Ancient Magic

by Blink, Bob

  Ancient Magic

  Bob Blink

  Chapter 1

  Magic is easy! Well, maybe not for you. But for him, someone who came to it naturally, it was in the blood. He had to assume it was an inherent talent, because no one had taught him anything about the craft. No one had ever even spoken to him about magic as near as he could recall. On the other hand, Rigo had been able to perform magic for as long as he could remember. Most of it was somewhat limited compared to what he thought ought to be possible, but still, what he could do was wondrous. Of course, he could only remember back about ten years. Before that it was all a blank. That was when his father, okay, his adoptive father – a man he fondly considered as his true father, had taken him in. He’d never told his adoptive parents about his ability. There was no point of burdening them with that kind of worry. Magic was outlawed and had been for centuries. The laws were older than anyone could trace. No one alive knew why the laws existed. People didn’t even believe in magic. Not really. Sometimes the idea of magical powers made for interesting tales, and tales of evil sorcerers were used to scare the young children, but otherwise everyone knew better. They still put out the occasional talisman to ward off evil, but that was simply good sense after all. It didn’t hurt to be careful, now did it? The existence of actual laws on the matter were therefore perplexing and a matter of infrequent speculation. Perhaps magic had once existed, otherwise why would someone have bothered with laws? On the other hand, no one could point to a single thing that would support anyone’s ability to perform magical feats now or anytime in the past.

  The coughing sickness was one of the reasons that such knowledge had been lost. Returning every five or six centuries, the plague swept through the land, taking three out of every four regardless of age or sex. The survivors appeared to be immune for some reason, but the loss of so many taxed their ability to survive in the harsh lands, and it took generations to reestablish the level of society that was lost to the ravages of the disease. Some postulated that the descendents of those who had survived gradually lost their inherent immunity to the disease, and that was why it returned. It was really lurking in the background all the time, waiting for a chance to attack again. It wasn’t a pleasant thought and when a sufficient number of centuries had passed, anyone with a suspicious cough had to be fearful of neighbors putting him to death out of fear he might be the harbinger of a resurgence of the dreaded illness.

  The last time the sickness had struck had been fifty years ago, so most were confident they were safe for many generations to come. On the other hand, society was still trying to recover from the last passing. Rigo’s adoptive father had come from a family of three non-brothers. Each of his father’s siblings had lost their families to the coughing sickness, and had been taken in by a man and his wife who raised them as their own. That helped explain his father’s willingness to take in a lost orphan, even though Rigo had already been nine at the time, and even though the man had two strong sons of his own.

  Rigo felt he owed the man everything. He had provided food and shelter, and more importantly love, and had taught him about the world, especially the world farther than anyone traveled these days. Rigo’s father had been a wanderer in his youth, and had ventured far before returning with his fiery-haired wife from a foreign land. Like his father, Atrina, his adoptive mother, had treated him well. He had felt her loss even more than her natural sons had when she had passed away five seasons back.

  There were those in the village who felt very differently about him. Grudges had been built up over the years. Sometimes Rigo had used his ability, hidden of course, to sway the outcome of encounters. Some simply didn’t like outsiders. Those who didn’t particularly like him included his two adoptive brothers. Rigo had been aware of the rift between himself and the two siblings from the first. Instead of improving, the dislike had grown over the years as Rigo became a favorite, often over the natural sons who were less blessed with ability and shared no interest in their father’s stories of travel to distant lands.

  Now, as they had grown into young adults one would have hoped the petty jealousies would be put aside. The two natural brothers were both doing well enough, and hadn’t needed to act as they did. Ruft was married to a local girl and already had two daughters, and Murkle was successful in a small pottery shop of his own. With their father aging and discouraged by the loss of his wife, Murkle would soon be the prominent potter in town. That didn’t stop them from wanting to see Rigo gone from the village.

  The opportunity to be rid of Rigo had come some six months earlier. One of Rigo’s perennial enemies in town had been killed, and there were those who wanted to believe that Rigo was at fault. He had no way to prove otherwise, and even his father, who wholly believed him innocent, had warned that tempers were running high and suggested he might want to flee while the opportunity existed. Rigo hadn’t liked the idea of running with such lies behind him, but could see the wisdom of the advice. He had wanted to begin a journey for some months anyway, so he nodded his agreement. The stories his father had told over the years of places afar called to him, and he sensed some quest of his own that demanded fulfilling.

  Like two conspirators they had pulled together a traveling pack. Rigo carried a couple of sets of clothes, a second set of soft shoes, and a handful of coins that his father pressed upon him despite his objections. The only other item he carried with him was the old worn walking staff that he and his father had found in the ruins of a decayed dwelling on the backside of the hill behind their land several years before.

  “Give it several months,” the old man had said. “The truth of what actually happened should be known by then.”

  Rigo had nodded, but even then he had known, or at least expected that he wouldn’t be back. He held the man who had served as his father close, and then began his journey, looking back only once at the edge of the clearing before he turned back to the west and disappeared into the trees.

