Aeromancer

by Don Callander

“Where is Master Douglas, then?” asked Farianah, interrupting her tale.

  “At home, taking care of our twin babies,” Myrn explained.

  “Brand’s a boy ... and Brenda’s a little girl baby.”

  “Which came first?” wondered Farianah.

  “Silly,” said her brother, snorting, “they’re twins. They were born at the same time.”

  “We’re not twins,” his sister countered with a sniff. “I was born first by a twelve-month!”

  “Well, that’s so,” Farrouki admitted.

  “In our case, Brand was born first, but his sister arrived only a short time after,” Myrn hastened to explain.

  It was quite hot in the walled courtyard, as the sun had climbed into the middle of the sky. The children invited their new and interesting friends into a smaller, walled water-garden off to one side, surrounded by two wings of their father’s house and shaded with brightly striped awnings.

  The filly followed them into the garden and began daintily sampling the greenery. Then, as the children and Myrn talked, the horse lowered her head and dozed.

  “Will you stay in Samarca now?” asked Farianah. “We used to live in Kultrana where the white grapes grow and they dry them into the most delicious raisins anywhere! But Papa moved us here, hoping he could sell camels to the people on the coast. But they prefer horses here, he says.”

  “Camels are smelly and always bad-tempered,” chimed in her brother. “You have to know how to handle them very firmly. Papa is off looking for a better market.”

  He was quite well informed about his father’s camel-trading business, it seemed.

  “Where do you live?” Farianah asked Myrn again.

  “With my husband Douglas and our children in a place called Valley, in Dukedom,” explained Myrn. “In a wonderful cottage under a tall hill named Wizards’ High, beside a brook called Crooked.”

  She reached down and drew, in the sand of the garden path, a crude map of Sea and its surrounding lands and the islands in the middle, naming them as she talked.

  She was still explaining World geography and history when a door to the Camel Merchant’s house opened and a young woman, dressed in flowing cream-colored robes and wearing a gauzy veil across her nose and mouth, emerged carrying a large earthenware jar balanced easily on her head.

  “Farri! Farianah? Who is your guest? You should invite her inside, where it’s much cooler.”

  “This is our mama,” announced Farianah proudly. “Her name is Shadizar and she is the most beautiful lady in the whole Sultanate.”

  Lady Shadizar blushed with pleasure and modest confusion at her daughter’s words. Not to be outdone, her son took her hand and led her to meet the Wizard.

  “My mother is not afraid of Wizards, I can tell you!” he cried.

  “Not that Myrn is a Wizard to fear,” added his sister.

  “All Wizards are to be feared, at times,” warned their mother, bowing courteously to the stranger in her garden. “So be careful how you act around this pretty Wizard, children!”

  She smiled brightly at Myrn to show she was teasing... mostly.

  “Will you come within, Mistress? We’re about to sit down to a light midday meal and you are most cordially invited to join us.”

  Myrn accepted graciously and Shadizar, after filling her water jug at the fountain, led her across the garden to the door. The children whooped in delight and ran before them to hold the door wide.

  “There is little for me to do to pass the days,” admitted Shadizar to Myrn. “The people of this place are slow to make friends, I fear, and there are very few ladies who come to call. Most stay hidden away, you see. Local custom... which I so far have been forced to follow. Much too confining! I was born in the high grasslands, a daughter of the fresh, open air, sweet pastures, forests, and vineyards of my homeland.”

  “I agree with you, Lady Shadizar!” Myrn laughed. “I, too, was brought up in the open, on Sea and on island beaches, forests, and rocky headlands.”

  By the time they’d finished the meal of cold, spiced lamb in a piquant sauce, served with plump raisins and round, crisp-crusted loaves of bread, downed with cups of fresh goat’s milk that Myrn, hesitant at first, found richly delicious and refreshing, Myrn and her hostess were fast becoming close friends.

  Shadizar told of her childhood on her father’s station in the southern grasslands. Myrn regaled the children and their mother with her story of young Douglas Brightglade’s first arrival on her home island, of the oh-so-slow Horniads, and the precious blue coral and pearl-oyster beds.

