Magician's Heir

by D Bruce Cotton

  Craigen’s jaw clenched, his desire to continue apparent in the play of muscles in his hunched shoulders. But he said nothing as the soldiers dismounted and set up camp.

  The company rose early the next morning and tackled the climb. As they gained elevation, the air thinned and grew colder. The horses snorted clouds of white steam, shaking their heads in displeasure as they labored on.

  With no paths or trails to follow, Craigen’s unerring sense of direction still led them onward. He chose routes between rocky peaks which, from a distance, appeared impassible. By the time the sun set behind them two days later, the company had traveled deep within the mountain range. They continued on until darkness and fatigue forced them to stop.

  “I chafe at any delay,” fumed the giant, “but perhaps it is best we stop here for the night. It will do my people little good if we stumble into a crevasse in the dark.”

  “How much farther is it, Craigen?” asked Alecia.

  “Much depends on the weather,” came the rumbling reply. “Should the snow grow no deeper, six, perhaps seven more hours.” Craigen turned away, shoulders trembling, fists clenched in anger. “How many more will die from these delays?” he rasped.

  Adam sighed and loosened the straps holding his staff to the saddle. “Maybe I can do something about that.” Gripping the smooth wood, he closed his eyes in concentration. A bright, silver flame bloomed from the staff’s tip, casting a white light over the company. Adam held the staff higher, and the light broadened in a wide circle encompassing the entire group.

  “Well done, Adam!” proclaimed Aristomus, clapping him on the back. Alecia grinned her approval.

  The giant said nothing. But he gave Adam a nod and a look of such gratitude the young mage felt his cheeks burn. He worried he’d somehow promised the giant more than just the means to continue their journey. It left Adam feeling uneasy; concerned he might not deliver when the time came.

  The company trudged on through drifted snow which, at times, reached the horses’ chests. As they climbed ever higher, Adam wiped his sweaty brow. Despite the bitter cold, the strain of keeping the flow of power under control wore on him. It whispered at the back of his mind, urging for release. Denying it grew ever harder as the night hours crept by.

  They struggled to climb an ice-encrusted ridge as the darkness of night gave way to the soft light of morning. At the summit, Adam released his hold on the Power with a gasp of effort and stared down at the impossible.

  “It... it is beautiful,” whispered Alecia.

  Far below the company, surrounded by a crown of frozen peaks, they saw a lush and verdant valley, untouched by winter’s icy clutches. A deep, blue lake mirrored the majestic bluffs; the water so clear the mountains seemed to float there. The familiar checkerboard pattern of fields under cultivation spread outward, framed by thick forests of oak, pine, elm and the now familiar montoria trees whose tall, gray limbs soared above all the others. A tiny village, nearly invisible at such a distance, nestled between the forest and lake.

  “How...” started Adam. He swallowed before continuing, “How is that possible?”

  Craigen grinned at their astonishment. “The entire valley sits atop a caldera, Adam. Heat seeps up from the molten rock below to create the warmth and sustenance required by my people. In truth, you may find the climate in Herrenbourn more than a little hot after so much time in this bitter cold.”

  “Herrenbourn?” asked Aristomus.

  “My home,” he said with a wistful sigh. “I have longed for this return. Come.” He waved them forward. “We are close now.”

  The party sped up as they moved downhill. And moved faster still once they entered the valley and the last vestiges of snow disappeared. As they got closer, Adam saw a huge wall of vertical timbers encompassed the settlement. It reminded him of the protective wall around Codtown, but on a colossal scale. Adam doubted he could stretch his arms around the smallest tree used, and the structure rose at least 30 feet. After passing through the massive, iron-bound gate, the party made its way along the main street of Herrenbourn. Close up, the village seemed far larger than it had from above, the buildings enormous. Narrow, but long, and constructed of thick logs, they had high-peaked roofs topped with cedar shingles. They reminded Adam of Viking longhouses though built on a scale much larger than those dreamed of by any Norseman.