  That had been just over half a year ago, and Rigo had never made the return journey. He wondered how the old man was doing, and made a promise he knew he couldn’t keep that he would turn his steps back toward the village. That would have to be later. More immediate concerns had to be dealt with first.

  Rigo ran his hands along the rough scaly finish of the poorly cast iron bars. The workmanship was crude and the materials far from the best. Even the smith back in the village could have done far better, and this was supposed to be one of the most advanced cities in the realm. Yet, almost an inch thick, the pitted and rusty rods of metal imposed an effective barrier to those like himself who were held prisoner here in the dungeon. The door, like the front wall, was made of the same kind of bars, with a large lock that held the door securely closed and him inside. The back three walls, actually not three distinct boundaries but rather a somewhat rounded continuum were made of solid stone, the small cell having been carved out of the side of the solid granite slab that formed the base of the castle and the outer perimeter of the underground chambers.

  Rigo glanced across the open expanse that separated this row of cells from those on the opposite side of the room. Kaler returned his glance and nodded minutely. At the moment they could not talk with one another since one of the guards was present, but late at night in the early hours they had been able to swap brief histories and what had brought each of them to this place. It had been Kaler who had made Rigo realize this time was not like the others when he had been arrested for poaching on the King’s lands, actually the Duke’s in this case. This time more serious consequences were planned, despite the fact Rigo had not poached a deer as claimed, but had made a simple dinner of wild hare as usual.

  Together they had worked out a plan of escape, selecting the best time for it. It had to begin at one of t
he times when a single guard was present. They needed to silence the guard on this level, and Kaler, a fighter of some skill if Rigo was to believe the other’s claims, needed to get the sword from the guard if they were to have any chance. Rigo had his ability, but he was not talented or strong enough to take on the guards. Kaler was taking the first risk, and a significant one at that. Rigo had assured him that he could get out of the cell quickly at any time. Kaler had expressed doubts, but Rigo had demonstrated he could open the cell door. That had begun their planning.

  “I’ve got him,” Kaler hissed from across the way some minutes later as he held the struggling guard against the bars, his mouth covered by one of Kaler’s strong hands. Kaler could hold the man there for some time, but could do nothing more. It was all but impossible to harm the man given his armor and the fact he was on the outside fighting for all he was worth to get free. Unless Rigo could get out and help silence the man, sooner or later he would get loose or would be aided by the second guard who would come to see what had delayed his fellow.

  Rigo had seen the move in the dim light of the dungeon. There were no windows in the lower levels, but a number of torches were set into the walls that provided a minimum amount of light. A light breeze somehow snaked its way through the open areas carrying away the fumes and providing the dank smelling air that permeated the cells. He reached down and put his hands on either side of the large crude lock that held his door secure. Only because of the dim light of the dungeon could the very faintest of glows be seen between his fingers. Inside the frame, the crude mechanism was forced to shift and the large metal bolt was retracted allowing the door to swing free. Quickly Rigo pushed the door open, made his way across the floor where a stout club that the guards used when escorting a prisoner into or out of the cells rested propped against the wall. He grabbed it as he passed and quickly made his way over to Kaler’s cell where he slammed the heavy wood against the guard’s head knocking him unconscious. He checked to be sure. The man was out, but still breathing. They would prefer not to kill any of the guards. They were brutal and sadistic, but it wasn’t their fault that Rigo and Kaler were here, and killing them would add to their list of crimes.

  “Hurry,” Kaler pleaded.

  Rigo stood and walked over to the door of Kaler’s cell where the other man already waited impatiently. Two years older than Rigo, Kaler was impressively muscled and strong. Rigo could believe the man was a fighter. Once again Rigo wrapped his hands around the lock area, and moments later the cell door swung open.

  “Later you’ll have to show me how you do that,” Kaler said as he stepped past Rigo to see to the guard. Quickly he stripped him of the crude short sword and the smaller dagger. He offered the dagger to Rigo, who shook his head. He normally carried one of his own, but not as a fighting tool. It was probably better for them if Kaler had both of the blades for now.

  Together they pulled the guard into the cell. If he woke up he could make noise. There was nothing they could do about that, but once they took care of the second guard any shouts by the locked up guard would go unheeded. They were two levels down in the dungeon and sounds didn’t carry well to the upper levels. The garbled noises that would drift up to the first level would be indistinguishable from sounds made periodically by other distressed prisoners and would go unheeded.

  “That’s the easy one,” Kaler said. “Are you sure you’re ready to attempt the other one?”

  There was little choice. They had to deal with the remaining guard who waited near the stairway that lead upwards if they were to get out of the dungeon.

  “Let’s go,” Rigo said.

  Silently they headed down the poorly lit hallway. Fortunately there were few other detainees at this time, and the two others they knew of were sound asleep on the filthy straw that served as beds. Kaler found a spot he deemed acceptable, so Rigo continued along on his own. Fifty paces farther on the slightly curving corridor revealed the lounging guard. Rigo had wondered at the best way to earn the man’s attention. As it turned out, he didn’t need to do a thing. Something, intuition maybe, caused the man to look up and see him standing looking confused in the passageway.

