The War Revealed (The Lost War Book 2)

by Karl K Gallagher

  Goldenrod finished a bit of fish and went into the pavilion. She emerged with Belladonna’s leather scroll. She unrolled it and laid it before Aelion. “Have you seen anything like this?”

  He laid down his fork and picked it up with both hands. “It’s a scroll. I don’t know most of these words.”

  He flipped it to the other side. “I can’t remember seeing one scribed on both sides. That’s a lot of extra work.”

  He turned it upside down and studied the diagrams before going back to the words. “Mostly I can see ‘and’ or ‘then’ between words I don’t know. It’s like—”

  Aelion threw the scroll to the grass. “This is sorcery, isn’t it?”

  Goldenrod was back in her seat. “We don’t know. The owner was killed by orcs. It might be part of the spell that brought us here.”

  “Sorcery. Don’t talk to me about that. Talk to the sorcerer. Well, no. nobody should talk to the sorcerer if they don’t have to. Talk to one of his apprentices.”

  Newman leaned over to pick up the scroll. He handed it to Goldenrod.

  Redinkle asked questions about fire magic for cooking. The revelation that a fire could be held at constant intensity made Master Sweetbread sigh wistfully. Cooking over a campfire used only a fraction of his skills.

  A few minutes after Aelion stopped eating he started yawning.

  “Would you like a place to stay for the night?” asked the Autocrat.

  The elf looked over the camp. A few trees had survived the demand for firewood and fencing timbers. He pointed at the nearest. “Is anyone using that one?”

  “Well, no.”

  The elf walked gracefully to the tree and climbed to about thirty feet off the ground. He lay back on a branch, feet propped against the trunk, and lay still.

  “I’d be amazed by someone balancing on a branch that narrow while awake,” said Newman.

  “I assume he knows what he’s doing.” Sharpquill ate his last bite of venison. “Lady Foxglove, if there’s anything left it can go back to the Wolfheads. Please convey my thanks to the Alpha and Mistress Vixen.”

  ***

  Countess Fennel made no objection to Goldenrod replacing the meeting’s agenda. Word of the elf brought out every mage. Even Lady Burnout was present, and she only came when an experiment was likely to draw blood.

  “My fellow mages,” began Goldenrod, “I present to you our guest Aelion, a wandering elf. He is volunteering to help us with our magic. We’re going to take turns showing him our abilities. He’ll decide who he can help the most.”

  Sparrow was the biggest surprise to the elf.

  Most powers were routine to Aelion. He declared Fennel and Rivet’s abilities to be aspects of the same trick. He prescribed them exercises to broaden the objects they could move.

  For each mage Aelion would demonstrate a new aspect of the talent. When Marjoram asked how he learned so many tricks he answered, “Five hundred years is plenty of time to learn them all.”

  Aster presented herself hovering three feet above the ground.

  The elf grunted, “Sorcery,” and waved her aside.

  More mages received demonstrations and exercises.

  Sparrow stepped forward. He held up his hands palm to palm six inches apart, and let sparks crackle between the fingertips.

  Aelion sprang backwards off the tree stump he’d been sitting on, landing on his feet, knees bent to allow movement in any direction. “That’s lightning!”

  The imitation of Newman’s Midwestern accent broke. ‘Lightning’ covered a full octave.

  The teenage boy flinched back, shocked by the reaction.

  Goldenrod intervened. “Yes, it’s made of the same stuff as lightning. We use it to fuel some of our machines.”

  “Fuel? Like a cookfire?” asked the elf.

  “Yes, in a sense. I’ll have to show you some of our machines,” said Goldenrod.

  “Later.” Aelion moved forward. “Show me that again, boy.”

  Sparrow gulped. He lifted his hands and created more sparks.

  The elf reached for Sparrow, cupping his hands around the outside of the teenager’s wrists.

  Only the hiss and pop of the sparks was heard in the clearing.

  “Enough.” Aelion sat on the stump again.

  Sparrow waited uncertainly.

