Magician's Heir

by D Bruce Cotton

  “Never again,” she whispered, face streaked with tears. Their lips met and Adam knew he’d come home at last.

  Chapter 25, Search

  Henslow shivered, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stumbled along the snowy foothills. A painful stitch throbbed in his side, keeping time with his footfalls. Refusing to give in to weakness, he’d somehow managed a slow jog for the last several hours; a good plan for someone whole and healthy, but questionable for a man in his condition.

  Still, he’d been lucky enough to avoid the Dark Mage’s forces so far. If caught, the Unsouled would make short work of him, alone and armed with but a simple stone spear. Hunger, too, gnawed at him. Unless he found help soon, he’d never survive the cold, let alone catch up to Rosner.

  After staggering out of the foothills at last, Henslow stopped for a moment, leaning with hands on knees to catch his breath. A few leagues to the south he saw the dark outline of the Great Forest. It meant the Eastern Road could be found somewhere near and, he hoped, the village of Norwich. As the closest settlement, it provided his best chance to find food and transportation. On foot, he’d never overcome Rosner’s lead.

  Henslow took a deep breath of the frigid air and plunged on. Deeper here, the snow often reached as high as his knees and it made progress difficult in his weakened condition. Heavy gray clouds cast a gloom over the landscape, turning what should be midday into deep twilight. He prayed for no more snow. Any delay now might well prove his death.

  Head down, he concentrated on moving his legs, one after the other. Sooner than he would’ve deemed possible, the road appeared. Or at least what looked to be the road. With snow this deep, flat uniformity provided the only evidence of a thoroughfare. Now he had a decision to make. Years of duty in Lakeshore gave him no reason to travel so far east, so while he knew from maps the general location of Norwich, he didn’t know if it lay to the east or west. After a moment, he turned right. West might not be the right direction, but it at least held the advantage of bringing him closer to Seir.

  SLOW, PAINFUL HOURS later, his gamble paid off. He arrived at the outskirts of Norwich just as the last feeble light faded from the cloud-covered sky. But he sensed something amiss. Even in the dead of winter, a village as small as Norwich should show some signs of life. Henslow moved to the first house. The wax paper window hung in shredded tatters from the rough pine sill. Peering inside, he saw a room in shambles; the rough wood furniture splintered and broken, the dirt floor splattered with a substance that could only be dried blood.

  Scorched timbers coated with a thin skiff of snow marked the next house. This happened days ago, he thought. Even the smoky stench had faded. By the time he reached the ancient oak at the village center, Henslow lost all hope of finding anyone alive. Dozens of low, snow-covered mounds confirmed his suspicions. Graves. Farther on he found a large, black mound of burned bodies. “Unsouled,” he whispered, kicking through the pile of charred bone and ash.

  Henslow continued the search, now looking for food and clothing instead of villagers. He met with better success this time though it became obvious someone had already raided the village’s stores. Perhaps the same ones who’d buried the villagers and burned the Unsouled, he reasoned. By the time he finished, a small pile of useful items lay gathered in front of him, though still much more than he could carry alone.

  With a sigh, he set about going through what he’d accumulated, separating the essentials—food, flint and steel, extra clothing, water skins, and a long knife—from the rest. He stuffed his new possessions into a leather sack, then slung it over one shoulder and headed toward one of the least damaged homes. While he felt uncomfortable sleeping unguarded, he doubted the Unsouled would return to a dead village. And his eyes burned with the need for sleep. Once inside, he ate a quick, cold meal and then curled up on a straw-stuffed mattress ripped in only a few places. Henslow didn’t dare risk a fire, so he relied on piles of blankets to stay warm instead. Feeling better than he had in some time, he nodded off.

  HENSLOW JERKED AWAKE. Something had disturbed his slumber. Still night, the broken furniture around him appeared as indistinct shadows. With as little noise as possible, he pushed back the blankets and slid the long knife from his pack. Then he listened hard. Outside, from somewhere nearby, came the faint nicker of a horse.