  “Here now. How in Risos’ name did you get out? And where is Tonk?”

  The man was surprisingly swift and was on his feet in an instant. As he started for Rigo he drew his own blade, a twin to the one that Kaler now held. Rigo turned and started running back down the corridor, which would normally have been stupid since it led nowhere useful, dead-ending near where his cell had been. He could hear the heavy footsteps of the guard clomping across the stone as he chased after him.

  Kaler’s sword crashed out and across the back of the man’s leather armor as he passed where the younger fighter had concealed himself. The guard stumbled and almost fell, but surprisingly was able to retain his balance. The fact that he had been moving quickly had dulled the force of Kaler’s attack. Now the guard had turned back toward Kaler with murder in his eyes. While the guard was protected by thick leathers, Kaler wore only the thin shirt and breeches he’d been allowed to keep when he was dragged down here.

  The guard towered over Kaler. He was at least four inches taller and half a hundred pounds heavier. His unkempt hair was cut short, and a huge nose that had been mashed flat in a fight sometime in the past dominated his face. Scars crisscrossed the face as well, indicating the man was not unfamiliar with knife fighting. Ponderously he advanced on Kaler, his attention diverted entirely from Rigo who watched from down the darkened corridor. Kaler appeared unmoved as the giant approached and when close enough swung with a powerful thrust of his sword hand.

  Kaler blocked the heavy blow and the two swords rang loudly as they clanged together. The two men took the other’s measure briefly, and began circling one another as they withdrew the swords and looked for an opening. The guard held only the large thrusting sword, but Kaler held both the sword and the small dagger. He was quick and nimble and responded to each blow of the guard almost without care. Rigo was becoming concerned. This had to end soon. They couldn’t afford to waste time here while Kaler demonstrated his prowess.

  Suddenly the giant of a guard swung with both hands, his sword catching Kaler’s solidly near the grip. With a shriek as the blades slid together, two thirds of the blade held by Kaler broke free and tumbled to the ground. He was left with a ragged stub. The guard grinned at him in anticipation of a quick end.

  “I don’t know what you did with Tonk, but that silly bastard never got around to fixing his sword. Told him he needed to tend to it, but he kept telling me there was nothing to fight down here anyway. I guessed it was his sword you had. Now we’ll end this right quickly.”

  The guard stepped to position himself for a powerful swing which Kaler would have been unable to parry with the small blade of the hand knife he had in his other hand, but then something unexpected happened. Instead of the coarse rock and dirt floor that provided support, the guard found the floor suddenly as slippery as the smoothest ice. Instead of delivering a killing blow, he found himself off balance, arms pin-wheeling as he tried to keep from falling to the unstable surface. Kaler was able to use the remaining piece of his sword to smack him alongside the head. The guard crumpled to a heap on the ground.

  “Piece of crap!” Kaler swore as he threw the remains of the broken weapon aside. He knelt and recovered the guard’s sword for himself, taking the smaller belt knife from the man at the same time. He handed this over his back to Rigo as he examined the unconscious man.

  “Let’s get him in with the other one,” he said. “It’s damn lucky for me that the bastard slipped on something.” Try as he might, in the dim light Kaler couldn’t figure out what it might have been that caused the man to slide like that.

  After they had secured the second guard, the two escapees headed back toward the stone steps that would take them up a level.

  “This sword’s not much better than the other one,” Kaler complained as he stopped to examine the blade under one of the torc
hes set into the wall. “The iron is cheap and poorly forged. I wish I had my own blades, but who knows what they did with them. I fear they are lost to me forever.”

  “Let me see it,” Rigo said softly, holding out his hand for the weapon.

  Kaler passed it across with a question in his eyes. Rigo was surprised by the weight of the beast. Kaler swung it so effortlessly. He took the grip in his left hand and then wrapped his fingers along the blade on either side and ran them down the length. Satisfied, he handed it back to the other.

  “So?” Kaler asked after the brief action of the odd, younger man he’d only known for a few days. “What was that all about?”

  “It won’t break now,” Rigo assured him. He repeated the process for the short dagger Kaler had handed him, then slipped it back in his belt.

  “I see,” Kaler replied with a hint of sarcasm. “You made sure of that with a swipe of your hand.”

  “Trust me, the blade will hold now,” Rigo assured him. “We need to get going.”

  Kaler would like to have addressed the matter farther, but realized the younger man was correct. They needed to keep moving least they be discovered. As one, they turned and headed back toward the steps. When they reached the point where the guard had been waiting, they found the steps heading upwards behind where he had been sitting. Rigo pointed across the corridor where a second set of steps lead downward.

  “Those go to the lower levels?” he asked.

  Kaler nodded. “I have heard tell that there are four levels to the Duke’s dungeon. The third level is where interrogations are performed, and the fourth is where they keep those who are not expected to see the light again or who have already started receiving the attentions of the questioners.”

  Rigo shuddered when he thought what might have gone on below them. “I would expect more guards and men down there as well?”