  A maid came to take the children off for their afternoon nap, and her hostess led Myrn to the second floor of the large, airy house, where they sat on a balcony overlooking the shady street, screened from the afternoon sun and eyes on the street below by a lattice decorated with intricately carved butterflies.

  “Why do you visit our country just now, Myrn?” asked Shadizar. “If you care to tell me, that is. I understand that Wizards have secrets they must keep.”

  “No secret, really. I came to rescue a friend named Serenit of New Land who was, we fear, captured and brought to this part of World against his will. He’s known to have passed through this city a few days ago. We fear he’s in grave danger.”

  “ ‘We’ being you and your husband Douglas?” asked the lady, handing Myrn a palm-leaf fan with which to cool herself, for it was now the hottest part of the day.

  “Yes, Douglas and I... plus several other members of what’s known as the Fellowship of Light. My own teacher is the Aquamancer Augurian of Waterand Island, and my husband’s former master is Flarman Flowerstalk, a Fire Wizard.”

  “Names quite strange to me, I fear,” admitted Shadizar. “I listen to the gossips in the marketplaces but I haven’t heard of a captive of that nature in our city. I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

  “You can help by telling me of the ways and beliefs of your countrymen,” Myrn urged. “I know a little from my studies, but not enough, by far.”

  “I’d be delighted,” cried Shadizar, smiling. “Stay with us this night and tomorrow and we’ll make inquiries. I assume you would prefer them to be ... quietly made?”

  “It would seem best.” Myrn sighed. “From what you’ve said, this is evidently a man’s country. A lone girl, even though a Journeyman Wizard, might have trouble finding out about a captive like Serenit.”

  “Tell me the story from the beginning, then,” urged the Camel Trader’s lady.

  She had long since removed her veil, and Myrn envied her loose, light clothing. The afternoon air was hot, still, and humid—too much so for Myrn, even in her summery dress. With three or four simple gestures she re-formed her costume to look much like Shadizar’s loose attire. This done, she summoned a soft, cool breeze off Sea.

  The Camel Trader’s wife watched in awe and delight, making a suggestion here or a comment there.

  A maidservant brought a pitcher of an iced concoction of tea, pineapple, and orange juices, which Myrn found most refreshing.

  “Let me see,” she considered. “I should begin at the very start, when Douglas arrived on Flowring Isle. The poor man had fallen overboard from a ship at Sea....”

  ****

  After a long day of polite sparring and intense haggling with the Merchant Princes of Samarca in their Hall, Mallet and Simon Threadneedle were escorted by a committee of Merchants to the fleet landing, where Encounter’s quarter-boat and her crew waited patiently in the shade of a brightly striped awning.

  “We will resume discussions and business tomorrow,” Alfara, the Chief of the Merchant’s Guild, promised. He’d become increasingly cordial as the day had worn on and prospects for profits had mounted dizzyingly. “Would the fourth hour of the morning be suitable for you, honored Captain?”

  “Quite suitable, and pleasant as well,” replied Mallet, who well knew how to be cordial when profitable trading demanded he be. “I’ll come ashore at that hour, if that is your desire, dear sir. Now ... I’ve kept yo
u from family and dinner much too long. I bid you a fine evening and a quiet night!”

  The Merchant Princes bowed deeply and Mallet returned their parting salutes. Young Simon bowed and nodded and the quarter-boat’s crew gave a lusty cheer, both to thank the Merchants for the hospitality and to show their relief over the end of a long, hot day of waiting.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” added the Head Merchant, turning back to Mallet. “The Port Master, before he went off, told me to say you may send your crew ashore this evening. The Sultan’s Guards have given their assent, as long as your men stay within the posted confines of the lower city.”

  “Excellent!” said Mallet. “In that case, I’ll send my Starboard Watch ashore after evening mess.”

  “They should be recalled to your ship before midnight,” warned the Head Merchant, grinning broadly. “A foreigner ashore after that hour will be housed in the city lockup and must be redeemed ... at no small cost!”

  “I’ll see to it they all know,” Mallet agreed, nodding, “and will make sure all are back aboard before curfew.”

  The Merchants and the Seacaptain parted, the former dispersing to their homes higher in the city while Encounter’s quarter-boat whisked away Mallet and Simon, both feeling rather pleased, if hot and tired after their day’s work.