  Henslow hesitated, chewing his lip. Friend or foe, he needed a horse. He crossed the room and eased the door open just enough to see outside. Lighter than the cabin, the street still appeared cloaked in darkness. He saw nothing in either direction. Slipping outside, he crept down the street, toward the village center. He stopped every few steps to listen again. Nothing. As he stepped into an open space between buildings, he wondered if he’d imagined it all...

  “Stop right there!” came a low growl.

  Henslow froze and made a slow turn to his left. A dark figure sat atop a horse and held a loaded crossbow pointed straight at his heart.

  “Drop the knife!” commanded the stranger. “Step forward—slowly now—and identify yourself.”

  Henslow had no intention of being captured again. Still, he needed to play for time. Perhaps the man would make a mistake. “I am Captain Jacob Henslow,” he answered. “Who are you?”

  “Captain...?” The stranger sounded unsure, his crossbow wavered. “Is it really you?” The stranger’s horse took a few steps forward out of the shadows.

  “By the Power!” whispered Henslow. “Victor? How...? You accompanied Marshel and Adam. What are you doing here?” He glanced around. “Are they with you?”

  “No, Captain, I...” Victor hesitated. “I am alone.”

  Henslow took a deep sigh, allowing the tension to flow from his shoulders. “I see you bear evil tidings. As do I. Come. My quarters are not pleasant, but they will at least get us out of this cold.”

  Henslow took Victor to the cabin. They led the horse inside, unwilling to let it out of their sight. Both men sat on the mattress, wrapping themselves in the thick blankets before Victor spoke.

  Describing the Norwich devastation upon their arrival days ago, he explained their discovery of Melyssa, the only survivor of the attack, hiding in a basement cellar. He retold her tale of the raid and Marshel’s decision to continue on in pursuit of Alecia and Aristomus.

  “We could not take her with us, so Marshel assigned me to take her to a lumber mill he knew of in the Great Forest,” he continued. “It took several days to reach the mill, but the owner, Bearnard, agreed to give her refuge. I returned here, hoping to pick up Marshel’s trail.”

  Henslow nodded. “And fortunate for me you did.” He related the tale of his capture; his imprisonment in Mount Dismay. Victor’s eyes grew wider as Henslow described coming face to face with the Dark Mage and his eventual rescue by the giant, Craigen.

  “But more important,” he continued, “is what happened to the mage, Rosner.” He described Rosner’s transformation and how the Dark Mage sent him to deliver Seir.

  “He travels with an escort of Unsouled and so cannot move fast. But at some point Rosner must leave them behind or risk discovery of his purposes.” Henslow slammed a white-knuckled fist against his leg. “I must reach Seir first or he will turn the city into another Lakeshore!” At Victor’s nod of understanding, he continued in a subdued voice, “We must ride double until we can find another mount. But we will worry about how on the morrow. For now, we must have rest,” he ordered.

  HENSLOW AND VICTOR rose early. Since he now had a horse, the Captain retrieved the items he’d discarded the day before, loading the animal as much as he deemed safe. The men mounted and set out west, following the Eastern Road under its covering of snow. They made good time, despite having to walk at times to keep from overtaxing their mount. Even so, Rosner had a significant lead—one they’d never overcome without a second horse.

  A few day’s hard travel brought them to the crossing of the Eastern and Lakeshore Roads. “Captain,” said Victor, pointing at the ground. “Someone has been through here rec
ently.” The churned snow showed twin tracks coming from the south, turning west onto the Eastern Road.

  “Aye,” breathed Henslow, “a wagon. And not more than a few hours ahead, I deem.” Rubbing his chin in thought, he stared at the tracks as they disappeared in the distance. “Likely a traveler of some sort, but not the one we search for. Rosner would have come from the north and is no doubt afoot. The Dark Mage has little use for wagons.”

  “Then we should continue,” urged Victor. “Perhaps this is the aid we seek. A wagon would allow us to make better time with less risk.”

  “Agreed.” Henslow remounted and extended an arm to help Victor up. “Best we keep moving then.”