  A crowd gathered, following them as they continued deeper into the village. Like Craigen, the men had no hair. Dressed in tight leggings, some wore leather jerkins while others dressed in open vests lined with wool. The women, too, were bald except for a top-knot—a single thick lock of hair bound with intricate gold wire. Woolen dresses dyed in bright colors hung to their ankles while bracelets of polished blue, green and red stones glittered on their arms. But they all remained strangely silent, their dour faces staring at the humans with hooded eyes. The company heard only the sound of rustling cloth, the clink of metal and the soft pad of hooves on the dirt lane.

  The company continued onward, ushered forward by their silent escort, until a woman stepped from the crowd and blocked their path. Taller even than Craigen, the giantess wore blousy leggings and a metal breastplate marked with intricate scrollwork. In one white-knuckled fist, she held a thick spear. Nine feet long and thicker than Adam’s forearm, it appeared a mere toy at her side.

  “More strangers, Craigen?” she asked in a voice low and menacing, like distant thunder. “And mages it would seem. Have we not suffered enough at the hands of such as these?”

  “This is a bitter welcome, Torlaine. They are my friends. Aye, some are mages, but they are here to help, not harm. Have you so soon forgotten the purpose of my mission?”

  “I have not,” she replied. “But you come...” Her grim expression melted as tears flowed and her voice faded to a shuddering whisper. “You come too late. Our son is dead.”

  The ground trembled as Craigen fell to both knees. His mouth stretched wide and a cry of inconsolable pain and grief echoed across the valley. The howl grew in intensity, rising until it seemed the giant’s throat would rupture under the strain. Adam glanced at Aristomus, begging with his eyes for the mage to do something, anything. With a slow shake of his head, Aristomus motioned for Adam to stand back. And still the piercing cry grew. Adam feared for the giant’s sanity.

  At last the cry ended as Craigen collapsed in the dirt. The giantess stared down at him, face clouded with grief. Then she spun on one heel and strode away.

  Two giants helped Craigen to his feet, leading him away. A third escorted the mages to a long, low building—Herrenbourn’s Hall of Healing. Well-lit by oil lanterns hanging from the ceiling, the single room held dozens of afflicted children; their pale, gray faces showing no response to their visitors. Stretched out on low-slung cots, their moans of pain echoed throughout the cavernous hall. The giants tending the children looked up with strained and pleading eyes as the mages entered.

  Aristomus and Alecia hurried to the first bed to begin their examination. After a few moments, they looked at one another in understanding. They withdrew, motioning for Adam to join them.

  “This sickness is indeed of magical origin,” whispered Alecia, shuddering. “I cannot comprehend the evil... to afflict children with such malevolence.”

  Adam peered at the mages’ uncertain faces. “But you can heal them, can’t you? We have to do something!”

  Aristomus paused and glanced at Alecia. At her tense nod, he replied, “Aye, I believe so, but...”

  “But what?”

  Alecia placed a soft hand on Adam’s shoulder. “They are too weak to aid in their own healing, Adam. We must expend our own life force. And there are so many...”

  “There may be a way, Adam,” said Aristomus. “But it is very dangerous.”

  “Tell me.”

  The old mage sighed. “It is possible for mages to link, to combine the Power in such a way that the sum is greater than the individual parts. Alecia and Rosner used such a link to pull me back from the brink of
death after my staff exploded while fighting the Dread.”

  “But such a link is perilous,” continued Alecia. “The one wielding the Power cannot always judge the strength of those to whom he is linked. And once established, only he can release the others. If he draws too much...”

  “They die,” whispered Adam in understanding.

  Alecia turned to Aristomus, her face fixed in determination. “Father, you must administer the healing.”

  “What? No, daughter! I will not risk you!”

  “You must. Yours is the more skilled hand. We cannot waste our strength. These children need every shred of the Power we can summon.”

  Aristomus looked grim, but dropped his head in acquiescence. “I will not lose you, Alecia. At the first sign of trouble, I will release you.”

  Alecia’s face hardened. She wrapped her father in a fierce hug and whispered something in his ear. The old man’s shoulders sagged. “Very well. Take my hand, daughter.” The old mage pulled back the sleeve of his robe. “Adam, grasp my forearm.”