  “Ahoy the boat!” came a familiar hail out of the gathering gloom over the harbor.

  “Encounter!” Simon yelled back, indicating to the watch aboard that their Captain was returning.

  There came the sound of bare feet running, muffled orders, and a rattle of weapons and harness—all the watch on duty had been issued cutlasses and billies on the off chance that waterfront thieves might try to sneak aboard during the hours of darkness.

  Side boys stiffened to attention at a word from the gnarled Bos’n when Mallet’s head appeared above the deck as he clambered up the accommodation ladder. The Bos’n’s Mates twittered a shrill greeting in unison on their silver pipes and the afterguard presented arms as best as they remembered how.

  “All went well, then?” asked Pilot when the salutes were finished and the afterguard and the boat’s crew had been sent below to dinner.

  “Very well, indeed!” replied his Captain. “We’ll send the Starboard Watch ashore after mess, until an hour before midnight, First Mate. Warn them strongly not to leave the harbor precinct—plenty of amusements there for everyone, I’m told—and to be sure to make the final liberty boat before it leaves at the change to the Mid Watch! After that, it’s swim out to us or spend the night in the local brig ashore and lose three months’ pay in ransom.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” the First Mate said, grinning approvingly.

  That’s the way things should be run by landlubbers, his smile implied.

  “Get your rest,” added Mallet, yawning mightily. “You’ll go ashore with us tomorrow morning at the fourth hour after sunrise. Plenty of profits to be made, and we’ll both keep busy.”

  “Aye!” responded Pilot.

  “You be ready, too,” said the Captain to his clerk, who had caught the yawns and was standing by, gaping and gasping and rubbing his tired eyes.

  Mallet went to his tiny sleeping cabin only after a careful circuit of Encounter’s spotless deck, inspecting and checking, making sure the Duty Watch was wide awake.

  Just before he stepped down into the quarter-boat the following morning, Mallet was stopped by the rapid approach of a small rowboat-taxi. Its single passenger was a slight, brown-skinned young man in pea-green livery, looking very important but not a little awed by the beautiful ship and the strange sailors staring at him over the schooner’s rail.

  “Message for Captain Mallet!” he called in answer to the Bos’n’s warning hail. “From my Mistress, the Lady Farrouk!”

  “Lay alongside,” Mallet ordered. “I am here.”

  Once hooked onto the quarter-boat’s side by a grinning Seaman, the youth stood in the rocking bottom of the little rowing dinghy to hand up a folded parchment that was sealed, Mallet could see even from some distance away, by a blue-green wax impression the size of a large coin and the shape of a cockle shell.

  “Give the lad a quarter-ducat,” he ordered his Coxs’n gruffly, “and tell him to give way. We shan’t keep the Chief of the Merchant’s Guild waiting.”

  As the dinghy scooted hurriedly off, Mallet handed the message to his clerk, after closely inspecting the seal.

  “From an Aquamancer, by the looks of it,” he muttered in surprise. “What’s it say, Simon?”

  “It reads,” the clerk intoned:

  “To Captain Mallet of Encounter schooner:

  Welcome to the Port of Samarca. A friend wishes to greet you when you have a few moments free. Come to the House of Farrouk the Camel Seller on the Street of Bitter Oranges. At your leisure and pleasure. Anyone can give you directions from the strand.”

  “It’s signed ‘Shadizar, wife of Farrouk—on behalf of another better-known to you,’ “ Simon finished, handing the note back to his captain.

  “Might be Augurian of Waterand,” considered the Seacaptain. “Wonder why he wants to remain unnamed.”

  He nodded to his Coxs’n to unhook from Encounter’s chains and give way for the shore. The boat’s oarsmen heaved lustily on their sweeps and the Coxs’n swung the tiller over.

  “Answer to the Camel Merchant’s wife’s message, sir?” prompted Simon.

  The young man in his water-taxi was hovering nearby, obviously waiting.