  The day remained cloudy and overcast. As the hours passed, the meager light leaching through the clouds faded to twilight. They found fresh droppings, an indication they drew closer. So, by mutual consent, they abandoned the road, swinging north to circle wide around the traveler. When Henslow judged they’d gone far enough, he headed back to the road. There, he dismounted and gave Victor his orders.

  “It will be full dark soon. The traveler may stop for the night, so I will approach from the west. Confronted by a single man on foot should lessen his alarm. At least it is my hope. Remain beyond the road under cover of night and keep your crossbow ready,” he instructed. “We know not who or what we face here.” Victor nodded. Spurring his horse, he headed back uphill. Henslow watched until horse and soldier disappeared in the deepening gloom, then he turned with a sigh and walked eastward.

  Snow hardened from the cold crunched beneath his boots. White plumes of vapor billowed with each breath and he fought the desire to glance in the direction where Victor paced him. Eyes focused on the road, he squinted hard, willing the wagon to appear in the darkness ahead.

  A faint glow provided the first sign, followed soon after by the wooden creak of wagon wheels—a hollow squeak strangely dissonant as it echoed through the frigid night air. Henslow slowed to a stop, choosing to let the traveler come to him. The wagon coalesced from the gloom. The horse appeared first; a huge gray beast with hairy fetlocks, pulling the load with its head down. Next came the wagon, creaking and bouncing over the snow-covered roadway. Then the driver; a dark, bent figure outlined by an oil lantern swaying from a wooden pole attached to the wagon’s frame.

  The lantern’s pale light limited the driver’s night vision. The horse saw Henslow first, giving a snort and tossing its head. “Here, now, Stomper,” called the driver. “Nothing to fret about, boy...” When Henslow’s dark figure loomed from the dark, the driver panicked. “Whoa!” he shouted, pulling hard on the reins. The big horse reared, pawing at the air, while the driver dug through the wagon’s bed for a heavy longbow. Fingers twitching, he nocked an arrow and drew. “Hold, stranger!” he shouted, voice quivering. “Keep those hands where I can see ’em and step forward into the light.”

  Henslow obeyed, his hands raised. Something about the driver’s voice seemed familiar. Then it came to him. “Osler? Osler Dunham, is that you?”

  The arrow wavered, dropping as the driver peered at him. “Jacob Henslow? By the Power, it is you!” Dropping the bow, he hopped down from the wagon, spry for a man his age, and seized Henslow in a strong hug. “I feared you dead after the attack on Lakeshore! You are a welcome sight, my friend.”

  “And you, Osler.” Henslow turned, placed two fingers to his mouth and gave a piercing whistle. Hooves pounded as Victor hurried to join them. “Do not fear. Victor is with me. You are far from home, my friend. What brings you to this lonely place?”

  Osler gestured toward his wagon. “My ale, of course. With Lakeshore gone, I thought to sell it in Codtown. My profits will suffer, but I must sell it somewhere.”

  “I am sorry, Osler, but the Dark Mage attacked Codtown, too. The town is still there, but many died. Foremost in their minds is surviving this winter. I judge it doubtful drink is of much concern right now.”

  Osler’s face paled. “Power preserve us!” he groaned. “Has the world gone mad?” He glanced at Victor, then back at Henslow. “I presume Seir is your destination then?”

  “It is,” affirmed Henslow. He told Osler of the Dark Mage’s plans and their need to reach Seir as soon as possible.

  “Climb aboard then,” the old man urged as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Old Stomper’s swiftest days are behind him. Still, he will get you to Codtown faster than riding double. Perhaps there you can find another mount.” After Henslow joined him, Osler flicked the reins, urging Stomper into a slow canter. Victor’s horse fell in beside them. “Now then,” he said, “Perhaps you can appease my curiosity further. Whatever happened to young Master Gray? Last I heard, you were on your way to the Council of Mages.”

  Henslow drew a deep breath. “Ah, now that is quite the story...”

  Chapter 26, Healing

  The fire burned high and hot, driving away the night’s bone-deep cold. Alecia snuggled close to Adam, asleep, her breath warm on his neck. Adam focused his attention on the hulking figure seated cross-legged across from them. A giant! Somehow, despite all the incredible things he’d seen and done, finding himself seated across a bonfire from a real, live giant trumped everything.