  “That is magic, not sorcery. Yet I’ve never seen such magic. It is a simple force but I have no ideas on how you can use it in other ways.”

  A smile appeared on Sparrow’s face. “That’s all right. I’m already working full time at what I can do. I don’t need any more tricks.”

  “Very well. Is there anyone else?”

  Lady Burnout had waited to go last. She drew a knife from her belt as she came forward. A quick slash left a four inch cut in her forearm. She sheathed the knife then waved her hand over the cut. It scabbed over instantly.

  “A healer! That is a rare gift, to have healing as one’s best talent.”

  “The medicines we came with are mostly gone,” said Burnout. “Can you help me replace them?”

  “There are many healing tricks.”

  “Then I demand you teach me first.” The chiurgeon flashed a challenging look at the leaders of the mage council. None objected as she towed the elf toward camp.

  ***

  Aelion was not impressed with Lady Burnout’s surgical tools. Not that the elf ever looked other than politely disdainful at any human device. Medications drew an admission of “useful, if true” except for antibiotics.

  “You feed poison to your children?”

  Burnout defended her medicine. “They’re not poison to people, just infections.” She decided allergic reactions could wait to another day.

  “I now know what your first lesson must be. Who in this camp do you trust the most?”

  Elf and chiurgeon found Constable walking a round of the camp.

  “We must touch you,” was the visitor’s greeting.

  Burnout was more diplomatic. “Evening, Constable. We’re hoping you could help with something he’s trying to teach me.”

  “Well . . . touch away, then.”

  Aelion touched fingertips to Constable’s chest. His other hand lay across Burnout’s forehead. “Sense what I sense,” he said to her.

  One bit of magic let her feel the other. A sense she couldn’t name conveyed Constable’s goodness. It was a solid, warm, cheerful hum. She missed it when the elf dropped the spell.

  “Now. Do it yourself.” Aelion stepped back.

  Lady Burnout placed her fingertips over Constable’s heart. She carefully didn’t use the first power she’d learned. Adding clots to a healthy body could give her friend a heart attack. She recalled the sensation the elf had shared and looked for it.

  Body heat and heartbeat.

  Aelion said, “Open your other mouth and breathe him in.”

  She tried to open an organ she didn’t have. Legs took a wider stance. Elbows turned out. Fingers spread wide. A deep breath.

  She felt it!

  Goodness, flowing into her fingertips. As solid and dependable as any she’d ever felt.

  “You’re a good man,” she said.

  “I do my humble best, milady.”

  Aelion led her away. “Now we need his opposite,” said the elf. He plucked a midge out of the air. “Sense this.”

  “It feels evil.”

  “Yes, it only sees you as a source of blood.” He crushed the bug and wiped his fingers on his trousers. “Have you seen smaller creatures that will burrow into one’s skin?”

  “We had ticks where we came from.”

  “I must explain to you how disease works. What you call infections or colds are actually invasions by animals even smaller than ticks. Too small for you to see.”

  “Yes, we know that,” said Lady Burnout impatiently. “We call them bacteria or viruses.”

  The elf snorted in disbelief. “How did you find them?”

  “We looked.” She fished a magnifying glass out of
her belt pouch. Demonstrating it on her fingertip gave her the pleasure of seeing that Aelion could look surprised. She went on to describe microscopes and offered to give him a demonstration with the one in her tent.

  “Yes, but later. Let us cure them before we look at them. Not all ‘bacteria’ are bad.” He put a fingertip below her bellybutton. He lifted it to her eyes. “Sense this.”

  Burnout placed one fingertip against his. “It’s good. One of my symbiotic gut bacteria.”

  “Yes. Let us find evil bacteria.”

  She led him to Daffodil’s tent. The little girl’s parents were awake. Merrybrew and Marjoram poured out an update on her symptoms. Burnout nodded. If the patient was an adult she would have declared the infection resistant and stopped giving any of the last handful of antibiotic pills. “We’re going to try something new,” she told them.

  Aelion said, “She will need soap and water.”

  “We only have the lye soap,” fretted Marjoram.