  “Eh? Well, I guess so,” said Mallet, distracted by the sights and sounds of the busy harbor. “Yes. Find out where this Farrouk person lives and write his wife a note saying I’ll wait upon her and her... guest... before sunset this evening. As soon as we can get away from these Merchant Princes.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  He waved to the water-taxi to follow them ashore and, once there, handed the reply to the dark-skinned youngster, making a mental note to find out what he could about this Farrouk while negotiations were going on that day at Merchant’s Hall.

  Chapter Four

  Rolling Stones

  Douglas Brightglade wet a handful of smooth, flat, blue-gray gabro pebbles by dipping them in the frigid ice-melt water of New River.

  Cribblon and Marbleheart watched with keen professional interest. The pale northern sun washed over the wide glacial valley, busy reviving summer colors of young birch and poplars after a long, snowy winter.

  Far down the steep-sided fjord a small fleet of fishing smacks was busy setting purse-nets. In the clear, cool air overhead a flock of gray-and-white Northland Seagulls mewed plaintively, wheeled, and dipped, anticipating a very good meal from the remnants of the cleaning of the fishermen’s catch later in the day.

  Douglas ignored them all—friend, Familiar, birds, and boats—concentrating on the shiny-wet pebbles in the palm of his right hand.

  He murmured a short string of spell words, of which Marbleheart caught only a few—“Faghalenty sus su’russ. Minory bel amnor. Pluanget a rur!”

  With this last he suddenly flung the seven smooth stones high into the air, letting them fall into the center of a smoothed-out space in the fine, dry river-mouth sand. The soft sand kept the ice-polished pebbles from scattering or rolling about.

  In fact, they half-buried themselves in the sand and came to rest almost at once.

  “Good cast!” murmured the Sea Otter in approval.

  Cribblon nodded agreement.

  Douglas studied the arrangement of stones for a long and silent moment before looking to his companions.

  “What do you see, Marbleheart? Even a Familiar should be able to read the outlines, at least.”

  “Who, me?” squeaked Marbleheart in mock-surprise. “I haven’t even got the hang of reading tea-leavings, Master!”

  “Theory is similar, if not the exact same,” Douglas assured his furry Familiar with a shrug. “You should make some sense of the stones, at least, old Stick-in-the-Mud!”

  He shook his head slightly
to the Journeyman Aeromancer not to interfere, giving the Sea Otter a chance to read the pattern of the stones for himself.

  “Well, hummm! Huh? Ah, er... and, I vow,” muttered Marbleheart. “Hey, this looks like a job for Litholt Stone-breaker, I must say!”

  “These are stony signs and placings even you should know, Marbleheart!” cried Douglas, pretending disappointment. “Try harder!”

  “Hum,” muttered the Sea Otter, touching several of the stones in order.

  “Well!” he repeated. “Ah, yes! Well, here’s a symbol for the sun. I recognize that one. I really do!”

  “Good, so far,” chuckled Cribblon. “That is a symbol for a sun of some sort”

  “Let him figure it out,” Douglas cautioned, settling back against a large boulder torn ages before from the valley’s side, carried miles downstream by the grinding ice, and polished smoothly rounded. Its sun-warmth felt good on his back. Spring, nearly finished in Valley, was just beginning here in the Northland.

  “A rising sun ... indicating ... the direction east?” asked Marbleheart, frowning fiercely in concentration. “Yes, I should think so! And here’s a configuration for Sea-travel, I see.”

  Douglas and Cribblon nodded silently.

  “Oh, come on, fellas!” objected the Otter. “I’m pretty new to this descrying business, you know. How about a hint or two?’

  “That’s the rising sun; you’re right about that,” said Douglas, pointing. “Indicates direction. And the symbol for a dire spelling is clear, you see? That says ... what?”

  Marbleheart frowned even more deeply, then clapped his forepaws as the answer came to him.

  “Frigeon’s old evil magicking! Obviously the spellbounders we seek are off to the east of us. But there’s nothing there but jumbles of rock and old lava beds and deep Sea inlets filled with mewling Seabirds, Master!”

  “You aren’t looking far enough, Here! What do you make of this?”

  He indicated one of the smooth blue stones leaning against its neighbor.

  “That would be an indication of distance, not direction, I think,” said Marbleheart, looking up at Douglas after a moment.