  “...and when we parted, Henslow headed south in pursuit of the mage, Rosner,” rumbled Craigen, finishing his tale. “What has become of him, I cannot say.”

  Aristomus shook his head in admiration. “Amazing. I would not have believed it possible to face the Dark Mage—at the center of his power, no less—and live to tell of it. Still, it provides hope. Perhaps the Dark Mage is not as invincible as we once surmised.”

  “Yet he is more than formidable enough,” growled the giant. “I would not care to face such a situation again. Luck played no small part in our escape.”

  “Aye, it did, friend Craigen. And your good fortune gave birth to our own. When you traveled so swiftly, arriving in time to save Alecia and myself... well, I make no claims as a gambler, but I would not hesitate to wager on you in a game of chance.”

  The giant waved off the mage, his gray features darkening in a blush. “A small part compared to your fellow mage. If not for him, we would all have perished.”

  “True.” Aristomus turned his piercing gray eyes on Adam. “And what do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

  “Me?” Adam squirmed. “I... I can’t explain it. One second I stood there, helpless. The next so much power filled me I... I couldn’t contain it. If I hadn’t released it, I think it might have killed me. It scares me, Aristomus.”

  “Aye,” Aristomus nodded in sympathy. “The Power is daunting for even the most accomplished mage. But what you did...” His eyes grew wide, remembering. “To heal at a distance? Such a feat is impossible. But with my own eyes... And the life force you expended! Adam, you should be dead three times over! Yet it is but the smallest part of what you achieved. You reduced hundreds of Unsouled to ash, then fought—and defeated—the power of three Dread linked in battle.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “Only one other mage had strength approaching your own. And according to legend, not even Makzendrix showed such puissance.”

  Careful not to wake Alecia, Adam extended his staff and gave it a light tap on the ground. Silver flames burst from the metal-shod tip, washing out the orange light of the campfire. “This now takes less effort than lacing my boots,” he said. “But I have to be careful. It eats at me, Aristomus. If I let it grow too much... I’m not sure I can control it. Whatever blocked me before... it’s gone now. Maybe it’s just my natural fear of so much power.” Voice lowering, he whispered, “Now I guess I have a reason.” Grimacing with the effort, Adam released the Power, and the clearing seemed dark despite the bright flames of the campfire.

  “Then you are the one I seek,” rumbled Craigen. “My people... our children... A terrible wasting sickness afflicts them.” He told them of Meloch’s arrival and the illness which spread right after his disappearance. “Our healers are helpless against this plague and I fear only magi
c can save them now. Will you aid us?”

  Adam felt a sudden flush of panic. It seemed the demands of this world grew every day. And even when he discovered a way to meet those burdens, it opened the door to still more. “I...

  Aristomus seemed to understand his discomfort. “We will do all in our power to help your people, Craigen. Your homeland is our original destination. With your guidance, we will reach it much faster.”

  “Are you not forgetting someone?” Marshel stood at the outer edges of the fire’s warm glow, arms crossed, his face a patchwork of sharp angles in the flickering light. “What of Captain Henslow?”

  Aristomus sighed, but did not turn to face the soldier. “I fear Captain Henslow is beyond us, Marshel. For good or ill, he must continue his journey alone.”

  Marshel stared a moment. Then he turned and walked away.

  DESPITE THEIR FATIGUE, the company set out early the next morning. Craigen took the lead, eager to move. Adam could see the plight of his people etched in the giant’s furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Alecia plied him with questions, trying to appease her own insatiable curiosity while diverting the giant’s attention from his fears. Adam rode along beside the two, captivated by the giant’s tales of life in the mountains.

  By early afternoon, they reached the Stonemar River, its deep, slow current marked by chunks of floating ice. Adam didn’t know how they’d cross until Craigen led them downstream to a ford the horses easily navigated. The mountains grew, looming ever larger as they drew closer. They reached the foothills just as the last light of day faded.

  “I think it best we stop here for the night,” announced Aristomus. “These mountains are perilous and all of us are weary.”