  “That will be fine.”

  Daffodil was half-asleep on her cot. She didn’t answer the chiurgeon’s query. The scraped knee was red and swollen. She was sweating with fever.

  Lady Burnout laid her hands gently on Daffodil’s knee. She flinched at the feel of the swarming bacteria. Consumption, reproduction . . . nothing else.

  Aelion said, “Now pull them to you. Command them to come.”

  As she thought it her magic forced the bacteria to move. Daffodil whimpered. Germs flowed out of the girl’s flesh and stuck to her palms.

  She held her hands up to look at them in the light from the tent flap. The layer of bacteria was too thin to have color. The slime glistened.

  “Wash your hands.”

  Burnout obediently plunged her hands into the basin. The harsh soap made her skin feel tight. The bacteria died as it hit them. She could feel them die.

  She could feel the bacteria die.

  Her gleeful laughter alarmed Daffodil’s parents. They stepped back, then began to slide around to their daughter’s bedside.

  The chiurgeon took control of herself before they could grab the girl and flee. “Sorry. The spell seems to be working.”

  “Get the rest,” said Aelion.

  Laying hands on the knee again brought out about a tenth as many germs. After scrubbing those off she went up and down Daffodil’s leg to find ones in the bloodstream.

  “Enough. Her body will defeat the rest,” declared Aelion. He turned to the parents. “The knee should look better in the morning and be fine in two days. Feed her as much as she wishes.”

  Burnout giggled.

  Aelion took Burnout by the elbow. “I must take her to rest.”

  The parents babbled thanks as the elf guided her out of the tent. He led her back to the chiurgeon tent.

  Lady Burnout looked up at him. “What else can magic do?”

  “Too many things.”

  ***

  No hunter had manifested magical powers. Nobody had a reasonable explanation for it. Aelion kept mentioning spells he used while hunting. Goldenrod decided to send him out with Newman’s team to see if any of the magic would rub off on them.

  On the walk to the hunting grounds they talked gear.

  “I made this from two pieces of wood. Hickory for the back and yew for the belly,” said Newman, holding out his bow.

  Aelion touched it with his fingertips. “How do you hold the woods together?”

  “There’s fancy glue back home that makes a solid seal. We can’t make that here.”

  The elf hefted his bow. “I took this from a wolor tree. Cut the wood from where the heart met the shell.”

  “How long did it take you to whittle down the piece to shape?”

  “No time at all. One cut on each side.” He mimed passing a blade over the surface of the bow.

  “Yes, but this must have taken longer.” Newman tapped the ridges where Aelion would grip the bow when shooting. They matched his fingers down to the wrinkles on the inside of each joint.

  “Oh, those grew later.”

  “Grew?”

  “It’s a simple spell. Each time you use a tool, you make it fit your hand a little better. Wood fits quickly. This took ages to shape.” Aelion pulled an obsidian knife from his belt. The blade was faceted as it had been chipped from the original rock. The grip matched the elf’s hand to the lines on his palm.

  Deadeye exchanged looks with Newman. This was magic they wanted.

  After a couple of hours of hiking they left the rhino trails and cut into the woods. This was far enough from camp the deer were still present.

  Aelion took the lead. He ghosted through the trees. Despite his size he made less sound than Newman at his stealthiest. The hunters followed, communicating by gestures if at all.

  It didn’t take long for the elf to find his prey. He pointed. Newman looked. He could see movement and glimpses of brown fur through the foliage.

  Normally Newman would split his team at this point. They’d approach the deer from opposite sides, working closer until one spooked the herd. The other would ambush the fleeing prey, bringing down as many as they could.

  Aelion nocked an arrow, drew, and loosed.

  Newman watched in amazement. There wasn’t a line of sight to the deer. He followed the arrow with his eyes.

  The arrow curved around branches and shot through leaves. An agonized bleat sounded. Then the drumming hooves of the herd fleeing.

  Well, one deer would be a better score than some days they’d had.

  He followed Aelion through the woods, falling behind as the elf’s long legs outdistanced him.