  Adam reached for the Power as the three mages approached the first bed. It flooded his body with white-hot strength. Concentrating, he allowed it to flow down his arm and into Aristomus. It felt strange, a sensation like water swirling away down an open drain. Aristomus knelt next to the child, a young boy with eyes widened in fear. The old mage extended his staff and touched the metal tip to the chest of the bed-ridden boy. For a painful moment, nothing happened. Then the young giant’s back arched, his muscles rigid with strain. Long moments passed; the battle fierce despite utter silence. At last, the child’s muscles loosened, and he collapsed back on the pallet. Pallid features softened and a gentle sigh escaped his lips. By the time Aristomus withdrew his staff, the boy slept.

  They moved to the next bed and then the next. With each healing, the draw of power increased, like a black hole pulling light and life from Adam’s body. He glanced at Alecia and felt his heart skip a beat. White as alabaster, her sweat-slicked face had drained of blood. Jaw slack and eyelids fluttering, she appeared on the verge of collapse. Adam wrapped his staff-encumbered arm around her waist to hold her up.

  “Aristomus, let her go,” Adam whispered, faint with the effort. “It’s killing her!”

  Tears streamed down the old man’s face. “Power forgive me. I cannot!”

  “What? She’s your daughter, for God’s sake!” Then he remembered. “What did she say to you?”

  “‘If you can save a single child through my sacrifice, then I do so gladly.’ Adam,” he sobbed, “she would never forgive me.”

  A wave of despair swept over Adam. They’d come too far, suffered too much, to let it end this way. Despite his mounting weariness, Alecia grew lighter in his arms as her life force ebbed away. His control slipped as despair turned to white-hot rage.

  The Power slammed through Adam’s body like floodwaters from a broken dam. Burning through his veins like liquid fire, it demanded release. He tried to channel the energy through the link to Aristomus, but it felt like trying to force a raging torrent through a pinhole. The pressure escalated, building toward an explosion he couldn’t control.

  Adam struggled against the link, straining to break its hold. But the Power held him there; his palm attached to Aristomus’ forearm as though fused. Power strong enough to level mountains raged inside him. But he could not sever the link. “Aristomus,” he gasped. “Let me go.”

  Aristomus turned to argue, but froze when he saw Adam’s strained visage. Without a word, he peeled Adam’s hand from his arm, breaking the link and setting him free.

  Adam pulled Alecia into a tight embrace. Teeth clenched, he lowered his control just enough to send tendrils of healing into her body. Alecia gasped, eyes widening as though freezing water doused her entire body. Their eyes met for one brief instant, then Alecia’s flickered shut as she fell unconscious. Adam held her out to Aristomus and rasped, “Take her... everyone but the children... take them and get out... now!”

  Adam didn’t feel Aristomus taking his burden. Fists clenched around his staff, teeth grinding, he struggled to hold on until the others got away.

  Outside, Aristomus struggled against his own weariness to carry Alecia to safety. He fled across the street, calling out to the giants he saw to take cover. Placing the corner of a massive wooden building between his daughter and the Hall of Healing, he waited, ready to bear witness to what would happen. A rumble, as of distant thunder, shook the hall. Through the open door, a clean white light grew, pulsing as though in time to a throbbing heart. The light grew brighter with each beat, mounting until the mage had to shade his eyes to protect himself from its intensity. Then came a final pulse; so bright the walls flashed incandescent. No structure should be able to contain so much raw power!

  The light winked out. Though still early afternoon, the day now seemed dark and gloomy. White motes floated before Aristomus’ eyes. He rubbed them, starting toward the building before stopping short. A swaying figure stood in the doorway. Aristomus squinted against the light’s intense afterimage and called, “Adam? Is that you? Are you well?”

  “Never better,” Adam mumbled before collapsing to the dusty street.

  Chapter 27, Confrontation

  True to his word, Osler and his wagon made good time, despite the heavy cargo. They arrived at Codtown’s gates by midmorning. Both Henslow and Victor managed a few hours’ sleep by taking turns curled up among the barrels of ale.

