do not deserve to win.”
“Well said young Arwhon. Your task is one fraught with difficulty. The Ring you wear still contains a very small part of the life essence of a great magic wielder, one I cannot identify as it’s shielded by a powerful spell bound within the Ring itself. Among other things he must have been a Truth diviner. Probably why the Ring always gives you the Truth. I see it has bound itself to you and you to it. Fortunately for you, there doesn’t appear to be enough of the original spirit left in the Ring to animate another body, which means you will remain yourself and have no need to worry about being taken over by it, even if your body dies. And that’s the best explanation I can come up with.”
Arwhon stilled and his face paled as Escarion related this to him. Around the table, worry was writ on each face there. Escarion looked up and saw Arwhon’s bleak look.
“What is it young Arwhon? What troubles you so?” Escarion asked, a concerned look on his face.
“I’ve already died. With this Dagger stuck in my heart. I was dead for twenty minutes while my soul was elsewhere.”
Escarion leaned forward and let his chair down onto four legs, slowly rising to his feet. He circled the table to stand behind Arwhon. Raising both hands until they were held over Arwhon’s head, he began to mutter to himself. The temperature in the room dropped a couple of degrees and Arwhon stilled in his chair. Escarion’s eyes closed as he stood silently, moving his hands back and forth. Finally he stepped back and returned to his seat.
“There may be some small remnant of the Ring’s original owner within you. I can’t be certain though.”
“Neither was another who checked me.”
“Who was that?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. It’s Darkwood business.”
The bland statement was accepted by Escarion, the secrecy of the M’Herindar was legendary. Raleen sat with her mouth agape at the information being presented and the interchanges taking place before her. She was now in a different world entirely from the one she had been in but a few short months before. She was constantly being amazed at each new revelation her younger brother made. It just didn’t seem possible this Arwhon was her little brother when all these events were happening to him.
Escarion looked around the table at each person present before turning back to Arwhon.
“Always believe in yourself and your Shield and you will succeed. Now I must go. I can keep watch on things from atop the church tower. Farewell.”
At this, Escarion rose quickly and hurried from the house, almost running, as he headed for the tower. His sudden departure stunned the group before Arwhon announced into the silence.
“Every word he spoke was the Truth.”
Animated talk ensued. Kuiran moved quietly away, almost unnoticed despite his size and sat carefully in a large armchair, his face saddened. Arwhon held forth his hand, studying the Ring on his finger, wondering if he could contact the spirit remnant he now believed was within him. Even Ch’ron had not been able to sense it fully, just a hint of something more, attributing it to the Ring on his finger.
Raleen approached Kuiran and took one of his huge hands in hers.
“What troubles you Kuiran?”
He looked up, eyes moist.
“I’m Wyalonian but never managed to find out about them or how to access Watermagic. I don’t even know if I’m capable of it and Escarion has gone now. I’d never heard of Wyalon before today and Escarion didn’t say much about the people who live there.”
“Never mind for now Kuiran, there’s time a plenty and we’ll see Escarion again to ask him more. Speaking of magic, look what I discovered I can do.”
She stepped back and pointing her hand in his direction, gestured. Kuiran slowly rose out of the chair a few inches before descending back. His mouth hung open in amazement and she laughed at his expression. He looked up at Raleen and saw no malice, just a lovely woman enjoying his astonishment.
Shortly, he was laughing too.
The following morning, as the sun lightened the eastern horizon, just on daybreak, three riders left the northern gate of Belvedere, riding for the Southland border. They appeared to be two men on Barsoomi horses and a little girl on a mule. Unseen, deep in the shadows of the gatehouse, a short figure with totally black eyes, clad in a cowled robe, watched them ride out. A slight smile played over thin lips before the figure vanished into thin air.
3. The Broken Lands.
As Arwhon, Shiri and Chalc left the city of Belvedere and struck out north west toward Southland’s border gate on the Great South Road, Arwhon spoke up.