  Aelion had recovered his arrow by the time Newman caught up. The wound was in the front of the ribs. Instantly lethal. The same magic that steered the arrow around obstructions must have guided it to the vulnerable point.

  The obsidian blade was slicing open the deer’s chest. Aelion pulled out the heart and a few other bits. “Take your share and let’s go.”

  “We’ll divvy it up in camp,” said Newman.

  The rest of the hunting party arrived. Deadeye tied a rope around the rear hooves. The others pulled it up to a branch and began gutting it.

  “What are you doing?” demanded Aelion. “The smell will attract every scavenger for miles. Wolves. Orcs. A dragon if you spill enough blood.”

  “Wolves and orcs are scarcer than they used to be,” answered Newman. “And the dragon hasn’t paid any attention to us while we’re on the ground.”

  The elf took another bite out of the deer’s heart. “No wonder you had a hundred orcs attack your camp. I could smell this from ten miles away.”

  “Hey, if you’re hungry for lunch we could build a campfire.”

  “So smoke can attract whatever the blood does not? Fires are for settlements, not wanderers.”

  Newman shook his head. I’m figuring out why this guy was starving to death.

  ***

  Foxglove buttonholed Newman after dinner. “Did he not like the stew?”

  She’d taken over supplying enough food to sate the elf. Tonight’s main course had been a stew of venison and wild vegetables, served in a cooking pot.

  Aelion normally cleared his plates completely. Foxglove put extra effort into making sure they were washed so they wouldn’t accidentally go into the clean stack.

  This pot had enough left in it to be a small serving for a human.

  “He liked it fine,” answered Newman. “I think he was just full.”

  “He’s never been so full he left food on his plate before.”

  “Yeah. But we’ve been feeding him all he can eat for days. He had to catch up eventually.”

  Foxglove’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean, catch up?”

  “Did you notice how the cords in his neck stand out?”

  She flushed. “Yes.”

  “The flesh around them is filling in. I think Aelion was on the edge of starvation when he found us.”

  “But—I saw you at archery practice with him
! He’s a great marksman.”

  Newman shrugged. “Hitting the target isn’t all there is to hunting. There has to be game out there. We and the orcs have thinned out the deer. Plus he had to keep away from the orcs. They were swarming this area until the battle. Aelion’s made a few comments about being chased by them.”

  “I thought he could kick an orc’s ass.”

  “One orc, sure. If he saw them at arrow range he could take down a dozen. In the woods, with how skinny he is, two orcs could kill him easy.”

  “Damn. And he’s been out in the woods for a hundred years?”

  “About. He says he wasn’t counting.”

  ***

  Aelion didn’t understand charcoal. “If you want a hotter fire, just burn the wood more,” he said.

  Arguing over how to do that took him and Redinkle to Pernach and Pinecone’s clearing in the woods. A charcoal mound lay low, almost done with its burn. The boys studied its progress. Cut wood stood in stacks waiting for the next one.

  A patch of dirt had been swept clean, ready for a new mound to be built. Aelion set a piece in the middle. “Ignite this,” he said to Redinkle.

  By now she had no need to touch something to start a fire. She stood four paces away as the whole length of wood sprouted red and orange flames.

  Aelion watched it burn for several minutes. It seemed a very long time for him to be silent. The quiet infected Pernach and Pinecone as they stomped on the mound to settle it.

  At last the elf took another split log from the pile. He laid it two feet from the other. Then he stood beside Redinkle.

  “Watch with all your senses,” he said.

  The wood burst into white flame. The heat struck Redinkle as if she was before a bonfire. Pernach and Pinecone jumped off the mound, afraid it was flaring up.

  Redinkle closed her eyes against the glare. When she felt the heat fade she opened them again. Purple afterimages blocked her vision. When they went away she saw a neat pile of grey ash where the second piece had been.

  Her piece still burned. The side facing the ash was charred.

  “Did you feel that?” asked the elf. “How all the wood wanted to burn? How it just needed encouragement?”