  A garrison of troops from Seir had arrived. The soldiers worked hard to reinforce the walls and defenses of Codtown. Their labor left the settlement much better prepared to ward off further attacks by the Unsouled. Still, they could only do so much. Henslow knew a sustained attack like the one which devastated Lakeshore would overwhelm the village.

  A quick consultation with the garrison commander revealed Rosner had arrived the preceding evening, alone and demanding a horse and supplies. He remained no longer than it took to gather what he needed, leaving at full gallop and disappearing into the darkness.

  “Brusque and ill-tempered he was,” recalled the commander. “So much so I chose to gift him with one of our lesser horses.” He gave a tight grin. “In fact, I gladly got rid of the worthless nag. You might catch him if you ride hard.”

  The commander outfitted them with supplies, a replacement for Victor’s horse and a mount for Henslow but could spare no men for the chase. He also provided two extra mounts so they could ride hard while keeping the horses fresh. Henslow’s pleasure grew when the commander presented him with a proper sword to replace the long knife he’d picked up in Norwich. After gathering everything together, the two men paused just long enough to bid farewell to Osler, who had found plenty of customers for his ale among the Seir garrison, then set out in pursuit.

  AT A LEISURELY PACE, it took four days to journey from Codtown to Seir. But with Rosner a day ahead, Henslow kept the horses to a hard pace that ate up ground, changing mounts every few hours to keep the horses fresh. They ate in their saddles and allowed themselves only a few fitful hours of sleep each night. Henslow needed to catch the mage before he reached Seir and disappeared in the vast city. An enemy ensconced behind the city walls would prove much harder to find and capture—not that Henslow had any intentions of making the Dark Mage’s servant a prisoner.

  Two days hard riding took them past the northern tip of Tempest Lake. The elevation rose as darkness closed in. At their present pace, Henslow estimated they would reach Seir late the next afternoon. Despair set in, his hope fading.

  The horses struggled up a steep rise when a sudden flash brought the two men up short. After exchanging a startled glance, Henslow dismounted and handed his reins to Victor. Signaling his companion to silence, Henslow crept up the hillside. Near the top, he slipped to his knees and crawled the remaining distance before peering over the crest.

  The ground fell to a narrow ravine marked by a small, tangled copse of trees, their naked branches thin and cold-blasted. At the edge of the small thicke
t, a hobbled horse cropped a few tufts of tough brown grass uncovered from the snow. When the horse moved, Henslow saw a slender man kneeling by a small campfire. Though too distant to make out features, Henslow could see the man had a bald head and wore a torn and dirty gray robe.

  Careful to make no sudden moves, Henslow lowered his head and made his way back to Victor. “I believe it is Rosner,” he whispered. “We must be careful. He is strong enough to reduce us both to ashes without a second thought.”

  “What do you propose, Captain?”

  Henslow thought, considering and then discarding various plans. At last, he chose the one strategy which might give them a chance at success. “Rosner knows me, so I fear you must serve as our distraction...”

  VICTOR STEPPED OVER the rise and down toward the fire at the bottom of the ravine. The stranger’s eyes locked with his own and he hesitated a step before continuing down the hill. “Greetings!” he called, waving a friendly hand. “I wonder if I might share your fire. My horse broke his tether and bolted, leaving me alone and without provisions.”

  The stranger matched Henslow’s description of Rosner: an old man, bald and thin, wearing a light gray robe, torn and soiled. The mage remained silent, staring. Flashes of red flickered deep in his sunken eyes, though perhaps, Victor thought, the campfire’s reflection played tricks on him.

  “Uh, I do not mean to intrude,” he continued, “but the night is cold and I have no means to make a fire.” Victor took a few more steps. “Mayhap companionship and good conversation will shorten the night.”

  “You have the look of a soldier.” Rosner’s voice came out in an airy hiss. “Whither are you bound?”

  “To, uh... Seir. My, uh... cousin promised me a position with the city guard.”

  One slender hand disappeared beneath the robe. Lips pulled back from Rosner’s teeth in an unpleasant smile. “And yet,” he sneered, “I do not see why I should make your problems my own. I have little enough comfort for myself without sharing with a stranger.”