“Wouldn’t it be quicker to just ride due north into Barsoom over the grasslands?”
It was Darla, Chalc’s horse, who supplied the answer, her communion with Chalc conveying information about Walland’s Rue, the huge marsh directly north of them into which five of the seven rivers crossing Barsoom emptied and from which the Wandering River arose to eventually empty into Belvedere’s harbour. She also supplied information as to its extent.
Chalc conveyed this knowledge to Arwhon and Shiri.
“Apparently the area in the north of Walland’s Rue is an extensive network of waterways where a few small tribes of Reedpeople live on islands covered with trees and use boats to navigate their watery world. It forms a natural border between most of the north of Southland and southern Barsoom. That’s the reason we have to swing closer to the mountains.”
Arwhon nodded his understanding, adding the information to his growing geographical knowledge as they rode on. The breeze was rising, blowing steadily from the east. For some reason it troubled Arwhon.
“Does this wind always blow from the east and is it always so dry?”
Once again, with information provided by Darla, Chalc answered his question.
“Darla says it’s very unusual for this time of year. Normally the wind blows from the south and brings rain from the sea. She cannot remember it ever being like this before.”
They rode all day and made camp close to an escarpment to the west of the Great South Road as evening fell. It felt good to be away from the City and Sihron’del was much happier.
“Too much hustle and bustle in Belvedere, men move so quickly through their lives. No one seems to take the time to exist and enjoy, it’s always next, next, next.”
Chalc nodded as she spoke but offered his own point of view.
“Men have shorter lives than the M’Herindar. We don’t have as much time for contemplation and feel the need to get things done.”
They slept well in the relative quiet of the night, lying back and observing the myriad stars while the breeze soughing through the trees lulled them to sleep. The horses could be relied on to guard them.
Passing through the border gate late the next morning, Arwhon, used to his new eyes now, thought the light to be slightly dimmer than during the previous day. He looked up and realised there was a browny greyish haze, high up in the sky.
“Is it just me or is the light strange.”
The others looked around at the muted colours of the foliage and the very slight orangey colour reflected from their surroundings. Shiri lifted her face to the breeze.
“Is that smoke I can smell?”
“Now that you mention it, there is a slight whiff of smoke.” Chalc replied.
They looked east and the sky there seemed a little darker. Sitting his horse, wondering as to the cause, Arwhon’s mind raced through various possibilities as he felt the now almost familiar pressure in his head. The answer came.
“Martine! She’s burning the Plains of Barsoom! We must ride to warn the King as quickly as possible. Shiri, can Rancid keep up with us if we travel at spe
ed?”
She cocked her head to one side for a second as though listening.
“For a while, he’s a lot fitter now than he was when he left Cumbrisia’s End and a lot better fed too.”
They took off in a north easterly direction at a collected canter, mile after mile of grassland passing under the hooves of the horses, resting them each hour with ten minutes of walking before setting off at the canter again. By late afternoon they had covered a lot of ground but as Rancid was tiring rapidly, they dropped back to a walking pace to accommodate the mule’s exhaustion. The sky to the east was visibly darker as they made camp for the evening. Over the meal, Shiri asked Arwhon for some Power.
“I can restore Rancid’s energy to full strength for the morning and I can also show you how to do it. If you can summon Power you should be able to pass it on.”
She took him to Rancid who stood, head down, his long ears drooping, totally fatigued by his effort to keep up with Duran and Darla. He would have appeared almost comical, were it not for their present circumstances.
“Place your left hand on his head, between the ears and the other on his left side over the heart.”
Arwhon did so and felt Rancid’s rapidly beating heart under his right hand.
“Open yourself to the link between your hands, feeling it the same way you feel Power coming in.”
He did so and was amazed at the wavering lines of energy he felt. Not strong but consistent. Shiri ducked under Arwhon’s right arm and squeezed in between Arwhon and Rancid, placing her hands on top of Arwhon’s, one on Rancid’s head and the other on the mule’s left side.
The Fall of Belvedere Page 6
